#heard she did some crimes but I think they should just let her do whatever she wants

[muzsmocsing]

The heavenly realm has a subtotal of a quadrillion braincells and all of them are Ling Wen's.

[xfancyuu]

~ now i draw a luxury nxde. [aemond targaryen] 18+ SMUT

because it's the beginning of spring i wanted to post for that so in universe it is also warm and flowers are blooming! reader is afab with she/her pronouns & my requests are open! this could be read as though it's in the same universe as my other bolton!reader works, though she's married to aemond and is referred to as lady targaryen. there are no appearance indicators in this fic, this is kinda canon divergence. also i didn't bold the dialogue for this one and i actually think i'm gonna go and reformat my other fics to match! this fic is also known as frolicking and fucking so yeah that's what you're in for. smut will be indicated with a different coloured line break if you do not wish to read it. [1,757 words]

this fic contains: wall sex, public sex, dressed sex, choking, spitting, voyeurism, name-calling, corruption kink, attempted dirty talk? y'all are just newly married and experimenting tbh, y'all degrade each other, slight orgasm denial, cumming inside. if i missed any please lmk!

You had never imagined life as a married woman to be so blissful. You had heard from the ladies in court that they simply did their marital duty and did not enjoy spending time with their husbands. They had told you that the bliss would wear off within the year once you had children, and they would steal your beauty.

You had all but rolled your eyes at their commentary. They were rude and bitter, seeking your own mood to be as equally unhappy as their own. They nitpicked at everything you did, from reading too much to what you ate and how you conducted yourself. Loneliness truly was more appealing than spending ceaseless amounts of time with women who were your mother's age and almost as bitter. Being surrounded with unmarried women was improper, they had told you — not that you paid them mind, as your ladies in waiting were all unmarried and far better company.

You found yourself in the gardens with your ladies-in-waiting more often than not, the weather was pleasant, and you'd much rather be outside than wallow inside without much joy. Flowers had brought you much more joy than you had anticipated, they livened your mood from the dreaded time spent with the married ladies in court. They wouldn't be seen outside without reason, whereas you did not care much for the opinions and thoughts of others in court, despite being a Princess.

The book within your lap had become much more interesting than whatever your ladies were gossiping about, you hadn't cared much for the people they were talking about, but the adventure of Lady Sunderland and her times in the Reach were too addictive to put down. Your ladies' had tried to gain your attention one too many times, but you were too engrossed in the book to care for the outside world.

The book was abruptly taken from your hands, making you both lose the page you were ready and had caused your brain to be hazy. You were both mad and irritated by the actions of someone clearly trying to ruin your day. "Do you mind?" You had asked, not expecting to see your husband as you looked up.

"Is it a crime for me to want to spend time with my wife?" Aemond had asked you, extending his hand as if expecting you to take it despite disturbing your peace.

"It's a crime when you snatch my book off of me and expect me to be happy about it." You retorted, deciding it was probably better to go along with him, and took his help to get off the grass. "Lucky for you, I like you enough not to lock you up."

"Oh how merciful." Aemond responded, not removing your hand from his grasp, "the flowers are blooming, you should be looking at the world instead of living in your books."

"I'll have you know I can do both equally," You retorted, leading Aemond away from the prying eyes and sharp ears of your ladies, "Now you're here you might as well keep me company if you won't let me read, perhaps a walk around the garden would do us both some good."

"I have a better idea than touring the gardens," Aemond had pulled you into a secluded pathway leading away from the hustle and bustle of everybody else.

"Your ideas always end up with us in trouble." You weren't entirely wrong, the disapproving look of Queen Alicent would be forever engrained in your brain.

"They may be troublesome, but you always have fun." You couldn't disagree, instead you simply followed Aemond to whichever location he wanted to show you.

Aemond had abruptly left you in the morning, leaving you needy and begging for him to finish the job he'd started yet he had left you without a thought for your own well-being. You could somewhat blame your crankiness and willingness to do such a deviant act in public with the possibility of anybody seeing and reporting such acts to the Queen.

The thought that you shouldn't be doing this had crossed your mind — the words would not leave your mouth though, you had wanted to do this, neediness had seeped in, with your skirts and underclothes raised above your waist, your modesty was damned and so were you.

The carnal need and desire you felt within yourself had put all your thoughts out the window, if you were in your usual mind frame you would have told Aemond no, that it was improper but words would not form in your throat. Instead, you kissed him back with almost as much longing.

The insatiability you had felt was consuming you, yet it felt more so annoying, Aemond hadn't truly done anything to you to make you feel this way, little touches and long stares did not warrant you feeling so flustered by the man so much you'd let him take you any which way he wanted.

You were expecting the current position you were in — being in public had never been a boundary you crossed with each other, yet he had so little patience when it had come to you, not even checking if the garden was secluded enough not to have prying eyes follow you, "Who knew my lady wife could be such a whore?" Aemond had whispered in your ear, though you could not form words of your own, "Wanting me to take her right now with not a care in the world who witnesses it."

"I think you can only get your cock up with the thought of an audience, you leave me so frustrated when we're alone in our chamber."

"You may come to regret that, wife." Aemond had always had to get the last word, "Your tongue may be sharp, but I will fuck you until you can't form another sentence." He'd begun unlacing his trousers, and you truly knew you were in for it — whatever it entailed, you weren't sure.

"You keep saying what you're going to do, but you haven't even stuck it in yet, tell me husband, are you struggling? Do you need me to help you stick it in? Can you not find the hole?" You couldn't finish your light-hearted taunting Aemond had entered you with little care, it was sloppy and lustful as though he felt as much need as you did.

You couldn't stay quiet, not with how intoxicating Aemond had felt inside, thrusting himself as far as he could inside of you, the slow pace was comfortable but irritating, you wanted it fast and hard, you wanted Aemond to show you the side of himself he hid away, the side which would make you blush if you so much as thought about it.

You were so used to being in control, Aemond had ensured you always felt comfortable and could stop at any moment but seeing him so dominant had made you tingle, then gasp as you felt a hand around your throat. "You've got to be quiet, you don't want the world to hear you, do you? Don't want the world to hear what a whore you become for cock."

The sight of your ladies seeing you in such a position had the opposite effect than what you thought it would, the idea of corrupting them as much as you had been corrupted had you clenching around Aemond's cock.

"Not so fast, princess," Aemond spoke, his pace slowing and causing the momentum and build-up to your own orgasm to be depleted. "Good girls get to cum, you've not been a good girl, have you?"

You couldn't respond, the hand wrapped around your throat had become tighter, "Going to cum inside you, princess, have you got a problem with that?" You had tried to shake your head, but with the grip Aemond had on your throat, your head hadn't moved an inch.

Aemond had increased his speed, and you knew he was close to his own peak despite ruining your own, the pettiness within you had decided if you didn't get your release neither was Aemond. As if sensing your plans, Aemond thrust into you harder, keeping you in place as though you were a doll he could do what he pleased. "You're going to take my seed, and you're going to thank me for it."

Your orgasm was too sudden for you to realise what was happening, from the words Aemond spoke to the way he was fucking you, it was far too much to process and your body reacted entirely by itself. You knew disobeying Aemond would have consequences but in the depth of your own pleasure and Aemond continuing to fuck you, you didn't care. You'd take any punishment to feel a moment of the pleasure you were currently feeling.

"Naughty girl." Aemond whispered in your ear as you came down from your high, "I thought you'd finally be a good girl, though I suppose I set my standards too high for you. Open your mouth."

You did as he commanded, not wanting to make him more upset with you. However, you weren't prepared for him to spit in your mouth — or to like it as much as you did. "You belong to me and you do as I say."

It hadn't taken long for Aemond to spill his seed within you, his grip on your throat loosening and his teeth biting into your skin. It wasn't often you had allowed him to cum inside you — the prospect of what would follow being in the forefront of your mind. "I'm yours." You reassured Aemond as he came down from his climax.

"Are you okay there?" You had asked, not used to such an intense reaction from Aemond, "I really enjoyed myself." You reassured him, you were so close and the euphoria of the situation had you cradling Aemond within your arms.

"It was just a bit... much, I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked, pulling out of you. At that moment, you knew you'd need to bathe. The feeling of his seed coming out of you had you almost recoiling.

"Trust me, you'd know if you were hurting me." You didn't want to approach the subject of being witnessed in such an act. "Your mother may be expecting more grandchildren soon."

"Moontea exists, my dear." You hadn't been married a year yet, it wasn't entirely suspicious that you had not shown signs of being pregnant. "And for what it's worth, I enjoy our time just being the two of us."

as always, thank you for reading this! i really appreciate it. i really enjoy writing for aemond so if y'all have any requests send them my way. my next hotd fic will be for helaena so if that interests you just message me! crossposted on ao3 under the name hedonism!

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

This morning, 15 minutes after the break in fighting was supposed to begin, Hamas fired two rocket barrages into southern Israel. This is what we mean when we say that Hamas has broken every ceasefire ever. The only reason why this didn't lead to the hostage deal falling apart, is because Israel chose to "contain" Hamas' violent rocket attack. But remember this when we explain why we can't accept Hamas' existence anymore.

Israel confirmed that the 13 hostages being released have arrived in Egypt, and there are already Israelis there, taking care of them. IDK when we'll get their names, and images of them safe back in Israel, but as you can imagine, everyone here is holding its breath for that. Still, their well being comes first, they're being taken to a hospital first, to see their families, and only then (and based on whatever they prefer) will there be anything more public. There will not be interviews, however, 'coz something they say might risk the other groups of hostages meant to be released in the upcoming days.

Hamas is also releasing some of the Thai nationals they've kidnapped (I heard 12 of the 23 taken hostage), which are being let go of unconditionally. Before anyone tries to make out this shows Hamas is humane, I'll just point out that Hamas terrorists murdered at least 33 Thais on Oct 7.

Some of my fave commentators recently on what's going on here since Hamas' massacre aren't Jewish, or even Israeli. Here's a few of their tweets:

Regarding the last one, I just wanna say that most Israelis will continue to trust most Arabs. That's just how we have always lived, despite the on going terror attacks. The day after Oct 7, I mentioned that I went to my hospital treatment. The guard there is an Arab guy. He carries a gun. I couldn't help but think about it. And then I did what I always do, I thanked him for his work (being a guard is difficult), and wished him a good day. He smiled big and wished me the same. He's lovely. What Hamas did on Oct 7 is not his fault. But the mistrust of survivors, and some of those who care about them, is also very human and understandable, as much as I'll continue to call on everyone not to generalize about Arabs, or any group.

Especially when some of Hamas' victims are themselves Arabs. Here's a young Israeli Muslim Bedouin woman, who has been speaking up on behalf of her friend, 17 years old Aisha al Ziadna, who was kidnapped by Hamas on Oct 7.

A Sky News reporter was particularly shameful the other day. She tried to use Israel's willingness to release 3 convicted terrorist per just 1 innocent civilian hostage to vilify Israel. Here's the reply she got:

Just a reminder, once again, that when you listen to western media, which is supposed to be objective, these are often their info sources on this conflict:

Speaking of lack of objectivity, an Israeli newspaper found out that the International Criminal Court has appointed a Danish lawyer to investigate the Israel-Hamas war, and it's a man (I'm not sure I'm transcribing his name from Hebrew correctly, but it should be something like Andreas Laursen) who has worked in the past for a Palestinian "human rights organization" which has been outlawed in 2021 for having ties to terrorist organizations, who was involved in 2018 in trying to make the case that Israel had committed war crimes, who has lived in the Palestinian city of Ramallah, and who is married to a Palestinian woman. This Israeli newspaper has contacted the ICC, asking why the person appointed to this investigation isn't someone who would at least appear to be unbiased. The answer was (I'm translating from the Hebrew article): "We maintain confidentiality about anything that pertains to specific subjects that are related to our employees. Every personal decision made by the head prosecutor fits the policy and relevant procedures that oversee the court's human resources matters."

Because there are still people denying the Hamas rapes:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by כאן חדשות (@kan_news)

I've spoken before about Liel, and how long it took to identify her body, but this tweet kind of broke me all over again.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[evilminji]

God you know what I want to do? So very, very, badly?

My my Oc? Just let her... whip out a gun.

In the 1v1's of the sports festival. Against some Bakugo type asshole who won't stop running his Quirkist mouth. Is it against the rules? Absolutely. Is the gun REAL? Not even remotely, it's a paintball gun. Still very painful though. Still nearly as fast.

One to the forehead, one to the heart, maybe a few to disable whatever his Quirk is.

Stunned. Fucking. Silence.

They are on NATIONAL FUCKING TV.

This is LIVE.

She decided to bring along a voice amplifier, to make DAMN sure everyone heard her. Since if she's gonna commit the crime, do the time, she might as well get what she CAME FOR.

"You are NOT immortal. That Quirk? ANY Quirk? It does not make you a god. Brute strength and the ability to destroy robots won't save you from a bullet. You're not special, not matter WHAT party trick you do or don't get born with. You're still just human and it can still just end, at the point of the right weapon"

"Learn to wear armor and grow some fucking humility, before some else? Puts you in the ground. Being a hero is DANGEROUS and your 'Quirks are everything' bullshit is gonna get people killed. If it hasn't already. Now, enjoy your shiny trinket on a string. I forfeit."

*drops the paintball gun and turns of the amplifier, walks away*

*fuckin? Mic drop.*

Like? MA'AM. You are a FIRST YEAR STUDENT. Where did you get that? WHY would think that was acceptable? You realize half the schools in Japan would expell you for the PR nightmare you just unleashed? That rightfully, MOST of the audience? Probably should have arrested you?

Detention. Detention until you're DEAD OF OLD AGE. Then we are holding a tasteful funeral, and LAYING YOUR REMAINS TO REST in that room! 1000 years, kid! What the ACTUAL FUCK.

The principal is just... :D in the background.

His face might be frozen like that.

He's just... just So Happy. He loves it when his collection of Interesting Little Nightmares decides to Cause Problems On Purpose. Everything goes to shit! In such INTERESTING ways! It's like the combination of a challenging puzzle and a riveting social drama on tv!

Is this NOT the point of teaching and guiding young Heros? That they might challenge our understandings of Right and Wrong? What is and isn't acceptable? Push the world closer and closer to the grand and elusive "Better Tomorrow"?

Can't do THAT by stagnating in the status quo!

*delighted Nedzu Cackling*

[arcane-vagabond]

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Three

Singing in the Sanctuary: Chapter Three

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is a simple man. Well, as simple as one can be while living a life of crime. The notorious outlaw of the western territories has never been interested in settling down and having a family, but will that all change when he meets a shy, new teacher who just moved into town?

Warnings: Mentions of dead parents, Bradley Bradshaw. Think that's it?

Word Count: 2.37k

A/N: Here's Chapter Three at long last! I know this one is a little shorter than what we're used to, but I don't want force the narrative, and this seemed like a good place to stop. We should see longer chapters on this one soon! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I will be posting these fics as well.

