#he's in the grey area between denial and acceptance

[dirtytransmasc]

I'll never not believe that Davos is the one who fell first and harder. that he wasn't the one getting his heart truly broken. the one fighting for Aaron's love and attention and aching when he is denied. the one longing for Aeron and having to reckon with the fact that he can never truly have him, there's too much keeping them apart.

sure, Aeron has his own feelings, his own longing, his dread.

but you can see it in their faces, it's Davos's heart that's a mess, his soul that is aching, while Aeron is more confused and unsure of his own feelings and where they lie in the mess that is feuds and war and blood and kin.

Davos is angry but full of bitter, rage filled acceptance. Aeron is scared, confused, and stuck between acceptance and denial. and it's breaking me.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Four.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C    

word count:   2.1K 

summary: Din cannot stop laughing, Marathel ends up in a tree, and eggs are thrown with extreme prejudice 

warnings: Mando'a and English cursing, violence to unborn ovoids 

You Were Marked: Masterlist 

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Din was still somewhere between dreaming and waking. He could only see soft, fading images in his mind: a gentle curve of a jawline, a slope of a pale-skinned shoulder. He heard a soft voice, quietly saying, “No . . . we can’t . . .” This denial made him furrow his brow even as he dozed, still gently supported in the herbal-scented clouds of sleep. Whyever not? He thought in his sleep. “No . . . don’t . . .” the soft voice pleaded again. No, don’t say ‘no’, he dreamed, but his dream was cut off like hitting a brick wall when he heard Marathel say, “Grogu! No, don’t!”, and Din felt the pounce of the little green goblin on his lower abdomen, not quite his area but close enough to make him grunt loudly with an “URGH,” and struggle to a sitting position with a babbling Grogu in his lap. 

Marathel, outside the dark curtained cubicle, stammered, “I’m so sorry, Bounty Hunter! I told him not to wake you . . .” 

“’s all right,” Din muttered as he pushed himself to a standing position, Grogu in the crook of his arm. “Time I was up. What the shab is so important, huh, buddy?” He stepped through his curtains and looked up to see Marathel standing primly in the center of the room, her hands clasped over her stomach. His first thought was that she was doing her best to look anywhere but at his face – well, helmet -- and his second thought was that she looked quite pretty today. Instead of her usual tunics and pants of dull tans, greens, and greys, she was wearing a gown of sunset yellow that fell into a swirl of fabric just above her ankles. Over this she wore a smock of deep charcoal grey, embroidered with yellow flowers around the neckline. Her silver hair was pulled back in a matching yellow scarf that was twisted around her shock of hair and tied off at the end.  

Marathel looked dismayed that Din was awakened in such a startling manner. “I told Grogu that I needed his help this morning, but we couldn’t leave until you had awakened. I did not want you to find him missing. But . . . he is impatient.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“To collect eggs.” 

“Eggs? Already?” 

She looked at his helmet for the first time, confused. “What? Oh . . . no. Not Dahl eggs. It is not quite time for those. Chook eggs.” Din tilted his helmet at her in his quiet way that she already knew meant that he needed more information. “Chooks are, uh . . . fluttery, rather stupid ground birds. They lay lots of eggs that are good for eating. I thought it may be fun for him.” She gestured to the table, where a covered plate waited. “I made you some breakfast. Grogu has already eaten. We will just be past the vegetable garden, if it is acceptable to you?”  

She had returned to her nervous formality of a couple days previous, Din noticed, as she dropped her head, and her hands began to go up her sleeves. Din stepped over and placed Grogu in her arms before her hands disappeared. “That is fine with me. That is within shouting distance, I think." 

Marathel turned a light shade of a very becoming pink having Din so close to her. She nodded, and said, “We will not be long. You will have privacy, and I will shout as we get near.” She turned towards this kitchen, cooing to Grogu, “Yes, we can finally go now, little one.” The two stepped off the platform and disappeared around the rock ridge. Din waited a few more moments, and sure he was alone, removed his helmet and gloves. He lifted the cover off the plate: toasted slabs of bread with soft cheese and fruit, with some pan-fried meat. A fresh mug of her herbal tea. He had been eating better these past few days than he had the past few months – not that he was complaining – but food was not a high priority for him. He could get too used to this kind of treatment. And the bread. Osik, she made good bread. He shoved a slab into his mouth before he even sat down.  What a good wife she would make, he thought idly, before he quashed that idea. He was not in the market for such an arrangement. He had all he could do to keep the child safe from the Imps, as well as keeping his Creed without entangling with a woman or any partner on a long-term basis. He had told Omera essentially that, and he hoped that she had found the person she needed. 

And what – or whom – did Marathel need? He scoffed, and muttered, “She got what she needed last night,” under his breath with a smirk, and then silently chided himself for such an unkind thought. He finished eating, and then took the opportunity of being alone to clean himself up, washing his hair, cleaning the bite wound again with a fresh layer of salve – this brought a small grin to his face -- and changing out his thermals and flight suit for a fresh set he had brought with him from the ship. He was in the process of reattaching his cuisses when he heard a distant shriek. Certain that it came from the direction of where Marathel and Grogu had gone, Din leapt into action and was already running that way, strapping on his jetpack and two of his most favorite blasters as he went. He heard Marathel scream, “Bounty Hunter! Bounty Hunter!” making him panic. He was already thinking the worst: Grogu was hurt in some way, a chook had pecked him in the eye, a rabid Dahl was making off with the both of them – as Din tore past the vegetable garden and leapt over the fencing that enclosed the chooks, noticing that the chooks she spoke of were indeed some sort of chicken. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the enclosure, sending chooks fluttering and clucking in all directions, Din saw that Grogu was fine. Grogu, in fact, looked perfectly pleased with himself, sitting on the ground, the basket beside him, as he held an egg in each hand. He looked quizzically up at Din and then ate one of the eggs whole. But Marathel was nowhere to be seen. Din spun around, shouting, “Marathel? Marathel! Where are you?” 

“I am . . . oof . . . up here!” 

He followed the sound of her voice, looking about 10 meters up the large tree that shadowed the chook pen. There was a distinct rustle of branches and some leaves fell, as he finally saw her perched up in the tree, balanced on her belly on a branch, reaching down to the next branch with her swinging feet. “What . . . what are you doing up there?” 

Marathel struggled a bit with a grunt, but finally made it down to the next branch. “He put me up here!” she yelled, pointing at Grogu. 

Din was finding it impossible to hide his amusement. “Why?” 

“Because you have taught him no manners!” She began to try to climb down to the next branch and was not succeeding at all. “Oof . . . I told him to stop eating all the eggs . . . I scolded him . . .” Marathel scraped her bare foot on sharp piece of bark. “Ow, ow, damnych! I scolded him, and the next thing I knew, I was up this tree!” 

Din gaped at her, then looked down at Grogu, who grinned cheekily at him, and then back up at Marathel, who was glaring back at him in fury. The laughter burbled up from deep in his gut, from a place that had not been so tickled in such a long time, and he could not help it, he burst into peals of laughter that made his sides hurt. He held his sides, bent over, trying to get control of himself, but he looked back up at Marathel standing so haughtily in that tree, and then she stamped her foot, shouting, “It is NOT funny!” The sight of her stamping her foot set him off again, and tears were rolling down his face at how ridiculous she looked. She clumsily scrambled down to the next branch, and then yelled down to him, “Are you going to help me down or not?” 

Din could barely catch his breath. “You . . . look like you’re doing just fine on your own!” 

Marathel struggled down from branch to branch, cursing at Din in her old language and muttering. “Just as bad as Grogu, you are . . . just like a child! You aren’t doing that boy any favors . . . putting me up a tree . . .” and then her gown caught on a twig and tore a large rip in the back of the skirt, effectively shutting Din up instantly. Marathel gasped in horror, twisting to see the back of her dress, crying out “Oh, damnych and double damnych!” She was close to the bottom of the tree now, so she set herself hanging from the lowest branch she could by her hands. Din went to her, putting up his hands to catch her as she came down. Unfortunately, his hands were on her smock over her waist, and the smock slid up against her dress as she slid down, and his hands ended up bracketing her breasts and holding them high against her chest, accidentally -- mostly. Marathel gasped in outrage and shoved Din as hard as she could. “Why, you . . .” She stomped away from him, spitting over her shoulder, “Y mallawer perlys, on chydich mown dynion!” 

Din chuckled quietly. “What does that mean?” 

Marathel grabbed the basket. “It means, ‘there is much virtue in herbs, but little in men!’” You’re not wrong there, thought Din. She swept a chook out of the way with her foot, sending it fluttering away, Grogu giving chase. She grabbed two eggs out of a nest with too much force, smashing the shells. Disgusted, she threw the broken eggs on the ground, snapping, “Now look what you made me do!” 

Din tilted his helmet. “Why are you so mad?” 

“I am NOT mad!” This, of course, was a lie, and Marathel grabbed another egg, this time throwing it into her basket with enough force to annihilate both it and two more eggs in the basket. She grunted in rage and picked up some more eggs.  

Din shifted his weight to one hip, crossing his arms over his cuirass. “You know, for someone who’s not mad, you’re sure making one hell of a mess out of those eggshells.”  

Marathel glared at him, and chucked an egg right at his head, where it exploded on his visor. Din fell about laughing again, wiping the egg mess off his helmet. “Whoo! Look out, Empire, we have a Stormtrooper who can actually hit something!” 

“Oh, shut up!”  Marathel stomped off through the gate of the pen, slammed it shut behind her, and began marching down the lane back to her hut. 

“Seriously, they could use someone like you!” Din shouted at her back. She whirled around, throwing another egg, which he tried to catch against his hip in his hands as it smashed into mush. “That’s what I’m talking about, lady!” he said, laughing even harder. 

“RHAFF CODIEH!” Marathel screeched over her shoulder. 

“And what does that mean?” 

“It means PISS UP A ROPE!”  

Marathel continued to march away so fast she was kicking up clouds of dirt at her ankles, her torn skirt swaying with each step, arms pumping at her sides. Din continued to laugh until he was certain she was out of earshot. He stood there, hands on hips, chuckling. “Ahhhh . . . Haar’chak.” He looked down at Grogu, who was covered in feathers and holding another egg, completely nonplussed by all the activity around him.  Grogu looked back at Din, grinning. Then he ate the egg. With a sigh, Din picked up the little green morsel, brushing the feathers from his tiny robes. “I think we’re in trouble, kiddo.” 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

[slonekaru]

I posted 6,258 times in 2022

268 posts created (4%)

5,990 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@crazzzedope

@scarefox

@spicyvampire

@smittenskitten

@rocktheholygrail

I tagged 4,100 of my posts in 2022

Only 34% of my posts had no tags

#love in the air - 552 posts

#kinnporsche - 463 posts

#payurain - 298 posts

#boss chaikamon - 293 posts

#noeul nuttarat - 282 posts

#vegaspete - 258 posts

#zhang zhehan - 254 posts

#build jakapan - 221 posts

#bounprem - 221 posts

#between us the series - 207 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#i like to think in the boc kp universe since leather cuffs weren't used at the safe house they are vegas/petes choice for sexy fun times

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

You know I've seen a few posts on Porsche bring Pete to the bar so Vegas can speak to him. How this was the wrong thing to do, or how he's fallen into the moral grey area of being in the mafia as he is only thinking about himself and getting the info he wants from Vegas, but not thinking or caring about Petes' feelings/mental state.

But you know what, I'm going to give this one to Porsche. No doubt some people will disagree but I honestly thought Porsche added 2 plus 2 and actually got 4. And lets face it that is a miracle in itself with this series unless your name is Tankhun!

Why do I feel this way when others don't?

Porsche knows Pete's been with the minor family, despite Pete's denial. He also knows Vegas penchant for torture, that there is the first connection. He knows Vegas did this to Pete since Pete has turned up in the state he has.

And the way I read it he was watching Pete struggle with his emotions in that bathtub and recoginsed something in them. Because it wasn't that long ago Porsche was struggling with his own emotions when they were waring inside of him about the fact Kinn had sexually assaulted him when he was drugged vs the fact he was actually attracted to Kinn and did want something to happen, he just wasn't ready.

Also Porsche is completely familiar with Vegas's tactics by now, he knows Vegas uses emotional and sexual manipulation. Porsche was on the receiving end of that and he got a first-hand look at the outcome of it via Tawan. So it's not far-fetched that he makes connection 2, something emotional/sexual happened between Vegas and Pete.

How did him and Kinn move forward? Well, they talked it out. Sure they had to be handcuffed together and go trapsing through the woods, but that is how he settled his emotions and it wouldn't surprise me that in his mind Pete needs the same thing.

Cue a call between him and Vegas and Vegas 'requesting' to see Pete. Because that is the phrasing he used as Porsche was walking away from Vegas in the back alley of Hum, he had a request.

Porsche could have easily not brought Pete, he could have easily stuck to Petes' side and not allowed Vegas a chance to get near him. But as he said it was down to Vegas from there. And Pete is still a bodyguard and capable of defending himself (after all he was carrying and pulled the gun on Vegas).

Maybe Porsche decided this was the time for Pete to get that opportunity in a safe environment, where he could walk away if he didn't want to talk and it is away from the rest of the main family where Pete is trying to hide what happened to him.

And let's face it Porsche was right because Pete needed a genuine apology from Vegas, which he got. It's then up to him if he wants to accept.

So in summary it seemed like Porsche was hella perceptive and understanding of Petes' feelings. He actually cared a lot about helping Pete and is just worried about his friend.

208 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

#4

You know I thought this was innocent at first but then my brain went 'wait a minute!'

Is Noeul making a joke/alluding to the sex scene?!?!?! And Peat damn well knows it as well!

266 notes - Posted September 28, 2022

#3

I can't believe Payu rocked up to Rains

Talked himself into the house

Got Rain half naked right under his moms nose

Charmed Rains mother over dinner

Made out with Rain in his childhood bedroom right under his moms nose again!

Somehow acquired Rains moms phone number while doing all the above

Called Rains mom to request Rain come over for a booty call!!!!

And got away with it all!

The Balls on this man! Capital B!

361 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

#2

No one: So Slone what were you doing when you found out the Queen had died?

Me: Watching a bratty baby sub getting railed for the first time by his newly acquired Dom. Why, what about you?

430 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Like I love the fact that out of all that has been happening in Kinnporsche there is a big chunk of the fandom obsessed with this guy

850 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[muninnhuginn]

1, 3, 15!!!

Thanks for asking! Asks are from this list. Recent fics I discuss are here and I will not be linking my older stuff

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title]

So, probably my edgiest fic has the edgiest song attached to it in my mental playlist. For 'puppet(eer)', I'd say Control - Halsey. I'd quote particular lyrics, but aside from the first two paragraphs it all fits so well I'm not sure what I'd even pick out

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Definitely one of my more recent fic. I've kinda hidden away most of my older stuff ngl. I think I'm torn between 'liminal' and 'landlady'. I spent the longest on the former so I think it's the most polished (even if I can see some specific aspects I didn't manage to iron out in retrospect). But at the same time, 'landlady' was something I'd had in the back of my mind for a while, because I feel like my view on the Qiao Ling-Cheng Xiaoshi relationship may not fully align with the widely agreed fanon? So I'm glad I finally managed to make myself write that and actually put it out there

My thoughts were kinda, yes, they may act like siblings, but (donghua-wise, not seen the LA) would they call themselves that? We know Qiao Ling tried to bridge the gap with Tianxi by specifically comparing relationships with brothers. By saying that what Tianchen is to Tianxi, that's what Cheng Xiaoshi is to her. We know when she first met Lu Guang she vetted him from the perspective of someone claiming Cheng Xiaoshi as her own. But then from Cheng Xiaoshi's end, if he has to refer to her as a specific role it's always the "landlady" or something along those lines. It's an interesting distance that he adds, simplifying her role in his life to "someone he owes money to" despite them clearly being closer than that. And you can speculate as to why that may be (and how strongly his parental abandonment issues/some sense of filial piety play into it) but either way, it's a disconnect between them both. So it was fun to explore that grey area a bit.

