#i legitimately just kicked my brother out of my room so i could scream about this lmaoooooo

[kindahoping4forever]

AshtonIrwin: It’s a new year!!!!! big love to everywhere out there reading this! To More friendship, love, candles, music and experiences! Thank you for my life! ✌🏻 thanks for the pics sis @ lauren_dawkins_ ♥️

[venzelwrites]

Albedo Headcanons

He makes ridiculous puns with a straight face and creates an awkward silence in the room

He will stare at people without blinking for an extended period of time

When he looks at people, most of the time he’s not really looking, more like he’s just staring into space

The most aloof person ever

Someone could recite an essay to him and if it didn’t catch his interest, he’d retain none of the information - he’d just stare

A very small number people leave impressions on him

When he hasn’t slept in days, he fidgets - biting his lip or occasionally chewing on his nail

If someone who is usually one way acts a different way, it’ll grab his attention like nothing else

For example; when they quiet and reserved Sucrose is expressive and passionate, it doesn’t matter the topic - he’s paying attention

He’s the only one who’s comfortable in a room with awkward silence

For some reason he doesn’t get cold

Like ever

He could live in Dragonspine and be fine with just his usual clothes

He rarely makes time for his friends - he doesn’t know who to consider a friend

He’s made Sucrose cry by complete accident

Multiple times

It’s one of the few times anyone has seen him panic

Klee will barge into his lab when he’s not busy and attack his hair with accessories

It doesn’t bother him

The first time Sucrose saw him with a hurricane of red accessories in his hair it startled her

He finds it funny when Sucrose gets startled by him

He doesn’t make noise when he walks

One time he came up behind Sucrose and started talking out of the blue and Eula bursted into the room ready to kill someone because of how loud Sucrose screamed

Sometimes when he talks he doesn’t realize he’s mumbling so people just stare at him like, “???”

Has a weird fascination with drawing Sucrose’s peculiar ears

Wanted to conduct research on them, but Sucrose was insistant on not doing so

When he’s denied something he’s interested in he looks like a kicked puppy

He will brew tea and get sidetracked for hours - and then just drink it cold

Sucrose has to check on him occasionally to make sure he’s not staying up for seven days straight or drinking old, cold tea

She’s had to wrestle him to bed

And had to wrestle unhealthy drinks from his grasp

One time he was actually startled by her - he was absorbed in painting and she gently poked his shoulder

He flinched and looked up at her like she grew another head because he didn’t even know she was in the lab

He’s a nightmare in the mornings whenever he does sleep

Has barged into the laboratory two hours late because he had a Eureka! moment while laying in bed and contemplating his life

Scared the living daylights out of Sucrose

Has actually managed to get the harmless sweetie to cuss

“Good morning, Sucrose.”

“WAA- FUCK!”

“...”

“O-oh, e-excuse me, M-mister Albedo. You quite s-startled me.”

It scared him almost as much as he scared her

Found it funny after

Once in a blue moon he’ll tease people

“Oh, I was unaware the soft spoken Sucrose could speak so vulgarly.”

“Mister Albedooo..”

Has a weird in-the-kitchen-at-three-am bond with Sucrose

One time they both met in the hallway, walking to the lab at four in the morning because they couldn’t sleep

Klee made a point to ask Albedo why him and Sucrose weren’t married

“Big brother, why aren’t you and Sucrose married?”

Insert Albedo malfunctioning and Sucrose choking on coffee

He had to explain the concept of work partners and assistants to her

Sucrose just about cried of embarrassment because she’s had a fat crush on him for the longest time

He is completely oblivious to this fact

One of the rare times when he teased her, he called her sweetie because of her nickname and she went bright red and hid behind her desk

Cue Albedo being very confused

He seriously thought she was sick

“Sucrose, are you feeling alright?”

She was about to cry I swear

Lisa joked to Albedo that Sucrose could have her own harem once

He looked her dead in the face and asked her what a harem is

He’s an intelligent person I swear, I just like to write him a very uneducated in people

Sucrose made a joke once and he stared at her for a good minute before laughing

It wasn’t even a laugh it was a chuckle

“Haha, I guess you could say my progress is blooming,”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

*Chuckle*

He’s scared this poor girl too many times

He’s also found that she is not entirely harmless

One time she lost her glasses and accidentally made an explosive

The panic he felt when he realized

He’s also seen her obliterate a whopperflower

Whenever anyone teases him about anything he just stares at them with a blank expression

Has made Kaeya feel awkward

One time nail polish caught his interest and he painted both his and Sucrose’s nails with a tiny paintbrush

Sucrose was just, “???”

The stupidest thing can catch his interest

He’s like a cat

Kind of

One time Sucrose barged into his room apologizing a storm because she messed up in the lab and he just stared at her because he was half asleep

And then just pulled his arms around her and patted her back

Sucrose had never been so startled

“I’m sorry I broke one of your breakers and I know it took you a while-“

*Hug*

He honestly just wanted her to stfu so he could go back to sleep

And then he fell asleep again

And when he woke up Sucrose was still standing

With baggy eyes and sore legs

He just stared at her like wtf because she could’ve left and he wouldn’t have cared

He legitimately put a couch in the lab for him and Sucrose to crash on when they passed out from sleep deprivation

The rest of the knights thought it was for guests

Nope

[martelldoran]

unsolicited tfatws opinions because i have them vol. 1

warning: here be spoilers

starting on the positive because there were things i did like in the episode

things i liked

sam wilson: *exists*

me:

sam's storyline was definitely the strongest of the two in this ep and i liked pretty much everything he did.

the opening aerial fight! was! so! cool! seeing batroc again was a nice nod to tws too and an interesting parallel to steve's lumerian star fight. i loved seeing his quick tactical thing, seeing how he fights, and the way he utilises the wings even in close quarters.

sam speaks arabic!

sam fixes redwing! (validation of a hc of mine that he's good with robotics. maybe that's a widely held fandom one as well? idk)

i instantly found torres to be really endearing and i'm looking forward to seeing more of him throughout the series. the relationship between him and sam has a lot of potential.

the manipulation of the government and general set up for sam's storyline felt strong. good basis for a story and pertinent to the current political landscape.

sam's speech as he handed over the shield was well written and gave me the same kind of vibes as the 'the price of freedom is high' speech. they could be quite nicely paralleled side by side.

sam's family! look, i'm a sucker for domestic moments for our faves so the entire sequence where we got this insight into sam's past, his relationship with his sister, and where he's come from was brilliant. i like sarah a lot and seeing her frustration with her brother for trying to come in and fix things when he's been gone for so long felt really realistic. i felt for her a lot. because you can tell there's so much there bubbling under the surface, a mix of love and resentment and frustration that was palpable as they talked about what to do with their parents' house/boat/business. so, give me all of the sarah wilson moments pls n thnx.

seeing the consequences of the snap (hi, i am refusing to call it the fucking blip. marvel, my god, get better names for shit.) idk how in depth they're really going to go into it all but at least they attempted something here with the scenes at the bank.

bucky's nightmare sequence as the winter soldier. it was such a brilliant reminder about how terrifying tws actually is. he's silent and ominous and THAT MUSIC. his presence is legitimately unsettling from the moment you see him. (but he runs around like a bull in a china shop which does make me 🤔 when i remember he's supposed to be a g h o s t s t o r y. idk. not exactly stealth and shadow work. but that doesn't look cool on screen so 🤷🏻‍♀️)

and on that note, vindication of my 'they sleep on the floor after coming back' headcanon. literally had raymond holt screaming in my head the second i saw bucky wake up on his living room floor. does my heart break for him? yes. was i smug about being right? also yes.

leah seems cool. could she actually be telepathic??? since she hit every single one of bucky's boats while they played battleships? i would like to see it. 😂 there's def more to her character than meets the eye since she's slated to be in all six episodes.

bucky having one (1) old man friend even if the reason behind it was heartbreaking.

so, yeah. these things i genuinely liked.

things i didn't like

the therapy scene. i genuinely hated it. there's a different between a no nonsense therapist and someone being deliberately antagonistic and that definitely erred on the side of the latter imo. she tells him to 'get over it' and mocks him for not reaching out and meeting people. media in general doesn't do a good job of depicting therapy so this is just yet another poor offering into the canon. i'm tired. i want healthy depictions of therapy already. it's supposed to be a supportive environment ffs.

plus she kept calling him james 🤮 genuinely wouldn't be surprised if she turns out to be a bad guy plant. which i think is a cliche at this point? 🤔

bucky's new look. which i know we've seen before now but i've not offered my unsolicited opinion on it. it's just sebastian stan in an ugly leather jacket. it's generic male lead#346. it's broification. someone said they made him look like brock rumlow and now i can't unsee it. 😭 rip to bucky with the good hair. i'd have loved to see him with some curls tbh. or a wave that kind of calls back to his pre-war days. anyway. i digress. character design is 0/10.