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

“You know, I had the strangest conversation with Bradley yesterday afternoon,” Maverick said, stabbing at his eggs. Penny lifted an eyebrow at him in intrigue.

“Do tell.”

“He came by askin’ me about what my plans were for a schoolhouse. Can you believe that? Since when does he care about the education of the kids?”

Penny hummed, glancing at you slyly from the corner of her eye before taking a bit of her toast. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, and I told him that we were looking more into it now that we have Birdie here to teach’em, but he was pretty insistent that I make it a priority.”

“You don’t say?” Penny smiled, snorting a laugh that she quickly tried to pass off as a cough. Maverick looked at her with concern.

“You feelin’ okay, sweetheart?”

Penny waved him off, finishing her mouthful of eggs. “I’m just fine, honey. Tell me more about what Bradley said.”

“Well, it’s just like I said,” he continued. “I know he and the other boys help people out around town, but to volunteer the other boys the way he did? That’s unusual for him.”

“He volunteered the other Daggers?” you chirped, surprise clear on your face as you looked up at him. He nodded, laughing with a shake of his head.

“I know, I could hardly believe it myself!”

Penny shot you a coy smile. “I wonder what could have caused him to go and do something like that.”

You flushed at her words, ducking your head down to stare at your plate. Maverick let out another chuckle.

“I don’t know, Penny, but you should have heard Mickey hollerin’ up and down Main Street at him. Wouldn’t be surprised if you could’ve heard him all the way in Independence! with how loud he was yellin'.”

You and Penny laughed at that, and Maverick’s grin turned into a warm smile.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I hope it sticks. I can’t tell you the last time I saw that boy so determined to work on a good cause.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Penny hummed, casting you another conspiratorial glance. “I think whatever it is that’s lit a fire under his butt is gonna be good for him. Might even stick around for a while.”

“From your mouth to the good Lord’s ears, darlin’,” Maverick chuckled, placing his napkin on his place as he stood. “It’s good to see him so passionate about something again. Haven’t seen him like this since before…”

He trailed off, and Penny leaned over to lay a sympathetic hand over his. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t need to say it.”

Maverick sniffed, running a finger under his eye before straightening. “Anyway, the only problem we have now is comin’ up with the money for supplies.”

“How do you mean?” you asked him, a furrow in your brow.

Maverick grimaced. “Town is runnin’ low on building materials. We’ve got enough to start the foundation for the schoolhouse, but we’ll have to scrounge up some money for everything else.”

“I see,” you frowned. Maverick gave you a reassuring look.

“It’ll be alright, Birdie. We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

You nodded, and with one last smile to his wife, Maverick was out the door. You helped Penny clear the table. The older woman began to wash the dishes as you took them from her to dry.

“So,” she drawled, looking over at you with a smile. “That was real nice of Bradley to volunteer to help out with the schoolhouse.”

“Wasn’t it just?” you gushed, a smile breaking out over your face. “I’m not surprised, though. The children seem to love him, and it looked like he felt the same way.”

“You still mad at him?” she asked you. You hummed before giving her a shrug.

“I wasn’t really mad at him to begin with, Penny,” you sighed, placing a plate in the cupboard. “I don’t know him well enough to be mad at him for his past. It’s not like he owes me an explanation or anything.”

“No,” Penny said carefully, “but despite his past as a philanderer, he’s a good man at heart, Birdie. He was a wild, young thing back in the day, but he’s older now.”

“Besides,” she smirked, looking directly at you now, “Doesn’t take a genius to see the way he looks at you.”

You flushed at her words. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t,” she chuckled, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Just like you don’t know why he would volunteer him and his friends to build the schoolhouse.”

You stayed quiet for a moment.

“I want to thank him in some way,” you murmured, not meeting her gaze.

“I’m sure you’ll think of somethin’,” she mused. “Now, come on. Don’t want you to be late for class.”

A couple of hours later, you were perched on the steps of the altar, looking around at your class.

“What about a baseball game?” Ricky grinned. Lottie wrinkled her nose at him.

“No way!” she cried. “It needs to be something we can all do!”

“What about a bake sale?”

You had told the children the good news about finding volunteers to build the schoolhouse, and the sanctuary had exploded in a chorus of excitement.

“Hold on, hold on,” you had smiled, trying to calm the children down. “There’s just one more thing we have to figure out.”

“What’s that, miss?” Michael called out from his spot in the third row. You sighed with a slight frown.

“After talking with Mr. Maverick today, I’ve found out that we unfortunately don’t have all the funds we need to build it,” you said. The children exclaimed in disappointment, but little Billy looked at you with big, green eyes.

“Maybe we can help, teacher!” he grinned.

You smiled back at him as the other children voiced their support for the little boy.

“That’s a fine idea, Billy,” you said. “And it sounds like all of you agree.”

“We do!” smiled Michael.

“But how can we even help?” frowned Lydia, a plucky red-head from the second row. “What could we possibly do?”

Samantha raised her hand. “We could hold a fundraiser?”

The children murmured in agreement, and you nodded your head slowly.

“That could work,” you hummed. “What is it you all would like to do?”

Now you sat there as the children volleyed ideas back and forth at each other. None of them had been bad ideas, but it was hard for a group of thirty children to come to an agreement on what to do. You worried that they would grow too frustrated to settle on an idea, and then you would have to pick. You wanted the children to enjoy their time helping with preparations, so you knew that it would have to be their decision on what to do.

“My mother and father went and saw a play when they were visiting my grandmother in Kansas City,” Theresa said thoughtfully. “We could do that?”

The room was left in a hushed silence as the children mulled over her words.

“I like it,” Samantha nodded, and the other children were quick to agree.

“We should do Snow White!”

“No, Cinderella!”

“I wanna do Sleeping Beauty!”

You chuckled at their enthusiasm, moving to stand.

“Alright, class,” you smiled warmly, “we’ll have plenty of time to decide what our play is going to be. Now, let’s get back to your math lesson.”

You dismissed your class not too long after that, and now you were walking idly down the main street of Maverick. People greeted you as you past, and you returned the gestures. Your thoughts kept turning back to the play, however. It had been a miracle that they agreed on doing a play in the first place. Maybe you could convince the townsfolk to buy multiple tickets for different plays?

You stopped walking, sighing as you stared up at the sky. A chill was starting to stir in the air as Autumn began fast approaching. You wondered how your parents were faring back home in Missouri. Your eyebrows furrowed as you heard the quiet melody of a piano drift through the street. You realized it was coming from the saloon, and you moved quickly until you were standing in the entryway.

The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the rooms as the sunbeams stretched across the wooden floors. The gentle lilt of the keys danced in your ears. You didn’t recognize the song, but you watched as the familiar brunette strummed his fingers along the ivory.

Bradley hadn’t seen you walk in, to lost in the way the music washed over him. You thought he looked sad as he played, which was strange because you were certain the song was supposed to sound happy even though he was playing slowly. You didn’t realize you were moving until you sat down gingerly next to him. He jumped, fingers flying off the keys as he turned to look at you. The two of you stared at each other.

“Please, don’t stop,” you whispered, pleading for him to continue. Bradley swallowed before turning back to the piano. His fingers pressed down lightly on the keys as he began to play the same tune as before.

“You’re very good,” you smiled as he continued to play. He huffed out a light laugh as he looked at you from the corner of his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Birdie,” he joked, causing your face to flush.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you rushed out, but he shook his head.

“I’m only teasin’ you, little bird. I know I don’t look like the type that knows how to play.”

“Well, I am a little shocked,” you admitted. He gave you a playful glare, and you giggled up at him.

You shifted closer to him on the bench. “How did you learn to play?”

“My dad taught me,” he hummed sadly.

You watched him for another minute before asking quietly, “did something happen?”

His fingers stilled over the keys for half a second before continuing. “He and my mom died when I was eight. It was scarlet fever, made its way through town pretty quick. Took Hangman’s folks too and Bob’s daddy.”

“Oh, Bradley,” you began, but he cut you off with a stern look.

“Don’t,” he snapped, fingers banging on the keys with a crash. His eyes softened when he saw your confused look. “Please, don’t. I get enough pity from the folks here in town. I don’t think I could handle it if you looked at me like that too.”

“Okay,” you said softly, nodding in understanding. Bradley let out a shaky breath, refusing to meet your gaze for a moment.

“My dad and Mav were best friends,” he said finally. You remained quiet, letting him speak at his own pace. He continued. “They did almost everything together. They drank, they sang, they even broke the law together.”

He looked at you then, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He always told me that my mama was the reason he gave up his wild life. Said he couldn’t bare the thought of her cryin’ if he never came home.”

You reached up to cup his cheek in your hand, and he immediately turned his face into your palm, nuzzling it.

“He sounds like he was a good man,” you offered, giving him a gentle smile. Bradley frowned at your words.

“No,” he said. “He was the best.”

The two of you didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at each other. Finally, Bradley pulled away from you with a sniff before turning back to the piano. He began to play a different melody now, something quicker and more upbeat.

“So,” he chirped, offering you a bright smile, “what brings you into the saloon today?”

“Oh, I was actually looking for Penny,” you told him, glancing around the room but not seeing the older brunette.

“Think she’s still showin’ the new girl around,” Bradley muttered, earning a look from you.

“New girl?” you asked.

He hummed with a nod.

“Came rollin’ in with Joel yesterday mornin’. Walked right up to the bar and asked Penny for a job. She must have liked the look of her, ‘cause Penny accepted right then and there.”

“How interesting,” you trailed off. Bradley glanced at you before moving to stand. He held his hand out for you, and you took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he smirked, pulling you towards the doors, “I’ll walk you home.”

The two of you walked in a comfortable silence down the street. Bradley’s hand rested gently on your lower back, and you felt giddy at the contact. You thought back on what Ricky and Michael had said to Bradley in the churchyard the other day, but then you thought about Penny’s words from that morning. The two of you stopped in front of the door to the house.

“Bradley,” you said, earning a hum from him. “Are you seeing any other girls?”

He stopped, turning to face you with a look of bewilderment. “What?”

“Are you seeing any other girls?” you repeated.

He stared at you. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I was just thinking about what the boys and Penny said,” you shrugged.

“I see,” he said slowly, studying you. “No, Birdie. Haven’t seen anyone since I laid eyes on you singin’ all sweet in that church.”

You blushed at his words, biting at your bottom lip to suppress the smile that threatened to make a home on your face. A grin broke out onto his face at the sight of your bashfulness, and he leaned against the door to look down at you, hovering over your space. The two of you looked at each other for a moment before Bradley’s smirk dropped, replaced with a look of confusion.

“Wait, what did Penny say?”

You giggled up at him before turning the knob on the door and pushing it open. You slipped inside before moving to close it behind you with one last giggle.

“Goodnight, Bradley.”

[lewkwoodnco]

Heyy:) I just wanted to request a George x fem!reader one shot :P I totally understand if you don't want to write it or if you don't like the idea or anything but I was thinking a fic inspired by "wildest dreams" by Taylor? Just some silly teen romance vibes you know🤭 (and please no Angst or anything, I can't take that shit atm😔)

Wildest Dreams - George Karim x Reader

A/N: going to be taking a break from the requests in my inbox to work on my 12 days of fics series! (but will get back to them after im done heheh) I might have completely butchered this ask im so sorry BUT I made it as fluffy as I think it gets (w George at least), just had to do the 77 thing i have no self-restraint, also this poem is soso beautiful one of my absolute favesss but idk whats up with the formatting :(((, wc 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Subtle Bridges

Walking with me, you'd once pointed to the fragility and ingenuity of a spider's web. Subtle bridges, you said, On bridges some men hang. A warning that has stayed While I read history traced in blood and tears of men. I was caught in the end with a nest of books. They burned anyway, and now I bend to build an emperor's endless wall. Like a thread of longing the border runs in loops and bends, and along it we root the gravestones of nameless men. A king's metaphor, This is, history raised from ash and bone -- a symbol Of its vast futility, or of eternity. Which it is I do not know, But since leaving home some things have come clear. No one literally breaks from loss, not even here. And some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang.

By Yvonne Koh

She was at the Kensel Green Cemetery with the rest of her team from Fittes, after being called down by DEPRAC because of a robbery. They had spread out over the building, looking for any sign of the missing relic or the culprit, when she heard a slow, grinding noise from inside the hall. She quietly crept in to the silhouette of a shadowy figure bent over the casket.

"Can I help you?"

The boy's head snapped up immediately, painfully slamming against the stone shelf behind him. She let out an involuntary gasp, briefly wincing at the hollow thunk.

"Didn't do it," he groaned, steadying himself against the wall. "...whatever it was that...someone did."

She squinted at him using the little light spilling in from the corridor. He couldn't have been more than a year or two older than her. Against her better judgement, she kept her voice down.

"This is a crime scene!" she hissed at him.

"I - what?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm not a thief, or a relic man. I promise."

Her eyes swept his scruffy appearance critically. "Why would I think that?"

"Ms L/N?"

She turned, momentarily speechless, barely registering the rustle of the boy stealing away into the darkness. She blinked against the brightness of Inspector Barnes' torch, glancing back to check that he really was gone.

"Everything alright?"

She paused for a moment longer, as if willing him to rematerialise in the corner he had been crouching in just a moment ago. Nothing. Her eyes narrowed. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"Must have been the wind."

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

George was staring out the kitchen window glumly, lazily stirring his mug of tea. The weather was as pleasant as it got, and Lockwood had roused them all at the crack of dawn for a breakfast picnic, to 'boost morale.' Of course, George should have known better than to hold his breath, especially when loud angry voices had started to shake him awake when he had been halfway through groggily packing their picnic basket. Now, he sipped his cold tea through thin lips, listening to the slow, steady footsteps approaching the kitchen and the wan face belonging to them.

"Let me guess. You and Lucy are no longer in the mood for a picnic?"

Lockwood sombrely shook his head. George sighed, picking up the picnic basket. Seemed like a shame to let his slaving away go to waste. And he was still very much in the mood for the strawberries and cream he had packed inside. Which is why George had been heading out for a solo breakfast picnic with enough food for three when he heard a foreign voice stop him.

"George Casper Karim."

He looked up from the doorknob in alarm. It was the girl from Kensel Green Cemetery. He hesitated, trying to gauge her expression.

"Ex-employee of Fittes Agency, fired after six months for insubordination, currently a researcher at Lockwood & Co."

"Brilliant. Astonishing, really, how you've repeated my own job history back to me."

She frowned. He relished the stab of satisfaction. He'd had a shitty morning and was likely going to have a shitty day, so really, having a go at someone was probably going to be the highlight.

"There's no need to be rude."

"I think I'd know where I've been the past couple of years, thanks very much. Forgive me for not being more impressed."

Still looking a little disgruntled, she pressed on, firmly clutching the waist-high gate. "I've got a bone to pick with you, if you don't mind."

He eyed her warily, and decided against approaching her any further. "You can pick it just fine from over there."

She looked mildly peeved, but he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. After a few long, tense seconds, she relented, not that she was happy about it..