I started off the fic with the dialogue about QL seeing CXS as her brother but him just seeing her as the landlady and then expanded from there so it's like... one of Qiao Ling's traits is her particular brand of denial. Her preferring not to address difficult situations until she's forced to and instead just channeling her efforts elsewhere. So, could she have just let this disconnect stand because she doesn't want to impose, even as it's hurting her? Because she recognises that it's tough for Cheng Xiaoshi and she'd rather prioritise that over her own wellbeing? She kept quiet on seeing Doudou for years and let that guilt swallow her, even altering her uni path as a result. So it seems conceivable to me that she'd not speak up over any discomfort she may or may not have over how Cheng Xiaoshi thinks of her.

Meanwhile (and tbf I didn't really write this into the fic itself but if I'd have added more I probably would have done) you have Cheng Xiaoshi protecting himself in a way by enforcing this distance. If Qiao Ling isn't his family then he doesn't have to worry if he's betraying his "own" family by accepting her. His whole deal is based on this schrödingers parents scenario where he doesn't want them *dead* because they're his parents, but if they're alive, then as everyone around him says (other than ql) then they must have abandoned him. So he wants to believe there's something stopping them from returning but that they would return if they could. However, it's been years. What are the chances?

So you get cxs distancing to protect himself and catching ql in the crossfire who is unwilling to remove herself from the firing line because by doing that she'd adding to the crowd who say his parents must be dead/have abandoned him (regardless of her own views on the topic she doesn't want to push cxs away). And most of the time, she doesn't think about it. It's out of sight out of mind. But "most" of the time is far from "all" of the time

Anyway yeah, as you can probably tell, the fic I find easiest to write are those where I can try to almost write meta on canon and then try to fold a fic around it

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

I don't really have a process honestly. I don't bother at all with chapter titles but I do try to figure out some meaning I'm happy with for overall fic titles. One of my old fic used lyrics for the title. My newer ones have tended to be one word, but that's not really something I've aimed for.

'puppet(eer)' is obviously going for the 'is ltc the puppeteer as he tries to portray or himself the puppet'. Then 'eve' had a few different meanings (the eve of lg's final dive, the eve of cxs's parents leaving, etc). 'liminal' was trying to almost sum up the vibe I was going for in the fic. The idea that ql only got to see lg as she did because it was that off-kilter time of night where things don't quite feel real. And 'landlady' is self-explanatory. It could also have been called 'sister' but that felt a bit too much like digging the knife in somehow

[dragonwlw]

Working to make it work

This is a sad world, ladies and gentlemen. I've read a book. Romance, yes. I almost didn't read it. It was not that badly written and it even had some aspects I enjoyed, I just didn't like the main character. She was, well, just not what I'd expect a grown up woman to be. But I also admit that she had a sense of humour I liked, and I was intrigued by the story enough to read it whole. I do not wish to name the book. In short, a woman and a man met, fell madly in love, and then started to discover that they didn't know much (or anything at all) about one another and that what they learned was not what they expected or wanted or liked... However, they decided that they were still in love and wanted to make it work. A bit of denial here and a bit of compromising there. All good? Of course not. Not at all. But they did make it work, yes, eventually. (Surprise, I know, totally.) For me, not the best book, not the worst, I'll probably forget it soon, it didn't change my life and I also don't regret reading it. Readable. Fun (mostly). What made me write about it is what I read when I added it to my list of read books. I discovered that many people were kind of disappointed (perfectly acceptable), that many people disliked the main character(s) (I can relate to that), and - well, that many people disliked the book because she and he wanted their relationship to work, because they didn't give up. Hm. Of all the flaws I think the woman and the man had, this was one thing I admired. Not the denial part - I could understand it, I just didn't like it. The part where they decided that their love is strong enough to overcome their differences, the part where they decided they want to be together even when more things worked against them than with them, the part where they build bridges instead of walls - that was what I liked. It may not be very common. Maybe that's the reason. We give up. I'm no different. I gave up. I might have my reasons or excuses (depending on your point of view), but the whys only change understanding, not the result. I gave up. As many of us do. Do I believe we must suffer in relationships? That we must take whatever is thrown at us? That no matter what, we must stay together? No, not at all. Never. Once again it's about balance, the grey area, the line between giving too much and too little. I simply think it's a sad world in which characters (or people) are disliked because they want their relationship to work. Because they refuse to give up. Because they stay together even when "they are so not meant for each other". It's a sad sad world...

Read the full article

[beauty-and-passion]

A (not so) brief post about my favourite Sanders Sides ships

It all started with this ask:

I just wanted to write a short answer, I swear. Just a short answer with a tiny little explanation about why I like these ships in particular.

But then I got a bit carried away, my explanations became longer and so here I am, writing a full post.

One small clarification before starting: ships don’t have a place in my analyses. If I talk about connections between Sides, these connections are always in terms of friendships, cooperation or familial relationships. The romantic aspect is something different and I may joke about it sometimes, but it’s just a joke.

There is a time and space for romantic relationships - and it looks like that time has come. 

______________________________

Janus and Patton

I've always liked the canonical ship, in (almost) every fandom. So of course I like the canonical ship of this fandom as well :P

Jokes aside, this ship is incredibly mature, very interesting and terribly hard to talk about. The nature of these two characters, their roles and the episodes that had them involved proved how these two speak the same language, work in the same field and, ultimately, need each other.

* More similar that we think

If we look at them on a superficial level, Janus and Patton are completely opposites: one is cynical and cold, the other is a ball of sunshine. One is dark and suave, the other is goofy and bright. Janus' moral is "step on others and only care about yourself", Patton's moral is "help others because they are more important than you".

These differences became clearer over time, the more we learned about Janus and compared him with Patton. However, along these differences, some similarities started to emerge. Some qualities.

Janus and Patton want what's good for Thomas. They are humble enough to recognize their mistakes (the latest example was POF). They have a strong empathy. They’re kind. They’re mature adults (even if Patton doesn’t show it too often). And they both love and use puns.

But that’s not all. Along with these qualities, we found out that these two have similar flaws: they are both liars. They are incredibly persuasive to the point of manipulation. They have a huge influence over the mind (and the other Sides). They both deal with denial.

And this isn't just important, but it's a fundamental point for their character growth. Why? Because if they have similar flaws, if they are both liars and manipulators, then they cannot deceive each other.

And this is HUGE, especially for Patton! By his own admission, Patton lied multiple times, especially about his feelings (the Nostalgia episodes) and his thoughts (the most recent wedding/callback saga).

He always got away with it, because he was lying to other Sides and Thomas. But what would the point be, to lie to the literal embodiment of lies? Janus already knows what of his words are lies and what not, so it would be absolutely useless to do it.

Therefore, if Patton cannot lie to Janus, he cannot pretend everything is alright when it's not or hide his thoughts on a certain topic. He cannot shift the attention somewhere else or let a conversation drop. That means Patton cannot avoid confrontation about his thoughts/feelings and oh boy if he really needs to talk about them - especially with someone mature like Janus.

And yes, having someone who is able to see past your lies means being a lot vulnerable... but also a lot freerer. With Janus, Patton won’t have to pretend to be the strongest one: he can allow himself to be weak and confused, because if he doesn’t have an answer or if the weight of decisions is too much to carry, he has Janus with whom he can share it.

* A foundation of mutual respect

This point has never been fully addressed, but it was very well implied by their words/behaviours since Janus’ first appearance.

The first proof we have is CLBG: after Deceit revealed himself and disappeared, all the Sides and Thomas went through various degrees of shock, frustration and anger. Patton, on the other hand, was the only one who showed a pretty calm demeanor.

He should've been the angriest, considering that Janus took HIS place and pretended to be HIM the whole time. And yet, not only Patton didn't show any resentment, but he didn't talk bad about Janus (even if he had all the reasons to) and he even justified the other Side’s actions to Thomas:

[Patton]: Kiddo, simply put, Deceit is an inner coach that acts with the one intention of self-preservation.

Patton could’ve said anything, to make Janus appear as the worst. And his words could've had a lot of influence on Thomas, considering they were coming from his heart.

However, Patton didn't say anything too bad about Janus - not even in the following episodes.

Then we reach POF: Patton's monologue about his morals went so dramatically bad, he turned into a giant frog with abs and Janus had to sweep in to save Thomas.

In that moment, he could've said ANYTHING to make Patton appear as the worst Side ever. He had his chance on a silver plate: Patton was wrong, he had been wrong the whole time, he was literally ready to fight Thomas.

And yet, Janus took Patton's defense:

[Deceit]: He didn't mislead you on purpose, Thomas. I don't think the little guy... or... the big frog is capable of that sort of thing.

In addition to that, let’s consider Janus' whole attitude towards Patton in SvS: he basically spent an entire episode trying to make Patton understand his point.

[Deceit]: You can defend him all you like... But you can't change the facts. Is Thomas an innocent little lamb? Let's let them be the judge of that.

Why did he insist so much on this? Why not tricking Patton like he did with Roman or ignoring him like he did with Logan?

Because Janus knows how important Patton's role is and his whole behaviour shows respect towards the other Side. Unlike the others, who tend to diminish/forget Patton’s importance, Janus never did and always tried to reach him in the most honest, difficult way: through dialogue and confrontation.

And when he failed, instead of disregarding Patton’s importance, he just kept trying again, until his message finally reached the other Side.

* The perfect working partner

POF proved Patton can't bear the weight of the decision-making process all by himself. He needs another Side who can help him and Janus perfectly fills this role.

But why Janus? Why not Logan? Logan is a very mature Side, he can deal with a lot of stress, he's extremely organized and knows a lot. Surely he can help Patton with the decision-making process, right?

Not exactly. For his own admission, morals and ethics are not Logan's area of expertise (as it should be: logic can’t be influenced by what’s considered “good” or “bad”: logic is neutral). Secondly, Logic isn't an emotional-driven Side: logic is way less affected by emotions than other Sides - especially compared to Patton, who is the embodiment of emotions.

What Patton needs is a mature Side with a grey mentality, humble enough to respect him/not diminish his role, from his same area of expertise and enough emotional-driven to connect with him on an emotional/empathetic level.

And Janus is the only one who fills all those points. Even the latter, as we saw in the last part of POF:

[Patton]: Janus... Do you think there's a limit... on how many times someone can say sorry... before you have to admit... that they're just bad for you? [Janus]: Oh, definitely not. I'd love for someone to ruin Thomas' entire life one apology at a time. [Patton]: Okay. [Janus]: (After seeing Patton's reaction)The reality is that... it depends.

Janus' answer changed, the moment he realized Patton didn't get his sarcasm, by switching from ironic to honest. This is the kind of emotional connection Patton needs, something that doesn’t require words, but a small gesture that says more than a thousand words (yes, I’m also talking about that gaze and the small nod in the end card).

If we add to all of that the detail that Janus can nullify Patton's excuses and see past his lies, we have the perfect partner to help him grow up.

But this cooperation isn’t just one-sided: Janus needs Patton just as much as Patton needs him.

Why? First of all, to have a seat at the table. After years hiding, Janus can finally talk to Thomas, introduce his cynical mentality, make Thomas a little more selfish and help him grow up.

Secondly, by cooperating with Patton, Janus will become a better Side: he will learn to compromise, to work together and, most importantly, to trust Patton. And this is a particularly important point because, as I said in my analysis of POF, Janus isn’t used to trust others and he doesn’t want them to see past his barriers. Working with Patton might be exactly what he needs to trust the other Sides and lower these barriers, even a tiny bit.

* The romantic possibility

Considering all of the above points, the idea that their cooperation could evolve into something romantic-driven isn't so strange. The elements are all here, there's nothing weird to add nor need to bend canon, in order to make the ship happen. Their mutual acceptance can easily become need, learning more about each other can easily evolve into desiring each other and friendship could grow into passion.

And, of course, let's not forget marriage. These two can only end up in marriage. I mean, one is a dad, the other is a mom witch, so they are a perfect match XD

My point is: this ship isn't just a “cute couple being cute”. It's about dialogues. Conversations about themselves, their different points of view, their morals, their cooperation, how to help Thomas and the other Sides. It's based on listening to each other, on knowing each other a little more every day. On being silly together, working and failing together, going down and getting up, because there is someone by your side to lend a helping hand.

This is what makes Janus and Patton the most realistic, mature couple. And that's probably why it's so hard to perfectly nail it.

______________________________

Logan and Remus

Here it is, the couple that blew up after one episode and was confirmed in the most recent Aside.

But seriously, these two have a huge potential - first as friends/working partners, then as romantic partners. Logan and Remus need each other and the reasons are pretty clear:

- Having an interlocutor

Remus is Unleashed Creativity, a volcano of ideas in constant need of new stimuli, no matter if they are considered good or bad. After all "good and bad are all made up nonsense", as he said.

Logan is a walking encyclopedia in search of someone who wants to listen to him. He's pure, undiluted knowledge because that's what logic should be. No morals about what's good and what's bad, no emotions, nothing but neutral knowledge.

Considering that, it’s pretty clear these two have to come into contact. But what would they gain?

Well, Remus would have the stimuli he desperately craves. And Logan?

Logan would gain an incredibly smart interlocutor. And I’m not saying it because I am biased towards Remus, but because the canonical episodes showed us how smart he is. In both DWIT and WTIT Remus proved to be a quick thinker, with a sharp intellect and an even sharper eye. He's silly and over the top, but he's not an idiot and he uses everything he has for his own creative needs, no matter how small it is.

Just imagine this cleverness applied to everything Logan might say to him. Remus wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from it, but the whole creative process and, ultimately, Thomas himself, who will have better, richer ideas.

- Gaining a place

At this moment in time (just after WTIT) Remus has not been fully accepted yet. He is tolerated and his presence is a nuisance, but he’s neither wanted, nor banished. He’s just here and he has no voice on any matter.

Also because no one wants to give him a chance to prove how useful and worthy he can be. Thomas barely tolerates him, Patton does his best to ignore him, Roman doesn’t even want to see him and Virgil would rather not have any of the Others present.

The only Core Side who accepts Remus’ presence and is willing to give him a chance is Logan. He spent the entire DWIT to explain why Remus is useful for Thomas and shouldn’t be ignored, while in WTIT, he said: "There will be a time and place for you" - thus implying that, one day, Remus will finally be able to show how worthy he can be.

This is exactly what Remus needs: a Core Side who doesn’t see him as a nuisance or a villain, but as a fundamental part of Thomas that can be helpful, in his own way. Someone willing to give him a seat at the table (at least in the future). And, most importantly, someone who is powerful enough to control him.

Remus is and will always be a force of nature. He will never rest or stop being chaotic. This is why he needs someone strong by his side, someone who can’t be overcomed by his dark thoughts and that can put him back on track if necessary. And Logan proved to be perfect for this role not once, but twice.

- Understanding on a deeper level

However this cooperation won’t be beneficial just for Remus. As I said before, Remus could be a clever interlocutor for Logan. And this cleverness isn’t just related to creativity, but also to emotional understanding.

The Core Sides have known Logan for almost thirty years and yet, they have no idea of the inner turmoil raging inside him. They keep ignoring and dismissing him, clearly thinking everything is fine.

It took Remus one single day to realize what Logan’s problem is, how deeply frustrated he is and how much he’s actually angry at Thomas. Less than 24 hours and Remus knows Logan better than his long time friends.

That’s exactly what Logan needs. Someone sharp enough to notice his behaviour, find out the root of the problem and make Logan face it, instead of dismissing it because who cares (yes, Roman, I am talking about you and your “You'll be fine, Rome didn't fall in a day.”)

- The romantic possibility

I think almost all the fandom agrees that these two would have a great sex life. After all, Remus is the embodiment of Thomas' sexual urges, so he would definitely go for a very physical relationship.

But having a good sex life implies a lot of other great things: good chemistry, no comunication issues, great stability and greater trust. And, even more important, the desire to try new things together. Logan and Remus are both very curious Sides, they both want to know new things and experience them: so their relationship would probably be based on discussing new ideas, testing them and finding out together if they are good or not.

And this doesn't apply to just the sexual aspect: even just the romantic aspect or the working aspect of their relationship could have these characteristics. Logan and Remus can motivate each other, learn from one another and find new things together. They are clever enough to stimulate each other's mind, curious enough to do stuff together to learn something new and honest enough to not withdraw their opinions on any matter.

______________________________

Roman and Virgil

I am just recently starting to warm up to this couple, so I will keep this part short.