would have been nice to see him cut his hair as a marker of him starting a new chapter and coming into his own personhood.

rhodey's disability was just? glossed over? no visible assistive tech at all?

the date. just the fact it was there at all. it was heavy handed and not subtle and we know why they put that in there within the first 10 minutes of bucky's screen time. that's all i'm going to say about it. if you follow me, you know where i stand. we don't need poorly written romance. get it in the bin.

there was no acknowledgement of bucky's relationship with steve. if there was a memorial to be had then bucky should have been there. maybe these will come later but i'm not holding my breath.

is steve dead? i assumed that the party line was that young steve died in the battle and no-one knew about old steve . but did they actually kill steve off-screen? what a kick in the teeth if that's the case. let me just cut open a wound for them to pour the salt straight into, shall i?

things i'm mostly neutral on

john walker. he looks like a cop and his wink at the camera gave me the creeps but i'm interested to see how that pans out. i hope sam beats 50 shades of star spangled shit out of him.

the flag smashers. premise of a world without borders is interesting and a believable concept given what's happened in universe. there's a lot of scope there i think. that said, the name is dumb.

right. i think that covers everything for now. my expectations going in were really low, i won't lie. before the premiere i tried to stay away from the trailers and tv spots and the hype in general so i was pleasantly surprised at how much i enjoyed certain aspects of the show.

in conclusion, some good, some bad, some ugly and i will be cherry picking my favourite nuggets for fic at a later point. also, i'm still a skrull!Steve truther. real steve is chilling with some wakandan goats 😌💖✨

[starsandmoonys]

Uh oh, here's another shitty one shot.

*

Regulus Black, the happiest Ghost

"That's a bad colour on you" 

Sirius spun, there shouldn't be anyone in this room. He reached for his wand, startled. He was picking what to wear because he was going to see Remus today and was really trying to look his best. 

"You can't just show up out of nowhere and scare the shit out of me," Sirius said, aggravated but turning again to his wardrobe to search for a proper shirt, a better colour.

"Especially at these times, it's not safe. I could've-" He added, but stopped himself. 

"Sure, give me all you got, I'm see-through." The voice behind him chuckled, getting nearer. "Also it's the whole point of my existence, I show up whenever; scare you. It's fun." Arrogant and annoying even after death, some things just don't change. 

"Yeah, that's how you get your kicks, now." 

"It's my power, and I love using it. I can't exactly scare anyone else. Stuck with you, my dearest brother."

"You can leave now, I'm busy." Sirius was buried in his pile of clothes, getting more annoyed and finding he has absolutely nothing to wear or nothing that would fit appropriate to where he's going. Sirius normally never cared what he wore, he thought he always looked good in whatever and anyone else's opinion never mattered, but it was Remus and he needed to please and impress.

"I can help, Blacks have always had style." He was now beside him. He could feel the coldness spreading out. Sirius looked up, he saw Regulus, his little brother. He was cold, pale, transparent, but he was smiling. It wasn't the first time Sirius would see him after he died. He would always show up to Sirius. He would talk to him, keep him company when the days would just be unbearable. 

Regulus would always be beside him even during missions and duels with death eaters. Helping with lines like "Watch it.", "Lookout.", " on your left.". He'd been there when he cried over Remus. Sirius would talk his ears off but he never leaves, no matter how repetitive the conversation gets. He listens, and funnily enough to use the new information to tease the hell out of his brother in important situations. Like the last meeting of the order when he kept walking around making kissing faces at Remus just to irritate Sirius and get him to lose his focus and stare at the wrong person. Regulus's ghost was far happier and playful than when he was actually alive. Sirius thought of all the reasons why that made perfect sense. 

Regulus had no Walburga, no missions, no pressure or responsibilities, not even the dark lord could hurt him. He only existed for his brother, and that was enough. He was always in a great manner. Only got sad when Sirius would cry or finish a mission looking miserable.

Sirius had a really hard time accepting Regulus's death. He always blamed himself for it. He was the one that left him. He abandoned him to those wretched humans they call parents. He let his brother be fooled by them, he let him sink into the darkness until it swallowed him whole. Until he died, and that was always on Sirius. Maybe if he hadn't left, his brother would still be alive. Maybe they would get through this war together. Regulus would move on with his life, be happy. Instead, he got his brother as a ghost, a voice and a shape, only Sirius could see or hear.

The first time Regulus appeared in front of Sirius, he thought he had finally slipped into madness. He knew he wasn't wired up right in the head, but to actually be able to see his own dead brother, a few days after his death, was his final straw. Especially when no one else could see him, he wasn't a normal spirit. His existence broke Sirius, it was always a reminder of what he did. Sirius would crash, breakdown, cry, sob, and scream at the pale figure. He couldn't be real. It was his mind playing sick tricks on him, maybe it was his parents doing something to him. It had to be anything but the fact that Regulus was actually there. 

That was a year ago. After many sleepless nights, experiments and research, Sirius came to the realization that Regulus was a legitimate ghost, he was there for staying. He wasn't a part of Sirius's mind, and it made everything so much worse for him. His brother didn't choose afterlife, he chose to stay. When Sirius asked him, he would tell him that he wanted to be by his side, just like Sirius stayed and took all the spells and hits for him at the Grimuald place. It's torture to Sirius but he got used to it. Regulus wasn't going anywhere and Sirius was enjoying the company, maybe it's selfish but he has his brother. 

"Shut up, turtle neck." Sirius eventually responded. Starting to give up on the colourful floor he sat on; piles of shirts and trousers, spread everywhere. 

"They're cool, and you know it." 

"Sure they are, Reggie." 

"Coming from the bloke who owns half the stock of silk shirts in Britain. You buy them in every colour, it's disastrous." 

"Why are you here, again?" Sirius turned his head to face his brother, who was now crouching examining the clothes, making disapproving noises and frowning.

"Fine, I'm leaving. You're on your own. Good luck." Regulus said, getting up and going towards the end of the bedroom, walking rather slowly.

"You're just going to roam around the house then come back again because you're a lonely bitch." 

"You're a lonely bitch, Sirius." The Spirit responded, monotonously.

"We're both lonely, now can you please come and help, and stop being a pain in the ass, Reg." His brother just smirked at him. He knew what was coming. So he added and beat him to it. "Do not say the joke you're thinking about."

"Oh, you mean the joke about the pain in the ass? Yeah, you just stole it." Regulus was now beside him again, grinning. "Sure, I'll help. You wouldn't really want to miss tonight's pain in the ass, would you? Big bro." His grin got wider. Sirius could only facepalm as his brother was now laughing and doubling over on the floor with laughter at his very lame joke. 

"I'm losing my mind here, in a crisis, and you're laughing," Sirius growled. He wanted to grab Regulus, smack him. His hand would just go through him, it makes him sad. 

"So, the usual. Except, I'm the one laughing this time." Regulus said, finding his composure again. 

"I'll just cancel with moony, and miss out on the opportunity to see him for the next three months," Sirius mumbled, getting up, shoulders slouched. He felt like crying.

"Or, you could wear those and have the greatest evening for the next three months." He turned around and saw Regulus trying to pick a shirt and a pair of trousers out of the pile, he failed obviously and ended up pointing at them while looking at Sirius. He walked back and picked up what his brother chose. 

They were dark Jeans, a white shirt and a black leather jacket, except that it's not the one he normally wears. It's much more modest, without all the chains, pockets and excessive accessories. "Simple, yet charming," Regulus commented as Sirius was examining the clothes. 

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver." Sirius looked up to meet his brother's eyes. It's insane how they're just more alive now than ever before. "Aren't I always?" Regulus beamed back at him.

"Yeah, I'd hug you." Sirius smiled, looking down at his clothes. "Don't worry, I hug me every day." Regulus was wrapping his arms around himself, "Like that, self-love.  It does wonders. You should try it." 

"One day, Reg. One day, I just might. I'll go change now." Sirius said, smiling sadly. 

"I have all the time in the world," Regulus spoke confidently, hands on his waist. "By the way, you really needn't stress that much about what you wear. I don't think Remus gives a shit, Sirius." Sirius cracked up, hummed in response and turned around for the second time to leave the bedroom. "and I mean it in every good way, brother." Regulus shouted from inside the bedroom as Sirius was shutting the bathroom door.

It's funny how things turned out with Sirius, he grew up in a hell house, with abusive parents. Ran away to his new family, the Potters. Left his actual brother in the hands of Voldemort. Fell in love with his male, half-blood, werewolf best friend. How he's currently fighting in a war against his former family, against everything he was raised to believe in. How he has his brother with him at any given time, comforting him when neither James nor Remus could be there. It's funny how everything in Sirius's life seems shit yet the best it could ever get at the same time. He didn't want it to end.