"So...you were right. You're no relic man."

That was quick. "Thank you. Have a nice day." He closed the distance between him and the gate in a few quick strides, pushing against it, but she pushed right back with a steely look in her eye.

"Don't know about the other bit, though."

He didn't like the look in her eye; the look of someone knowing something he didn't. His mouth went dry.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Might be more convincing if your associate hadn't mentioned a talking skull. Awfully difficult to contain a visitor without a ghost jar, wouldn't you say?"

He swore under his breath. "Fucking Lockwood can't keep his mouth shut."

"I don't expect DEPRAC takes kindly to thieves or hooligans-"

He let out a bark of laughter. "Hooligan? Me?"

"-or strange boys who break into places they shouldn't be-"

"You can't prove it was me."

"Wanna bet?"

A challenge. A dare. His mouth was already open to call her bluff when the self-satisfied smirk curling at the corner of her lip gave him pause. Lockwood wouldn't be much pleased if he gave DEPRAC another reason to steer the agency dangerously close towards closing. He wasn't like Lockwood or Lucy - he was careful, very careful. Too late George wished he had been a little more careful all those years ago in covering his tracks - but, to be fair, he had no reason to think anyone at Fittes would have been capable enough to put two and two together.

Until now.

"Look, why don't we...talk about this, like civilised people? I've got strawb - you like strawberries and cream, don't you?"

She sneered again. George was beginning to think that was just how her face looked.

"You want to bribe me with...strawberries...and cream?"

"It's not bribery. Just...a friendly chat. Agent to agent."

Which was how they ended up on a grassy hill at one of the meadows at the outskirts of London. He had never been there before, but Lockwood had remembered it as a prime spot for cosy family picnics.

"So what else do you know about me?"

She chewed a bite of scrambled eggs thoughtfully before responding.

"You're obsessed with the Problem. An obsession that made you an asset, initially."

She had heard that he was the one who had identified the visitor, Edmund Bickerstaff, but what she had had difficulty wrapping her head around was how he had managed to do it with only the vast yet imprecise volumes of the Archives at his disposal. Imagine what he could do with the carefully curated library at Fittes. She stared at him, trying to figure him out. There was a gentle breeze blowing and the slight movement made him look marginally more affable but not any more comprehensible. She let out the breath she was holding.

"You must have really screwed up for Fittes to have let you go."

He shrugged. "It was a long time coming. Fittes never really was the type of company I was interested in working at, and I was never the type of employee Fittes was interested in keeping."

"What about now? Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Why would I?"

"I've taken a glance at Lockwood & Co's financial records. You can't be making much, if anything at all."

"And go from being broke to being broke and homeless?"

"Homeless? What about your parents?"

"I visit them, occasionally, but they're a right piece of work. Last time I saw them was my grandmother's 77th birthday. I think there was a row but I can't be completely sure because I was a little, er, sloshed. The party ended, and I expect the champagne went flat, and my aunt was the last to leave. She was sitting on the floor with a merlot in her hand, and her voice was ringing through the halls. The curtains were burnt, my parents didn't talk to each other for a week, and one of my brothers had broken his hand. But I could never forget sitting in that empty dining hall, holding those sodden, scorched curtains, listening to her saying nothing lasts forever, nothing lasts forever."

The sunlight had a diffused quality to it, at least the little of it that managed to pour through the layer of clouds blocking the sky. The ashy light threw a powdery glow on George's face, and for a moment she felt as though she was in that dining hall with him, listening to those same laments. He glanced at her, and she felt a sudden, foreign uncertainty grip her heart.

"Now I feel really bad about lying."

His hand slipped, missing his mouth by a good couple of inches, nearly sending the contents of his glass down his shirt.

"Lie? What lie?"

"I kind of haven't, not really...actually spoken to any of your associates."

He chokes on his laughter, and when he throws his head back she wonders if she's ever seen anyone laugh as freely as him. It's a ridiculously enticing sight.

"Touché. Touché."

He looks at her in the eye, unabashed, with an unnaturally casual intensity. It almost feels impolite.

"So...yeah. Maybe I was suited to be a Fittes agent, once upon a time, but not anymore."

"That's a pity."

He looks at her weird, and she hastily changes the subject.

"Do you do this often?"

"What, taking strangers out for breakfast?"

"No. Bring a girl out here, feed her some strawberries and cream, maybe a Shakespearean sonnet or two..."

"I don't set much store in Shakespearean sonnets. I'm not...I'm not much of a poetry person."

There's something reserved in his face that makes her feel terrible for asking.

"I've really only read one worth remembering. Subtle bridges, you said, on bridges some men hang. Some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang."

He bites into a strawberry, which stains his lips a bright red. She looks away a second too late.

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

After reluctantly agreeing to keep the matter of the stolen ghost jar between the two of them, she never expected to see him again. And yet, as fate would have it, they crossed paths again roughly a week later. She and one of her teammates had been assigned to a Church to handle a relatively weak Type Two, when she heard a scuffling sound from one of the rooms whose door was ajar. Her teammate froze, and she didn't feel much braver either. They approached the room cautiously, rapiers at the ready.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"Y/N?"

The glare from their flashlights blindly darted over the room before it settled on the floor, illuminating a bleeding George looking the worse for wear, hissing at the harsh florescent light.. She visibly relaxed.

"Oh. You again."

Lockwood and Lucy exchanged a look.

"Do you two know each other?"

A silence followed. George looked to be at a loss of words and she, too, couldn't quite find the right answer.

"We've...met."

They helped George up while Lockwood smoothly explained the situation, and how they would never dream of intentionally From the derisive eye rolls of his remaining, uninjured associate, there was clearly more to their presence than he was letting on, but she wasn't paid nearly enough to go through the trouble of finding that out. Apparently, they had already dealt with the Type Two, so she filled out her report as vague as she dared to be, while they wandered out to flag down a cab.

George lingered behind briefly, dabbing at his nose experimentally while she put the finishing touches to her file.

"We can't keep meeting like this, you know."

"Like what?"

She shook her head, surprisingly having to bite back a smile. "You're incorrigible. If you keep sneaking around for much longer I'll have to report you one of these days."

He pulled his face into an exaggerated sulk and ducked as she tried to smack him with her case report.

"Alright, alright!"

True to his word, their less-than-ideal meetings came to an end. Instead, they continued to occasionally meet at that serene, refreshingly Edenic sloping hill. She'd return from a client meeting or from scoping out a location and the front desk would have a message waiting for her, from one vaguely snippy anonymous man. Sometimes he'd be waiting at the hill with snacks, which she'd ravenously dig into, though he was less generous on the biscuit front. He tells her about the happenings of 35 Portland Row and his research and bounces his latest theory on the origins of the Problem off of her. She tells him about her week, and the bothersome, inept people she works with, and on their joint cases he's snarky towards all the right people. It makes her feel special.

On one such evening, they were lazing on a picnic blanket, and a pleasantly warm breeze was toying with their hair. George was looking at the severe, fragile branches encroaching on the powdery blue sky through heavily-lidded eyes. She was absent-mindedly fiddling with his surprisingly soft fingers, distractedly breathing in the faint, antiseptic smell of ammonia that clung to his clothes. She was thinking about how sharp he was and how quickly he picked up on details on their joint cases. No matter how many times she saw him pick apart a case with a carefully perfected elegance, she felt like a part of her would forever be in awe of his beautifully intricate mind.

"Sometimes I feel like your talents are so wasted here. Imagine what you could do with access to all of Fittes' resources."

"i don't need Fittes's resources to be a good researcher."

She watches the yellow daffodils tossing their heads back just inches in front of them through her eyelashes.

"i know you don't. It can't hurt, is all I'm saying."

"Why do you care?"

She paused. Why did she care? She cared about him, sure, but it was no different from how she cared about her teammates, her friends, but with George...it somehow felt more personal. She sighs irritably, releasing the bubble of frustration lodged in her throat all week. She just wanted what was best for him. It takes her a minute to come up with her hesitant response.

"I...don't know. I don't care. But sometimes I can't help but wonder...what if this was what you needed to uncover the root of the Problem?"

He half-laughs, but stops short at the sight of her face as she lifts her head off his chest. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Y/N...statistically speaking -"

"All I'm saying is the answer could very well be in the Fittes library and you might be the only one who'd know where to look."

She lies down again, and whispers to the trees rather than George.

"Just...something to think about."

As time went on, their relationship began to bleed into more public spheres. She dropped by Portland Row occasionally, and they even had tea at her apartment once. On this particular afternoon, they were in George's room at Portland Row. She was looking through the titles on his alarmingly tall bookcases while he was at his desk, copying some runes from a book while telling her about his latest experiment with the skull. Her eyes roved over the titles restlessly, unseeingly, in a futile attempt to distract herself from her upcoming assignment. She let George's voice wash over her, pleasingly varied in tone and comfortingly familiar, soothing the itch in her brain. After a moment or two, she realises he's stopped talking, and looks up to see him staring at her with a frown on his face.

"Er, sorry. Drifted off there for a while."

"I guessed."

He studies her with an inscrutable expression and she's been caught too off-guard to come up with anything other than the letter burning a hole in her desk.

"You alright?"

She sits on a chair next to his and rests her chin on her knee, feeling oddly wooden. After getting to know George, she had taken the comfort of being able to somewhat predict his mannerisms for granted, and the thought of heading into this blind made her nervous.

"My team's been assigned a case outside of London."

"Oh. When?"

"We leave this weekend."

He looks too stunned to ask the question weighing on both their minds.

"It's for a month."

"A month," he echoes distantly, as if not quite sure what to make of that piece of information. His face remains impassive and she waits for a reaction which never comes. "What about that celebratory dinner?"

"We leave after it."

"Oh."

For someone who usually always had so much to say about anything and everything, his current conversational skills were desperately wanting. Say something. Be affected, she begs internally. She needs to hear him say it. She needs the sickness in her chest to be real, to be founded.

"It'll be...different without you." The careful look on his face makes her feel like he's picking out her emotions from her face and engineering an optimal response. "I'll miss you."

It doesn't comfort her in the way she expected it would. Suddenly, she can't even bear to look at him.

"You don't have to."

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

Either George had decided that she needed some space or he was just as pissed as she was, because she didn't see one sign of him over the next few days. Good. She hardly noticed. The thousand times a day he crossed her mind were only out of relief, and nothing else. But as much as she pretended otherwise, by the time the celebratory dinner rolled around, his absence had taken a toll on her. She couldn't tell if she was hoping or dreading seeing him again.

She was on a balcony on the upper floor, looking miserably into the radiant foliage of the gardens below, where unfamiliar faces flitted with a lightness of heart she envied. Their shadows are tall and intertwine ceaselessly, making her dizzy. Her bags were packed, her ticket was waiting on her mantle, and all loose ends were tied up. Even her one chance at happiness for the rest of her life.

There's a rustle behind her and she turns to see George standing a considerable distance away from her. He's only marginally closer than the first time they met, properly, when he was standing outside their front door and she was pacing behind the garden gate. She wants to cry in relief. Instead, she finds it in her not to look away. Maybe it's the confusing lighting, but there's a soft edge to his face.

"I thought I saw you come up here."

She doesn't say anything; she's too happy to. And yet, a part of her is still deeply unhappy with the sight in front of her.

"Have you...tried the food?"

"...it's not as good as yours."

"You must be leaving soon."

"Tomorrow." The thought makes her want to rip her face off.

"You'll be back in a month."

She drummed her fingernails against the marble railing, carefully choosing her words.

"What if things change in a month?" What if, she wanted to say, you meet someone else who loves you better than I can?

"It's only a month."

"A whole month."

"I don't understand. Why are you so afraid?"

"Because - because you'd forget me. You'd forget me, and our memories would sink six feet under, and you'd move on and my heart would break and...you wouldn't care."

She's never felt this way about anyone before, and she doesn't know how to express how badly she needs him to stay.

"I don't want to go back to not knowing you, George."

The setting sun burns into her neck and all of a sudden, she feels unbearably hot. Her hair is plastered to her forehead and her hands feel clammy. Her face is flushed and she feels ridiculous in her dress. But he's here, and she's said it, so she lets herself dream, if only for a moment.q

"I think about you every day. One month, two months, three months...I'll wait."

TAGLIST: @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Interlude 11h, Live Reactions

Okay.

So.

This is the one I've been really waiting for. So I'm going to go all out for this, because it's, you know, the Interlude. The only one from Arc 11 really worth reading. A key reason I'm even reading Worm in the first place, since if Amy hadn't done this and all that flows from it, Worm probably wouldn't have caught my interest enough back when I made that errant comment.

All the attendant 'this is a live reaction' stuff applies.

Amy sat on her bed, staring at the piece of paper in her hands.  The header at the top was stylized, a silhouette of a superhero with a cape flowing, with a script reading ‘The Guild’ extending to the right.

Given how Amy is going to be reasonably important for the next few arcs, and then show up significantly more in the back half of the work than she did Arcs 1-11, I kind of feel like...

This is too late to be getting our first Amy POV?

I mean, Amy's been sort of lurking at the end of the narrative for a while, and blind readers have presumably guessed all the teases about Amy are building up to something, and they are, but like...

A lot has to be fit into this Interlude, all at once, and maybe some of it could have, and indeed should have, been shown earlier, I'm gonna guess?

Like, any hypothetical worm TV show is absolutely going to have to show some of Amy's life much sooner than this. It's just not going to work if this is suddenly the first glimpse we get of Amy's perspective.

But also, BABYGIRL! AMY! MY LITTLE MEOW MEOW!

Mrs. Carol Dallon.  Brandish, Let me open by stating my condolences for the loss of your brother-in-law, nephew, and your husband’s injury.  I have heard New Wave is currently considering disbanding, and you have my best wishes, whatever route you end up taking.  We have too few heroes and heroines to lose them, and even fewer of the truly good heroes and heroines who set the standard for everyone else, parahuman and human alike.  If finances ever become a concern, know that all you need to do is ask, and we will find you employment among the Guild’s uncostumed staff. Knowing what you have been through as of late, it is with a heavy heart that I send you this message with further bad news.  Marquis, interred in the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, confided to another inmate that he fears for his daughter’s life.  I have checked the facts to the best of my ability, and the details I have been able to dig up match with his story.  I must warn you that Allfather may have arranged for Amy Dallon to be murdered at some future date, in revenge for his own daughter’s death at Marquis’ hands.

Dragon.

Really.

Bitch.

WHY? Allfather is dead. Kaisar is dead. What made you think that this threat is at all likely to be borne out?!

She had to stop reading there.  The paper had been on Carol’s bedside table, and Amy had found it while collecting a change of clothes for Mark a week ago.  Carol had probably been reading it to him late the previous night, and maybe forgot to put it away due to a mixture of exhaustion and the distractions that came with waking up each morning to a disabled husband and a ten-year career in jeopardy.

This is Carol. Fuck her. She left it out on purpose.