Just as it was for the previous two couples, these two can work together because canon made them work. The first part of their whole relationship is already all canonically established: at first Roman saw Virgil as a villain, then he slowly realized he could be a friend. Now moving from friends to lovers isn’t so difficult.

^ No need to demonstrate

Roman needs someone like Virgil, because Virgil is on his same level. Sure, Virgil’s mentality is way more gray-ish, but he still has a lot to learn, just like Roman.

Having someone on his side, who is on his same level is a huge relief: with Virgil, Roman doesn't have to pretend, nor to show off, nor to be dashing and perfect all the time. He knows Virgil won't care less, so he can relax. And for someone who is used to working all the time, having a moment of quiet with someone who has zero espectations is exactly what Roman needs.

Same goes for Virgil: he knows Roman won't care if he's gloomy and dark, because Roman already saw that side of him and appreciates him anyway. So no need to pretend to be different. He can relax too. And, because of his anxious nature, relaxing is exactly what he also needs.

So if they both need to relax, that implies they also need time to do it. And without expectations, without feeling like the other “is better than me and I’m slowing him down”, they can really take all the time they need, to grow at their own pace.

^ Growing together

Virgil and Roman’s is not a one-sided relationship, in which one knows more than the other and helps the other reach his level: since they are on the same level, if one of them learns something new, then it’s a victory for them both, because the other will be motivated to do more/learn more as well.

This isn’t just something I think, but something we saw in canon. During AA-part 2, Roman clearly stated that Virgil “make us... better”, thus implying that Virgil acted as a motivator for him.

Then we had FWSA and here we saw this sentence applied the other way around: Roman was the motivator and, thanks to him, Virgil overcame his own anxiety to push Thomas towards Nico. The final result was a victory for them both: Roman got the romance he’s desperately craving, Virgil found out a new aspect of himself: his bravery.

^ The romantic possibility

These two are a walking “enemies to friends to lovers” trope, so I don’t think there’s anything else to add XD

Only that they would both be quite passionate. One is Thomas’ romantic side, the other is heavily influenced by emotions: if the good one takes Virgil, he would probably be a very passionate partner.

______________________________

Two couples I understand

Janus and Remus -> I understand the appeal of this one and it would kinda make sense, especially from Remus’ point of view. Remus has (probably) sexual fantasies about anything, so I wouldn't be too surprised if he has a whole collection of sexual fantasies about the Side who is closest to him.

But also, I see them too much like father and son/bestest friends to imagine them having a romantic relationship.

So my take is more like that: Remus has sexual fantasies about Janus, just like he has sexual fantasies about anyone. They are his way to show his affection, how much he cares about Janus and wants to protect him.

But Remus is Remus and he's prone to lose control. That's why, since he reached adolescence and started to develop the sexual aspect, Janus put clear limits that give Remus enough space to express his fantasies, but never past a certain point.

So Remus can be very touchy (because, well, he's Remus) and extremely physical in showing his affections, but never go below a certain point. He can talk in full details about all his sexual fantasies to Janus, but never try to sexually force him. He can try to seduce him or propose sexual things, but never pretend he will accept.

And so, over time, it became a sort of internal joke between them: Remus tells his fantasies at the breakfast table, while Janus rolls his eyes with a "very interesting", they have a laugh, they keep going with their day. Remus wants to cuddle, Janus will cuddle. Remus proposes sex, Janus will just laugh and give him a forehead kiss.

In other words, they are the kind of friends who you can find sprawled on a couch, one on top of the other and imagine they're a couple, while that's just how they read a book together.

Logan and Roman -> This couple isn’t bad at all and I really like the idea of these two having a sorta-romantic crush on each other. It can lead to a lot of poetic/romantic possibilities.

The only problem is: Logan is logic, therefore he would destroy all the romance with one sentence XD and the romantic, poetic scene evoked would turn into these two arguing like madmen.

So, well, maybe the hate-sex would be great, but they would definitely spend too much time arguing. Still, I am very curious about it, so I will keep searching for stuff about them.

[misterbartender]

Lady of the Factory [II]

Karl Heisenberg x F Reader

Chapter list here

Warning: (Some nudity and suggestive activity)

-

It was a grey morning. Rain lightly tapped the roof tops of the factory. Little drops freshly adhered the transparent surface of the windows, some clung to the sepia grass. The fog hung low which only meant the skies would clear for the sun to unmask later today. A quiet yawn left Y/N and she smiled sleepily at the lord. It was a rare but a pleasant sight. To find Karl Heisenberg still in bed at seven in the morning, his hat and shades resting on the nightstand. His lips slightly parted with snores passing every rise and fall of his back, asleep with his arms wrapped around the frame of his lover and his head resting on her chest. Her fingers gently began to comb through and play with his silvery strands but careful not to disturb his peaceful state. One would imagine they'd feel like harsh wires but they were soft from the shower he took the previous day. The many sleepless nights had taken a toll on him and it was evident despite his denials.

Karl slowly opened his eyes and a grin curled on his lips. Like pools of greens, and greys with a gold halo surrounding the pupil. "Mmm..mornin'.." he hummed and nestled back in the space between her breasts, his voice still heavy with sleep. "Leaving the cushions for this hm?" She rolled her eyes playfully but welcomed him. "Trust me doll, it's very comfortable.." he murmured. A soft smile graced her lips as she looked down at the mop of grey hair she continued to touch. A soft moan escaped her as he began leaving light nips and kisses against her skin, slowly crawling up to take her lips captive.  Her eyes fluttered shut in bliss. He was eager yet gentle, affectionate and a little playful.  "Karl.." she whispered his name, their foreheads now touching as they slowly parted. Her hands slid up to cup his face, the pad of her thumb brushing against his prickly jaw he refused to shave. But she liked it that way.

He leaned back in to pepper her skin with sleepy kisses, getting sloppier and more heated. It was a tempting invitation she wanted to accept over and over again but there was the elephant in the room. She was reluctant to remind him. "The meeting today..." A soft groan of displeasure escaped his lips at the thought. He just wanted to enjoy the warmth they shared beneath the covers, "The meeting can fucking wait.." Karl grumbled and dropped down to bury his face back in her chest. Strong arms were wrapped around her waist which made it harder to escape- under a different circumstance, Y/N wouldn’t have minded. “Karl..” she patted his head gently and he looked up. "I'll make you coffee, I don't want Miranda to give you hell for being late.." She pecked his cheek and placed his hat on his head before making her way to the kitchen area. He lazily followed behind like a dog following their owner, still in a sleepy haze. Peering over her shoulder, he watched her measure and grind the beans and place the rich brown coffee grounds into the lower half of the metallic pot over the hot water. The moka pot made a low and pleasant gurgling sound on the stovetop. The aroma soon emanated from the lip as steam blew out. The two waited in comfortable silence for their coffee, Karl grabbing two chipped mugs from the cabinet. The lord looked at ease in the privacy of his home. Here there was no Miranda, no 9ft tall ‘sister’ looking down at him, no annoying psycho dolls or a fish freak- it was just the two of them doing domestic things and doing what lovers do. Things that made the lord feel almost human. Y/N poured him a mug and handed the steaming beverage. "Thank you darlin'." He let out a delighted hum when the taste hit his tongue. It was to his liking as always. Glancing at the clock, he huffed and took a swig from his mug, not wanting his coffee to go to waste. He slipped on his usual neutral schemed layers, putting on his coat and shades last. He summoned his makeshift hammer with his gloved hand and the object whipped to him at his command like a magnet. "Now doll.. as much as I hate keeping you locked in here, I don't want you stepping out of the factory grounds while I'm gone." He reminded her, the same reminder he'd give every time he had to leave. "It'll become anyone's game. And the last thing I want is my bitch of a 'sister' to turn you into a glass of her special ‘wine’ or Miranda to find out about you." And Y/N knew what that meant. "I promise Karl." she placed a goodbye kiss on his lips before he tipped his hat and exited through the factory gates.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Come home safe Karl."

He turned on his heel with a soft chuckle, lazily slinging his hammer over his shoulder and began walking to the rendezvous point. She watched the shape of him shrink as he walked further away from the factory until she could see him no more. The factory doors closed and she returned to the workspace where he worked tirelessly. Notes and diagrams of the reactor and the human body scattered, his penmanship varied according to his mood..indicating areas of his expertise and where he grew frustrated. A genius's thought process laid out. But something in particular caught Y/N's eye and she smiled to herself. A copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein left on his desk with a bookmark indicating how far his curiosity and engagement took him (which was surprisingly a good portion.)

"Oh but Victor Frankenstein could not compare.."

[opiatemasses]

Anti-Semitism in British football. The form of racism that has been forgotten

To understand anti-Semitism within British football it is important to understand it’s history and how it became part of football culture and English culture.

History of Anti-Semitism

Poulton described historic anti-Semitism to include allegations against Jewish stereotypes e.g., wealth, power, and holocaust denial. After the Second World War, anti-Semitism became less accepted. However societal and attitudinal changes over time led to people feeling more confident to express their anti-Semitic views. The rise of far-right groups like the National Front in the 1970s can explain how anti-Semitism found it’s way into British football. The constant and excessive criticism of Israel was also a factor leading to an increase in anti-Semitism in the UK and the World.

Even though our focus here is on anti-Semitism in British football, it’s important to recognise that it is a problem in all of society not just sport. A survey found 45% of UK adults hold anti-Semitic views, on several different occasions MP’s and highly powerful political people have been suspended and sacked due to anti-Semitism, and anti-Semitic hate crimes are increasing year on year.

Anti-Semitism in British football – Tottenham Hotspur

The video (00:00-07:07) highlights just how often a blind eye is turned to anti-Semitism in football as the number of guests and club representatives that were asked to come onto the panel or to provide information, but decline, is staggering.

Tottenham Hotspur became a self-identified “Jewish club” due to the large number of Jewish immigrants who came to England during and after the second world war lived near the stadium. White Hart Lane and now the new Tottenham Hotspur Stadium are situated close to one of London’s largest orthodox Jewish communities, resulting in a large Jewish fan base. For the next 30-40 years Tottenham became very important for the working class Jews as they were not accepted in society and seen as “the others” but Tottenham brought them all together.

Anti-Semitism grew in English football as did hooliganism in the 1970s and friendly chats became more and more aggressive and anti-Semitic. Tottenham fans, Jewish or not, started calling themselves ‘Yids’, making it part of their identity. It is a grey area whether saying ‘Yid’ is acceptable or not. The video above from Kick it Out and The FA believe that ‘Yid’ shouldn’t be said at all and is deemed racist. I don’t believe it to be racist for Tottenham fans to be self-identifying themselves as ‘Yids’ however, when rival fans use it as hate speech or as an insult, I believe that to be racist. Others, such at former Prime Minister David Cameron, have argued that there is a difference between a Tottenham fan and a rival fan using the word ‘Yid’, “Hate speech should prosecuted - but only when its motivated by hate”.

Examples of anti-Semitism in British football

Examples of anti-Semitism in English football are not hard to find, a quick google search will provide several different examples of anti-Semitism in English football. And as a Jewish Arsenal fan myself, who regularly attends games, I can say that anti-Semitism is prevalent and particularly bad during the North London derby against Tottenham Hotspur.

Welsh goalkeeper, Wayne Hennessy, was allegedly photographed doing the Nazi Salute back in 2019. The FA decided not to charge him, and he wasn’t found guilty. However, I question how robust the investigation was as part of Wayne’s defence was that he didn’t even know what the Nazi salute was.

Back in 2016 Henry Winter, the Times’ chief football writer, contacted the FA regarding statistics about anti-Semitism. The FA responded claiming that there has been a decrease in anti-Semitism in English football. However, that contradicts the findings from the charity Kick it Out that showed an increase in anti-Semitic reports in English football. Is this an example of institutional racism?

Underrepresentation of professional Jewish football players

How many Jewish players have been capped by the England senior team?

A. 0

B. 3

C. 5

  Unbelievably, the correct answer is A. Zero. A Jewish player has never been capped by the senior England team.

A different way to look at anti-Semitism in British football is by looking at how well Jewish players are represented. There is a clear under representation of Jewish players in English football to the extent that from my research, I can only find 1 British Jewish player currently in the English leagues. This is very surprising as the 250,000 British Jewish population are twice as likely to be football fans than members of the general public.

However, under representation of Jewish players in English football may not be linked to anti-Semitism. By percentage, it is very unlikely there will be many British Jews that make it professional.

Do you think the under representation of Jewish players in professional English Football is an example of anti-Semitism in the UK or do you not think it’s related to religion?

What is being done about it?

The FA and many Premier League clubs have adopted the International Remembrance Alliance’s working definition of anti-Semitism. This is a universal definition of what anti-Semitism is and aims to make anti-Semitism easier to see. Is this enough though? I mean, it will help people like Wayne Hennessy who claimed to not know what the Nazi salute is, but will it really have a significant positive impact? Is this just an example of sportwashing as these clubs and organisations just want good PR? If they really cared about anti-Semitism, wouldn’t they try to do more to prevent it?

Chelsea FC are leading the way in campaigns against anti-Semitism with their “Say no to Antisemitism” campaign. They claim to be the first club to have an anti-Semitic campaign. When you look at their website you can’t help but think this is again an example of greenwashing as they seem to focus more on the awards they’re winning with this campaign rather than the actual impact of it. Why, in 2018, were Chelsea the first team to ever have an anti-Semitic campaign? Why haven’t other football clubs followed and created campaigns of their own since?

It makes it very hard to reduce anti-Semitism in British sport when there are reports of football’s main sporting bodies, the Premier League, the FA, and FIFA all turning their backs to discrimination in football.

What can you do as the reader?

Don’t be afraid to call out any form of racism if you see it and don’t be a bystander. Campaign against anti-Semitism have created a great guide if you have witnessed or are a victim of anti-Semitism.

Contact your sports clubs and put pressure on them to make anti-Semitism campaigns.

Educate yourself and others further of what anti-Semitism is and what it looks like.

https://www.holocaustremembrance.com

https://antisemitism.org

https://www.kickitout.org

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79FTA1FMRDc (The full sky sports video on anti-Semitism in sport)

Please feel free to share and comment on this blog with the answer to any questions I asked or with any opinions and thoughts you may have.

N0886590

References

Poulton. (2016). Towards understanding: antisemitism and the contested uses and meanings of 'Yid' in English football. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 39(11), 1981–2001. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2016.1140791

Poulton. (2020). Tackling antisemitism within English football: a critical analysis of policies and campaigns using a multiple streams approach. International Journal of Sport Policy and Politics, 12(1), 25-47.  

https://doi.org/10.1080/19406940.2019.1673789

[shadowqnights]

woah this chapter got a little heated and even then it feels like we're just getting started with Garroth just now openly admitting he likes and wants it. i wouldn't even say he's really in denial anymore just really resistant although i think a part of him wants to be back in denial of it because he's in some grey area between denial and acceptance.

heated chapters are my favourites :)

ahha yes he's definitely in a 'complicated' stage of his uhhh journey yes

[pesewla]

aight since this is a loaded question i’ll try to organize my thoughts haha... 

will they interact more?

YES, ABSOLUTELY. i have reasons too. several. buckle up

1. we still don’t know why tyki looks like nea.

ofc, this is more of a joyd/nea interaction than a tyki/allen interaction, but i also think learning the answer to this will be crucial for both tyki and allen understanding their noahs, their past, and each other better…

2. tyki and allen are highly paralleled characters.

heck, they first meet each other while both cheating at cards for basically the same reason - for their friends (allen to get krory’s clothing back, and tyki for the fun of it but also because his human friends need money to survive).

their main motive is emotion, not logic. tyki’s noah is driven by the need for pleasure, which he finds through killing and destroying, and tyki’s human side is driven by his love for eze and his human friends. and essentially all of allen’s actions are driven by his residual love and respect for mana. he restores his innocence purely to resume killing and freeing akuma, which he feels so much pity and sadness for because of his experience with mana. allen goes to the black order only because cross (who had ties to mana) ordered him to, not out of his own free will.

both of them recently experienced events that upheaved their allegiances and bonds. for allen, he was betrayed and basically left for dead by the order. for tyki, he’s just beginning to understand how little he knows about the noah’s past and goals; after meeting nea, he expressed a fervent desire to learn more about him, even if that’ll shift his whole world paradigm.

they both struggle with their light and dark sides. the only difference is that tyki finds joy in having both; allen is kind of in denial of his noah still, but he also expressed a desire to learn more about nea after the third exorcist incident.

so all of these parallels lead me to believe that, like other aspects of their character, learning the “truth” should come at the same time for them.