*

The Au I was talking about. I tried not to make it sad. Probably failed. Idk. Anyways, if you like it. Tell me. Maybe I can think of part two. I'm a Regulus stan, I have so much Regulus content and would write essays and essays about him. :)))))).

His relationship with Sirius is just so precious. :')

This is not in anyway edited sorry for the mistakes.

[isabilightwood]

The Problem with Authority - Chapter 1

CQL!Verse, Wangxian and Yanqing, canon divergence with Qin Su sacrifice summoning JYL after Jin Rusong’s death. JYL teams up with NHS to fix things, starting with bringing back WWX. Wen Qing is alive because I said so, and LWJ gets in the way of plotting because he’s a romantic.

See my self reblog for the AO3 link/additional tags and warnings

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

The problem with authority is that if you leave it lying around, others will take it. — Yoon Ha Lee, Ninefox Gambit

Qin Su was tired of the constant hovering.

Every time she set foot outside her own rooms, she was beset by disciples and the wives of subordinates, telling her over and over how very sorry they were.

It was all bullshit.

Fake, social climbing schemers, who were more concerned with the fact that Jin Guangshan’s legitimate grandson was once again the sect heir, than sorry for the death of her son. Her A-Song.

They expected her to sob constantly, to wail and tear her hair from her scalp. That they could comfort Qin Su by repeating the same trite, cloying words day-by-day. Earn a little status out of tragedy. If Qin Su had to listen to one more apology, she was going to be sick all other the offending madam’s embroidery hoop.

It was true that she still couldn’t go a day without crumbling into tears. But mostly, she was numb. Exhausted, in more ways than one. She wanted to go to sleep, and wake with her son tucked safely into bed, or not wake up at all.

The private treasury was the only place where she could be certain she would not be disturbed. Even in her own bedroom, it would only be so long before a maid was sent to find her. Only she and her husband could open the hidden entrance to the vault. Only in the treasury, could she be alone, to find something to distract herself, however briefly, from the avalanche of her grief.

There were still many items that had been claimed by her deceased father-in-law after the war that had not been cataloged. Priceless relics and weapons and irreplaceable texts alike sat neglected in trunks. Jin Guangshan had cared only for possession, occasionally touting one item or another out to show off. Ten months after A-Yao’s succession, shelves continued to sit empty. Neither she nor A-Yao had found the time, busy keeping everything running smoothly, as he made bids for projects he called progress with the gleam in his eyes that had first made her chase after him. Back when he seemed flattered by her attention, interested in her as more than a friend or colleague.

Qin Su herself managed the internal minutiae of the Sect and oversaw disciple training. The latter would traditionally fall to the Head Disciple, but they had lost one after another. The woman who had been intended to aid Jin Zixuan had resigned over some disagreement before his death. Her replacement, a second or third cousin to the main Jin Clan, married out to the leader of the Fengyang Hua Sect, a growing sect that bordered Gusu and Lanling. Their replacement died at Nightless City, along with the next dozen or so disciples in line. And so Qin Su was free to manage the training as she wished.

Or had been, until she was asked to take a step back from training, for fear her grief would destabilize her qi. It was true that she had been unable to focus. However, stewing in the unending reminders that she would never hold A-Song in her arms again was no help. Attending to her duties as a hostess only made it worse.

Sorting the looted relics was mindless work, that required none of the focus she had lacked for the forty-one days since A-Song’s death. But it was something to occupy her hands, and some small part of her thoughts.

She began with the books that day, sorting into titles that were common and could be sold, those that needed to be repaired, and those to dangerous to be held anywhere but the treasury. Qin Su moved to start a new pile, for useful, rare texts that should be copied, on a table, and a disorganized pile of notes and notebooks caught her eye.

It was the disorganization that stood out. A-Yao never left anything out like that. He must have been called away, but if he returned and saw it, that would trigger his own flood of tears.  Qin Su had heard him sobbing, late into the night, from the next room over. But each morning, he greeted his work with his habitual dedication, no matter how puffy his eyes, or how little he’d slept. A-Yao would never forgive himself if his work was delayed by his composure crumbling over a small thing out of place.

She picked up the papers, intending only to organize them into an even stack, and place them evenly between the notebooks. But their subject caught her attention.

A circular array was drawn on each paper. Identical, to her unpracticed eyes, with varied notes printed in precise calligraphy in different locations on each page.

Qin Su had always focused on the sword, leaving talismans to those with innovative minds yet weaker cores, like her husband. Yet this array made her look twice.

Sacrifice Summon was written at the top of the first page, the one with the least writing. The soul of the caster is permanently exchanged for that of a chosen spirit or ghost, fully resurrecting the deceased. It was a complex design, meant to drawn in the blood of the caster.

Voices, from the other side of the portal. A-Yao must have wanted to show an item from the vault to a guest. Her heartbeat sped up, her hands shaking as she dropped the papers back onto the table.

The last thing Qin Su wanted was to have to greet her husband’s guests, while he smiled his disappointment in her for shirking her duties.

She raised the tablecloth and ducked beneath, knocking one of the papers off the table as she did so. Catching it, she pulled it to her chest, dropping the cloth back into place just in time. It was dark in the small space, and stuffy. Her heart hammered hard enough Qin Su felt certain it must be audible throughout the room. But her presence was not discovered, and so Qin Su did not have to answer as to why Jin-furen was hiding from her own husband.

“The remainder of the He Clan has been dealt with.” Su Minshan reported. His voice was easily identifiable from the obsequiousness with which he always treated her husband. She’d asked A-Yao what he saw in him once, and he’d flashed his dimples at her and said, unfaltering loyalty is a trait I cannot afford to lose. So Qin Su tolerated Su Minshan, though he made her skin crawl. And made certain never to be caught alone with him. “Xue Yang tracked them down to the last man.”

Why he kept Xue Yang around, on the other hand, was a mystery.

“Good, that’s good,” A-Yao said. Never shy of heaping praise on his subordinates, he would be smiling up at the other man. “Tell me, what did Xue Yang bring back with him?”

“A few urchins, from town. He said they were his payment for leaving the bodies alone.” Su Minshan scoffed, disgusted.

It didn’t sound like Xue Yang had brought the children to become disciples.

There was the slap of a forehead hitting a palm. A-Yao’s voice was slightly muffled as he gave an exasperated sigh. “I told him he could experiment with animals or dead bodies or not at all. Especially not children.” There was the slightest break in his voice at the word children. “Xue Yang has outlived his usefulness. Have him disposed of and left somewhere remote.”

The command was delivered coldly, casually. He sounded nothing like the warm, if more distant than Qin Su had initially expected, husband she knew.

“Yes, Zongzhu.” A pair of disciples said, their footsteps receding as they took their leave.

“Your research is not completed, is it?” Su Minshan asked, once they were gone.

“I have better means now. My dear younger brother is eager to please, and will not dismember the test animals for kicks and giggles.” A-Yao spoke as though this was an ongoing discussion, yet Qin Su, his wife, had never heard a whisper of research on animals before that day. Only of field testing of the Yiling Patriarch’s inventions. “Or decide to run tests on townspeople and dismember them, too.”

Just what had her husband been allowing Xue Yang to do? It seemed impossible that flighty little Mo Xuanyu could achieve it, whatever it was.

“Another headache eliminated, then.” Su Minshan said. “That’s nearly all the most dangerous ones out of the way.”

There was a weighted pause before A-Yao replied, incongruously. “I did love my son, you know.”

“I did not mean to imply otherwise.” Su Minshan rushed to assure him. “I am deeply sorry this step was necessary.”

Step? What was he implying about A-Song?

“If only that woman had told you the truth earlier.” Su Minshan snarled. “Keeping it a secret while her daughter courted her own half-brother? What a selfish bitch.”

What? Qin Su clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling a choked gasp.

“Now, Minshan, please. You remember what my father was like. We were all of us his victims. A-Su, me, and both of our mothers.” For the first time, Qin Su understood what Lianfang-zun’s detractors meant when they said he dripped insincerity. “Ultimately, A-Song’s death can be placed at his feet.”

But A-Song was murdered after Jin Guangshan died, she thought stupidly. Utterly frozen in place, the short, harsh pants of her breath the only sign she had not just been dropped into hell. The two men spoke for a few more minutes, but Qin Su didn’t hear a word.

It was some time after they left that Qin Su moved, her stiff joints causing her to fall onto her side on the edge of the tablecloth.

How was she ever supposed to face the court, knowing what she did now? Look her half-brother in the face without screaming?

The honorable thing would be to expose him, and to then take her own life to restore her own honor.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do that to her father, to her older siblings. Half-siblings, now, she supposed, with a crazed giggle. The only real siblings, the only real father Qin Su would ever have. It would be better if they never knew what had happened to their mother. To her.