(Okay, probably not, but remember This Is A Carol Dallon Hate Blog)

Marquis had been an aspiring crime lord in the bad old days of Brockton Bay.  It had been a time when the villains had been flocking to the city to profit off the booming tech and banking sectors, to recruit mooks and henchmen from the city’s unemployed dockworkers.  It had been an era when the heroes hadn’t been properly established, and the villains had been confident enough that some didn’t give a second thought to murdering any heroes who got in their way.  Marquis included. The bad old days were how Carol and Mark referred to that time.  There were more heroes now, and there was more balance between the good guys and the bad, but things were arguably worse now.  Everything was in shambles. Marquis had been an osteokinetic.  A manipulator of both his own bone and, provided some was exposed, the bones of his enemies.  He’d been notorious enough that she’d heard about him despite the fact that he’d been arrested more than a decade ago, that the city and the public had remembered him.  He’d lived in the outskirts of the city, residing in a large house in the woods, just beneath the mountains.

If Amy wasn't quite so neurotic, and hadn't been gifted by so many fucking issues by Carol, Marquis being her dad shouldn't have bothered her this much.

Because yes, villain. Yes, evil. But also - less evil than the Teeth. Less evil than E88. Less evil than Galvante. He was notorious. He did do a lot of bad things. But of all the options that were likely, he's... the best one? Unironically, any of the alternatives of that era would have been worse.

It's kind of hilarious, in an infuriating way, she melts down so much over the news that the best behaved of Brockton Bay's old class of villains is her dad. And it's because Carol gave her this stark, black and white 'Criminal is a state of being, not defined by choice' mindset.

So convinced that she's a monster already, between her power, her feelings for Vicky and Mommy dearest, this just feels like proof.

To all reports, the man had been heartless, callous.  Wasn’t she?  She couldn’t bring herself to care anymore when she went to the hospitals to heal the injured and sick.  It was a chore, something she made herself do because people wouldn’t understand if she stopped.  There were only so many people she could heal before she became desensitized to it.

Because you became inured to it, Amy! You did care once! Don't do this to yourself!

*shakes Amy by the shoulders* PLEASE!

Not hard to pull the pieces together.  She could remember how quickly Neil had dropped the subject when he realized she was listening.  He hadn’t outright said that they’d caught Marquis, but she could imagine that the weaknesses that Neil had been outlining had been what they’d used.  Send Lady Photon, Brandish and Fleur against the man.  Add the fact that Amy had been there, a toddler, and Marquis had been too concerned about collateral damage to go all out.

Toddler? Wait, I thought Amy was six?

Oh, right, #Wildbowsucksattime

But yeah. Let's attack the supervillain in his own home and let his daughter get caught in the crossfire! Oh, you didn't know about her? And if you'd killed her, that would have mattered not at all.

The slight hurt more than she’d expected.  It wasn’t like it was something new.  It had been going on for weeks.  And it was fully deserved.

No. It really isn't. Fuck you Victoria. Amy has very good, if probably misguided, reasons for not doing brains. Leaving aside the fact of her fears of her power and stuff, messing with brains is no simple prospect. Even if she could heal him, there's no guarantee it's Mark again. And if she did heal him and he came out not Mark, not the Mark they knew, who the fuck do you think gets the blame for that from Carol?

Sure as shit not you, Vicky!

Like, yes, Back in Interlude 2, we get a bit of foreshadowing, Vicky's belief that Amy does need to learn to do brains, needs to accept she may need to do them. And Vicky was right then. But she has no right to get angry at Amy, to act like what Amy is doing by refusing to break her rule, is doing something wrong. Yes, I wish Amy would do this. I wish Amy would be willing to break her rule, just a little, to help Mark.

But pressuring Amy like this, getting upset with her, guilting her - fuck you, Vicky. Fuck you.

Again, I feel like this is the sort of thing we needed to see sooner.

It was all falling apart.  This family had never fully accepted her.  Being in the midst of a family that all worked together, it was hard to preserve secrets.  Amy had learned a few years ago, overhearing a conversation between Carol and Aunt Sarah, that Carol had initially refused to take her in.  Her adoptive mother had only accepted in the end because she’d had a job and Aunt Sarah didn’t.  One kid to Aunt Sarah’s two.  When she’d taken Amy in, it hadn’t been out of love or caring, but grudging obligation and a sense of duty.

Hm. And maybe, just maybe, that's why Amy feels so obligated to burn herself out by constantly healing. Maybe, just maybe.

Jesus christ, I will be forever amazed that Wildbow created a character that is the fucking PLATONIC IDEAL of a Woobifiable character and then had the gall to be surprised people were woobifying her.

Man just never has understood how fandom works.

Victoria was appalled, seething with anger, brimming with resentment, because Amy couldn’t, wouldn’t, heal their father. They’d fought, and Amy hadn’t been able to defend her position, 

I find that very hard to believe. it's not hard to defend 'doing brains is a very bad idea'.

Then again, Amy is under insane stress and pressure and people aren't very good at reasoning through shit under pressure.

Again, I really feel like this needed to be spaced out better. Maybe 11h being the first Amy POV is fair, I can see why he'd do that, but these details about Mark, at least? That needed to come out sooner. It's just -

Too much is being packed in here. Too much.

The letter.  Carol wasn’t angry in the same way Victoria was.  What Amy felt from her ‘mother’ was a chill.  She knew that she was only justifying the darker suspicions Carol had harbored towards her since she was first brought into the family.  It was doubly crushing now, because Amy knew about Marquis.  Amy knew that Carol was thinking the same thing she was. Marquis was one of the organized killers.  He had his rules, he had his code, and so did Amy.  Amy wouldn’t use her power to affect people’s minds.  Like father, like daughter.

I mean, a lot of this is just Amy's own neuroses working against her, but seriously, people who act like Carol isn't the source of virtually every one of Amy's problems baffle me. People don't think like this without a reason. Carol's behavior gave her reasons to think like this.

A girl stood in the living room, five or so years younger than Amy.  Her blond hair had been curled into ringlets with painstaking care, but the rest of her was unkempt, filthy.  She stared at Mark, who was struggling and failing to stand from the couch.

Fucking Bonesaw.

Normally I like to call people by their names, rather than dignify them with their stupid cape names, though it depends, but no. Bonesaw doesn't get a name. Fuck her. I hate Bonesaw. Unfair? A little, yeah. She's a victim, a worse victim than nearly anyone else in Worm, arguably.

I just don't care.

Amy, kill her. Kill her right here. Right now.

“Yes!  I can’t even begin to tell you how hard it was.  I mean, I had to conduct the operation from a remote location, using robots, because I would lose my Tinker powers if I got too close to the big lug.  And I had to fit their bodies and nervous systems together so that they could use their powers without messing up the other.”

Oh, my heart bleeds for you, Bonebitch. Tell us all about how hard it was to make a monstrous freak of nature! As if you and your little brain parasite (shard) didn't love every psychopathic second of it.

Bonesaw smiled.  “I thought you’d appreciate this more than anyone.” “Appreciate this.” “You’re the only other person who works with meat.  I mean, we’re different in some ways, but we’re also really similar, aren’t we?  You manipulate people’s biology, and I tinker with it.  The human body’s only a really intricate, wet machine, isn’t it?”

I can honestly only laugh at the level of delusion this horrible little girl possesses. Not funny laugh, just... what the fuck else is there to do laugh.

“That’s good!”  Bonesaw smiled at Amy, “I knew we’d make a good team!” “Team?”  What could she say or do to escape?  Failing that, was there anything she could use to kill herself, so Bonesaw couldn’t get her hands on them, turn them into something like those things?  In the worst case scenario, she could use her power on Mark before finishing herself off.

Alternate universe where Bonesaw never gets it into her head that Amy should be her buddy.

Alternate universe where Bonesaw gets killed in a freak accident involving a frozen turkey falling from a great height at high velocities and squashing her.

Alternate universe where Bonesaw dies messily and bloodily and her body burns in a fucking nuclear fire.

“Language!”  Bonesaw admonished, with surprising fierceness.

I...I can't take this seriously.

I hate Bonesaw, for what she does to Amy, for how her fucking delusions lead to Amy's life being destroyed, but again, she's not actually that compelling. She's just...

Sick and twisted and...

Fucking annoying.

'Language'. Right. She really cares that much about it. Because Jack Slash really cares that much.

“Jack’s taken me on as his protegé.  Teaching me the finer points of being an artist. 

Artist? Artist? Artist? Artist? ARTIST?

My GOD is Jack Slash pretentious.

Actually, dare I say it?

Jack Slash is Edgy.

(What. I need to find something to laugh at as I read this or I'll combust with how much I hate Bonesaw right now)

(I genuinely don't understand fics that want to imagine some Amy & Bonesaw friendship, or Amy and 'Riley' or whatever, in some universe where Bonesaw does what she does to Amy and then survives to be redeemed or something. Even if Amy went evil and joined S9, I can't imagine her gleefully embracing Bonesaw's delusions. an S9 Amy probably murders Bonesaw at the first opportunity.)

and they’re kind of family.  I want you in my family, Amy Dallon.”

And I want to enter this work of fiction, grab you, and string you up by your entrails.

But we can't always get what we want, Bonebitch.

Amy looked at her hand.  She’d just taken a life.  A mercy, most probably, but she’d killed.  Something she had promised herself she would never do. She shivered.  It had been so easy.  Was this what it was like for her father?  Had she just taken one more step toward being like him?

See, and now this is where the problem with rigid moral codes hits. When they don't have any flexibility, for situations like this, when you build this hard, solid edifice and expect it to hold up against everything...

It's strong, sure, but it's brittle. And when you, like Amy, pin your entire sense of yourself, your entire sense of being a good person, on a few rigid codes, you absolutely will shatter.

Amy absolutely shouldn't have built herself such an inflexible moral edifice. If the girl had had any sort of actual therapy, she might not have. If she'd had a mother that wasn't Carol, she might not have.

But she did.

And it shattered.

Again... I just don't understand Wildbow, and Ward. Slaughterhouse Nine, and the role they played in destroying Amy's psyche and sense of herself and sense of morality barely shows up in the text, because god forbid we allow context to get in the way of his weird attempt at a rape culture metaphor or whatever the fuck he was on.

“Ready to join?” Bonesaw asked, looking for all the world like a puppy when her master had the leash out, ready for a walk.  Eager, brimming with excitement.

And the funny part is that this useless waste of carbon atoms actually thinks that's all that's needed.

and then we could make one superperson out of a hundred capes, and all of the powers would be full strength because you helped and we could use it to stop one of the Endbringers,

Oh fuck off Bonesaw. You wouldn't dare do anything so interesting as use your creations to fight an Endbringer. and even if you were capable of mustering enough vision for that, Jacky McEdgelord would hardly let you do something so creative.

“No,” Amy said.  Then, just to make it clear, she added, “No, it’s not going to happen.  I won’t join you.” “You will!  You have to!” “No.” “I have to do like Jack said.  He said I won’t be a true genius until I’ve figured out how to get inside people’s heads.” “Maybe- Maybe you won’t be inside my head until you realize there’s no way I’m going to join the Slaughterhouse Nine.”

You know, I'm not really interested in 'Amy goes off the rails level evil' fics, but you know what? Let's have one of those. Bonesaw breaks Amy and then Amy kills her and the rest of Slaughterhouse Nine because why the fuck would she hang out with them? If Amy really stopped caring and wanted to go evil, there's still no reason for her to be so BORING as to join Uselesshouse Nine

“I’m doing you a favor, really!”  Bonesaw raised her voice to be heard over the screams.  “You’ll thank me!”

I mean, I hate Bonesaw, I hate her with the heat of a million suns. And I don't hate any of the other members of S9 because again, BORING.

So in that sense, Bonesaw is a compelling villain.

But she's also boring, because she's just...

This.

Nothing interesting about what she's doing. Torture and hybrid monsters and plagues and murder just for the sake of it. She learns all this shit about powers and does nothing with it.

I hate her so much not because she's compelling in her own right, but because I'm so obsessively into Amy as a character, and so desperately want her to be happy.

Everything else in the world seemed to drop away.  She pressed her forehead to his.  Everything biological was shaped in some way by what it had grown from and what had come before.  Rebuilding the damaged parts was a matter of tracing everything backwards.  Some of the brain was impossible to restore to what it had once been, in the most damaged areas or places where it was the newest growths that were gone, but she could check everything in the surrounding area, use process of elimination and context to figure out what the damaged areas had tied to. She felt tears in her eyes.  She had told herself she would heal him and then leave the Dallon household.  Actually doing this, fixing him, taking that plunge, she knew she would probably never have found the courage if she hadn’t been pushed into it. It wasn’t that she was afraid to get something wrong.  No.  Even as complicated as the mind was, she’d always known she could manage it.  No, it was what came after that scared her more than anything.  Just like finding out about Marquis, it was the opening of a door she desperately wanted to keep shut.

Again. Platonic ideal of a woobifiable character.

I just

I just don't get so many people.

This this -

Who the fuck reacts to 'I'm saving my dad from a serial killer by healing his brain' with 'I need to run away from home as soon as I'm done?'

Someone who desperately doesn't want to do bad things. Who is terrified of themselves. Who has more baggage than an airport and more issues than a Hudson News.

Someone who is intensely fucked up, and knows it and doesn't know what to do about it.

Certainly not someone who has just been... what, we're supposed to believe she was just waiting for the opportunity to mess with Vicky's brain? The excuse? That what she does to Vicky was the real her the whole time?

If I somehow had enough money to convince Wildbow to sell all the legal rights to all of the Wormverse, nuking Ward from existence across the Internet would be step 0. Also nuking r/parahumans.

The tagline of the Wormverse may as well be 'creating compelling characters the author somehow doesn't understand since 2011. Now with bonus queerphobia and racism!'

Her face burned with shame.  She made her way to her room and began packing her things into a gym bag.  Clothes, toiletries, and other things, mementos.  A small scrapbook, a memory card filled with pictures of her, her cousins and her sister.  She found a pad of post-it notes and scribbled out a few words. I’m sorry it took me so long to help Mark. Good bye.  I love you all, Amy. She wouldn’t be coming back. Amy opened her bedroom window and climbed out, pulling the bag out behind her.

Amy Please, fucking hell just - no.

Don't.

Please.

Don't FUCKING DO THIS!

“We could get you a therapist.  I mean, Mom was setting aside money for Dad’s care, we could use that to give you someone to talk to.” “I… a therapist wouldn’t be able to help.”

Yes, yes it could.

But she's so convinced, so sure there's no coming back from it.

“Fuck that!  I’m not about to let you walk away!”  Victoria floated closer, reaching out. “Don’t touch me,” Amy warned her sister.

It's hard to say. We don't see them just... existing in normal circumstances. Not in Worm. We don't know what their life was like before it all collapses.

But it's really hard to not look at... everything Victoria says and does, from Interlude 2, and this, and the fact that she does end up touching Amy despite the 'don't touch' and...