3. literally whenever tyki and allen interact in canon it sets off an unstoppable chain reaction of character development…

for tyki, his inability to get rid of allen led to tyki hardening his (questionable) ideals and putting more deep thought into his actions beyond just killing “for the fun of it”. tyki never thought about innocence at all before allen, which road points out in the ark. dealing with allen seriously forced tyki to consider why he was doing what he was doing, not just how it felt in the moment. even if he doesn’t change his ideals, putting more thought into his actions is kind of the first step towards autonomy & not just blindly listening to joyd.

for allen, tyki is actually pushing him towards a balance between light and dark. this was first hinted at when allen and tyki’s fight in the ark led allen to procuring the white sword from his arm. the white sword resembles nea’s sword, which he used to massacre the noah, but the difference is that allen doesn’t want to kill tyki. crown clown balances between the desires of nea (absolute massacre) and allen (who simply wants to go back to playing cards and peacetime). later on, tyki is the one who encourages allen to figure out just “what” he is, rather than trying to decide between his noah and innocence all at once. seriously, it’s so obvious that tyki is trying to help allen…

4. tyki has expressed in multiple ways that he’s looking forward to seeing how allen deals with his noah.

i doubt he’ll give up on that.

5. no other characters share the same experience as the two of them.

neither of them really understand their noahs, and they usually do so in tandem.

i mean tyki has been present in all stages of allen’s transition into a noah - first in the ark where he becomes the Musician, then in the alma arc where nea awakens, and then when he’s forced to leave the order…etc. so i think it’s likely he’ll continue to play a large part in how the chips fall there

the reason why there are several fics about allen being raised as a noah is because it is plausible. both allen and tyki are people that struggle against their nature and fate, and literally one of the only things separating them is how they were raised. so, they’ll continue to propel each other through their plot and character developments…

what will eventually happen between the two of them?

okay i’m not going to be overly optimistic here.

allen, for the most part, still sees tyki as an enemy or a threat. allen wants to spare tyki and for tyki to live, but that’s only because allen has witnessed his humanity - in other words, he thinks tyki’s noah is bad and tyki’s human side is good.

i think the main part of their development from here will hinge on allen changing the way he sees noah in general, not just tyki. it’s overwhelmingly clear that allen’s perception, and by extension the audience’s perception, of noah is skewed. we don’t have the full information on them, but i imagine they have motives outside of the “destruction and chaos” one-track mindset that was pinned on them in the beginning. most likely relating to the pillar.

it’s very likely that allen and tyki will, more or less simultaneously, learn the truth about nea and the “third side” of the war. allen will be forced to do so since he’s nea’s host, but tyki will most likely seek out the information, as he declared that he would. in this, both allen and tyki will be pushed more toward a “grey” area - coming from allen’s initial white “goodness” and tyki’s initial black “badness”. i have hope that allen and tyki will learn about these facts together. that would be pretty fitting.

as allen learns more about the third side of the war, he’ll be more accepting of tyki and see him more as an equal or, at the very least, another victim of the holy war.

tyki already basically considers allen a comrade or is willing to - even though he was ordered by the earl to protect allen, i don’t think he was faking the shouts of concern as allen took on apo lol. but as TYKI learns more about the third side of the war, he’ll likely stop pressing allen to give up innocence and decide “what” he is. i imagine he’ll sympathize even more with allen, even if joyd still hates him for being nea’s host…

what are your hopes for them?

okay now here’s my chance to be optimistic.

i really really want tyki and allen to have a conversation as equals. their interactions frustrate me so much - tyki has so much respect and admiration for allen but he’s always so coy! and allen, like i said previously, was only able to cooperate with tyki when he was emotionally panicked. otherwise, his “I’M AN EXORCIST” button flicks on and he’s forced to act tsundere.

please, please hoshino let them play another game of poker, just laughing and having fun. i want to see tyki humbled. i’ve been thinking this ever since their dialogue when fighting in the ark.

i want tyki to get mad at nea for possessing allen. i KNOW he’s thinking it. i want that “give the boy back” moment so badly.

i hope that someday they can talk about tyki destroying allen’s innocence. i don’t really think allen’s hurt about it anymore, especially since it was a key factor in his growth as an exorcist, but i wish there was like… some stage of forgiveness or repentance. not that tyki is capable of that, but hey.

other people have definitely said this - idk where the post is but i love that one - but having a meal together like tyki wanted??? that would be so symbolic and AH\

anyways i know this was pretty lengthy but i just think tyki and allen are excellent characters and their similarities and differences speak volumes in terms of the overall good&bad message of dgm. always too long winded. with loves

[intothestrawberryjar]

Day 17: Cry

I know I said I wanted to write fluff for Lucas, but I couldn’t help myself. I swear the next one will be all fluffy and happy!

Word Count: 2498

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504304

Warnings: Light References to Intimacy

It’s dark where he is. There’s no light, no sound, save for the steps he can hear off in the distance. He can feel the tightness of the straps around his wrists, can feel the burning of the needles stabbed into his arms. He’s been here before. He doesn’t want to be here again. 

The steps are getting louder, closer. He can now make out a bag, filled with blood. Not his blood. No, his blood wouldn’t burn in his veins like this. This is something else entirely.

Even louder now. He can’t tell where the steps are coming from. He knows who’s coming. They’ve come before, even after they were supposed to be locked up in a cage. He’s straining now, trying to get out of his restraints. He did it before, he can do it again.

Except he can’t. And he can’t stop the steps from getting louder. Can’t stop the figure approaching him, one he’s familiar with. 

Ethan Murphy.

The vampire steps closer to him, a predator’s smile on his face. Even with how woozy Lucas feels, he knows that look. A look of victory.

“Well well well, look who’s up. You still haven’t died, a resounding success for my experiment. Yet, although I’ve proven your body can handle the toils of what I have planned for you, I don’t know if your mind can.” His voice rings out in this empty, desolate place. 

Murphy’s hand drifts over to the tools, Lucas is now aware of, to the right. Surgical appliances, different sizes and shapes of scalpels and scissors. 

“You know Murphy, I don’t think cutting me open is exactly in line with your end goal. Can’t use a battery with no juice, you know?” Lucas is hoping his words can distract Murphy, buy him some time. It worked last time.

“Ah, nice to see you have some brains in that head of yours. Might be useful in the future.” Again, that sick smile.

“You are correct, Lucas. Hurting you when you’ve been most amenable to this experiment is quite nonsensical. Which is why these tools aren’t for you.”

A flick of a switch he can’t see. Five spotlights, bright and glaring, turn on. Beneath the lights are five tables, similar to the one he is on. 

“No.” The word is a whispered gasp at best.

Nat, Farrah, Morgan, Ava and he realizes with horror, his mother, are strapped to the five tables.

Murphy smirks at his reaction, walking over to the five tables.

“As you can see dear Detective, I have gathered some people that are important to you, and that are a threat to me. Our future together would be in great peril if any of these individuals were left alive. Especially this one.” His hand lingers on Morgan’s table for a few seconds, before he comes back to Lucas.

“Murphy, please don’t do this, I’ll do anything you want, take all of my blood if you have to, just please don’t hurt them!”   

Murphy picks up a large scalpel , examining it, testing its sharpness against the pad of his finger.

“As a detective, I’m sure you are aware of the five stages of grief. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and eventually Acceptance. So do not worry Detective. One day, you will thank me for what I’ve done here.”

But Lucas hasn’t been listening to him, not really. His eyes are on his friends, willing them, begging them to break out of their restraints. He’s seen them move much heavier things before. Morgan even carried him once. But they don’t. They just keep staring at Lucas with what he realizes is fear.

For some of them, it’s a new expression Lucas has never seen them wear before. 

Get up, get my mom out of here and go. Please get up.

But they just lie there. Staring at them with that fear in their eyes. As if they expect him to save them. But he can’t. He doesn’t have their strength. All he can do is watch.

“Murphy, please! You don’t need to do this!” He’s crying now, the tears running hot over his face.

“Actually Lucas, I think I do.” He’s walking over to the five tables, slowly. He’s savoring the moment, enjoying every moment of agony he’s putting Lucas through.

“Guys, you have to get out of here, just forget about me, what matters is that you all get out and stop this creep!” But the only response Lucas gets is that same fearful stare. 

“Enjoy the show, Detective.”

Lucas wasn’t strong enough to beat him. He wasn’t able to save his friends, or his own mother. He couldn’t break out of captivity himself. He couldn’t stop the thralls. Couldn’t stop Murphy from rampaging through his town, and killing two innocent people. 

And as Murphy smiles at him once more, he can’t stop that scalpel from swinging down, down, down.

In the Detective’s bedroom, early in the morning

Lucas gasps, taking short, shallow breaths. He looks around, seeing the light blue hues of his bedroom walls, putting him at ease. 

It was just a dream. We took Murphy down, he’s somewhere far away, locked in a cage. He can’t hurt them. I won’t let him hurt them.

Morgan wasn’t here, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. She never stayed the night. Although, having the comfort of a whatever she was to him would be nice. Thankfully, Lucas has another solution. Rummaging around in the desk next to his bed, he pulls out a classic mp3 player. Old sure, but on his small town detective (and liaison for supernatural agency) budget, it’s the best he can really afford. Besides, there’s a small comfort that no matter the many changes in his life over the past few months, this blue mp3 player is still there.

He scrolls to the playlist he threw together after the first nightmare happened. A list of overly happy pop music, the kind that always reminded Lucas of Farrah. He smiles at the thought, plugs in his headphones, and lays back on the bed. 

A few minutes earlier, outside the detective’s building

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Morgan leans against a tree outside Lucas’s apartment building, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. She didn’t really know why she was smoking it. More of a habit at this point than anything. It’s nice out here, with no other company than the sound of Lucas’s pulse ringing in her ears. She was planning on heading back to the warehouse right away when she left Lucas’s apartment, but the cigarette was right there. Why not?

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Morgan’s lips curl into a smirk, as she imagines what the detective is thinking of to make his heartbeat go this fast. She’s heard it like this before, and usually it was because of her. Not that Lucas couldn’t do the same to her. With him switching between brazen flirtation, and earnest emotion, it sometimes was hard for Morgan to keep her head on straight. Those were the moments those strange feelings came up in her gut, until she brushed them away to think about later. Although, that later had never arrived. Morgan shakes her head, not wanting the strange thoughts to ruin this quiet moment. Those had been in short supply lately.

Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump.

The smile has quickly turned into a frown. She’s never made Lucas that nervous. She should stick around for a few moments, because she doesn’t exactly feel like getting her ass kicked by Ava for letting the detective get hurt. That’s why she waits, with what she realizes are nerves kicking up in her stomach, to make sure Lucas is safe so she can leave. The only possible reason.

Suddenly, Lucas is gasping, each labored breath dragging nails across her senses. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s running, no, sprinting, towards the lobby, running up the stairs, not even caring if anyone sees her at this point. All she knows is that Lucas needs help. Now.

Back in Lucas’s room

Lucas glances up at the banging near the front of his apartment. Before he knows what’s happening, his bedroom door is kicked open, and on the other side stands Morgan. 

He takes one of his earbuds out, leaving it by his side.  rushes in, glancing around, examining his room for any threats. Her hair hangs loose around her face, and her hands are clenched into fists, ready to attack. The piercing gaze of her steel grey eyes lands on his face, and she seems to notice something.

“You’re… crying.”

He reaches a hand up to his cheek, feeling a small trail where tears had obviously been.

“Oh yeah, I guess I was. Don’t worry about it, it was just a nightmare. You know, being kidnapped by a vampire and then experimented on really sticks with you.”

“You were having a nightmare about Murphy?”

He sighs, looking down at the ground, rubbing his neck.

“Yeah.”

His hand comes down from his neck, and even though he’s not looking at her, he can feel her gaze on the spot his hand left. Right where Murphy tore into him. Slowly, she starts stepping towards him, until she’s right in front of him. She sits down on his bed, and leans over. Softly, without even speaking she brushes her fingers right over the scar. Even after a few months, the area is still slightly sensitive, and he shivers slightly

Then, a surprise. Morgan wraps her arms around him, and he leans into her, letting the warmth of her body seep into him, like a comforting blanket. He can feel her fingers gliding down his back and over his side, until they grasp around the earbud dangling beside him. She takes it into her own ear, and grimaces.

“Your taste is shit.”

Lucas smiles at that, leans even closer into her. He’s hesitant to break this quiet moment, filled with emotions Morgan has never voiced out loud to him. But she doesn’t have to. It’s in the way her fingers run up and down his sides, the way she softly presses a kiss right where the scar remains. How even though he knows how much she must hate it, she hasn’t taken the earbud out. So, even though he aches to tell her how much this means to him, how much he feels about her, how great she is, he doesn’t. He lets Morgan tell him these things, in her own quiet way, whether she means to or not.

A few hours later, in the detective’s kitchen.

Morgan taps her finger against the kitchen counter, annoyed at just how long he’s taking to wake up. She felt Lucas being dragged into sleep as he lay against her shoulder. And even though that hug felt so damn good, even though she didn’t want to, she let go of him, and put him in bed. 

She still felt his warmth, it had spread everywhere even after she had let go. It nagged at her, staying at the corner of her mind, but it wasn’t her focus right now. She had questions for Lucas, and she wanted answers.

Suddenly, she can hear his alarm clock beeping, and out of his room steps a groggy looking Lucas Langford. 

“Morning, handsome.” He blinks in surprise, taking a few moments to recenter himself.

“You’re still here?” Lucas inquired.

“Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all, sunshine, I’m just a little surprised.”

Lucas walks towards the kitchen where she’s sitting and opens a cabinet. He takes out a cereal box, and a bowl, and begins pouring. Morgan grimaces.

“No milk?”

“Since when have you been interested in human food?”

“I’m not, but… it even smells dry.” Morgan cringes at sugary cereal’s scent. “Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack? There’s enough sugar in there to kill a horse.”

Lucas folds his arms and leans against the counter with a smile on his face, before stretching out and yawning. Morgan gives herself a moment to admire him in all his glory. Even with his clear lack of sleep, he’s still extremely attractive, and her eyes… wander about. She’s about to let out a risque comment, one that’s sure to get his blood pumping, when she remembers why she waited around for him.

“How long have you been having these nightmares?”

Lucas glances about before sighing. “Pretty much ever since it happened. It’s always after he gave me the blood transfusion, and I’ll be on that table for a while. Then, he comes and gives the  bad guy speech about our future together. After that, he shows me the newest addition to his collection.”

“What collection?”

Lucas huffs, and Morgan doesn’t fail to notice yet again tears poking out of the corners of his eyes. She’s so close to walking over to him, to brushing those tears away. But something stops her, and keeps her in place.

“Every time I have these nightmares, he’ll have another person I care about strapped to a table. He shows me them, and right before I wake up, I get to see him hurt them. It only lasts for a second, but for that one second I get to see the look of pain and shock on their face. And it’s always directed towards me. Because I can’t save them. At first it was you and the rest of the team that he took.” Lucas glances off to the side, takes a deep, shuddering breath. “But this time, he had my mom, too.”

“I listen to the music afterwards. It helps, sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t. Depends on how long it lasts, what kind of day I had before. So, yeah, that’s what last night was about. Thank you for-mmmmh!” 

Morgan’s already moved to him, engulfing him in a kiss, pulling him as close as she can. She doesn’t know why she’s doing it, she just knows she needs to. She’s hurt him before, in the past, before she knew he was dealing with all this bullshit. She just wants him to know she’s there. It’s the best comfort she can provide.

Before either of them are ready, she pulls away. There’s so much unspoken between, words that are forming on Morgan’s tongue, but won’t come out of her mouth. She settles for a quick “See you later, handsome.” before hurrying away, back to the warehouse. There’s a pack of cigarettes with her name on it. 

Back at Lucas’s apartment.