But she couldn’t carry on as she had, either.

The forgotten paper crinkled in her hands. The Sacrifice Summon. Exchanging her life for another’s.

Was that the solution she was searching for? Could she?

Qin Su remembered her husband’s - her brother’s voice saying especially not children. Only breaths before declaring his own son’s death necessary.

Her A-Song was lost forever.

There was, however, another child under Lianfang-zun’s care. Another mother whose son was not lost, but who had nevertheless lost the chance to see him grow. If Qin Su exchanged her life for that woman’s, perhaps her soul would pass on quickly enough to find A-Song in another life.

Jiang Yanli would see Jin Ling grow up safely, ensure Lianfang-zun did not keep the power he had married his own sister and murdered his own son to secure.

That would be best for everyone.

Qin Su shakily extracted herself from beneath the table, returning to the one room she could be certain Lianfang-zun would never enter.

Now she knew why.

Locking the door to her room, Qin Su emptied what little was in her stomach into the chamber pot. When she was through, she began to draw the array.

 The first thing Jiang Yanli noticed was the silence. She had been on the battlefield at Nightless City, pushed A-Xian aside, and a sword went through her heart —

She had been dead. She was certain.

Oh, A-Xian. What did you do?

Slowly, Jiang Yanli sat up. She was sprawled on the floor of a well-appointed lady’s bedroom. In Koi Tower, by the color scheme, but its occupant had uncommon taste. Rather than gilded everything, there were accents of gold on the drapery and to emphasize ink paintings of the ocean and a palace she did not recognize.

There was also the matter of the array of blood that surrounded her. Demonic cultivation, which only supported her certainty that A-Xian was involved. But where was he? And if she was in Koi Tower, where was her son?

Yunmeng, something inside her whispered. Though she could not explain why, she knew it was true.

Checking herself for cuts, she found a gash across the palm of her hand. But it was already sealing, far faster than Jiang Yanli had healed from so much as a paper cut before her death.

She wasn’t an expert in raising the dead like her brother, but Jiang Yanli was fairly certain fierce corpses did not work that way. At the very least, she should have been bleeding black. Yet her blood was as red as ever.

Getting to her feet, she started to inspect the room for clues. On the way to the desk, she passed a mirror. Her gaze skipped past a mirror. And snapped back.

It was not Jiang Yanli’s face that looked back.

This woman’s face was rounder and softer than her own. Pretty, with a natural pink in her cheeks where Jiang Yanli’s had always had to be painted on, due to the frequency with which she lost her breath and grew dizzy. There, too, was a hint of the agelessness that came with a fully developed golden core. With a feeling of foreboding, Jiang Yanli felt along her meridians until she reached her core. No longer a weak, underdeveloped thing due to her inability to practice the heavily physical Jiang techniques, it shone bright and strong.

That was a point against this being A-Xian’s doing. He wouldn’t have stolen her a body, when he could simply bring back her own.

Why am I alive? Asked a voice in her head.

That would have been a reasonable question. Only it wasn’t Jiang Yanli thinking it.

Maybe resurrection came with the ability to understand spirits. The results were entirely untested, so it was possible. Yet the voice seemed certain it was alive. If her current state was due to demonic cultivation, she might as well do what A-Xian would: experiment.

“I could ask you the same question.” Jiang Yanli told the voice.

Jiang Yanli? It worked! But why am I in your head?

“Are you the one who brought me back?”  She tilted her head back, trying to place the way the voice made her head feel. Almost like the moment at the start of meditation when she began to forget her body to focus on her spirit, but with a disconnect keeping her grounded.

Yes. And then, I can hear your thoughts, the voice said, you don’t need to speak out loud.

That was disconcerting. Is this your body? She thought at the voice.

Yes. The voice said. Stop calling me that. I’m Qin Su.

Strangely, it was a relief to have a name. It made Qin Su feel more real than anything else in this surreal afterlife. So it would be more accurate to say I’m in your head. Am I possessing you?

It was supposed to be an exchange. My soul for yours.

Well clearly, it hadn’t worked that way.

Responding to her unformed question, the woman continued. The array is on the desk.

This… It was obviously A-Xian’s work, copied out by a more careful hand. But it looked incomplete, a half-developed first draft or his scattered notes on an older text that he could always piece back together perfectly, but left out crucial details for anyone else. Utterly unlike the labeled, if nearly illegible, minutiae on his complete work. Jiang Yanli would never have cast an array with so little information. Especially not one of A-Xian’s.

I didn’t know the Yiling Patriarch. And I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

No, she supposed not. Anyone casting this array would have to be desperate.

Everything fell apart and I just… used what I had on hand. There was the impression of a shrug, like her mind contorting itself into a new shape. My impulse decisions always have terrible consequences. That’s how I ended up pregnant and marrying the last person in the world I should have. Qin Su gave a short, harsh burst of hysterical laughter, startling Jiang Yanli into making the same noise aloud.

Telling whoever this abusive asshole was that her husband had died only a week ago, and she was certainly not performing any marital duties could wait until she figured out what Qin Su had done.

There are other pages with more notes in the treasury.

Jiang Yanli sprang to her feet. I’ll need to see them immediately.

She slid open the doors, and came face to face with a maid carrying cleaning supplies. Jiang Yanli quickly shut the doors behind her, so the maid could not catch a glimpse of the blood still staining the floor.

“Oh! Jin-furen.” The maid bowed deeply. “This one apologizes for assuming you would be out.”

It was something of a shock to be addressed by a title that had, from her perspective, belonged to her mother-in-law only yesterday. Jin-furen?

Ah, yes. I’ve been Jin-furen since Jin Guangshan… passed… ten months ago. The word “passed” came with a flash of embarrassment, telling Jiang Yanli enough for her to extrapolate the cause of death.

Jin Guangyao must be Jin-zongzhu then. Strange, he hadn’t seemed the abusive type.

Not abuse. Worse. Qin Su gagged in her mind, making Jiang Yanli do the same.

“Are you all right, Jin-furen?” The maid asked, hovering closer.

At least the gagging gave her an excuse not to allow anyone inside. “I’ll be fine. But please wait to clean until tomorrow. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. Would you have some soup sent on a tray for my dinner?”

“Of course, Jin-furen.” The maid backed away, bowed, and hurried off.

Jiang Yanli turned to inspect the door, placing her hands on her hips. With Qin Su’s Golden Core, she could likely cast a locking spell. If she knew how, that was. She had always relied on A-Xian’s talismans, many of which he developed specifically for her. Unfortunately, she had none on hand.

That’s easy. Qin Su said. Draw the characters for lock, then modify it with…

It took Jiang Yanli a few tries to draw properly on her new core, but she was able to lock the door against casual entry. No cultivator with a sword would be kept out for long, but they would have to be willing to trespass in Jin-furen’s bedchamber.

The thin flush of victory faded the second she stepped through the treasury portal. Suibian lay on a shelf, visible from the door. A-Xian had not carried his sword for a long time. But he would never have handed it over to the Jin Clan, unless it was directly into Jiang Yanli’s arms. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Qin Su. Why is my A-Xian’s sword in the treasury? Jiang Yanli demanded. The answering silence was deafening. “Qin Su! Tell me why!”

He… died. At Nightless City. Not long after you did. Qin Su’s voice was hesitant, as though confused why she cared.

“No!” She let out a choked sob, clasping a hand over her mouth. A-Xian wasn’t — he couldn’t be —

Didn’t he kill you? I was told —

“No! Never!” A-Xian would never have hurt her. I tried to save him.

Silence, for a moment, other than Jiang Yanli’s own ragged breaths. Then, I’m sorry. I’ve learned a lot of things I believed were lies today. Perhaps what they said about him was too.

They were. A-Xian was bright, and good, and cared too much. He had never been what they thought. Jiang Yanli had not needed to ask to know A-Xuan’s death was a horrible mistake, likely the result of stepping in between his cruel, vindictive cousin and her brother at the wrong moment. If he had meant to kill Jin Zixun, A-Xian had had good reason.

I think anyone who had the misfortune of meeting Jin Zixun considered killing him. Qin Su said wryly.

Jiang Yanli had had those thoughts. She gave a watery giggle that was answered in her head. It was sweet of Qin Su to try to comfort her when she could feel that she was still reeling for her own reasons. The least Jiang Yanli could do in return was get her some answers.

On the table.

She found the stack of diagrams easily, along with a tattered notebook that appeared to contain A-Xian’s original work. Jiang Yanli flipped through that, knowing that unless had both gotten a hold of one of the few people that could read his note-taking scrawl — her, Lan Wangji, and perhaps Wen Qing, who had taken their turns as A-Xian’s sounding board in succession — and convinced them to help details would likely have been missed.