I'm pretty sure Vicky has a long history of ignoring or pushing Amy's boundaries. Of touching her when Amy doesn't want to be touched. Dragging her on those double dates she manifestly doesn't want to go on. Pushing her to keep healing all those people she nearly kills to cover up her crimes. Constantly pushing Amy to heal Mark.

And Amy, because she was probably too afraid to have boundaries when she first moved into the Dallon household, and then too used to letting Vicky get away with it, and then Vicky was her only source of stability and affection so of course Amy lets her get away with it.

And then she falls in love with Vicky and the idea of saying no to her becomes a lot harder.

And Vicky, of course, just sees that Amy's boundaries aren't really boundaries. She just needs to push a little and her sister's totally cool with whatever. Amy loves her. She loves Amy. Boundaries are what now?

(I say this with love, I really do, but I'm pretty sure Vicky isn't the most respectful of boundaries in general. Not intentionally, just... you know, by accident, a lot).

Vicky does not deserve what happens to her next, or later. Again, shouldn't need to say it, but this fucking fandom.

But she absolutely should have listened when Amy said 'no!' Time and again.

No is always a complete fucking sentence.

“Idiot,” Victoria grabbed her sister by the shirt collar and pulled her into a painfully tight hug. “Don’t,” Amy moaned into her sister’s shoulder. “All of this?  We’ll work it out.  As a family.  And if your idea of family means it’s just you and me, then we’ll work it out together, just the two of us.”

A perfect storm of the worst possible fucking thing to say when you're already shattering her boundaries.

All it took was one moment of weakness, and she was weak.  At the end of her rope, desperately lonely, haunted by her father’s shadow, her shame at being unwilling and unable to help Mark until now, the idea that one of the Slaughterhouse Nine thought she belonged with them? She was losing everything so quickly.  Victoria was all she had, and it was the choice between abandoning that for everyone’s good and keeping Victoria close. She felt Victoria’s body more acutely than she felt her own.  Every heartbeat, every cell brimming with life. Like a flame at the end of a long fuse, leading to a stick of dynamite, her power traveled from the side of Victoria’s neck to her brain.  It was barely a conscious action on Amy’s part.

Again it's so weird that Wildbow can write this, and then... not get it? Powers work on thoughts. Powers work on errant impulses and yes, you can restrain your thoughts, prevent them to become action, but intrusive thoughts are a thing, and it really isn't always easy to hold them back, especially in the state she's in, the state he put her in, with the way powers work, the way he decided powers work...

The man builds this elaborate device made of dozens of checkov's guns and then insists, years later, he never fired a single one of them.

The plain fucking TEXT makes it clear, christ on a fucking bike.

The magnitude of what she’d just done hit her with a suddenness and pain she likened to a bullet to the chest.  “Oh god.  Please, let me undo it.” She reached out, but Victoria stepped back. “What the hell did you do?” Victoria asked, her eyes wide, “I felt something.  I feel something.  You’ve used your power on me before, but not like this.  I- You changed the way I think.  More than that.” Tears welled at the corners of Amy’s eyes.  “Please.  This is what I was afraid of.  Let me undo it.  Let me fix it and leave, and you can go back to Mark and Carol and you three can be a family, and-”

If we're supposed to believe this was a deliberate, willing, fully conscious choice by her (which is what Wildbow and his Church insist is what 'barely a conscious action' means here), then this makes no sense.

But of course, Why would Wildbow care about a coherent narrative? Why would his Church? They have Words of God! Those matter more than the fucking TEXT.

“You have to understand, for so long, you were all I had.  I was so desperately lonely, and that was at the same time I was starting to worry about my dad.  I got fucked up, my feelings got muddled somewhere along the line, and it’s like… maybe because you were safe, because you were always there.” “You have feelings for me,” Victoria answered.  She couldn’t keep the disgust out of her voice, she didn’t even try.  “That’s what Tattletale was using as leverage, wasn’t it?”

Let's circle back to something I said earlier -

This needed to be revealed sooner, to us, the reader. Or... something.

Revealing all this, all at once, all in one chapter?

There's just too much going on here.

Amy found out Marquis is her dad

we find out about Mark

we find out about Vicky pressuring Amy to heal Mark

Bonesaw and all her shit

Amy runs away

Vicky finds her

Vicky finds out about Marquis

Amy changes Vicky and the full story of Amy's feelings come out and it's just...

Worm suffers from too much happening in quick succession in general, but man this Interlude is the fucking textbook case.

“Please.  Let me fix it.  Then I’ll leave.  You’ll never have to see me again.” “What in the world makes you think I’d let you use your power on me again!?”  Victoria shouted, taking to the air, out of reach.  “Who knows what you’re going to do to me!?”

Okay, so like...

I do get this, I really do. You just had your entire sense of... everything shattered, with regards to how you see your Sister, and you're under a lot of stress too but -

You've known and trusted your sister for years. You just fucking said it. She's explicitly saying she didn't mean to, that this isn't something she wanted to do...

I mean, I imagine if not for... everything that's about to happen, Vicky might calm down in a few days and give Amy a chance to fix this. I'd like to believe that anyway.

I get it. I do. I don't... I don't blame Vicky for this, but...

Still. Wrong choice, Glory Girl.

Victoria shook her head slowly, then scoffed.  “Good job, Amy.  You just did an excellent job of taking every instance of me defending you, every instance of my giving you the benefit of a doubt, and proving me fucking wrong.  You were worried about being as fucked up as your dad?  Congratulations, I’m pretty goddamn sure you just surpassed the man.”

Jesus christ, Vicky.

Again. Heat of the moment. You're furious.

But like...

If she was surpassing him, she'd have changed your brain more. To make you like it. You're supposed to be smart. Be smart.

---

Well.

Interlude 11h. The only Interlude really worth reading for this Arc, and jesus fucking christ I'm emotionally exhausted. My own fault, but fucking fuckfuckfuckfuck.

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S04E10 - Blood and Diamonds - Part B

That was your best behavior? You were goading Tennant half of that time.

Dama mention! I like dama.

Hey, we just got everyone to trust Rex, we don't need outsiders to come and doubt us.

It's about the sense of self-preservation. Which, of course, goes out the window the minute Charlie asks something.

His nose is doing all the job, ma'am.

"Otto Hart is your nephew." Dum-dum-dum.

I believe that. Otherwise Tennant would have heard all about Charlie kissing Eva already. Not very fan of "my team", though.

"I needed to make sure Major Crimes took my opinion on this case seriously." Joke's on you because they'd do what they always do anyway.

That's a good line.

You pushover! Yeah, it's that bad. The higher up the ladder you are, the worse you can influence a case. Not to mention (because they don't know yet) that the fact that Tennant has now said the whole truth doesn't mean her nephew did.

The thing is that cases like these with familial attachments shouldn't happen often but in crime shows there's a 10% possibility you'll hit a family member in each case. So, this scenario, which realistically should be totally non-relatable, is in fact totally relatable for most. That's why Joe doesn't have a rebuttal.

More unnecessary touching.

Some undercover work for Sarah too.

The fucking seagull on the camera lol

Jesse was not ready to improvise at all. And we see Charlie rushing to cover for him, then he realizes he's got his badge strapped on his belt and he covers it with his jacket.

They look like a couple of gay PIs on a show I just made up.

Not Terry! Come on, Jesse.

She just wanted to pull out her badge so bad. But I kinda wanted her to as well.

Adele: "Well, from where I'm standing, you were made." Charlie: "To a point." No, like, completely. Let's be honest. The cover is supposed to get someone to either trust or ignore you. The target thinking you're a PI does the exact opposite.

"This is why you don't bring a dog to a stakeout." What? Rex didn't blow our cover.

We're the only ones in the inner circle of trust.

Get him!

You've got a lot of nerve, buddy. You just made a fool of her in front of her subordinates. Aside from the whole murder and diamond smuggling thing.

We got intruders in our bar. Just kidding.

Not that I didn't know that Rex was calling the shots all along.

All their faces are like, "Charlie why?" lmao

Rex: "I don't believe you. Grovel a bit more."

"An apology with food? How can I say no?"

I mean, they totally humiliated her, so no, I wasn't a fan of that. We see every time that this team, and especially Rex, are better than literally any other cop or agent or whatever, they didn't need to do that. But the episode is enjoyable even like that. There's a lot of comedy which helps. It's just that I don't think we needed to be introduced to a character of a female deputy chief who from the first interaction to almost the last needed to be taken down a peg. And that's made abundantly clear throughout the two episodes that we have of her. Not to mention all the gossiping everyone does behind her back. I'm not a fan of these elements.

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 5

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Sexual Tension | Fluff

Word count: 1444

You did actually quite well by yourself. You traveled a lot during the night and found Inn's and taverns to rest in the morning when most troublemakers had already left.

One morning as you were eating breakfast preparing yourself to head out some men came in with a familiar face. Arya Stark.

"Arya!" You ran to meet her.

"Sabrina? I thought you were still in King's Landing."

"And I thought you were dead!" She took her time to explain what had happened to her. Two men approached you explaining what their group called 'The Brotherhood' was going to take her in exchange for gold. Arya seemed healthy and the men seemed honest to what they were saying. You decided to join them on the journey to the north.

Suddenly more men came inside

“Look what we found!” They brought a big man with a cloth covering his face. You knew who it was before they showed his face. Arya took your arm trying to lead you outside.

"You found the Stark bitch!" He said he saw her first as she was trying to pass by him.

"Don't you call her that!"

"Sabrina Arryn, finally left the Red Keep." He looked nothing like he did before. All of the respectful and manners were gone. You realized now maybe a lot of the moments you had read as ‘kindness’ were probably just the fact that he was respecting your title.

The brotherhood took him to the cave or whatever weird nomadic place they were sleeping at. They accused him of many crimes that you haven't heard of, and it did shock you that he didn’t care much if they believed him or not. It was like you could finally see who The Hound was.

"You killed my friend!" Arya yelled.

"They were orders from the king." He replied. The men made him fight against their leader, Beric, as a trial. You had never seen a magical flaming sword, but Beric used it well. It was obvious that The Hound was scared, but still he was able to win, and go free.

You talked to Arya for the rest of the night, she explained how she started to hate The Hound and most of the people in King's Landing. You agreed that most were awful and you were sad that she had to go through all that by herself.

Camping in the woods with a bunch of fire worshippers wasn’t the ideal but, you felt the freedom of being away from all the royal court rules. You borrowed some clothes, pants, a shirt, and thick chest piece armor. You kept your dress in a bag on your horse. For protection you didn’t care much about swords because it was heavy and hard to maneuver, but small knives worked better in your opinion since most men want to come close and grab women anyway.

After being on the road for some time your group met a red witch that took Arya's friend. She wasn't so happy about that and quickly talked to you about a plan to run away. Some time later you took a horse and made a signal for her to run. She ran to the woods, you ran after her, but instead of finding her alone, you met him once again.

"Let her go Clegane!" You didn't hesitate to pull your dagger out

"You think that little thing is gonna do me any damage now?" He scoffed. "I'm taking her to her brother to collect some coins. You can fuck off!" He never spoke to you like that. Of course he couldn't, he's not even a knight, so he wouldn't act like that in the Red Keep.

"Asshole!" You weren't going to leave Arya alone with him.

He took her on his horse and you followed behind them.

"You should be thankful it's me who caught you, there are far worse men than me out there." He explained trying to make it a more peaceful ride. Arya didn't trust him and neither did you.

That night you and Arya slept together on one side of the fire while The Hound slept on the other side. You woke up to Arya grabbing a rock and lifting up to the big man's face.

"Do it." He said it with his eyes still closed "I'll give you one chance."

“It’s not worth it. Better to let him take us to your brother first, then we can get rid of him” Arya put the rock down. The Hound was a little shocked with what you just said, he didn’t think you could be this cold.

After riding the whole day you noticed a storm was forming and luckily you had spotted a small cottage down the road.

"Maybe we can rest there for the night." You signaled ahead

"I got no coins" He turned his horse around.

"I have it." You said going ahead with your horse.

A very old grandma opened the door. The three of you were taken by surprise.

"Hello, we are seeking a room to spend the night. It's just me, my father and his new wife." Arya explained as you tried to smile and nod to that idea.

"Oh yes, come in! The room upstairs is a little small, but the couple will be fine in there. The little one can stay in the room downstairs."

"We would prefer to stay toge-" You tried to explain

"Nonsense! A married couple should sleep together, alone and unbothered! You already have a daughter. I'm sure you can't wait for a son!" Arya looked at you, but the woman was already taking your hand to show you to the room. It was a small room, there was a fireplace, a bed, and a small table with a mirror and chair.

"Enjoy your evening." She closed the door as you and The Hound stood there awkwardly.

He sighed and started to remove his armor. He was left only in his undershirt and slacks. He pulled the covers and laid on the bed. You kept trying to find a comfortable way to undress. You turned your back to him, lowered your pants, and removed your chest armor. The shirt from underneath was long enough to reach your thighs. So you felt decent enough considering he had seen you in less clothing before.

You didn't know, but he had his eyes on you the whole time. You went around the bed towards the small table, opened the drawer and found a hair brush. You brushed your hair in front of the mirror and many times would catch him staring.

"What are you looking at?" You turned around, but he just looked away.

"Put more wood in the fire." He demanded.

"I preferred the way you talked to me in the palace." You mumbled as you grabbed some wood from the side of the fireplace. He slightly pressed his lips together knowing that he didn’t have to be this harsh with you.

“We’re not in the palace anymore, are we?” He just couldn’t help it. You made him too frustrated, sexually and emotionally.

As you stood there in front of the light of the fire, your dress became see through and your entire silhouette was visible.

"That's enough wood." His tone was still serious, but more relaxed, not tense like it was before. You made your way back to the bed and laid next to this man who you had mixed feelings about. It was strange to share a bed. Awkward and full of tension.

"I just want to clarify... That day was a mistake. I thought I would die, got completely drunk and lonely and-"

"Horny." He added. You froze for a second.

"Yes, that too... I would never do something like that again, call a strange man to my chambers?! What a horrible idea." You tried to clear the air between you two.

"I'm the fucking strange man?" He laughed.

"You always were, I just thought I knew you when I didn't." You looked at him, meeting his eyes that were previously on you. You were frustrated, you felt like a silly little girl who starts having feelings for the first man she gets attention from.

"Aye, you don't fucking know me. But I didn't deflower you like you begged me to." He grunted and turned away.

He was right. You were angry and blamed him for not taking advantage of you. That's why you couldn't decide what your opinion was about him. You wanted him to want you, but you knew if he had laid with you in bed that day, you would be disappointed as well.

[theoddcatlady]

Daddy's Little Girl

The thing is, it doesn’t matter how much you know your daughter is a competent young lady who can take care of herself. You’re always going to be nervous for that very first date.

“And you do know you’re gonna have to be back by nine, right? If you’re late, I’m going to probably call Rick at the police department and have him start searching the ponds for a body.”

“Dad! Dad, chill!”

Diana rolled her eyes as she came down the stairs. She seemed just like her mom did so many years ago. It tugged my heartstrings that she wasn’t here to see her girl right now. She spun around, showing off her dark blue dress. “How do I look?”