Lucas watches Morgan hurry away, confused as always by her quick retreat from a tender moment. That kiss certainly made him feel better, as all thoughts of Murphy are quickly swept away by the thought of Morgan’s lips on his. It makes Lucas smile, as he goes about readying himself for the day ahead. And he gets excited, as he begins to formulate a plan for just how he can “repay” Morgan for her generosity.

[kaetastic]

YOUR EMPTY WORDS

pairing: Deceased!Regulus Black X Reader

summary: Regulus passing had left Y/N with creeping memories. Despite her attempts to warn his mess of an older brother, she had failed. Finally, her dead lover’s brother had met her once again.

word count: 3.2k+

warning: angst, mention of death, tears, denial, grief

note: NOT MY BEST WORK. Sorry, I haven’t been posting lately, I just finished my exams and though I read- my writing wasn’t that active. I’ve been feeling so empty with a hole inside of me, I feel like something’s wrong but I don’t know. Anyways, enjoy and take care 💕💓

A muffled force on the front door vibrated through the petite house. The faint fragrance of her freshly batch of sticky dough filled the air, a low hum produced by the oven as it heated the contents, a melody created by the ticking of the small timer that rested firmly onto the heating glass; the familiar smell coated her heart with joy as a short play of her past previewed itself in her head. The gluey lump connected her fingers like frail bridges that were pulled down as if a heavyweight stepped onto it. Her eyes glossed away from the counter that had been sprinkled over with flour, scattering as it prevents the ability for the dough to stick itself onto the area.

Nudging her head to peek below the overhead cabinets through the set of the wooden counter, shadows of feet blocked the sunlight as it plays a light show. The window had been closed with a curtain. That is how she liked it. It was no use if she had poked her head to take a quick glimpse of those who stood in front of the house for it was blocked by a tall-standing hedge. She cursed at her frequent memory loss of forgetting to remove it. How she always thought of doing it, to only end up not doing said-removing.  

“Just a minute!” She yelled out, frantically shaking her wrists over the sink, drips and strands plopped away to slam itself onto the walls of the vessel as it screamed a splatter. With a soft rinse, the leftover grease glazed her fingertips; nothing the apron couldn’t handle. The hurried wipes on the covered fabric left drag of her wet hands left a mark, like tracks of tires on a sludge of snow.

Shuffles of feet dragged across the vigorously clean floor with no left visible speck of dust, hard work clearly pays off. She cleared her throat, muttering short syllables words under her breath- wincing when it sounded too high. It was not often for her to have visitors nor guests, due to her detachment from society. She wore a widened smile, displaying her twinkling teeth. It lost. Corners of her lips quirked down like wilted flowers; pent up anger sipped through her. The discontent she had managed to stuff in a box jumped out as if the lock had cut open. The grip on the handle tightened at the face she wished she hadn’t met. The resemblance between him and his brother was too similar, she hated it. How dare he? Bringing up his face anytime he wanted. She gritted her teeth as her nostrils flared red, the prominent veins pulsed in her neck.

“I see you’ve taken the liberty and pack up all your chivalry to finally talk to me. What a delight isn’t it? Well, it was nice to see you,” Her hands flicked to slam the door shut with no hesitation, as if she had planned this a long time ago. Slight pride in her ignited at her wise choice. The only sound that echoed through the house was those emitted from the kitchen, the whooshes from the passing vehicles and the silence that placed itself between the trio and her. Not the sweet sound of the door meets the frame. Pent up rage prodded itself, if she was alone- with her own emotions, she could’ve fallen down on her knees and begged. Begged for the return of her fallen lover. However, it was accompanied. Sorrow didn’t come alone for it walked side by side with anger. The feeling she had to face all by herself to overcome the darkness that cowered over her.

In the corner of her eyes, she noticed another pair of heads that stood behind him. But the redness painted the background of Sirius. Maybe, just maybe- if he had come sooner, or if he was there to reassure of the loss of someone from both of their lives, she wouldn’t be so pressed or uptight about the situation. The sight of him sickened her. Narrowed eyes, she tried to ignore the poking words that desperately wanted to fall off her tongue. It took her a master to accept silence while her endless days of sleep as voices spoke to her, it had no mercy. The world had no mercy.

The tension between the two was so prominent, the passersby would glance at the woman who had her hair flared up with raging fire. The ball of aura that surrounded the pair waved thundering electricity. Even the youngest who wore round glasses pointed it out. He looked so familiar. But she couldn’t lay her finger on it. “What are you doing?” She stressed out every syllable, the grip she held on the door could’ve formed a dent, possibly cracked it in half if he managed to push her to the edge. Glancing at his foot that sat in between the frame and the door, preventing her ability to make a quick escape; a scowl formed on her lips.

Sirius’s untamed and wild hair matched well with his personality, crazy and on the verge of being labelled as a psychopath, or what the wizarding world has already named him as, a murderer. Or it was due to the fact it was windy. Nonetheless, she was sick of him. The brother of the man she loved had never bothered to check with her during the days all she wanted to do was let go. It was selfish for her to say that someone should’ve visited her regularly. But she had no one left.

Disappointment and frustration laced the air; a twinkle of content glittered in the space between them, “Please, hear me out Y/N.” She scoffed, she couldn’t help but be amused by his stubbornness and determination. As if she would do so. Arms crossed, she quirked an eyebrow at the wizard.

“What is there you could possibly say? Hm?” The papers of his face splattered on every wizarding walls she has walked by was being sharpened; ready to slither his throat. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be in Azkaban? Where you belong?” Sirius could not help but feel the drumming of his veins, a frail crack formed over his heart, that was emptied out by the hellhole he was forced to live in. Leaving nothing but blood pulsing out and all the joy he felt dumped out, sucked in by the grey creatures. Mouth gaped open, he was ready to speak out, to defend himself when someone had done so before he had the chance.

“Wormtail- Peter, I mean, was the one who killed those muggles, not Sirius.” With his string chord of a voice, he sliced the tension. Remus sent him a reassuring smile when he whipped his head back to face his long-life friend, his nearly only existing one. Harry glanced at the adults who stood in front of him with confusion stroked in his eyes, wondering with killing curiosity that terribly suffocated him.

Sirius cleared his throat to face the person he desired to sit with and talk about the thing that has been bugging him ever since. He couldn’t help but notice the glimpse of those who walked past, judging their choice of outfits for the sunny yet windy day, “Please Y/N, I beg of you. Let us in and we can talk.”

His voice irritated her. If she had to compare it to a sound, it would be like the screeching of fingers scratching a blackboard. Ever since Hogwarts, his voice was of nothing but whining, “Sirius is still considered as a vigilante, please?” If only the little kid wasn’t present, she would’ve slammed the door.

With a huff, she plopped herself onto the couch, the seat groaned at the abrupt addition of weight. Arms crossed with her back leaned onto the couch, her eyes narrowed towards the uninvited guests. She wouldn’t be in this situation if she would’ve just shut the door onto his face, just like he did with hers… and Regulus’. Although the unstable walls shivered, she had to be reasonable. Because that was how she had to cope with her farewell of her only lover.

  An ear-pitching screech from the timer rung through their ears but Y/N seemed unfazed, not flinching a muscle. The youngest of the group glanced at the open kitchen, towards the, what he hoped would be the silence breaker. As if she could feel the annoyance that twitched in him, she raised an open hand in the air- twirling her fingers without turning back to even glance at what she was doing. Harry stared in awe. The sight of floating utensils flew from one side of the kitchen to the other, some moved around, clashing with the metal sink before soft rinsing of water washed the dirty tools. ‘Magic is brilliant’ thought Harry. Even though being a wizard himself, he couldn’t help but feel his heart rise with light amusement. Harry watched as the door of the oven opened ajar- a tray pulled out, littered on it were treats and baked goods worth salivating for.

The still Hogwarts’ student flinched as a tray made its way to rest on the coffee table that separated the group. Somehow wary if she would poison him, Sirius reluctantly leaned forward to grab one of the filled glass. His sips laced with the sounds that echoed out of the kitchen as if someone was actually partaking in working in the kitchen.

   Remus couldn’t help it. He had already scanned the room. He hoped no one saw. He wasn’t nosy, just curious; he liked to call it as so. It felt like home. It was her home. There were marks that seemed sentimental or lovable. Cabinets with glass as a transparent material allowed the displayed items to show itself, a twinkling gold ball glittered into his eyes, Remus winced at the abrupt beam. She was never part of Quidditch. He remembered he had seen her sit on the field many times when teams were participating, he had never saw her on a broom. So he jumped to the right conclusion, it wasn’t hers.  

The throb of his heart was something he couldn’t ignore when his eyes landed on a framed photo of a grinning couple, who seemed to be the happiest on the world… as if nothing was against them.

  “So? Speak.” She knew she was being harsh, she knew she should’ve controlled the slash of her tongue. But if someone was to avoid you for years, when all you wanted was to sit with them- to converse with one another. To set a base, a foundation, she wasn’t at fault if she said her frustration got the worse of her. Sirius nodded, he cleared his throat as his mind formed the words he desperately wanted to speak out.

“Well, first off, I- uh, wanted to say sorry..,” A scoff fell of her lips at his words. That felt empty and worthless at such time. His eyes twitched, worry angered in his chest. Not wanting to misunderstand him, he did not hesitate to continue his words. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you- when my brother left. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I was a mindless idiot!”

“I’m sure you still are.” Sirius ignored her comment.

“I was selfish… for two years you tried to talk to me, but all I did was ignore you.” His head fell down as his shoulders hunched in disappointment, forehead resting on his palm, massaging his temples in an attempt to eradicate the stinging tension.

A slight tinge of satisfaction grew in her chest when she heard the words she had been hoping for, dreaming of. The whole time she thought it would be over, the closure to her story, it wasn’t. It did not feel like the end of a chapter, it wasn’t her closure. There were too many words caught in her heart, all stuffing the chambers which bled., “How about your brother?”

Sirius snapped up to face her, confusion laced his eyes, the windows to the soul they say- if it was true, all anyone would be able to see were the joy memories he had, taken away by the monsters that walk on the floors of the prison, “Huh?”

The corners of her lips quivered at the thought of having a murderer sitting in her house, “Have you ever thought about him? His death? Have you ever mourned for his fall? You haven’t!” Remus was quick to shoot up to try his best to hold her down, his heart ached when she trembled, sobbing her tears that she had been familiar with ever since.

Although he had to maintain as the emotionally stabled one, the years he spent in Azkaban felt forever, it got him, “I have! He is my brother!” He couldn’t help but feel accused on as a finger was pointed at him. It was like the past all over again.

“You chose your friends over him!” It was true, ever since Sirius had been kicked out of the Blacks family- she had never seen him try to talk to his younger brother. The only time they conversed was the day after Sirius ran away to the Potter’s, she could still feel the silence had echoed through the great hall. It was merely a short one. But other than that, they were like strangers; who once had been so close, where the lingered strings were snipped off, the only connection that held frail between them.

Sirius had his own pride too, he was exhausted of being the one to blame ever since the accusation of the murders, without a thought, he yelled back with no attempt to cower the anger away, “He chose the dark side! How about you? You’ve walked willy nilly across the school, stuck to him! Surely you’ve too!”

Remus snapped his head to his friend, who panted with popped out veins, jaw clenched with crashed eyebrows. The body he held in his arms twitched, if it wasn’t for him- she would have crashed down and slumped onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. Her body goes limp. She tried to find comfort in it. The tremble in her voice flipped the cards of hearts upside down, “He was 18, and we were engaged. Where were you?”

His mouth fell to falter open at the overwhelming words that had summarized everything. The sentence that he had formed in his head now diminished at lost. Where was he?

“While you partied away from the house… he left. And though I tried to talk to you… it seemed like all the love you had for your little brother, didn’t even exist,” Silence now covered the house, no sound made by the kitchen as a heart ached. “Yes he chose the wrong side, but he did something you will never be able to, Sirius,”

Harry rested his gaze on her, “He was a man of his own words.” The two figures who were present understood none for only the two did. It finally struck him after realizing what she was going on about, Sirius’s eyes widened with sorrow, at the promise he had made with his little brother. Like a swirl of memory, hurricanes of grey twirled to his past, ‘Sirius! When we grow up… could you be my best man?’ The lightness that was familiar to his chest rose. ‘Of course Regulus.’

His face dulled, dragged down with no reflection in his eyes. ‘It used to be so simple.’ Ear pricking honks from the road echoed through the cracks of the house. No one spoke. The student finally raised his voice, still unsure if it was the right time to speak out for the reason they had paid her a visit, “We came to ask you… if you could help us with this…”

Time stopped. The pulse of transportation in her veins halted when they couldn’t believe what was truly left to display for her. Her lips met each other in confusion, but a sense of shock sent through her spine as her fingers brushed over the scrunched up piece of paper. The creases that were harshly folded seemed neat but the valleys between each quarter formed a river. River of her tears at the familiar handwriting. Her loud sobs filled the hurried air, quick to rest beside her was Remus who was ready to embrace her, softening her fall to the couch.

She thought the pain was over even if his belongings rested on her walls. She thought if she had a mutual understanding with the farewell. Who could’ve thought the sight of his writing stroke a heartstring?

“Of course I’ve seen him, I’ve seen him in front of me… I remember it like it was yesterday, cold and empty. In his presence, all I could call him was ‘My Lord’, words I wished I had never spoken.” The mumbles that fell of her lips were only audible if you say right next to her, the reason why Harry was glancing at the two men with confusion. He stroke them beams of signals, hoping they would get it and pass the message on. However, they never really bothered as they were so focused on her story.

“Did you… get the mark?” Y/N’s head looked up with slight reluctant, unsure if she should tell the story.

“I didn’t… he did. We had a fight and we stopped talking for a while, but, we always found each other after every petty thing,” She wore a faint smile that glinted with joy at the past memory, his face had been painted on the walls of her mind; she was afraid he would be nothing but a vivid dream. So she thinks about him often. “You-Know-Who didn’t mark me as he knew of my value. I had nothing, even though I came from a pureblood family,”

Harry met her gaze, “I had no one. When Regulus left, I had no one. I was alone,” The corners of her lips twitched at the tug of her heart. “He was so young when he left,” Her eyes fazed to the piece of paper between the student’s fingers. “He- he told me of his plans… but now, it’s just hazy. I don’t remember anything,”

Disappointment engulfed her heart as their eyes lit up with hope, glinted with content if they were able to get their next goal, diminished into pouts. “I’m sorry, I was of no help.” 

Harry’s eyes softened onto her fingers which would not stop but caress itself, her anxiety was exuding and prominent, “Thank you, for sharing your side of the story,” Remus grinned, hoping it wasn’t seemed force, it would be the last thing he would want her to assume. His fingers clasped her shoulder, reassuring her. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to owl me.”

Although she had lost, she had gone through the harsh levels of grief, denial and the depression that cowered over her- leaving her numb and empty; her vessel dumped with bouncing emotions, she had no one to talk about it to. No one. But now, she did. If she lingered the emptiness and the anger she held against Sirius- she would have to live with it. She wanted it no more. Y/N deserved happiness.

[slonekaru]

You know I've seen a few posts on Porsche bring Pete to the bar so Vegas can speak to him. How this was the wrong thing to do, or how he's fallen into the moral grey area of being in the mafia as he is only thinking about himself and getting the info he wants from Vegas, but not thinking or caring about Petes' feelings/mental state.

But you know what, I'm going to give this one to Porsche. No doubt some people will disagree but I honestly thought Porsche added 2 plus 2 and actually got 4. And lets face it that is a miracle in itself with this series unless your name is Tankhun!

Why do I feel this way when others don't?

Porsche knows Pete's been with the minor family, despite Pete's denial. He also knows Vegas penchant for torture, that there is the first connection. He knows Vegas did this to Pete since Pete has turned up in the state he has.

And the way I read it he was watching Pete struggle with his emotions in that bathtub and recoginsed something in them. Because it wasn't that long ago Porsche was struggling with his own emotions when they were waring inside of him about the fact Kinn had sexually assaulted him when he was drugged vs the fact he was actually attracted to Kinn and did want something to happen, he just wasn't ready.

Also Porsche is completely familiar with Vegas's tactics by now, he knows Vegas uses emotional and sexual manipulation. Porsche was on the receiving end of that and he got a first-hand look at the outcome of it via Tawan. So it's not far-fetched that he makes connection 2, something emotional/sexual happened between Vegas and Pete.