You can read that? Qin Su was incredulous.

Years of practice, she replied. Before Lan Wangji, Jiang Yanli had been the only person who took A-Xian’s inventions seriously, the only person willing to sit and listen while he bounced from idea to idea, eventually solving the problem himself.

The average person would not think it necessary to puzzle out the text under a sketch of Lan Wangji holding a child, assuming it was a caption. When it was, in fact, an absolutely crucial detail. A detail that had made A-Xian conclude the Sacrifice Summon Array should never be used.

There were perhaps a dozen variations on the array. Most worked in a similar way to what Qin Su had intended, summoning a spirit to take the caster’s place. The earliest could not target a specific soul, but A-Xian had worked that out. Luckily, Qin Su had used one of those arrays, allowing Jiang Yanli to be summoned, rather than causing the closest vengeful spirits to battle for her body. The very last caused the caster’s body to be torn apart, and replaced with a copy of the spirit’s own.

But every version had two things in common: a call for revenge, and the destruction of the caster’s soul.

In her mind, Qin Su went perfectly still.

Jiang Yanli had a theory as to why Qin Su’s soul had not been consumed by the array. It had started the job, pulling Jiang Yanli in, but Qin Su had not asked for revenge, and so the array spat most of her back out. What the consequences were, for either of their spirits, she could not begin to guess.

There was a distinctive air of panic to Qin Su’s continued silence.

Qin Su, Jiang Yanli prodded, if this had worked the way it’s written, your soul would have been consumed by it. What could have been worth this?

I didn’t know about that. I didn’t want that.

It didn’t happen. You’re still here. She attempted to reassure Qin Su, wishing there was a way to mentally pat someone on the head. That had always helped calm both her brothers.

I’m still here. Whatever the fuck that means. Qin Su giggled nervously. That wasn’t very ladylike.

I think it’s forgivable, under the circumstances. Jiang Yanli raised a sleeve to cover her smile.

You don’t know the half of it. Qin Su sighed. I didn’t think things like this happened, outside of stories.

Jiang Yanli waited for her to go on, gritting her teeth in response to a wave of bitterness.

Only a few hours ago, I found out my so-called husband is my half-brother and he murdered our son. And now here we are.

Oh. Jiang Yanli could not so much as think of a reassuring response. What the fuck is correct.

“A-Su,” Jin Guangyao said from behind her, before Qin Su could say anything more. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

[xaviermayne]

My Brother's Favorite Toy: Part Two

"Get the fuck out of here," Grayson said, throwing his hand toward the door.

"Dude, I've got a raging bone—"

"I don't fucking care!" Grayson yelled, covering his face with a forearm. "I said get out of my room."

Ethan stood for a moment, shocked that Grayson made him work so hard for him, and then wouldn't at least let Ethan take care of his own need.

Once he got back to his room, Ethan's dick had gotten softer, and he was feeling too deflated to even try and finally knock one out. He thought about how Grayson looked after he came, the look of shame on his face.

Things didn't get much better. The next day, they had breakfast in virtual silence. Ethan finally tried to break the ice when he finished the last scoop of his avocado.

"Bet it took a long time cleaning up last night," he said.

"Ethan!" Grayson snapped. "We're not gonna talk about that, alright?" He glared straight into Ethan's eyes. "Like, ever. Got it?"

Ethan sat stoned-faced. How could they never talk about it? They had just permanently crossed a line as brothers. Before that, the gayest thing they'd ever done together was occasionally watch porn together, but only when they were both horny and exhausted from traveling, jerking themselves under the sheets, each in separate double beds in a hotel room.

It had to be talked about. But Ethan knew his brother. Sometimes Grayson just needed time. Ethan would just have to wait.

Later that morning, they were working out when Ethan suddenly realized he'd made a grave mistake. He still hadn't cum since last night, and Grayson was loading up the weights on the squat rack. Ethan was about to be forced to view his favorite in-person porno play out yet again in front of his eyes, with a level of horniness he didn't think he'd ever experienced before.

To make matters worse, Grayson was wearing a new pair of shorts that Ethan just knew was going to drive him crazy. Short red ones made of this clingy combed cotton, and Ethan swore they were at least a half-size too small.

Ethan tried to look away, but his eyes flicked back to his brother's backside as soon as he heard his brother grunt as he lowered himself down, the heavy barbell held up against Grayson's shoulders with his strong arms. As he bent his knees, Grayson's ass pushed out further and further, until Ethan saw the fabric of the shorts straining to hold in his brother's mighty ass.

Ethan felt like his body had just been tossed in an oven, with prickly heat all over him as he felt his dick swell again too. There was a pang of pain as his balls ached.

He worried he might even be hallucinating when he could've sworn he saw the outline of his brother's hole through his too-thin shorts. The same one he'd fingered last night.

Grayson quickly raised back up, then shrugged the barbell off his shoulders, and the weights slammed to the floor, quaking their gym. Ethan was shocked. "Gray, are you okay?" Ethan asked. "That could've gone straight through the floor, bro." Grayson turned around, glaring at this brother.

"Are you okay, Ethan?" Grayson asked in a mocking tone. Then he pointed below Ethan. Ethan looked down and saw what looked like— yep, that was his precum on the floor. He'd been so entranced that he hadn't realized his growing dick had snaked its way through his boxer briefs, the head drizzling precum as it rested between his thigh and shorts.

"Oh, fuck," Ethan murmured.

"You're fucking disgusting, Ethan," Grayson said. Ethan could see the repulsion in his brother's eyes. A vein on Grayson's neck had popped out, and Grayson walked toward Ethan, his muscles juiced up from the set. For a moment, Ethan was legitimately scared of what Grayson was about to do. "We're brothers, Ethan. It's not just gay, it's incest. That fucking illegal. And even if it weren't, like that's just fucking weird, bro. I'm working out and you're literally cumming on the floor, which I hope you're gonna clean up by—"

The adrenaline pumping through Ethan gave him a sudden burst of confidence. "Bro, shut up, you're literally the one who made me fingerbang you last night."

Grayson grimaced at "fingerbang". "You're the one who broke my fucking dildo, bro!" Grayson screamed at Ethan, leaning in his reddening face until Ethan could feel flecks of spit hit his cheeks. "You used something that'd been up my ass, Ethan! You're a fucking freak!"

Ethan was actually trembling now, although he was trying his best to hide it. The brothers had promised to never punch each other, but with all the blood and testosterone flowing through Grayson right now after his workout, Ethan really couldn't be sure.

Suddenly, Grayson pivoted and walked over to one of their weight benches. For a split second, Ethan thought maybe Grayson would just continue with his workout to get out his aggression out. But then, to Ethan's surprise, Grayson pulled down his shorts and underwear. Ethan stood in stunned silence, his mouth agape, as Grayson stepped out of them and laid face-down on the wide, black leather bench. Grayson pushed back his dick and balls so he could lay entirely flat, and then let his legs dangle off the sides. He turned his face away from Ethan.

"W-what are you doing?" Ethan stammered quietly.

"You're gonna fuck me," Grayson said, his voice echoing around the gym. "If you're such a freak and want to fuck your brother, let's just do it and get it over with. Then you can finally be fucking satisfied and we can never talk about this again."

Confused and suspicious, Ethan walked slowly over to Grayson. He wanted to ask more questions, but the sight of his brother's plump buns stupefied him once again, with his cock quickly pulsing back up to full wood. Meekly, Ethan squatted down to part his brother's cheeks. When he did, he was intoxicated by both the sight of that tight pink hole, now in the daylight, and the special brand of sweaty musk that Ethan could smell from his brother's exposed crack.

"Two rules: go slow, and don't cum inside me or I'll rip your fucking dick off."

"Kay," said Ethan. Ethan hocked and spat a loogie on his brother's hole, then began fingering him just like last night. This time, Grayson stayed completely silent. But Ethan knew he was doing good work when he found his brother's spot, and Grayson's dick, pinned back against the leather, started to grow.

For always looking so tight, Ethan was surprised how quickly Grayson was opening up. He figured last night probably helped stretch him. But Grayson's hole didn't even twitch once, which made Ethan think his brother wanted it a little more than he let on.

When Ethan finally got a third finger in, and Grayson's dick was throbbing, a bead of precum glistening in his slit, Ethan pulled down his shorts and underwear, kicking them off. His dick swung round, he didn't think he'd even been harder. He spit twice in his hand and then palmed his dick, making sure every inch was glistening.

Ethan had to smirk when he finally felt the tip of his head press against his brother's warm entrance. He pushed, and his smirk spread into a wide, silly grin when he saw the full tip disappear inside Grayson's muscular ass. But that was the easy part.