I developed a mocking expression, judging her. “Well, it’s a little short-” I gacked as she slapped my arm, “Because it’s winter and you’re going to be cold!”

“Well, then Marcus can loan me his jacket,” Diana grinned mischievously.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think a jacket will keep your legs warm, but you look great. I bet you’re not done getting ready though?”

“Gimme five more minutes!”

Five minutes turned to ten and I heard a knock at the door. Preparing for whatever Marcus would be, I opened the door.

Well, I certainly didn’t expect this shrimp of a kid. He was probably shorter than my daughter by a good three inches and looked even smaller in that jacket that was at least two sizes too big, with tousled red hair and thick rimmed glasses. He swallowed nervously before extending his free hand, the other holding a rose. “H… hello, Mr. McDowell! Is Diana ready?”

“It’ll be a few more minutes,” I grinned as I gestured him inside, “Come on in, you look cold.”

Marcus hurried inside and took a seat on the couch. “So, um, Diana said you worked at Anderson Equipment?” He said, swallowing nervously.

I nodded. “Yup. Enjoy it, but I’ll probably have to switch to a sales position soon. Getting too old for all that heavy lifting,” I jokingly flexed, “But I can still handle any punk who comes for my daughter’s hand.”

Marcus nearly pissed himself in fear judging by his expression. I couldn’t hold back my laughter, clapping the kid on the shoulder. “I’m kidding! Diana told me you share a math class and you sound like a great guy. I’m not the one you should be afraid of if you screw with her, anyway.” I paused as I heard heels clack down the stairs. “There comes Diana.”

Marcus scrambled to his feet, presenting the rose to Diana as she came around the corner. “Uh, hey Diana! Your dad’s been uh… keeping me company,” He laughed nervously, “You ready to go?”

Diana took the rose and smiled. “This is so sweet, Marcus, you didn’t have to go all out for our first date. Come on, let’s go get some dinner,” She looped his arm in with hers and practically bounced to the door. She turned and mouthed, ‘see you at nine’ before the door closed behind them.

With the house to myself, I just turned on the TV and settled down to watch some crime shows while waiting for my precious daughter to return.

I must’ve dozed off because I jolted awake to the door slamming and someone hurrying up the stairs. I grabbed my phone and my heart sank as I realized it was now 12:31 AM.

I dropped my phone and bolted up the stairs. I pounded on her door, trying not to knock off any of the cutesy drawings she’d hung on there over the years. It looked more like an art board than a door. I could hear the sink running and a quiet sobbing.

“Diana? Diana, please, open the door.”

The tap turned to quiet the stream of water.

“… It’s not locked…”

I turned the knob and walked in. Her bathroom door was open and I stopped dead in my tracks.

My daughter was soaked head to toe in blood. Her once dark blue dress looked black and was ripped down the sides. I saw that her right eye was swollen, blacked out. My worst fears were confirmed.

“You showed him, didn’t you?”

She sniffled before she nodded. Her appearance flickered before she showed her true form. Three sets of arms were wrapped around herself, I could see the eyes on her palms were leaking tears. Her bottom lip quivered, her right tusk chipped as she wiped blood off her pale blue cheeks.

“I thought… I thought he’d understand.”

I sighed and walked inside. “Get the dress off so I can burn it. Where’s Marcus?”

“In the trunk of his car. Most of him, anyway��� I couldn’t scrape all of him off the seats.” She couldn’t look me in the face as she handed me her keys. “I’m so sorry daddy.”

“I can wait for the story until I get this mess cleaned up,” I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, careful to avoid the spikes protruding from her hairline, “Don’t worry. I’m not mad. Get cleaned up and into some pajamas, okay?”

It was a long drive out to the forest. Thankfully the streets were dead, giving me plenty of time to think about my daughter… and my wife.

I stopped at the treeline and there she was. I don’t think you’d see what I saw in her, you’d see this hulking creature with three pairs of arms and blue crystalline skin and you’d freak out. To be fair, I did too when we first met. Ciern is different.

But I wasn’t exactly normal when we met either.

“I felt you approach,” Ciern said, her layered voice echoing in my ears. I nodded and gestured her to the trunk.

I grimaced when I saw the scene in the trunk. That scrawny teenager I’d just seen hours ago was in pieces, his decapitated head twisted in an expression of pure horror. “Oh boy. She went full crazy on this poor guy.”

“She showed him?”

I nodded.

“Then it’s best that he’s dead. Those who don’t understand pose a risk. You understand.”

“I know.” I started throwing body parts on the ground. “Can you please help me hide the body? I’d have Diana do what you do, but uh…

Ciern hummed as she gathered up the parts. “Best hose it off tonight, when there’s few witnesses. I’ll make sure the body’s never found,” She said. The arm she held slowly frosted over, turning into crystal before she crushed it, the pieces shattering and melting on the ground.

I sighed and leaned against the car. “She’s not gonna have it easy, dating like she is.”

“I found you though, didn’t I?”

“I’m not exactly your only husband.”

“You are right now. And you’re my favorite.”

I sighed as I felt Ciern’s arms wrap around me. “You’re too good for me,” I said as she gave me a tight squeeze.

“I know. Now go home and talk with our daughter.”

I got home when it was closing in on dawn. I had to leave the car behind and ended up walking until I could get an Uber.

Diana was wearing her favorite pink bunny pajamas, but it was clear she hadn’t slept all night. She looked up at me, sniffling. “… He said he loved me and wanted to show it… so I wanted to show how much I loved him by showing him what I’m really like. Then he punched me and started screaming. I didn’t really mean to blow him up,” She said.

I shushed her and sat next to her. “There will be other guys, I promise,” I said.

“Thanks, daddy.”

[nobodysdaydreams]

Doug and Hera need to have their own spin-off comedy space podcast/sudden therapy be a regular thing, because there's no other duo I'd rather see confront Cutter outside of his office documentary style with cameras and mics demanding an explanation for his many crimes🎙️

(Or my reaction to episodes 50-52 of Wolf359)

Welcome back dear readers! It's been a long day, and I know it's been a long time since I've reacted so I thought I'd sit down for a little Wolf359 this evening. Please enjoy!

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Episode 50: The Hiccups Method

I agree Minkowski. When will Kepler get it through his head?

👏 No. 👏 One. 👏 Cares. 👏 What. 👏 He. 👏 Thinks. 👏

With all of Jacobi's sarcasm, I think he and Doug would have been drinking buddies in another life where things were different.

Poor Lovelace. I can see why she doesn't want to take the risk. These aliens are interesting. They called out Kepler for his violence, but they themselves have been extremely violent and hostile. Do they genuinely not realize how fragile humans are? Do they think humans can regenerate like they can so they don't bother being careful? Are they just not used to being careful?

Oh right. Because Hera has been taken over before too. She knows what it's like.

Hera deserves her moment. I hope she gets it, whatever it looks like.

Maybe they could listen to the music. Maybe that will draw the aliens out. They did seem to enjoy the tunes. 🎶📻👽

I mean...the brain IS like a computer...but it's not exact. It's way more complicated. And a "part alien" brain? Let's see how this goes...

Ah the creepy background music. 🎶 That must mean it's working.

Eiffel! Oh dear. I guess Lovelace doesn't do well with creepy silence and breathing.

I know that sound. A treadmill. My old enemy. /j /treadmills are actually fine, it's the pacer that gets me.

Oh no this sounds terrible. I'd be out. Bods would not be a pretty sight. I'll spare you all the details.

Keep trying Eiffel, I believe in you!

And it's not your fault Lovelace. It's none of your faults.

Well except Kepler it is his fault for sure. And Jacobi.

Kepler's idea would probably involve chugging some whiskey.

Oh this is bad too. I should have figured. Kepler would have probably hoarded the whiskey for himself anyway. Not to drink, but just to enjoy the feel in his...well feet now I guess since he um...could use a hand right now.

The aliens did make Lovelace pretty indestructible... except for the one that killed itself that they heard about...oh maybe they can self-destruct.

As horrible as they were, it would be way more useful to have Maxwell or Hilbert around. I get why they had to die. If you have characters who can explain things, you lose the plot. But it would be strategic to trade Jacobi and Kepler for them.

Oh they don't sleep much? Interesting. What happens when she sleeps? Do they take the data from her brain?

Alien duplicates have a more complex brain stem? Interesting. A more complex life support and control system.

Norepinephrine. I struggled to pronounce it to Doug.

So that would mean she needs the opposite of alcohol.

DOUG WHAT IS THIS PLAN?

HERA CAN IMITATE THEIR VOICES? That's kind of cool. I hope she uses that later to trick Cutter and Pryce.

"Complete the process?"

Cliff notes? Key inside is outside? Enter in order to leave? Douglas must what?

Do they want them to fly into the star? Is that why they tried to drag them in before? Is that what the aliens mean by "Kalabunga"?

They know that doesn't work with humans right? They've seen human bodies, they know that can't work right? Are they trying to make more human clones? Why?

Good work, Doug. At least they know what the aliens want now. Sort of.

Episode 51: Shut Up and Listen

Sophie has really been hyping up this episode, so I'm excited to listen.

I love these intros. ✨Hera✨, Captain Isabelle Lovelace the Second, all the aliases for Hilbert 😂 "Boom-boom wow Jacobi" oh my gosh the Kepler one 😂

Professor D.F. Eiffel. What is his middle name? What is he a professor of?

The Hephaestus files! I love the intro theme. It's very drama. UF Overview is good too.

Again with the dramatic music. This is perfect. I love Doug and Hera together they're fantastic!

Please Minkowski being the mom. "You're not poisoning anyone on your radio show are you?"

Man, Doug is never living down this "you poisoned yourself" thing.

Oh right the radio signals. The ones that couldn't possibly from 8 years ago, because no radio station has ever played old music before. It’s not like we have whole stations dedicated to music from the 70’s and 80’s.

Why are we listening to Kepler's opinions on the aliens? They already made it clear they don't like violence. Kepler tried to get violent and they chopped his hands off and talked down to him. These aliens don't really even seem to talk normally. Do they even normally communicate with sound?

The lion speech actually makes sense. You don't know what "that's a nice scent there" means.

But Kepler. You are ASSUMING that you can't get where the dear listeners are technology wise without doing horrible things. And even if that is true, you are also assuming that's where you want to be. Why are these aliens taking such an interest in you? Maybe they're desperate. You literally just said you don’t know anything about how they work, and now you’re claiming to know everything. Whatever fits your worldview I guess.

"Finish the process quickly" sure sounds urgent to me.

As for Maxwell's language logs, maybe Hera can take a look.

I knew it! Hera can understand it.

Math is math. There we go! And binary gives you yes and no. Simple, but effective for answering questions.

I'm sorry Hera. I know Maxwell wasn't here for you, but she was there for a while. I'm sorry she didn't make a better choice. It’s sad to think that if they made better choices in another life, Maxwell and Jacobi might have actually been friends with these guys.

"How to listen. How much have we missed already?" That's a good metaphor for life too.

Not the Goddard Futuristics sponsorship 😂😂😂

"Do you want to do horrible things? Do you wish more of your time was taken up by conspiracy theories? Are you tired of just being evil on earth and want to be evil 🚀in space🛰️?" 😂😂😂

"Experiences no other human has ever gone through" right, but Lovelace is technically not totally human. (no offense. Biologically I mean).

"The Doug Eiffel charm" oh goodness

"What could possibly go wrong" DO NOT ASK THAT QUESTION DOUGLAS.

The wonderful record scratch and future Hera. 😂

"Fancy meeting you here...in the bridge...of a space station...the USS Hephaestus" I can just tell Doug ran a comb through his hair and threw on his best shirt for this. And that’s all you need. Max effort. Charm to 100% 😂

✨my casual stance😎✨

smooth Doug, very smooth

"I won't record you without your permission" 😂

I would not be surprised at all if Cutter and Pryce have listened to 100% of their journey. Microphones hidden everywhere.

"Don't pull others into your sinking boat" you're all in the same boat.

Wow. Lovelace is getting real here. "What would Isabelle Lovelace do?"

Lovelace you are YOU. ...Aw, she wants to feel like herself again. You can still be you Lovelace.

"That doesn't work. You know why?" oh because she's not her? Eiffel? Oh no.

Oh Hera. He was afraid of Hera? Windup girl? Hal9000 impressions? Doug, they weren't just jokes, and you know it. That's why you stopped.

"People are always going to be afraid of me, aren't they?"

Ouch.

And Doug did deserve that slap. It know jokes are how he copes, but poor Hera and Lovelace.

...yeah that DID happen. And I'd imagine Doug has been MIA. He's probably ashamed.

Doug, they know you're not a bad guy. We all make mistakes, but you need to apologize.

Doug is not the best listener or good at remembering or reading subtext. Me too buddy. It's okay. Dang they really called me out with this character and I don’t like this part. Can we go back to him being funny and a good friend and the only person brave enough to point out the obvious “killing people is wrong”?

Minkowski's speech about how hard it was to change her language and accent was a lot. I wonder what she thought about all those times Doug mocked Hilbert’s accent and Nationality? It also makes me wonder whether the aliens are doing the same with them. Not the mocking, but changing their speech. Are they just trying to communicate or do they want to create a certain impression?

But this is getting sad. Why does this feel like a forever goodbye? I don't like that. I don't like that at all.

"That's the thing about you Eiffel. You try. You really really try. And then you stop trying. Don't stop."

Let's see if he does.

I also love that Hera continued the podcast even though she got mad at Doug. She's so sweet. HAHA...The Hephaestus Files, nice. Hera deserves that.

I love the exit music 🎶🎶🎶

I feel like this episode might be a good metaphor for the aliens and communication. Doug didn't listen to what his coworkers were really saying. Maybe the aliens are the same way. Who knows.

Hm. I should go to bed now.

Eh...one more couldn't hurt.

Episode 52: Constructive Criticism

Oh Hera's trying to take care of him. It's okay Hera, he'll get over it, he just needs time.

Good thoughts Doug! You're listening! Why classical music? What's so special about that to them? Maybe they don't have a concept of sound or music! Maybe that's what they came for! You're doing it Doug! Good job!

The music is what they are sending. The point is why.

Be careful, Doug. She cares about you. Your friends care about you!

Oh Doug. RUN!

What would he do without Hera?

Did Lovelace gag him? Is this Kepler or Jacobi?

...why does Hilbert's lab have it's own pressure and air? To protect the experiments or give Hilbert a way out? Is there a way to detach the lab?

Also, it was only a matter of time. Cutter's errand boys kept chiming in when they weren't wanted. I'm surprised they weren't gagged sooner.

"The rules apply to Eiffel?" I suspect many rules were created specifically for or because of Eiffel.

A game? Not Funzo I hope.

Huh. Fortunately, Unfortunately sounds like a fun story telling game.

The story will tell you when to stop. Or you get bored. Or everyone dies.

Well not everyone I hope.

Oh Jacobi was that kid wasn’t he?