How did him and Kinn move forward? Well, they talked it out. Sure they had to be handcuffed together and go trapsing through the woods, but that is how he settled his emotions and it wouldn't surprise me that in his mind Pete needs the same thing.

Cue a call between him and Vegas and Vegas 'requesting' to see Pete. Because that is the phrasing he used as Porsche was walking away from Vegas in the back alley of Hum, he had a request.

Porsche could have easily not brought Pete, he could have easily stuck to Petes' side and not allowed Vegas a chance to get near him. But as he said it was down to Vegas from there. And Pete is still a bodyguard and capable of defending himself (after all he was carrying and pulled the gun on Vegas).

Maybe Porsche decided this was the time for Pete to get that opportunity in a safe environment, where he could walk away if he didn't want to talk and it is away from the rest of the main family where Pete is trying to hide what happened to him.

And let's face it Porsche was right because Pete needed a genuine apology from Vegas, which he got. It's then up to him if he wants to accept.

So in summary it seemed like Porsche was hella perceptive and understanding of Petes' feelings. He actually cared a lot about helping Pete and is just worried about his friend.

[tarithenurse]

The good Villain - 8

Based on the prompt “You’re the villain and you know that you just want the ‘good guys’ to understand why”

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader Content: Mission with all it entails: violence, killing, gore, angst. We also have a bit of fluff going on at some point though it’s paired with a neat scoop of denial. And much more! A/N: Busy day today! Gonna attend a wedding that’s been 20 years in the waiting or so, and it’s Superbowl night which is always fun…though it’s more for the company for me. Thanks for all the loving, reblogs, and likes!

Chapter 8

…   Reader   …

He was everywhere you went. Not just the meetings where you and the Avengers put your heads together in an effort to intensify the search for the last Leech but also when you were going to the kitchen or even at night, Loki would either already be there or appear shortly after. One day Romanoff showed you the gym with all its equipment begging to be used and it took less than an hour before the Asgardian revealed the library, telling you how you could normally find him there.

At first you suspected he was guarding you due to lack of trust. You may not have been a prisoner anymore, there was no cell at least, but you were still a stranger disrupting the natural balance in a group vital to this planet. As time passed, however, and you spent time on scouting missions and at the team’s base it became evident that his reasoning was personal.

This theory was solidified the day Banner announced to have found a potential suspect.

Together with Stark and Romanoff, he had created a series of algorithms scouring the digital records of Terrans within a certain area to compare medical data, and social media, plus changes in their behavioural patterns. The metal-armed Barnes and his friend with the shield had left to verify the suspicion before you were notified.

All you could do was wait. The moment they returned, you confronted them.

…

“Another restless night?” Loki’s voice is a clear chime calling you back to reality gently.

Swinging down from the bar to land on the floor, you shake your limbs out after the exercises without worthying him an answer. Just go. Of course, he does not leave, choosing instead to draw nearer.

Plopping onto a bench along the wall, you feel the restlessness return as an itch in your legs and a chest full of knots of worry. Tomorrow. You have stopped counting the time spent hunting the monsters that killed your crew – your friends – a long time ago. One goal. One all-consuming mission culminating with a plan that you have gotten approved by the Captain. Tomorrow. By this time tomorrow, your hunt will be over. I should be relieved, but I am not.

As if reading your mind, Loki nudges you gently back to the present. “Do not worry, my pet.” He sits down next to you, calm and cool. “Everything will go well…the plan is good.”

“I know.” Being near to him soothes your nerves if only a little.

“Then you can clear your name, live your life.” There is an edge to his voice which you cannot place. “Regain your honour.”

“No.” You can see the answer startles him. “I will return, but not to clear my name.”

“You are innocent! You may have escaped prison, but you got justice fo-“

“Justice?” You barely contain the sarcastic laughter as you round on him. “Do not pretend to think this ever was about justice or honour! It was revenge and nothing more! The leeches are simply a species doing what they must whereas I was the one who brought my crew in danger…th- hrm…the one who brought their end upon them.” Ignoring his protests, you carry on, unable to stop despite a breaking voice now you have started talking. “I shall return home…face the Elders and accept my punishment with peace in my heart.” Fists balled and body shaking, restlessness has morphed through anger into determination.

“You’ve nothing to atone for!” he cries out, a cold hand grasping yours and sending (not unpleasant) shivers along your spine, “y- ‘tis time for you to live.”

“That is not your decision…and why do you even care?”

From what you have learned about the smooth-talking God of Mischief, the sight of him sitting there with his mouth ajar yet nothing to say is rare. A soft blush paints the pale face even as he gathers his wits once more. “At least stay for the celebration. The uh they always mark a successful completion of a mission with a party.”

You hesitate, knowing that it will only be postponing the inevitable. Still, a little chip of your heart is urging you to accept the offer. One night of freedom. Looking down, you realize his hand has not moved but that at some point you have returned the gesture by wrapping your fingers around his. Oh. Gingerly, perhaps not to appear rude, you free yourself from the connection and start to leave.

“…[Y/N]…?”

Why do I hesitate? Maybe the question is unnecessary if only you would accept a new feeling inside your chest. “Fine, I will participate in the revels.”

 …   Loki   …

It is a dreary morning with grey clouds hanging low over the city, shielding it from the beginning day at least until the sun eventually would gain enough power to evaporate the layer. For now, however, it also served as a natural softener of all sounds as the mismatch tea of Midgardians, Asgardians, and a Betan move towards the house in the suburbs.

The entrance is swift and quiet. In groups of two or three, they move from room to room. Loki is among those covering the ground floor and it allows him to see the father of the family rounding on Barnes who only keeps a safe distance between them thanks to a strong hold with the metal arm. By the Norns! What they had expected to be a docile civilian opens his mouth further than humanly possible to reveal a black nothingness where teeth and tongue should have been. A strange sound of air being sucked picks up for a second before a shimmering metal rod flies past Barnes’ face and into the gaping mouth, effectively killing the not-so-human man.

“What…the fuck?!” Barnes’ is clearly shaken as he stares at the corpse.

Everyone else is looking to [Y/N] who steps over to retrieve her weapon.

“Leech.” She wipes off the blood on the dead’s pants with a sigh. “Once the soul is completely gone the feeding Leech can choose to either let the corpse die naturally…or they can multiply by inserting a shard of themselves.”

“So…the others?” Rogers might both be referring to the former victims of the Leeches as well as the rest of the family.

“Doubt it,” [Y/N] shrugs, “does not seem to be possible several times in a row…”

There is a soft sound over the com in Loki’s ear and he knows everyone on the team hears it too when Natasha speaks. “Eyes on kids and mother upstairs, left off the stairs.”

“On my way,” the Betan responds before continuing to the three males around her, “get this one on there.” She motions to the couch.

Rather than helping them, Loki hurries after [Y/N].

Upstairs, the sight is differently gruesome with three Avengers’ weapons trained on a girl of maybe six years and her mother who is cradling a baby in her arms – a clearly lifeless child though the woman does not seem to have noticed neither that nor the intruders. In fact, only the little girl appears to be aware of anything. Blond curls, rosy cheeks, dead eyes staring at the strangers.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Stark groans, “it’s the kid?”

“Of course…no one mistrusts a youngling. They can get close enough to feed.” The hollow voice of the Betan does nothing to resolve the tension, and it is possible to see Barton’s bow tremble.

Stark simply powers down the weapons imbedded in the suit’s gloves. “I…I can’t do it.”

“Go downstairs,” Natasha offers, “you too, Clint.”

…

Grim faces on everyone. Gathered in the living room, they have placed the entire family in the couch – three of them with lethal wounds as proof of the closest thing to mercy the Betan could grant. Now she is rummaging through the kitchen while the others try to come to terms with what has happened. Words unspoken, yet most of the Avengers clearly shaken.

“Let’s get outta here,” Stark croaks, “clean-up’s coming to deal with…this.” The half-hearted wave of his hand encompasses the entire situation.

The Betan returns with several bottles of flammable liquids and all the paper around. “No rush…”

She barely gets time to open the cleaning alcohol before the remedies are snatched from her by the Captain. “Not this time.”

“We have to.”

“I said no.”

“But in a mo-“

“No!”

Ignoring the order, [Y/N] tries to bypass him only to be shoved backwards into Loki’s arms that instinctively wrap around her. “Not this time, pet, let them do this the Midgardian way.”

Suddenly, he has to fight to hold her back as a panicked anger takes over her mind. Curses and warnings become garbled as she screams out the frustrations, and the rage only subsides once Loki has managed to drag her outside though the woman does not relax. Eyes trained on the door. Body taught and shivering against his chest.

“It’s okay, pet,” he soothes, “it’s over. You can let go of it.”

“Not yet…not over yet…”

As if to prove her right a gun goes off inside. Once. Twice. Moments later smoke begins to billow, herding out Thor, Stark, Clint, Rogers, Romanoff, and Barnes.

“The…the father…” the metal-suited man explains, “he…woke up? He started moving…”

Flames are licking against the windows now and it is possible to feel the heat already. Finally, with a deep sigh, [Y/N] relaxes against the Asgardian’s chest, allowing the years of stress to be replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion.

She is asleep in his embrace by the time they return.

[slashthedice]

Michael in the dbd universe with reader who gets flirted with please.

Oof this one took all day because I went a little overboard. This is straight up smut and I will not apologize for writing it in public. Obviously NSFW >;3

You had thought nothing of it, just Ace being Ace. He liked to flirt. It wasn’t anything serious. Unfortunately, nobody had bothered to tell Michael that. Unbeknownst to you, your fate was sealed the moment your fellow survivor touched your arm in a way that was just a little too friendly.

You didn’t see the silent shape stalking you or the way his grip tightened on his favored weapon. When you ventured just a little too far from the orange glow of the campfire, he materialized from the shadows behind you. Like a viper sinking its fangs into its wayward prey, a large hand shot out to cover your mouth and drag you backwards into the darkness. You struggled until you realized it was Michael. When you saw the cold fury in his eyes, you felt a spike of fear, but also that dangerous curiosity that curled in the back of your mind and prodded at the darkest parts of your imagination.

That curiosity had gotten you killed in any number of brutal ways in trials, curiosity killed the cat and all that. You were just thankful that here in the Entity’s realm, you had more than nine lives. Your curiosity had also led you to seek Michael outside of trials in the first place, so you couldn’t fault it too much.

Your musings distracted you long enough for Michael to haul your unresisting form deep between the trees where no one would find you and he could have you all to himself for as long as he wished. And have you he would, again and again until you couldn’t possibly forget exactly who you belonged to. You were his and his alone, and it seemed you were in need of a carnal reminder.

You yelped when he forced your back up against a tree with the weight of his body pressed to yours. He loomed over you, the white of his mask revealing nothing, but the eyes behind it revealing everything. You trembled beneath their intensity, licking your lips nervously. You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Your hands were on his chest, attempting to create some distance so that you could better look at him. He wasn’t having it.

He took both of your wrists in one of his hands and brought them above your head. A loud thunk drew your attention upwards, and you found that your arms were now trapped in their position above you by the knife driven through your shirt sleeves and into the thick trunk of the tree. You tugged experimentally against your improvised restraint and ascertained that you were well and truly stuck.

Michael’s now empty hands were free to traverse you unobstructed. He trailed them over your soft hair to drag the tips of his fingers across your face, lingering at your parted lips and chin for a fraction of a second before continuing on. He stopped at your neck, revelling in the fluttering of your pulse. It beat like a little bird and would have been just as easy to crush. His fingers overlapped as he wrapped his broad hands around the column of your throat., heat coursing through him when he felt your heart rate increase and your breathing become stuttered and shaky. Your fear was intoxicating, sweet on his tongue. He tightened his grasp, constricting until you were gasping uselessly.

If you had had use of your hands, you would have been clawing at his hold on your airway. You struggled against both your pinned sleeves and the immovable hardness of his body to no avail. Your vision swam and darkened. You could hear nothing but the rushing of your blood in your ears. Just when you thought it was all too much and you were going to fall into the beckoning arms of unconsciousness, his hands fell away and he stepped back from you.

You felt Michael’s eyes on you as you gasped and choked on the lungfuls of air you sucked in, still lightheaded and weak. When you could finally see clearly, you looked up at him. You tried to appear unimpressed and unafraid, but most of all you tried to hide the eagerness you felt. His hands around your neck always led to one of two things, and he couldn’t kill you outside of trials.

All at once he surged back towards you, taking your expression to indicate defiance. You swallowed thickly, expecting to be choked again, but then gaped when instead his fingers dug into your hips. You watched with wide eyes as he slowly dropped to his knees before you with more grace than someone of his stature had any business possessing. It always astonished you that an action that would normally seem so submissive could feel so predatory when performed by him.

His cold fingers found the clasp of your jeans, slowly undoing the button and lowering the zipper, all while making sure you watched him work. He proceeded to yank both the denim material and the soft fabric of your underwear down your legs. The chilled air against the heated flesh of your sex was a strange but welcome sensation. Michael tossed your clothes carelessly to the side, still maintaining eye contact.

You watched with rapt attention as his hands came up towards his head, fingers curling under the edge of the mask. Your breath caught in your throat as he peeled the visage away at a torturously slow pace. You had long ago accepted that you would never see the man behind the mask, come to terms with the fact that for all intents and purposes the mask was his face. Yet here he was, kneeling before you and removing what had become such an integral part of his identity.

For a moment, all you could see was dark curls. He hunched over the mask in his hands, thumbs brushing across the white rubber surface reverently. He set it aside with a gentleness you had not seen from him before and slowly raised his lowered head, revealing his face to you.

He was younger than you expected, younger than his build and strength suggested. He had smooth, boyish features that were near angelic in their perfection with the exception of the long, thin scar that marred the area between his left eyebrow and cheekbone, clouding his eye to a dulled, milky grey. You wanted to touch the smooth line of his jaw and the softness of his lips. He monitored your reaction, you were unsure of what he was looking for and his expression betrayed nothing.

He bent forward to lean his cheek against your bare thigh, you closed your eyes to soak in the feeling of his skin against yours only for them to fly open at the same time a pained yelp was ripped from your throat. You leaned as far forward as you could to look at the man kneeling at your feet, his face as blank as the mask laying a few feet away. A reddened circle bloomed around the impressions of his teeth where he had bit your thigh, not hard enough to break skin but certainly hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes followed his mouth as he turned his face so that he could press open-mouthed kisses to the area around the bite mark. He sucked bruises into the unmarked skin, leaving a trail leading inwards towards the apex of your now quivering thighs. When he reached his destination, he paused. He spread your legs with his hands and his hot breath fanned out across your near dripping cunt. For an agonizing handful of seconds, he merely observed you, taking full advantage of his front row seat to your arousal. You thought you would go insane if he didn’t do something soon. Your whole body felt like it was on fire and he had barely touched you.

You keened when he finally buried his face between your thighs and licked a slow stripe from your entrance up to your aching clit. His short nails dug into the backs of your thighs, leaving crescents that beaded with blood. The pain combined deviously with the overwhelming feeling of his tongue circling your clit in a way that left you a panting, moaning mess of wanton pleasure. You tried to buck your hips towards him, to force his tongue harder against you, but his grip on your legs held you firmly in place.

Even without the added preasure, you were unbearably close. You looked down at him with half-lidded eyes, face and neck flushed bright red and lips parted to allow your heavy breaths to cloud in the cold nighttime air. He opened his eyes to watch you through his thick eyelashes. That alone almost sent you tumbling over the edge. You could feel the flames of pure ecstasy licking across your body, emanating from the heat settled into your core.

When Michael pulled away you nearly sobbed.

“No… Please, Michael! I’m so close! Please! Please!”

Your begging fell upon indifferent ears. He simply sat back and watched as you attempted to plead with him. That dangerous pink tongue of his darted out to lick your fluids from his lips in a lazy swipe, savoring the taste of you that was made all the sweeter by his denial of your release.

You gasped when he leaned back in, revealing your excitement, only for him to turn away from the place you so desperately wanted him. You whined as the pleasure withered and died. His lips and teeth found your other thigh. He left a trail of bitemarks and hickeys to match those on your opposite leg.