The twins both had what they referred to as torpedo-shaped dicks. Rather small heads, but the shaft quickly flared out to their full widths, then sloping back down to normal once you got to the base. So Ethan knew the hardest part was yet to come.

He pushed gently, and surprisingly Grayson didn't seem to mind. In fact, he could've swore he saw Grayson's dick throb hard a couple times right after. When he started really pushing in, though, is when Grayson started to groan with discomfort. Ethan stopped, letting his brother's already-stretched ring adjust to his girthy cock.

When he was sure Grayson must be ready again, he started squeezing in further. Grayson's groan quickly shot up to a yell. "Ahh, fuck! Go slow, what did I fucking say?" Grayson yelled.

"I am going slow!" Ethan shouted, though he knew that wasn't true. He was so impatient to pound away. Then he leaned his head forward and let another mouthful of spit drop onto where Grayson's hole was puckered around his pulsing dick. Then, after a few more moments, slid more in.

Grayson groaned dramatically, slamming a fist into the bench, but the extra spit seemed to help, as Ethan was able to squeeze in the full width with little protestation from the coiffed-haired cutie.

Ethan pulled out a bit carefully, then pushed back in. Grayson stayed silent.

"You're taking this like a champ," Ethan said.

"Shut the fuck up," Grayson said through gritted teeth.

With his next pump, Ethan went a little bit further. Suddenly, he saw Grayson's expression seem to light up in the mirror facing the bench. That's the spot, Ethan thought, remembering a similar expression on his brother's face last night. He pulled out and in again, and he could've sworn he heard a tiny moan croak out of his brother's throat.

Newly confident, and desperate to get his full dick in, Ethan dared to go a bit deeper. Yep, that was a moan, Ethan thought, as Grayson slapped a hand against his own mouth, then buried his face in the bench. Ethan began building a rhythm, plunging his big dick in and out of his little brother. Not his entire length, though, since Ethan wasn't sure how deep you could even go in a guy's ass, and he didn't want to push his luck, as he could hear Grayson's muffled moans and knew his bottoming bro was enjoying that big torpedo middle pressing against his p-spot.

Pumping away, Ethan suddenly felt that tingle behind his balls, and he had to stop mid-thrust. Don't cum, don't cum, don't cum, Ethan thought frantically. He remembered the one thing that always helped him not prematurely ejaculate.

Womp womp womp, Ethan sang in his head. Yeah-ee-ah-ee yeahh! It was the old James Charles meme. Womp womp womp! The vision of James's ghostly face attempting to sing worked once more. The need to cum passed.

Pulling back before another thrust, Ethan looked down and saw the lips of his brother's ass pussy puckered around his cock. He was stretching Grayson out so much, it was like Gray's ass was trying to suck his cock whenever he pulled out some.

He pushed back into Grayson's warm, wet, velvety ass, and then continued to pump. At one point he repositioned his foot, causing his dick to tilt down a bit more, and then Ethan could've sworn he started hearing his brother utter little high-pitched "uhhhn" sounds with every pound. Encouraged, Ethan tilted his hips down a little bit more, to where his iron missile was pile-driving nearly straight down into Grayson's ass. In the mirror, Ethan saw Grayson's handsome head suddenly shoot up from being buried in the bench. Grayson's eyes were rolling back into his head.

Ethan kept his rhythm. Looking down, he saw Grayson's ring suddenly clamp down a bit on Ethan's dick. Ethan grunted from how good that felt, then Grayson's ass widened back out. Then Ethan saw Grayson's balls pull up a bit, and Grayson's bulbous prostate, bulging out between his hole and his balls, pulsed hard, almost seeming to squeeze.

Suddenly, a hot white load of cum rocketed out of Grayson's red, rock hard dick. It shot between Ethan's thrusting legs and Ethan heard it splatter behind them, all over the chest fly machine. With another pile-drive, Ethan watched Grayson's prostate squeeze hard again, and a split second later another big load shot out.

Holy shit, Ethan thought. I'm milking him with my fucking dick.

Piledrive after piledrive, Grayson's cock blasted load after load. Clearly his balls had managed to restock overnight. Obsessed with the control over his brother's pleasure, Ethan couldn't help himself from keep going. And though the bulb of Grayson's prostate kept pulsing each time, the loads eventually got smaller and smaller, until it seemed as if Grayson was stilling cumming, but had actually run out of cum. His dick would still quiver as if it were shooting, but it was just blanks.

God, I milked him completely dry. Suddenly something primal kicked into Ethan. He looked up at his brother with his eyes still rolling back, his mouth agape. Ethan felt that warm tingle, but even the meme couldn't help him now. He was in animalistic breeding mode now. With a loud growl, Ethan felt his aching balls seize, and he finally pounded his giant saved-up load inside his brother's ass. Something inside Ethan made him want to breed his seed, as far deep as he could. He heard Grayson grunt in pain as Ethan forced the last inch of his dick in, and sprayed a couple more shots inside.

Breathless, the intense warmth of the orgasm slowly cooled out of Ethan's body. He collapsed on top of Grayson, his dick still balls-deep. Ethan's ballsack loosened and drooped on top of his brother's, which flanked Grayson's softening dick.

Ethan smirked to himself, thinking, Now it's really gay, because our balls touched.

"Ummm Ethan?" Grayson asked, his voice strained.

"Yeah, Gray?" Ethan replied, expecting him to say something like, Get the fuck off me.

Instead, Grayson lifted his head, his brow furrowed, and demanded, "You didn't just shoot YOUR FUCKING LOAD IN ME, DID YOU?!"

Ethan gulped.

[enchantednightingales]

RJC’s review of: A Number

I’d like to start by apologising for the continued use of the almost-pun “A Number” but in my defence... Caryl Churchill started it.

There are A Number of things one can look forward to in Polly Findlay’s production of “A Number” at The Bridge theatre and just three of them are Colin Morgan. Fangirls can delight that Colin’s stealth stage door exit skills have FINALLY been put to their stunning first use on stage. Colin plays three different characters with about six to eight costume changes in the space of an hour. He disappears and reappears completely anew and it is magnificently seamless.

When I first read the play I had A Number of concerns. Maybe I’m an old fashioned kind of gal but I prefer sentences to begin AND end. I’m greedy like that. I found the play far too difficult a read and I was somewhat apprehensive about the production. Fortunately, I see the text benefits from performance as Roger Allam and Colin Morgan breathe something reminiscent of natural into those lines. I tip my imaginary hat to them as well, remembering that stuff must be tricky, the majority of these lines don’t follow a natural structure and tripping on the lines would weaken the effect. 

I am not completely sold on this effect to be honest. It cries device to me and distances this tale from pertinence.  “She was one of those people, when they say there has been a person under a train” is a good example. WHO EVER says that? Ever? Nobody. I’m a great lover of words but apparently I don’t like them in this particular order. I never was one for the abstract. Be prepared for a little abstract.

Colin’s nasal and fumbling B2 makes a lot more sense in person than I could have ever anticipated when reading. A Number is obviously not quite my cup of tea shall we say but it is becoming an increasingly tolerable piece thanks to the efforts of this production. It’s an intriguing story. A failed father seeks a fresh start, sends his son into care but not before cloning him, as “tribute”. Written just as cloning became a legitimate thing it’s pushing at big relevant buttons but for my money it’s a paper thin approach. It’s definitely a conversation piece though, a trigger of questions, forcing you to think and figure the thing out. If you can be bothered to meet it half way and you kinda have to.

A Number is another “sins of the fathers” type narrative in which Salter, the father, cannot break the cycle of his own ineptitude and selfishness. A price his sons inevitably will have to pay. I won’t give that price away but it makes for a sad little story. Some emphasis on little. When it could have been bigger (that’s what she said). 

A Number hits a number of notes in its short duration. It’s kinda funny, it’s even kinda cute (maybe that’s just Colin), it’s kinda sad, kinda creepy, kinda cruel and ultimately super dark.

Roger Allam and Colin Morgan pull out of the bag a rather lovely and truly unforgettable chemistry as father and sons. I’m not quite used to seeing Allam as the “little man”. His appearance is entirely ordinary and as a character he’s far from powerful or noble. For a man usually possessed of scene stealing charisma, Allam fearlessly relished in the grim and pitiful. He’s squirming from the beginning to the end. Trying to contain the anger of his first son, trying to contain the disappointment of his second son and in the final act, trying to salvage some scrap of meaning or importance from one beautifully blasé last (of 19) hopes. Allam’s physicality when B1 is on stage is intriguing to watch as he screams fear and seeks distance. His tone when B2 is on stage almost convinces you of wholesomeness and genuine love. Salter is quite an understated journey but enjoy as Allam hits every single note of it in true masterclass fashion.