A WEEK? What happened to Doug? I knew he'd be upset after what happened, but yikes.

I knew it. The NPR special. Doug's punishing himself.

Looks like Kepler and Jacobi are getting on slightly better terms. Don't like that.

Hera. Hera no! HERA!

Oh right. She doesn't want to do a full reset of her personality. She doesn't want to delete herself even if she won't remember.

Don't ask Kepler for his games.

Oh now Jacobi is upset. I wonder what happened to him during the last round.

Wait, the you can only ask questions game! I love that game!

"Run away while you still can" no thanks Jacobi I'll play.

Kill him, Hera. Ask him about his Whiskey.

Now here's a good question. How did Jacobi end up here?

Oh right...Kepler's too proud to stop the game. This is perfect.

So Goddard did some good things. Wonderful. But you can't kill someone, show up in court, and cry "what about the millions I gave to the orphaned children?" YOU COULD HAVE STILL DONE THAT WITHOUT KILLING PEOPLE.

And good and bad DOES matter when you talk about progress, because it determines what you are progressing towards. FORWARD TOWARDS WHERE JACOBI? ASK YOURSELF WHY DOES THE WORLD WORK THAT WAY? DO YOU THINK THAT'S A GOOD THING? ASK DEEPER QUESTIONS YOU SIMPLETON!

"There aren't sides. There's people you do things to and people you do things for"

So Jacobi would kill them if given the opportunity. Tell me something I don't know. Pity he wasn't interested in the redemption arc. I was hoping somebody, ANYBODY would reach for it. The standard is low. The bar is on the floor.

Doug just wants to be helpful. Poor guy.

Yeah Doug, I know how this feels. It hurts. It's okay buddy. It's okay. They're still you're friends. You’re not worthless.

Oh his poor stomach.

And...Hera wins the game! Yay! 🥳

That's a lot of music. But again, why. Why do they need the music?

I'm beginning to like fortunately, unfortunately game. Let’s try it.

Fortunately, Jacobi had a come to Jesus moment and decided to stop blowing things up and stop threatening to kill people...oh dang it Jacobi!

Should have seen that coming.

[hekate1308]

I’m not saying I didn’t like it.

Prompt: I’m not saying I didn’t like it

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Drowley

Normally, Crowley’s affairs, for lack of a better word, didn’t last long – if they ever got past the first night. After one or two weeks, it was usually over.

Which was why it was so bloody confusing that he had been seeing Dean, the local librarian, Lawrence’s helpful darling and everyone’s best friend, for six months now, especially because, as everyone who knew about him had let him know, they had absolutely nothing in common.

As if Crowley didn’t know that.

But he didn’t have the time to focus on Dean and whatever they were to one another at the moment, because… well…

He had other things to deal with.

Simmons should really have known better than to let herself get taken so easily, but then, he had all the experience in the world. And now that he thought about it her real mistake had been to try and oust him in the first place.

At least she seemed to have worked alone. That was something – it meant the other members of his organization had at least the good sense to try and not die by his hand.

Which, of course, Simmons did even as she begged for her life. Pathetic, he thought as he let the gun sink. She had to have known that her actions would have consequences, and exactly the one she had just experienced.

Alright. Now to dealing with the body –

“Clean shot.”

He turned around to find Dean studying the scene in front of him.

He didn’t know what to say or do. Normally, he would have shot immediately… but… well…

This was Dean. And he happened to… happened to…

And then, for the first time in his life, his world was turned upside down.

“Oh relax, Peaches. I’m not saying I didn’t like it.“

He turned his head to stare at him. Had Dean – the kindest, gentlest soul he had ever met, the librarian who regularly arranged readings to children, the man who at least half a dozen people would call first if they needed help just said –

“It lacked a certain… finesse, I’ll give you that” he then continued simply. “Normally you’re more subtle.”

A pause. He hated to ask – he always hated to ask, no matter the topic or the person – but he had to know. “So you were aware…”

“Oh, what you do? Of course. Recognized you immediately when you came into the library. It was a lucky coincidence – I’d been wondering how to meet you properly for some time now.”

“Had you?” The thought that Dean might be an undercover police officer entered his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. No – that glitter in his eyes, the excitement in his voice – he knew those very well.

That was why Dean had never bored him.

He had found a kindred spirit without being aware of it.

He was walking towards him now – no, rather stalking, the glitter in his eyes becoming more prominent. “You see, ever since I was a kid I’ve had these… urges. To do… certain things. Only they don’t align with my values, and anyway, there was Sammy… could hardly do something that would risk leaving him alone with Dad. At least until I was old enough to solve that problem.”

So the car accident he had told him about right at the beginning of their… affair had not been an accident after all.

“He was the first, but needless to say, not the last. Always make sure they deserve it, though. And I’m not talking about the poor or the homeless or something like that –“

“So Ketch – that was you?”

He nodded. “Was fun.” He grinned. “I realized soon enough that it just wouldn’t be fair to drag someone – how should I say – normal into all of this. So since my early twenties, I’ve been looking for someone who could be… quite literally… my partner in crime. And when I figured out what you are…” he trailed off.

Crowley should perhaps have been shocked, or angry, but in fact he was impressed by the thought he had put into all of this. “And you think I could be?”

“I think you might be… intrigued by everything you just heard. And I already know you’re good in bed, and it’s not like you would go to the police to rat me out.”

His hands found Dean’s hips to draw him closer. “Intrigued is not exactly the word I would use… captivated, I would rather say.”

“Well, then… what do you propose we do, then?” Dean grinned again that boyish grin of his that would have convinced everyone of his innocence immediately, even if suspicion had ever fallen on him, which it most likely would not.

“Well, darling” he drawled. “You wouldn’t be interested in learning about the inner workings of my firm, for a start, wouldn’t you?”

[tryan-a-bex]

Velma’s Close Call

The Endless, Velma thought. The Endless…. 

She’d been working on the problem for weeks. It was out of her normal range of study, since there was nothing scientific about “Dream of the Endless,” nor his sister, Death, apparently of the Endless as well. She had looked into myth, and art, and, eventually, to her chagrin, mysticism and magic. Although most crooks used the idea of magic to hide their criminal activity, apparently there were a few, a very select and carefully concealed cohort, who used actual magic to pursue their crimes. Still. She was sure the gang would be able to unveil them if necessary.

For now, she wasn’t unveiling anyone. In fact, she fidgeted uncomfortably with her own veil. She and Daphne were going undercover with a group she had found that seemed to have some information on the Endless. They were really shifty about revealing anything, but they wanted virgins and she wasn’t above lying. It was none of their business anyway. And she needed to get inside and see what they had. Good thing her contact had been able to get them into the group. Marcie was a good friend, even if she did smell like hot dog water and get up to questionable activities sometimes. It was time to go…

Fred sat nervously in the Mystery Machine. Daphne and Velma had gone with Velma’s friend to the … party? Event? Magic ritual? He wasn’t sure and didn’t want to think about it too hard. Meanwhile, he and Shaggy had driven around by the backroads and were parked on a groundskeepers’ access lane behind the dilapidated mansion. His job was to be ready to charge in if he heard signs of a struggle, or to wait in the van and be prepared for a quick get-away if necessary. He would be glad when they left Yenwaf Gir behind them. Weirdest name for a house. Whatever. Who knew how these people thought?

---

Shaggy wiggled restlessly in the back of the van. Scooby wiggled even more restlessly. 

“Hey, Fred, do we have any food in here?”

“Your snacks are in your tackle box.”

“No, not those, I ate them already.”

“All of them???”

“I was hungry on the way here, man!”

“Well, you can wait then.”

Huff

“Aroooooooo!”

“Scooby can’t wait! He has to go really bad! I should take him for a walk!”

“He can wait! Can’t he?”

“Ro! Ro! Rotta ro row!”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, right now?! Fine then! Go for a walk! But stay close to the van and keep an eye on the house! You don’t want to be spotted, and you need to be back here if the girls come out!”

---

“Thank goodness we’re out of the van, eh, Scooby?”

“Ruff!”

“This is a pretty interesting place, isn’t it?”

Sniff sniff sniff

“Oh, look! It looks like a kitchen through that window!  Hey, man, if it’s a party, do you think they have food? Oh, groovy, I see a sandwich plate! Let’s go!”

“Ran-rich?”

---

Velma tried not to let her nerves show. Daphne looked cool as a cucumber, beautiful as always in her white robe and cowl, and Marcie was in her element. Velma was having a hard time not fidgeting, and she just knew she was going to catch something on fire with her candle if she didn’t focus. The dark basement cavern was filled with ceremonial candles and mystical symbols. It made her skin itch. There was no way this was for real. It just could not be. “Dream of the Endless” echoed in her head. Well, she’d give it a bit longer. Even she’d been known to be wrong. Once. She was pretty sure. 

Kirdor Segrub (she did not understand how these people chose their mage names) finally finished his long-winded chanting and weird ingredient mixing and gave the signal.

“Death Comes to Everyone,” the women chanted in unison. 

Velma stared as a black mist coalesced and swirled inside the magic circle. She’d checked for gimmicks. She’d checked. What was this?

The swirling black took shape as a gorgeous dark-skinned woman lying on the floor. Velma froze. Was this an Endless?

“Ooh, pretty necklace!” Daphne murmured from her side. 

An ankh. It was an ankh necklace. The ankh is the ancient Egyptian symbol of life, but by extension, also the afterlife. Could this really be Death? Jinkies! Velma’s mind spun. What would happen if Death was captured? If no one could die?  No more cycle of life. No more relief from pain or the vagaries of age. No more afterlife to look forward to. Despite the honest desire to avoid Death, Velma couldn’t accept a world where Death was not possible. 

“Daphne, it’s really Death! We have to do something to get her out of there!” she hissed.

As Daphne jerked her head toward Velma, her hair, which had come untucked from her veil, flowed gracefully into the candle she’d forgotten she was holding. 

“AAAAH!!! My hair’s on fire!” she hollered, tossing her candle toward Marcie.

“Stop, Drop and Roll!” Velma, Daphne and Marcie yelled in one voice. Daphne rolled toward the circle, as Hot Dog Water put out the candle while creating as much commotion as possible. Velma really did appreciate her support. Meanwhile, under pretense of trying to put out the fire in Daphne’s hair (which was already out, Daphne was an expert in putting out fires), Velma knelt beside the circle and used her robe to smudge and smear as much of the arcane writing as possible. Good thing it was done in blood and chalk rather than paint or something.

The woman in the circle drew a breath and stood. 

“I owe you one,” she whispered to Velma as she passed them by. Velma shivered at the cool waft of air and the sound of wings at her passing. 

“Your time is up.” Kirdor Segrub crumpled to the ground, and the woman disappeared amongst dark, wing-shaped shadows.

---

Well, it was a bit of a scramble after that. Velma’s heart was beating so hard, she wasn’t quite sure how it all went down. But it wasn’t too many minutes later that the crew were leaving the house and heading for the van again. Fred had shown up; apparently he heard the screaming. The guards in the basement stared forlornly at their dead leader and didn’t think to stop the women from fleeing. One of them was holding a sandwich plate. Velma just grabbed Marci and Daphne and followed Fred out the back. 

“Oh, darn it!” Shaggy suddenly exclaimed. “I forgot my sandwiches!”

“You’re not going back for them!” Fred admonished. “What were you doing with a plate of sandwiches, anyway?” 

“I was hungry, dude!” 

“So you just grabbed a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen?” They all piled into the van in short order.

“Yeah, man! But then there was screaming, so I ran down the stairs, and that guy had a gun so I gave him the sandwiches and he dropped the gun. And I picked up this book so maybe he’d trade me for the sandwiches, but I forgot to! What a bummer!”

“I’ll take that book, if you don’t mind,” said a cool, gentle voice. Everyone turned to stare at the same lovely woman from the basement.

“Death? Of the Endless?” Velma asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” she smiled. “You know of me?”

“Well, we met Dream, and he mentioned a sister.”

“Ah, yes, he does that,” she chuckled, holding out her hand to Shaggy for the leatherbound spellbook he was clutching. He wordlessly handed it over, and she turned back to Velma, Daphne and Marcie.

“So, I owe you three a boon for rescuing me.”

“Oh no!” Daphne protested. “We would do the same for anyone! You don’t have to owe us anything!”

Shhh, Hush! protested Velma and Hot Dog Water. Death smirked at them.

“So, do you know what you will ask?”

“I want to meet another Endless,” breathed Velma.

On AO3

Previous

Thanks to @hazyshadeofwintyr for beta reading!

[gunsli-01]

Hey, so something's been bothering me since Yuno's second trial, and i've yet to see anyone point it out, i'm not sure if this is relevant or anything, but...

Who's the daddy?

Like, we've had two trials now, and almost no information on which client was the father. My best guess is Schoolgirl Yuno, and that's just because she actually seems to like that one? She's the only one that's never blue, she dissapears after the abortion is done, and the coat from t2 is hers

I love her, she's one of my faves, but i keep getting the sinking feeling that we missed something vital. And since the father is the only thing that hasn't been explained, i'm kind of fixating on it endlessly (contrary to her wishes, but we have a job to do babe, sorry)

I'm not sure where i was going with this, but... thoughts?

(sorry if this is a weird ask, honestly i'm just kind of losing it and i need someone to tell me if i'm focusing on the wrong thing. Also hi, this might actually be the first thing i've done on Tumblr. So, hi?)

Hi! It's definitely not a weird question to ask at all. I've discussed how a lot of things regarding Yuno were overlooked during her first and second trial. Mostly focusing on the very purposeful ignoring of her feelings regarding her crime and our verdict.

I feel like a lot of people neglected to look in the father of the child in favor of turning Yuno's case into a pro-choice vs anti-abortion debate. It was a politicization tactic that ended up working in Yuno's favor but something I very much believe she will dislike given her statements during her first interrogation,

In her first interrogation four minutes and thirty-four seconds into it she says this to Es after she says it's her belief Es won't be able to judge the prisoners.

"Ah! No that's not it. It's different from what you're thinking, prison guard."

"Then, could you let me hear about it in more detail."

"Well, this has been on mind ever since I first heard about the system... Prison guard, you decide who's guilty and innocent here, don't you?"

"That's right."

"Prison guard, that's nothing more than your likes and dislikes, right? I'm not super well read in it... But Japan's a nation where the rule of law prevails, right? Getting people to decide on what's good or bad outside of that will make them go all haywire, won't it?"

She then elaborates-

"For example, news outlets. They always make a big fuss about adultery, inappropriate comments, immodesty and so on... Right? Just to start criticizing the people who make appearances on there. Don't you think it's all so ridiculous? There's no end to how much people will punish one another outside of the law."

What happened during Yuno's second trial the reasoning people displayed fed into the same thing that Yuno herself admonishes during her first interrogation. The policization and scrutinizing of individuals lives outside the realm of the law. Something that rarely ever ends and extends the duration of pain that all parties may be experiencing.