You were too enthralled by his mouth to notice that one of his hands hand left you. He looked back up at your face at the same time he pressed one long finger into you. You sucked in a breath and bit down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. The copper tang of it filled your mouth. For someone whose expression had not changed once since he had removed his mask, he looked awfully pleased with himself.

A strangled sound managed to escape your now blood filled mouth. He stretched you with the single digit until he could fit a second alongside it. He curled his fingers and there was no hiding the moans that bubbled up from your chest. He pressed his thumb to your already sensitive clit and you cried his name like a prayer. Your swollen sex and velvety walls were dripping with need as his nimble fingers worked you into a frenzied haze of babbled pleas and chants consisting solely of Michael, Michael, Michael…

Your arms ached, still pinned firmly above your head, but you would have been willing to hold the whole world on your shoulders if Michael would just let you finish. That ledge you had been more than willing to swan dive over just a few minutes prior was rapidly approaching once more. You wanted to beg him for mercy, to cry out for him to quench the burning flame that was overwhelming you, but you couldn’t coerce your mouth into forming around the words. All you could do was thrash your head and attempt to grind down on the fingers that filled you so well.

Just as before, however, when he felt your walls clench and heard your heightened moans, he withdrew.

This time you really did sob. Heated saltwater rolled down your reddened cheeks and dripped from your chin. You struggled weakly against your own clothes, trying to free your arms so that you could touch yourself and finally relieve that unbearable ache that had settled itself between your legs and into your core. You pressed your legs together to alleviate some of the pressure there, but found that it only made things worse.

Michael held his fingers up to his face, observing the way that your slick coated them. He stood then, and you were reminded once more of how much bigger he was than you as you craned your neck to look up at him. He brought the hand he had been fixated on up to your face, placing the two fingers that were covered in your fluids against your bottom lip. You obeyed his silent directive and opened your mouth. He pressed in, dragging his fingertips across your tongue and forcing you to taste yourself. You closed your lips around the intruding digits and sucked lightly, tongue teasing against him.

His other hand snapped upwards to your hip, dragging your lower half away from the tree. You gasped at the sudden movement and he pulled his fingers from you. He took a handful of your hair and tugged your head to the side, granting himself access to your neck. He latched onto that perfect meeting point between your jaw and throat where he could feel your hammering pulse against his lips and tongue while he marked you with his mouth.

Michael ground the heated length of his clothed erection against your soaked lower lips. With a bruising grip, he hiked one of your legs up over his hip to make more room for himself between your thighs. He growled into your throat and his teeth dragged threateningly against your jugular, you couldn’t smother the whimper it caused. The whole thing felt feral and raw.

You had never been more turned on in your life.

You swore that you had died and gone to heaven when you finally heard the sound of a zipper being undone. He shrugged out of the sleeves of his coveralls before pulling his black t-shirt over his head and depositing it on the ground beside his mask. There was no hiding the look in his eyes or the dusting of red across his face and neck as he freed himself from the blue fabric. His own need was hot and heavy against your heavily marked thigh, you shivered at the proximity to your weeping cunt.

The hand in your hair released its hold on you to wrap around the handle of the knife. He ripped the blade from the tree, subsequently letting it fall from his grasp to tumble to the ground. He gave you no time to celebrate the freedom of your arms before he was lifting you off the ground and wrapping your other leg around his waist. He was done with games and he was done with waiting, filling you in one harsh stroke of of his hips and leaving you with no choice but to cling to the hardened planes of his body as he quickly settled into a brutal pace.

The snap of his hips against yours was hard and punishing but you were beyond caring. You could feel the heat of his bare chest even through your shirt and bra as he pounded into you. He pulled sounds from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of making. You were oversensitive from all the edging he had put you through and his cock filled you so perfectly.

You dragged your nails down his back and nearly missed the slight tremor it caused, but couldn’t possibly have missed the increased intensity of his thrusts. He brought one arm up to lean against the bark of the tree to steady the both of you while he renewed his assault on your throat, seemingly on a campaign to decorate it entirely in hickeys. You sang his praises in a litany consisting of garbled, indecipherable moans and shrieks of his name. Again, and again, and again, witnessed only by the pale moonlight that filtered through the dead and dying leaves of the forest canopy.

For the third time that night, you felt the tightening in your core, the knot there so close to snapping. When you could no longer control the clenching of your walls around his cock, you thought for sure Michael would pull out of you and leave you to suffer the loss of your orgasm. When he continued the pistoning of his hips without sign of stopping, relief swept through you, and hot on its heels was that final flood of pleasure as the cord inside you snapped. The intensity of it was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and you howled as it filled you.

Michael grunted and bit down on your shoulder as he tumbled over that edge after you. He had made it his mission to mark you in any way possible, that apparently included your insides as well. You were completely filled with him, further evidence that you belonged to him.

You still didn’t know what had gotten Michael so worked up, but you hoped you could make it happen again soon.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 15: The House on Prytania Street

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The gang heads to Prytania Street to meet with the last power left untouched in New Orleans; the Garden District Coven. Taylor starts to experience the side effects of being a fae halfling.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The sun’s heat is blistering on the back of his neck.

It feels unnatural in a way; conducting their business with the darker side of the world in the daylight. They’ve been running between the worlds that exist between sunset and sunrise for so long that he almost forgot what the sun even looks like.

He likes looking at the moon. But looking at the sun? Ouch.

Still it feels strange not to have Cadence’s towering presence hovering somewhere at his back. Looking over at Katherine — he can’t imagine what it must feel like to her.

“Hey — nope, eyes here.”

Taylor winces at the backhand to his arm but Ryder definitely isn’t in the mood. He’s been tense ever since they left the hospital with a time and place to address the Garden Coven. Like he didn’t know that was the plan, or something.

“I’m listening,” promises Taylor. But listening for Nik at that very moment requires eyes as well as ears.

“Really? Then what’d I just say?”

He blames his hesitation on the fact its taking forever for the coffee to hit his nervous system. Looks to Cal beside him for some kind of help but the werewolf gives him a look of you’re on your own.

“Uh —”

“Right, thought so.”

“I get the gist, Nik. Don’t be rude, don’t make eye contact, probably best just not to open my mouth.”

Cal snorts. “Actually that’s scarily close to verbatim.”

“Did I ask you?” snarks Ryder, but the bait remains abandoned in the cracks on the sidewalk.

The Upper Garden District is like most wealthy neighborhoods; nice to look at for a time but not much for entertainment value without a place to actually go. And sure Taylor has entertained the thought of owning one of the many million-dollar mansions lined with black iron gates and enough bedrooms to sleep in a different one every night for a week or more.

But its like the streets know. They know what Taylor and the rest have seen — what some of them have done. They know what creature hunts them and close their entrances off with hanging willow branches and high brick walls.

Claiming innocence, refusing to be witnesses like covering their eyes in cupped palms absolves them of the duty placed upon survivors to recount tragedy when it is over.

Because they might be the only ones left to do so.

Taylor drags his fingertips along the winding bars of an iron gate. Wonders if the prickling he feels under his touch is static, his imagination, or something more.

Nothing about 937 Prytania Street sets it apart from the houses on either side of it, or across the street for that matter. If Katherine hadn’t stopped in front of it he might not have even guessed it was their final destination.

Wasn’t a witches’ home supposed to be covered in sigils or guarded by spirits from another world? At least adhere to the aesthetic, people.

Thank god, though, he’s not the only one underwhelmed by the obviously-new shiny coat of eggshell-white or the lack of shutters creaking in the mid- morning breeze.

“You sure this is the place, Kathy?” asks Cal with his head slightly raised, nostrils flared to try and pick up whatever scent witches carry. “It smells pretty ordinary.”

She doesn’t answer. Just presses the buzzer and waits patiently for the gate to open.

It does and without so much as an ominous creak.

Maybe its his paranoia kicking in but with every step they take towards the house the feeling of unease in Taylor’s stomach grows, and grows, until it sloshes around — doesn’t sit well with his coffee. Everything his eyes take in seems too normal. A lawn too well-manicured, a set of metal golden numbers too polished. Makes him want to grab a fistful of soil from a too vibrant pot of Easter lilies and throw it somewhere, anywhere to make the place a little less picturesque.

Lamrian was beautiful in its perfection.

The House on Prytania Street is perfect the way a staged corpse is perfect.

A stiff gentleman in a three-piece suit opens the door before Katherine can use the knocker. Looks the four of them over with a condescending air about him and there’s a half-second where it looks like he’s ready to close the door in their faces on principle.

He doesn’t, instead steps aside.

The problem with most of the houses in the area is that, beauty aside, most of them stand empty. Not on the material front — they are always filled with collections of things and with more places to sit than is realistically necessary. But whether its the shitty housing market or the fact that they’re just owned like another piece of a collection, rarely are they lived-in.

The Garden Coven house is no different.

While the Suit leads them to a parlor off the right of the house Taylor tries his best to try and find some evidence of life being lived; on the walls, the carpet, even in smudges in the dust that lines various and seemingly unrelated objects on display.

There are none. Not one single fingerprint.

Though the Suit gestures to a matching array of chaise lounges and high-backed chairs for them to wait in, they stay standing because Katherine stays standing.

“You will be collected shortly,” is all the Suit says before returning the way they had come; though this time he pulls the double doors closed behind him. Leaves them all feeling trapped despite the open windows and sunlight pouring through.

“Random question here,” Taylor breaks the silence because it might actually drive him up the wall, “but do we have a plan for if this goes badly?”

He looks to Ryder, who looks at Katherine, who has suddenly taken up an interest in the antique carpet underfoot.

Of course they don’t have a plan. Why would they have a plan for their last resort? The same wonder team that practically broke into Persephone without so much as an escape route on the brain.

Historically things have worked out in their favor, though. Is it wrong of him to hope this time, too, might not be so terrible?

The glowing yellow eyes that bore into his soul from across the room say yes, yes it is wrong of him. Say how dare he imagine that things might not turn out so bad. They blame him for bringing hellfire and brimstone down on this house, on this city.

“— ly shit, Taylor. You okay?”

Its like an out-of-body experience in reverse. Feeling too deep and too trapped within himself to answer the concern on Ryder’s face. Like he’s drowning inside his own mind — or inside someone else’s.

Nothing about her is stable — pinpointing what she looks like beyond the startling gaze with which she holds him captive is about as easy as finding a single raindrop in a stormy sea.

One moment there are wrinkles around her eyes. Lines at her mouth pursed with thin lips in a frown of disappointment. Then youthful candor in aching regret. Grey hair healthy and full then withered, curling like the rumors that hair and nails continue to grow long after you’re buried in the ground.

He doesn’t realize it until the tear burn at his eyes and make him choke, but he’s crying.

“Taylor — Taylor!”

It’s back-breaking to pull away from the vortex he’s been ensnared in. Both the sun and moon in each of her eyes. Glassy and knowing at the same time.

But he blinks. Feels those same tears run down his cheeks and tickle his chin. Looks at the concerned faces of his friends with utter confusion because how in the world could they be staring at him when he’s facing judgment at the metaphorical pearly gates, here?

Even he’s aware of how foolish he sounds when all he can let out is a dumb “What?”

Nik takes him by the shoulders; looks him up and down for any signs of physical harm like it all isn’t in his head. Remains the most tried and true validation of his experiences to this day.

“You — what the hell happened to you?”

Taylor looks to Cal’s frown of concern, to Katherine’s violet curls like whips lashing around her face as she tries to pinpoint what, where.

“You look like you jus’ saw a damn ghost,” Cal sees the confusion in his eyes and thinks he’s helping. He isn’t.

So he cranes his neck back, away from Nik, to the point where it feels like he might snap his own spine.

She’s still there — in the doorway to a shadowy corridor. Both young and old and there and not. Then she isn’t her at all and the elderly man standing in her place reminds him of his grandfather a bit — which does nothing but unsettle him further.

“You… you don’t see her — hi— it?”

No, of course they don’t. Why would they?

He’s used to this — defaults into the old habit of trying to pretend the thing he’s looking at doesn’t exist. Already with denial on the tip of his tongue burning like a sour candy left forgotten.

But this was supposed to have stopped. No more headaches, no more hallucinations. The things he’s seen and accepted… so why is this different? Why now of all the rotten times is he seeing something no one else can?

Sure Nik tries; Cal too. They look in the doorway where the figure hovers like a bad trip on acid. They try, but they don’t see.

“Rook,” — is this where he pulls a Hermione, tells Taylor that seeing things no one else can see isn’t normal even in their freaky lives? — “there’s no one there.”

Only he doesn’t sound his usual level of confidence. Sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself right alongside.

Katherine scoffs under her breath; shakes her head and sits because there’s nothing else to do with her arms folded so tightly across her chest its undeniably a measure of self-comfort. Of keeping herself grounded.

When Cal tries to sniff the air his nose crinkles. “There’s too many different scents. Ritual burnings, smudges — I can’t get a read on shit.”

“I swear,” mutters Nik so low Taylor wouldn’t hear it if he weren’t as close as he is, “if these bastards are messin’ with you —”

For a guy who spent the entire journey warning against this exact type of frustration, anger, Taylor’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter if the Coven — wherever they may be — can’t hear him.

“Stop, it’s fine.”

“It ain’t —”

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“Like I give a damn?!”

“Lower your voice!”

“A-hem.”

At some point the Suit had returned without their notice. Taylor would like to hope it was after his little freak-out but, time to face facts; he’s just not that lucky.

The way he looks them over — he might very well have some sort of magic-witchy x-ray vision. How the fuck someone can have a gaze that feels something like being scored at the top of his head and having his very being pulled back layer by layer is a mystery and, unlike the others, its one Taylor has no desire to solve.

“The Garden Elders will see you now.”

He wants to ask for a second to catch his breath; regain his composure. But why ask for it when he already knows the answer he’ll get?

Like before Suit doesn’t wait for them to speak an agreement. Just turns and begins walking deeper into the old house with purpose. Cal follows close behind — for all his bravado there’s unmistakable gooseflesh riddling his forearms.

Taylor reaches out to Katherine without a second thought; offering like he can help her up when they both know she could very well launch him over the chair and out the window like a rag doll.

Just another thing to distract him from the unrelenting stare digging knives into his back, probably.

Only Katherine takes his hand; surprises them both by doing so.

“You still see them, don’t you?”

The way Kathy’s eyes roam the space behind him, Taylor can tell she’s searching for the smallest speck of something to assuage his worries. But if you see something you don’t look for it.

So Taylor just nods. Follows with her at Nik’s back where he acts like a wall to keep their whispers private.

“Its not the Coven.” She says it so matter-of-factly.

The figure, now a young girl in the same pale grey shroud as the other faces had been, keeps staring even as they leave the parlor behind.

“Then what is it?” Nik throws back through gritted teeth.

“Something much more powerful.”

Taylor squeaks. “Not helping.”

“I recognize that look — I’ve seen it in the mirror,” and when they approach another set of double doors, stalled behind the Suit and his glower, her breath is hot in his ear.

“Keep an eye out. If The Fate is watching then there’s far more at stake than we assumed.”

His first thought is there have to be more witches in New Orleans than this, closely followed by please stop inviting trouble into your life, Taylor.

But even Katherine looks confused at the emptiness of the solarium they’re led into. How unassuming the three occupants look taking their tea with a pristine porcelain pot at a table out of Home and Garden magazine.

The same kinds of lilies, white petals large and curling under the sunlight, occupy every planter and pot in sight. Some of them are accompanied by flowers he’s only ever seen in books or movies — others look like they might be more at home in Lamrian taking root than here; to be appreciated but ultimately with a finite lifespan.

The solarium is a half-circle of heat and glass. Even the door leading out to a back garden path is see-through; the handle made of crystal. Everything catches on the sun and it makes Taylor quite literally hot under the collar.

He wipes a bit of sweat away from his chin uncomfortably.

They aren’t greeted when they enter. There are no chairs for them to take up. The Suit departs with the same wordless condescension with which he arrived and they’re just left there, taking up space on pristine marble, watching the so-called Garden Elders take their tea.

Only one of them actually looks the title ‘elder.’ The cotton on his robes looks scratchy, makes Taylor want to itch along his arms even at a distance. The locs that obscure his withered face fall back when he lifts his head up to the sun — casting shadows in the lines and creases of age he wears not just well but with a sort of pride.