One could marvel for A Number of hours about how amazing the stage is for this production. The first night, when the room completely changed angle, my eyes widened like a kid in a Colin Morgan-themed Candy store! WOW. It messed with my mind so much that I was second guessing everything. What they can do nowadays is awesome. I still don’t quite get how it all works and where exactly Colin escapes to in-between but... that’s the magic of theatre for you. 

I’m also a big fan of the 90s kinda feel. The stack tables, the CD tower, the TV stand, the landline phone! It’s soooooo 90s I keep expecting to hear Hanson’s MMM Bop playing upstairs or something. I feel like I’m a teenager again, at my friends’ house and it’s all kicking off between her hot older brother and his step-dad again. Flashbacks.... 

My only criticism with the whole set change thing is the decision to blast some crazy sounds at you for their duration. It’s like watching a crappy horror movie with jump scares that don’t lead anywhere. It’s not particularly satisfying and ones patience for it tends to wear thin. Especially when everyone around you likes to gasp and yelp every time it happens. Personally, not sure why nobody just took my advice of playing Bjork’s “Army of Me” in-between the set changes. I’ve only got an entire playlist of suggestions but whatever. You know better. I suppose it might wake the odd theatre sleeper.

Can I talk about Colin Morgan now? 

I feel like A Number is a bit of a showcase of everything Colin can do (and do better than anyone else). He’s got the skills for comedy, for brutality, for tears and not to mention his signature LIMITLESS energy. As his self-elected number one fangirl I will quite happily sit there and bask in the pride as he totally nails this whole thing.

Colin’s three characters are all quite different. One might easier refer to them as Benjamin, Leo and... well... Michael. B2 is adorable in his almost whiney tone and sounds possibly too much like Yasmin in “Worldship Humility” accent (for my liking). I keep expecting him to start calling people goat fucking somethings but so far he’s not done it. His twitchy, stiff awkwardness is reminiscent of Benjamin but that’s about it.

B1 isn’t exactly Leo-like, he’s far too efficient for that, he just STRANGELY ENOUGH looks A LOT like him. The hoodie and denim don’t help. He’s got that similar breaking point type edge to him. B1 sounds as serious as he is and for the first time ever, Colin is somewhat unsettling, I don’t blame Roger for keeping his distance. He’s a tad nasty and Colin goes there. Customarily though Colin helps us to “see it human” with a tear or two. As poor B1 just sits there stewing in his own anger, hatred and confusion, lost to a father and lost to himself. It’s a sad tale and Colin sure won’t let you miss the point.

B1 is part of my favourite exchange which involves Salter demonstrating his worst colours when he justifies his actions by claiming B1 was something to be crushed. Representative of the lacking thought and care that can go into the creation of life that is ultimately one of mankind’s most devastating flaws. B2 speaks of being cloned from a speck and says “you threw the rest of me away”. Colin slays me with that line. I am dead now. He killed me. Here I must afford A Number with the compliment that it is effectively unsettling and unpleasant, which is, what I think it was going for. I hope.

Can I talk about Michael now? 

He’s so adorable. Can I just point out SPOILER that Michael is Irish! Even Irish clones are better! Unlike in All My Sons, Colin catches a break and can conclude this show on a happier note, he’s a happy man attune to and accepting of similarities to the likes of apes and lettuces. He’s a purple shirt of sex wearing Maths teacher twenty years away from Netflix and Chill with his pointy eared wife (possibly called Rebecca in my head) and he’s at ease with life, fatherhood and clone-being. I love Michael. When he’s on stage “you can’t help feeling wonderful”.

Dean (Gloria) has a cheerful contender for my heart. Who saw that coming?

After that ridiculous wait we all had to endure while Colin was being all lazy and stuff we finally get some Colin vs Bad Dad on stage again!

PS. Did I mention that Michael is lovely? 

[kingofthecon]

@flynnfletchr​ Stanford was doing that thing where he tried to pace a hole into the floor of their hotel room and it had become aggravating thirty minutes ago. "Ford." The slightly older twin didn't seem to hear his younger brother and continued pacing in the same spot - arms behind his back as he mumbled about whether or not he still had time to come up with a different project for the science fair. The answer? No. Not unless he could come up with something in less than twelve hours. "Ford. Please. I don't wanna knock you unconscious but so help me I will if it means we both get some sleep. It'll be fine." Stanford Pines looked towards his twin who was laying flat on his stomach at the edge of the bed with his arms beneath his head. The scowl he wore read as 'try me', and caused Stanford to slow to a stop. He looked bent out of shape, almost miserable and Stanley Pines didn't understand why. They went to several science fairs and Ford was always a shoe-in for first or second place. Maybe that was the reason why? The teenagers from Danville were competing in this particular contest of dorks and though Ford appreciated the friendly competition and the challenge that came with trying to one up the boys each year, it was clear that Ford didn't like it when he lost to them. He wasn't exactly a sore loser, but he wasn't a gracious loser either. He would put on a front, accept whatever place he'd taken, and then go back to the drawing board to hopefully come up with something even better to showcase his intelligence all while grumbling under his breath and talking like an actual super villain. Who uses the words RUE THE DAY in a legitimate conversation? "For one, you literally don't have time to come up with something else for this thing unless you decide to make a Mentos and Cola volcano using a Styrofoam cup cause that's what I have on me, and I don't think that'll even win a first grade science fair project. Secondly, you're a genius in a room full of geniuses. If you're that desperate then I can probably steal or sabotage someone's project for you which--don't look at me like that, I just wanted to make sure you weren't too far gone which brings me to bulletin three. Everyone knows that you have a high IQ. The highest IQs. The tallest mountain in the world of IQs. You don't really have to prove yourself so just relax." "Stanley, you don't understand. Phineas Flynn and Ferb Fletcher have an extensive history with their creations. I'm just a kid from Jersey who came out of nowhere." "Sixer, everyone loves the underdog. Besides, you three practically share the limelight at these things. You guys are top brass. Nothin' wrong with a little friendly competition to keep the blood flowin'." "Stanley, you're supposed to be on my side!" "I am on your side. One hundred percent. Otherwise I would have shoved you into the hallway so I could get some semblance of sleep. Instead I'm trying to talk you out of coming up with a list of junk you could make in the next like, eleven hours. You created a functioning robot girl complete with artificial intelligence and everything. You've skipped like, a hundred of these fairs to perfect Stannabelle." "She's an android and that is not her name." "The point is that you'll probably have even Tony friggin' Stark or Bruce Wayne lookin' your way. I mean, that's part of the reason why you chose this particular science fair, right? Who knows. Maybe once you're outta West Coast Tech you'll get picked up by Stark Industries or Wayne Enterprises? Oh, what about Star Labs?" "That's why this has to be perfect!" With a whine, Stanley rolled over and allowed himself to fall out of the bed. He wasn't on the floor long; rising to his feet he made his way towards the closet where the robot girl was sitting in her charging station. If anyone looked at the bot they would believe it to be a human with Stan and Ford as her big brothers. Stanley crossed his arms and presented to Ford his own creation. "Earth to nerd. The kid's perfect." "She sounds like I installed a Speak & Spell as her voice modulator." "Okay, so you missed something when you programmed her. Just, I dunno, take apart the TV if ya gotta do somethin'. Just...you need to relax. It'll be fine." He pat the android on top of her head and closed the closet door before flopping back down on the bed. "Just...you know, do it quietly? Some of us wanna walk around the Expo and sneak into places they shouldn't." "You're going to get us kicked out." "Probably yeah, so make the most of it. I'm goin' ta bed. Try not to stay up too late. Night, nerd." "Night, pain in my side brother who occasionally makes sense when it's convenient for him." "Too long. Try again." With that Stanley pulled back the covers and spread out for sleep leaving Ford to figure out what to do. He'd brought extra parts and equipment in case something went wrong so...like Stanley had suggested, he began to work on fixing the voice modulator with parts around their hotel room. ____________________________