This is in my opinion why the father of Yuno's child was conveniently overlooked. The political framing used to secure her innocent verdict isn't about the father but Yuno having the right to do whatever she chooses with her body. As it is her right and something she should be allowed to do regardless of anyone else's opinion.

Yet, it's not difficult for people to see how that framing conveniently ignores the fact that some random ass adult man may have gotten an eighteen-year-old pregnant. Or how that eighteen-year-old was to their own blatant admission a sex worker. Meaning that there were probably legal steps taken or put in place around all the work she'd been doing including contingencies in the case a pregnancy did occur. Something the new translation of Undercover alludes to-

"“UNDER” My cord’s being pulled but nothing’s ever enough Contractual desires, oh what to do, FUTURE."

Along with lyrics in Umbilical,

"Am I a bad girl? Please don’t answer What do you want to do? Please tell me."

"What type of girl do you like? I want to become like that, but that’s probably too hard for me."

I think a lot of people within the Milgram fandom are too young to understand sex work is work with legal restrictions and polices around it. Work that attracts many high-profile individuals as clientele. It can involve NDA's and contracts that the workers themselves have to sign. It can also lead to news scandals that can go on for months on end if those high value clientele are found to have met with sex workers at any point let alone are found out to have gotten one of those workers pregnant.

In Tear Drop it's alluded to that there are several possible options for the father of Yuno's child. The several different versions of her outside of the lingerie one being stand ins for her clientele. It seems to me that Yuno wanted this man to be the father given the lyrics that appear alongside these images,

"The wanted wanting the wanter. The overlap, isn’t that some sort of perfection? “Poor naive little girl”? So off the mark, what’s it to you? It’s just absurd."

So, chances are the father of the child was one of her clients and taking into consideration how sex work can be her getting pregnant at all could be considered a breach of contract. If one of her clients could prove that she did it on purpose.

Hence the repeated line of "I messed up. I found out." as Yuno giggling can also be heard. I've discussed the whole concept of pregnancy entrapment before when it comes to Yuno mostly in regards to getting her a 50/50 because it was apparent to me being voted overwhelmingly innocent for the reasons people were stating would more than likely piss her off more.

Because it conveniently overlooks every other thing, she's been saying since the beginning in favor of just keeping what looks the best. Ultimately, though the father of the kid was more than likely one of her several clients who she represents as the version of herself she was while with them. Basically, the outfits she wore to match with them while out.

Q.28   How do you decide what clothes to wear for the day?

Haruka: I wear what’s there

Yuno: I pick something to match with the person I’ll be with.

Though since the guy with the watch is all we see in the second video he's probably the one Yuno liked back and possibly wanted to be with.

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 78

Cw:mentions of past sexual assault, incest.

Gif by @veinereastath

Taglist: @stargaryenx @mercedesdecorazon

Aemond, unlike his wife, is not good with children let alone infants.

He held Helaena’s children ---Aegon may have sired them, but he somehow paid less attention to his children than father did--- once or twice and gave them gifts and sweets, but that was it.

Aemma at nine knew she wanted to be a mother after spending hours caring for and holding one of her Velaryon cousins.

Aemond at age ten knew he wanted to be the father to Aemma’s children when he wanted to set Tyland Lannister's solar on fire for suggesting himself as a groom for his Aemee.

Laenor had caught him and instead of stopping him, showed him a much more discreet way to vent his anger at Lannister.

‘If you want, I can put a good word for you with your sister, valonqar.” Laenor had not laughed at his words and instead affectionately had ruffled his hair. ‘I wouldn’t mind you as a goodson.’

Aemon takes after him, his soft skin shades lighter than his mother and grandfather’s, but eyes that are a deep purple like Laenor’s and a thick white curls with more silver than gold.

Aemon is not bothered by his eye like other children, reaching with his clumsy little hands to touch the scar and the eye patch.

The sapphire had been removed lest it cause infections on his eye. Had he been wearing it; he would have let his baby son tear off the eye patch and see him marvel over the shiny rock where an eye should be.

“Ke-pa.” Aemond says the word slowly just like he had seen his sister and Aemma do it.

Aemon’s babbling is coherent sometimes, and as deserving as Aemma is of having ‘mama’ be their son’s first full word, Aemond wants to make up for lost time.

“Pa, pa, pa.” The boy repeats half the word excitedly and the prince, no, king consort, takes it as a victory even if Aemon has not mastered the first syllable nor the correct use of the word.

If anyone saw him like this, they would think he has been unmanned.

He lost his dragon and half his supporters the moment they heard Aegon lives.

Not that they lived to join him.

Roddy the Ruin had led his Winter Wolves into ambushing them down the Kingsroad.

Butcher’s Ball, they called it.

“The first time you said father, you said it to me, your grace.” There is a nostalgic look in his father figure’s face that makes Aemond think the worst is over.

“I suppose even as an infant I knew you were more deserving of the word.” Aemond quips as he stopped Aemon from leaning forward and trying to take the eye patch off again.

Cole had stayed, sworn himself to them and then asked that once the war was won, he may be sent to the Wall to atone for his crimes.

‘Geld me if you wish, your grace, I am at your mercy.’ He had said alluding to the full extent of his crimes.

“If it makes your grace feel better, he neglected Rhaenyra just as much when she was a girl. She was fond of thinking her father would not have treated her that way had she died instead of her brothers.” Cole admits.

He never speaks of his time as Rhaenyra’s sworn shield, pretended it never happened.

“Why did you never tell me about your past with my sister?” Aemond asked knowing this was the one chance he could get a straight answer.

They had been in love, he took her maidenhead and offered her a life on the run when she was betrothed to Laenor.

Rhaenyra, still in possession of some sense, had refused and Criston turned whatever love he once had for her into ardent loathing.

This Aemond had found out through Aemma who had brought up a hypothetical of him hating her like Cole hates her mother.

Aegon had found out because Mushroom had told him one time they got drunk together and told Helaena.

Helaena had only responded with, ‘at least her first time was fun’.

“Your lady mother forbade it.” The knight and interim Hand of the Queen answered. “Not that I wished to speak about it, in the first place.”

It was the knight’s greatest secret, a secret that would have had Daemon cutting his manhood off before removing his head from his shoulders.

“Must have been the worst of tortures seeing her marry and find happiness with someone else.” Aemond is never this empathetic towards others, he supposed nearly dying days ago has changed him.

Made him more like Aemma, he thinks.

Aemma who would have empathized with Cole and won him over because of her sheer goodness.

“It did not mix well with strong wine.” The knight allows himself to look at the child who shares the blood of the two women he once loved.

“And now you are the closest thing to a grandfather my children will have.” The young king silently gestures for him to take the boy and hold him.

And he does, carefully with a gentility you would not think Cole was capable of, Criston Cole comes to hold the one thread tying him to Rhaenyra’s and Alicent’s line forever.

“I do not deserve this honor, your grace.” The knight says and Aemond dismissed his words.

“Neither do I.” once he would have said he was deserving of everything because he was worthy of it all.

Now he has lost his dragon, his sword and his greatest feat was owed to nature.

His old self would have died from the shame.

How do you tell the man who has only felt romantic and sexual attraction to one woman that said woman felt a similar connection to another man even as brief as it was?

How do you tell your husband that you kissed your brother because you had felt lonely and unloved when you were told he had fucked a woman older than his mother mere weeks after he pledged to love you in this life and the next?

“I have not been honest with you.” She begins and he thinks it will be something trivial like burning his clothes in anger, or something good like suspicions of a second pregnancy.

“Cole has had to threaten your maids to keep it quiet. I know how you hate people intruding on your privacy.”

Aemond thinks she is with child because her menses have not come, but he is not aware that as long as she is nursing Aemon, she will likely not have them for a few more months.

Oh gods, how does she break this news to him?

“I kissed my brother when I was told you have been disloyal to me.” She said and avoided his eyes with her great shame.

They had not fucked and sure, she let her hands wander under his shirt and Addam was a good kisser, but really she feels as much guilt as she had.

Gods.

Fuck.

“What?” his eye looks at her confused as to why she feels guilty. “Joffrey, seven-year-old Joff who you kiss goodnight when you tuck him in?”

“No, my bastard brother---” that should clear it up, she thinks.

“They are a---” he is losing his patience and she gives him a look reminding him about how she hates him saying that.

Given her father was not dead at the time of the marriage, Aegon and Viserys were also illegitimate.

In fact, Aemma is Rhaenyra’s only legitimate child.

“I suppose you mean Addam Waters.” His amusement ends there and looks at her angry. “Did he force himself on you?”

Aemma shook her head. “I kissed him when he comforted me when I was told you had taken Alys Rivers as your mistress.”

“You believed those accusations.” This angers him more than her considering being disloyal to him. “Who told you those fucking lies, Aemma?”

“Daemon’s spies, one of them is a chambermaid who cleaned up the mess the next day. I had my doubts on the authenticity of their words, but I, — she stops short, she cannot even think of how to say it.

“You were weak and vulnerable. So weak and vulnerable you believed their fucking lies, dear wife?” He almost spits the word wife, and she doesn’t blame him.

He, who has never doubted her devotion to him. He, who had a woman force herself on him when she drugged him and made him think she was Aemma.

“Not truly, but I felt hurt by it, nonetheless. Just the idea that mere days after you married me a second time you had let another woman into your bed while I was forced to stop nursing our baby to end the war your fucking family started, was enough to wound me, Aemond.”

“So, you went and sought comfort in your father’s supposed bastard?” he asks coldly, trying to keep his voice quiet to avoid it having spread through the castle. “Some fucking comfort he gave you.”

“He happened to be there, he wanted to return a spinning top I gave him when we were nine and I kissed him because I knew he has feelings for me, and I wanted to hurt you for hurting me.” She admits.

She had never admitted that, not even to herself.

But Aemond is as much her as she is him.

Aemma has always known Addam desired her since they danced in that festival in Hull three years ago.

He had almost kissed her, and she had been disappointed when he didn’t.

His own sweetheart had left in a huff because he did not stop trying to get near her again.

She knew he would give in to his feelings and kiss her because of that.

And she hates herself for it.

“Mission accomplished then.”

[egipci]

hi! i love your fics and writings! i was wondering how john might feel about authorities like the police or the military, given the requirements of his lifestyle, and seeing dean's acab attitude, do you think he came back disenchanted from the war? or that being a hunter has changed the way he sees these agencies? or maybe opposing them is just occupational hazards? i mean. do you have headcanons for these things?

hello and thank you, kind anon! That's such an interesting question. You got me thinking about a little scene in the police station after Mary burns, a la Manchester-by-the-Sea, where John is still in shock about what happened and in disbelief about seeing her on the ceiling (because that's obviously not the result of a routine gas accident, though maybe a kind of home invader--- but then again what human can pin a person to the ceiling like that and escape in the three seconds between her screaming and John finding her? So that couldn’t have actually happened) and he's like "I got drunk, I fell asleep in front of the TV, I heard Mary scream, I woke up and I went to see what happened, and as soon as I went into the room it exploded" ---

Or, in the world in which Azazel momentarily possesses him to feed Sam and is found out by Mary (she didn't recognizes him at first!)--- in that world where he remembers sitting down with a beer and watching a movie and then maybe -- moving around the house, going up to that room but not remembering why, feeling out of control of his body or in a trance, or where he has a weird gap in his memory where he just blacked out until his wife screaming woke him up ---

Or, even the world in which he recognizes right away that someone invaded his home and killed his wife--

In all these scenarios it comes down to "I got drunk, and my wife got killed, and you're just... letting me go?" and the police is like "Sorry, man. Accidents happen, it's not a crime to get drunk, and there is no evidence of any foul play here" --- and in all these scenarios he comes away with a deep impression of the ineffectualness of the police, who are letting fuck-ups like him out there getting married and having kids and getting to keep these kids even after such profound failure (and/or not looking for the person who killed his wife). And of course after he speaks to Missouri that disdain takes on an extra layer of pity or condescension, because obviously the police don't know what's out there and cannot for various reasons. And over the course of his hunting career they are mostly a nuisance and an occupational hazard --- and they pose a real threat to his custody over his children -- but they're useful insofar that they give some people closure --- maybe rarely, but it happens.

That tangent aside, I'm also intrigued by little John growing up in Kansas in the 1960s, raised by a single mother, probably lower-middle class, if not just outright in poverty--- sure it's the Sexual Revolution, but I'd be surprised if women like his mother were not harassed/ heavily-policed. The 1960s was also the rise of mass incarceration and a period where, for example, the welfare system utilized police apparatus to monitor "welfare fraud" --- including literally making midnight visits into women's home to inspect if there were a "man in the house," or denying benefits to mothers who had children out of wedlock or who held a job that earned them so little they could barely survive, or where your neighbors who didn't like you could just call the police on you because you should be poor and on welfare but your kids have dolls and new clothes or whatever. Of course these policies disproportionately impacted black and brown people, but white people were obviously not completely shielded from state intervention.

I also think a lot about John's own abandonment issues/daddy issues and the kind of trouble he got into as teenage rebellion or teenage angst or whatever, combined with the fact that he looked like that. Did he have a dad-hole anywhere near the size of Dean Winchester's? Absolutely not --- but he was a young pretty thing, raised by a woman, having to "perform masculinity" in a way to protect himself and his mother, and I'm contra mundi re: this headcanon, but I think part of why he's so cognizant of Dean's sexual appeal to monsters and humans alike is that he himself to some degree was sexualized from a young age and has experienced sexual aggression from men, including but not limited to, police officers. So like, does he have respect for local police? Probably not. (Which is why Bad Boys is nonsensical).

Now, re the military, I think it's not uncommon for people to have some kind of cognitive dissonance in their views about the military vis-a-vis the police, even though the police is increasingly heavily-militarized. Even if you're an anti-police libertarian, the police is bad because it's the state interfering in your life, the military is out there far away fucking with some other people. (If you're a white supremacist, the police and the military are fucking with brown people who need fucking with.) It's interesting too that John joined the Marines 1) not only willingly, but through fraud, when there was already a significant movement against the draft and draft dodgers were prosecuted 2) when over 50% of Americans were against the war, and the percentage was probably much higher among his age group, 3) the Pentagon Papers came out in 1971, around the same time he enlisted. Like--- guy, what were you thinking?! Still, young men and women get duped into the military every day, so, does this make him particularly evil or unethical? I don't know. We (generalizing here), for better or for worse, have gotten really good at separating the US's war crimes from the people who perpetrate them --- intelligence agencies and politicians lie and get Americans killed, or so it goes. It's not uncommon to hear from veterans who deeply regret what they were asked to do while still recognizing themselves and the people they served with as victims. So, does he regret joining? Probably. Does he maintain any loyalty to the military as an institution? Maybe. Does he maintain loyalty to the veterans he served with, or veterans at large? Absofuckinglutely. We don't really have a lot of evidence either way, but we know John spoke of his family in military idiom and understood himself as drill sergeant, which suggests he finds some value in the institution or its methodologies. (See also Dean's running to help Deacon, or his attempt to connect with random Marine man in S1.)