With a delicate two-fingered touch he pushes his cup and saucer to the woman to his left. She refills his cup without looking away from the newspaper folded in front of her setting. The air around her seems to hold back as if afraid to touch — reverent of her existence but willing only to observe. The way the light illuminates her dark skin is practically golden. Makes her shine with some ethereal grace more at home with fae-kind than mortal witches, but the glow is undoubtedly hers.

The third Elder takes Taylor by surprise — he’s seen her before. Can still smell the sour cling of sweat to copper talismans and commercial incense on the ever-crowded floor of the House of Voodoo shop on Bourbon Street. Takes hiding in plain sight to a whole new level.

Would the Taylor from before all of this have felt the power that radiates around them? Would he have understood there was something to be feared about this particular trio; something he couldn’t possibly understand yet could feel in a place deeper than in the marrow of his bones?

I guess we’ll never know.

The polite thing to do would be to wait for them to finish their morning repast.

They don’t have time for politeness.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice, Elders.” Katherine gives a respectful nod of her head when she steps forward. Based on the look she throws at Ryder that’s what they should all be doing — but he doesn’t. And Taylor just doesn’t want to look like an idiot.

Something rattles hollow around the old man’s neck and when he turns Taylor really hopes those aren’t real bones strung together with twine. His eyes are a milky, clouded white but he looks at Katherine with no trouble.

“Despite what rumor may have you believe we care a great deal of our ties to the community.”

Kathy opens her mouth to speak but because Nik is Nik he scoffs “yeah, sure,” loud enough to drag the focus of all three Elders onto him.

“If you’ve something to say, boy, say it,” says the House of Voodoo employee, and Taylor will never hear a customer service voice the same way again with the shiver it sends running down his spine.

“Elder Millet —”

It isn’t politeness that cuts Kathy off when Millet raises her hand. Not with the purpling of her face or the way she seems to gasp around unspoken words.

“Excuses are as bad as lies, Miss Lopez,” she gives a flippant wave to her peers that breaks her unspoken spell; leaves Katherine on the verge of clawing at her throat for fragrant lily-scented air, “if Mister Ryder here has something to say who are we to force him into silence?” Ironic, much?

Now he’s done it — Nik can tell, too. If they want to continue he’s going to have to finish his thought and accept the consequences that come with it.

But he is Nik; so he squares his shoulders and stands his ground despite the unease that Taylor feels emanating from him.

“I mean no blatant disrespect Elder Millet,” —to the old man— “Elder Vion,” —and to the woman still yet to look up from the paper— “Elder Daniels; but if any of you three gave a damn about the community we wouldn’t’a needed to come get you in the first place. You’d have shown your faces at the Beau-Keyes with the rest of ‘em.”

“And look what happened to them,” drawls Elder Daniels as she flips the paper  to the financial section, “almost killed due to reckless stupidity and an inability to see beyond the moment.”

The private laugh the three of them share isn’t lost on anyone. In fact it makes Cal bristle and go red in the face.

“You—You knew we’d be attacked? You knew and you did nothing?!”

Pack blood still runs deep.

Elder Vion adds a pink sugar cube to his tea. “‘Doing nothing’ was the ideal course of action.”

And his fellow Elders agree; “It followed the plan precisely.”

“And leaves us with an opening.”

“Though the guests will have to be taken care of first.”

“They won’t be here for long.”

“Hey—Hey! Now ain’t the time to dissolve into crazy!”

Nik’s clapping isn’t just loud — it makes the room tremble. Glass walls, the glass panels on the ceiling all somehow stunned by the weight of his audacity. That he would dare call attention to himself, this small, insignificant creature—

Taylor hastily shoves his palms into the front pockets of his jeans. Like that will somehow stop the feeling prickling at his palms like a thousand tiny needles. Different than anxiety; something borderline painful. Like if he thinks about it too much it will start to hurt, but pushing it out of the forefront of his mind will keep it at bay.

He recognizes the feeling easily enough — still doesn’t know what it means or what’s causing it but there’s one answer he didn’t have before. It has something to do with being a fae.

“So you all know what’s out… there.” Taylor jerks his chin to the garden, to the French Quarter beyond and the rest of New Orleans with it.

Given everything they’ve seen when it comes to the bloodwraith so far it’s almost laughable to think such a gruesome creature could exist—let alone appear—on a day like this.

Elder Millet looks Taylor over like she’s peeling back each and every layer of him with her eyes. Maybe she is — he wouldn’t put it past magic itself. Let alone past the magic that told the Coven Elders how terrible the attack at the Beau-Keyes would be and convinced them to do fuck-all about it.

“We do.”

But they knew that. “And you know what it’s after.”

“We’ve drawn our own conclusions.”

“Do those conclusions tell you how close you’re getting to the top of the list?” It sounds an awful lot like a threat. Good — he wants it to be.

“Do they tell you its only a matter of time until it comes after you — after the entire Coven?”

Nik agrees; “Whose to say it’ll stop with the Elders? Someone takes your place eventually — it can go after them, and the ones that follow, and the ones after that —”

Vion scoffs around his tea. “Preposterous!”

“Actually no; not in the slightest.” Wariness, distrust hangs over Katherine in an aura of thunderclouds. And its growing. “It’s logical.”

The word, the very implication of it makes Millet’s fingers twitch towards something partially obscured by the teapot. At first Taylor wrote them off as napkins but now the shape and size rings familiar.

Her deck of tarot cards doesn’t like being questioned.

“Logic is the predilection of the mundane.” When Elder Daniels finally looks up from her paper its to stare directly at Katherine. Hard and unyielding. Its a look of power; a silent demand for surrender.

And she almost does. Taylor knows without a doubt that she’d deny it with her last breath but words mean nothing when he can see the flash of her soul behind stormy skies — hear the rolling thunder not far behind.

“There are a thousand and one ways to interpret any given reading. And you chose the one that would keep you out of the crossfire.

“Even if it meant turning your backs on the Accords.”

Outside the walls of the sunroom nothing has changed. The clouds have continued to drift lazily by and the sun still beats down upon them. But when they entered the room felt as transparent as it looked.

Now they may as well be trapped in a dense fog. It threatens to block out the sun; to take pleasure in wringing out their last choking breaths.

“You overstep, insolent little Nighthunter.”

Elder Daniels stands and waves her hand. Probably takes a sick sense of satisfaction in the smallest flinch Katherine fails to hold back — but instead the witches’ spread vanishes as though it was never there.

There is no gaping absence of it — they could just as easily have been standing the entire time and had Taylor’s eyes not seen the table and chairs, had he not smelled the brewing tea or heard the clinking of cup against saucer, he would have a hard time explaining why he thought any of it was there in the first place.

Millet’s fingertips hover just above the surface of her tarot deck. The only physical thing to have remained. As much a member of the Elders as anything.

And the wrinkles on Vion’s leathery face have sunken deep like canyons. His movements are ancient and slow as he stands beside his fellow Elders in defiance of some unknown.

The sides are becoming glaringly obvious.

Small as it was Daniels’ display of power served its purpose; reminded them of who—what—they were dealing with. A power strong enough to entice the bloodwraith and prove its worth by remaining untouched.

The continued existence of them was a claim to power that the likes of Carlo de la Rosa and Denna the Shifter could never have dreamed of.

Taylor knows he’s not the only one of them having this fact hammered home inside him. Not solely because it takes some big and important shit to keep Ryder silent for this long but definitely highlighted by it.

“Perhaps,” Millet drags the word out solely to fuck with them, “we are the ones to be blamed. Blamed for our naivete in agreeing to this meeting disguised as an attempt to point fingers.”

And because its Katherine on the line — more than her name or reputation, but her life — she remains the sensible one. She tries to smooth-talk her way out. “With respect, Elder Millet, no one’s pointing fingers—”

“Save your arguments,” barks Vion, “though I’m sure they were well-rehearsed. Even blind to this physical plane as I am, I can see your true intentions for coming here.”

“Well there weren’t any, so —”

“We open our doors to you in this hour of need and yet you seek to accuse us of that which you cannot even begin to understand. Do you deny?”

It’s beginning to feel an awful lot like a trial and Taylor isn’t the only one who can feel it. He knows what the tension in Cal means — the way Nik shifts to the foot he favors standing his ground on.

But something just isn’t right. It’s echoing hollow in his bones; in the air around them. It fills him up, keeps filling him until he’s not sure he can stand it anymore. Until it wants to pour from his mouth or leak from his ears.

“Then why even agree to meet with us at all?” he blurts out to the surprise of the room; to himself.

And all that pressuring weight shifts from Katherine to him. Now he’s deep in it. Way to effing go.

Only its the first time the Elders don’t have a remark ready to be snapped at their heels. A fact that isn’t lost on them — and isn’t lost on his friends either.

And since its the only silence they might be getting any time soon he tries to roll with it in his usual word-vomit way.

“If you can see so much of the future in your cards or whatever — why agree to meet with us at all? Wouldn’t you know what we think of you? What everyone thinks of you? And you guys don’t seem like the type to entertain stupid people for the sake of a laugh.”

Nik gives him a very specific ‘Did you just call us stupid?’ look. Yeah, yeah he did.

But its rambling, and Taylor is good at rambling. Rambling is what he does best — rambling and improv monologues.

“You guys —” he drags an accusatory finger across the spread of them, “— are the ones accusing anyone, here. Which I get, you know, because there’s a lot going on. And everyone’s scared and everyone’s got their walls up because this is—like—ten thousand leagues away from normal even for your crazy world.

“But if we keep pointing fingers and we keep not helping everyone then what’s gonna happen? Right — the bloodwraith is gonna win. Because we’re gonna do its job for it!”

He drops his finger, then, because he’s making a point and leading by example. “Whatever reasons you may think we have for coming here are bullshit. No one wants to help, everyone’s just in it for themselves! And seeing as literally everyone in the city is a target right now that’s a really really stupid way of thinking!”

Like — he’s making sense, isn’t he? He feels almost compelled to look around not just at the Elders but at his friends, too. How many stories about good versus evil demand that everyone band together in spite of their differences for their own survival; for everyone’s survival?

They had been so close at the Beau-Keyes. If they’d all been given more time who knows what they could have accomplished. Maybe Kristof would be more willing to help. Maybe Lady Smoke wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Maybe Elric would stop hiding behind his wards like a coward.

Taylor sighs and it comes out a ragged thing — takes every last bit of air in his lungs and tries to wring a choked noise from his lips but he’s just too tired.

“If you had already made up your minds about us — about helping everyone — then why bother letting us come here to ask?”

Over Elder Daniels’ shoulder, across the room and through the spotless glass wall he sees the same figure as before. Knows its them by the glint of their golden eyes. The young woman’s face is forlorn; almost weeping. Flickers like a heat mirage from young to old to young again.

The Fate, Katherine had called them.

Why here?

Why now?

Why won’t they do something?

“Such a rousing call to action…” says Millet with the vestiges of praise — yet it looks bitter on her tongue.

Daniels agrees; “And from the unseen complication, no less.”

“Perhaps we underestimated him.”

“What difference would it make? Everything has gone as predicted so far.”

“One wrong move can turn the tide.”

“Yes — but this…”

Again they fall into whispered confidences — as though the others aren’t even there.

Ryder almost growls. More unwilling to call them out on it than before but just as impatient. “This was useless…” he hisses through gritted teeth back in Kathy’s direction.

A small movement draws Taylor’s attention to Elder Vion. To the empty space beside him.

Where The Fate — as a child, making it all the more eerie — reaches up and takes the witch’s hand in theirs. Blood soaks through their grey sleeve; drips down onto the pristine white floor. One droplet becomes two, becomes three and more. A puddle forming at their feet and spreading out of its own will.

He knows it isn’t real — that none of it is really there. There is no child and no blood not only because no one else is freaking out about it but because of the way the blood moves. Spiraling tendrils seeking to consume but only at the Elders’ feet.

The meaning of the whole disturbing sight is clear.

There is blood on the Elders’ hands. They’re drowning in it.

“You didn’t answer his question.”

Katherine cuts Daniels and Millet off mid-word. All that cool calculation hidden behind her pretty face; the perfect mask to hide behind. “Why’d you agree to this? What do you gain?”

Daniels’ upper lip curls. “There is nothing you could offer worth our time.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Do you forget you called upon us?”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “when I thought you’d be useful. But we’re just talking in circles here!”

They are. What more do they know now compared to before?

Nothing is making any freakin’ sense. Nothing except for the sickening feeling growing inside. The blood spreads — devours. Leaves the witches draped in a dark veil thicker than a fog at night and the solarium, once filled with the light breeze of lilies, reeking of rot and the sour tang of open wounds.

A scent he’s becoming all too familiar with — something Taylor never thought would ever cross his mind.

Again there’s a prickling at his palms but this time he reaches for Ryder — a port in the gathering storm. Clasps their hands together tightly; desperately.

Nik who does a double-take when he catches the hollow light of fear in his eyes.

We need to leave.

What do you know?

Too much.

Too much. He knows too much. The Fate knows it and that’s why their figure has vanished but the blood seeping into the hems of the Elders’ clothes remains. The world knows it too, somehow. Keeps that damp and musty smell of molding decay stuck in his lungs and makes him choke on it. Makes his eyes water and an itching pain climb up from the inside of him begging to be let free.

He knows too much. Can’t even begin to understand the how or the why and maybe even a little bit of the what but he does.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt that the darkness that gathers around the Coven Elders and the one hanging as a fatal noose around the bloodwraith are one in the same.

We need to leave.

“It doesn’t matter Kathy,” Nik interrupts — keeps his eyes on Taylor like a grounding point; the only solid ground to stand on, “whether they answer or not it’s clear as day they don’t plan on helping anyone but themselves.

“We oughta get goin’.”

To their credit the Elders don’t deny it.

But the sudden change is a bit too much for Katherine. “Are you—Nik what the hell?”

“Kathy —” Taylor’s wavering voice almost breaks at just her name. Its enough; enough to drag her away from frustrating thoughts building to the fact that he’s white as a sheet and on the verge of unconsciousness. “Please.”

She doesn’t get the chance to argue. Not when the room turns to shadows upon shadows; very real and very not-in-his-head clouds blooming across the sun over their heads.

Even when Elder Vion lowers his hand the spell continues; grows and takes hold of the sky above until the sun is nothing but a distant memory, until the shadows are only a darkness unending.

He tuts and clicks his tongue — such a normal act in contrast to the way he leans on the gnarled handle of his cane. “Finally the consequences reveal themselves.” He bites out, though his scorn is quickly directed to the Elders at his side. “Had you not wished to speed the process this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Had we?” Millet snaps; gestures with her hands so wide that one of the cards slips from her deck and flutters to the ground face-up.

The Wheel of Fortune stares lifelessly upwards.

“You insisted the Council could not be allowed to congregate, Vion.”

“Indeed we acted on faith of your vision,” agrees Daniels.

Vion, though, is adamant; “The consequences outweighed the risk.”

“And what of that,” Daniels thrusts a finger at Taylor, “little consequence? Was it worth the knowledge he now possesses?”

The energy directed his way makes Taylor double over — from pain or pressure he doesn’t know. But Nik isn’t having it.

“What the hell are you crazy people talkin’ about?!”

“Silence!”

There’s a loud and resistant groan over their heads. They look up just in time to see the metal framework stop — now twisted, coiled like a spring ready to snap and send the ceiling panels hurtling down in what would surely be a painful death for all but the Elders.

“You dare interrupt your betters; dare demand of those who hold absolute power over your mortal lives?!” She’s practically shrieking now; and with each crack of her voice comes a crack in the glass surrounding them. “That you continue to live is a testament to our generosity despite your wretched meddling!

“But a Nighthunter never learns. Not until he is forced into submission!”

The bones around Elder Vion’s neck rattle on a nonexistent breeze. “To give this cur the same punishment would be my pleasure.”

“Why bother prolonging it?” adds Millet in a ravenous growl, “Kill him now and we have a second soul to cut from the veil. A second soldier to finish the task at hand.”

Cal goes rigid; taken by surprise. Now he knows. “Holy shit. It’s you.”

And now Katherine knows too; forces down the oncoming waves of revelation — keeps herself afloat with a strength well-hidden.

“You’re the ones controlling the bloodwraith.”