Morning arrived way too fast and was thus slept through meaning that Stanley woke around noon. His awakening was accompanied by a terrified scream as a face way too close to his for comfort came into focus as he opened his eyes. He rolled off the bed in his attempt to get away and orient himself with his surroundings. His fall came with a one man laugh track which caused Stanley to zero in on the culprit. "Are you alright, Uncle Stan?" a little girl with the too expressive for what should have been a robot's face asked him. Stanley, a little unnerved with the realistically human sounding voice looked passed her and towards his twin who was far too proud of himself. "Peachy," he answered as his twin tried to hide his laughter behind a six fingered hand. Stanley pulled himself up so that he was kneeling against the side of the bed. More awake and aware now he realized what this meant. He turned to Ford and he grinned at him while patting his "niece" on top of her head. "This is great! So ya managed to fix the voice issue. Good job, and nice to finally meet you, kiddo." "My designation is not "Kiddo". I am Alpha 001 - SP." Stanford had such a proud look on his face while Stanley just slow blinked at the two of them before he began moving around the room to change into his clothes for the day. "Okay, but I'm calling you Allie for short. "But my designation--" "--Is a mouthful. No one is gonna call ya that except for the uppity geeks who want to sound professional and use big words all the time. 'sides, when someone has a long name like that people usually give'em nicknames. For example, Stanford over there tends to go by Ford while I, Stanley, go by Stan or Lee." The little android was silent for a moment, most likely computing the information she'd received or something before she finally nodded her head in understanding. "Very well. I will accept this as a secondary form of address. "Excellent! You've really outdone yourself, Sixer. Allie's perfect! Though I hope you slept. Anyway, I'mma go walk around the place and get breakfast." A look to the clock had him groaning. "Or brunch, apparently. You two should get ready for later this afternoon. I'll meet you at your booth or whatever." Once completely dressed with his hair and teeth brushed, the younger twin made his way from the hotel room and sighed as he headed towards his destination. Though he was happy to be here to support his brother, he didn't really feel as though he belonged. There'd been a few times in the past where he'd gotten mistaken for his brother, but once they realized the mix-up and asked him questions pertaining to his brother's project Stanley had only succeeded in making a fool of himself. He wasn't smart. He was barely above average and in a turn of crazy events he ended up being made fun of. It reminded him of the bullies back home in Glass Shard Beach, specifically Crampelter and his cronies, but back then it was never this...bad? This humiliating? Though it didn't happen often, it did happen enough that he hated coming to these things. He'd never tell his brother though. Stanford had been teased all his life for his Polydactyly and for being the smartest person in any room. Stanley could bite the bullet of being the odd one out for a change, especially when it only happened once every year or every other year. Stanley hummed to himself as he entered the elevator which went from hotel to convention center. He rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet the balls of his toes as he mentally counted the floors as they lit up. Once the doors opened and he stepped out he found himself tripping over something. He blinked as he stumbled out of the elevator. A part of him wondered if he'd tripped over some nerds project garnering the reaction of, 'oh shit!' and 'at least that'll knock out one of Ford's competitors. When he actually looked at what he'd tripped over, however... "What the heck are you s'posed to be?" He crouched in front of the teal duck bill beaver tailed...thing, and poked at it to make sure that he hadn't hurt it. "You lost and tryin' to catch the elevator, little guy? Or are you a girl? whatevenareyou?" He moved to pick up the creature just to make sure with no regards for safety (the creature could absolutely bite him after all), but his love of animals outweighed his need to be careful.

[ramsayboltonsmuse]

Thrill of The Hunted

Chapter 1: Of A Body’s Desires

Pairings/Characters: Ramsay Bolton/Original Female Character, Ramsay/Myranda, Roose Bolton

Summary: The story of Roose Bolton’s last living true-born daughter Annette Bolton and her half brother, the infamous Ramsay Bolton. It is a tale of power, control and a forbidden dark devotion.

Warnings: Half-sibling incest, Smut, Dom/Sub, Violence, Noncon, Ramsay is his own warning 

Links to other chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2A, Chapter 2B, Chapter 3A, Chapter 3B, Chapter 4 A+B

Ao3 link

“Ramsay.” 

Annette did not turn from her bedroom window when she heard him step into her room. Perhaps heard was the wrong expression. She never heard him, not at first. She felt him. An odd injection of twisted air that set a heavy weight about a room’s ceiling. She would feel space tighten around her and the atmosphere press down into her core, trying to flatten her until she was forced to slip through wooden floorboard cracks and drop down down into the hideous waxlit light of the dungeons. 

That was when she knew he was there. Annette tried to inhale a steadying breath, but already her oxygen was lead.

“Little sister.” 

Ramsay’s voice was honeyed venom and it never ceased to make Annette’s skin crawl. She heard him slide the heavy wooden door closed and fasten the iron bolt across it. It was a beautiful door, masterfully made and quietly daring any to attempt an intrusion into the bedroom of Roose Bolton’s last living legitimate child. Tragically, the door was purposed more as a solemn promise to keep Annette in, and the demons with it. 

Annette grimaced. “Half-sister”. Her voice rang the word out expressionless. She knew better than to tempt his rage yet she could not ignore that with each passing day, she had a little less left of her. She clung to her words, the last thing that seemed to have any power. 

When she had been a young child, the ladies of the Dreadfort had whispered about the impossibility of such a precious sweet thing born to Roose Bolton. They had clapped their hands when she spoke and sang and said her voice was the loveliest sound in all the North and her words the most beautiful. Years had passed since that time, hard and informative years, and Annette had learned to keep expression from her voice, especially around Ramsay.

He was hand-carved it seemed to exist in the Dreadfort, and his movements complemented every beam and curve and stone of the place. She didn’t hear him approach until she felt him snake his hands around her waist grabbing the sharp bones of her hips through the expensive dress fabric she wore and leaning in to whisper into her ear.

“Oh sister, you wound me so.” He smirked against her cheek. “You know how much it saddens me that we’re not full blood siblings. I know it saddens you too. If we were, I couldn’t do this.” Ramsay swept his hand lightly across Annette’s left breast, pinching her nipple through the dress.

Annette whirled around and pushed him, but he didn’t move, her skinny frame no match for his toned and muscled build. Annette’s pupils dilated and her eyes grew wide glancing around the room frantically for a way out. Ramsay grinned and stepped closer. Annette’s hands shot up trying to hit him, but he grabbed her wrists and roughly backed her into the wall, the cold stone making harsh contact and pressing against her back as she writhed about trying to free herself. 

“Let go of me!” Annette managed to kick one of his legs and Ramsay’s smile dropped.

He pinned her hands above her head with one hand, twisting her wrists until she cried out in pain, while the other shot out and grabbed her neck squeezing.

“Don’t test me sister dear.” Annette struggled against him trying to free herself as she gasped for air. Ramsay’s grip tightened and her face turned shades paler. His blue eyes locked on hers. As her vision turned fuzzy, Annette could see only them through the haze as everything else faded, those intense blue eyes. 

From the day that her father had introduced her to his bastard son, Annette had been amazed by his eyes. They were the color of a winter’s sky during a northern snowstorm, when the air was bitingly cold and your eyes spilled tears from the pure carnal desire of the wind. Annette’s own eyes were hazel, a watercolor of green and grey and chocolate that Ramsay had been drawn to as much as she had been drawn to his. But for a different reason. For Annette’s eyes were the eyes of a true-born Bolton, the eyes of their father.

Ramsay dropped his hand from her neck as quickly as he had grabbed it causing Annette to collapse to the floor, straining to get air into her starved lungs.

“You will not try to strike me again Netty. The next time you do won’t be as pleasant.” 

Netty. It was the nickname Ramsay had given her when they were children. Annette was eight and had wanted to go hunting with their father and didn’t understand why she could not. So she had slipped out of the captivity of her septa and rode her pony out into the woods to play her own game of hunting. 

She had been gone for only an hour before she dismounted to inspect a curious-looking rock and fell into a large netted trap that lifted her into the air, swinging from the branch of a huge tree screaming. She had been terrified and thought she would never be found, succumbing to the cold or some other horrible danger. 

It had been Ramsay that found her. He was 12 then and already strong for his age. When the castle began its frantic search for the missing child, Ramsay had taken a horse and ridden out into the woods, knowing she would have gone there. He found her pony’s trail and followed it to her. Annette remembered how he laughed when he found her. 

“How did you get yourself stuck up there?” His blue eyes filled with mirth. 

“Ramsay, get me down!” She had called. “Stop laughing. Please! Just get me down, please!” 

Ramsay hadn’t stopped laughing, but he had lowered her down carefully and released her from the netted bondage. Annette had been shaking with fear from her hours tied up and alone, and Ramsay had taken off his cloak and wrapped her up in it before pulling her flush to him. “You’re cold. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” He had lifted her onto his horse and rode her back to the Dreadfort still smiling at how she had managed to be caught like a silly rabbit in that net, and calling her “little Netty”. 

Annette remembered thinking him her hero, even though he had laughed. She had fallen asleep on the ride home, curled back into the boy who kept her steady on his horse. When they had arrived at the Dreadfort, she was still sleepy and Ramsay had carried her from the stables into the Great Hall where their father sat stoic, waiting for one of his men to come back with his little daughter. 

“You found her.” Roose’s voice had woken Annette and her eyes opened, her small form still cradled by her half-brother. 

“Yes father.” Ramsay had set her gently on a chair as her senses began to return to her. Ramsay stood up, meeting his father’s gaze before making to turn and walk back out to the servant’s rooms where he slept with the other orphan and bastard boys. 

“Wait.” Roose commanded and Ramsay stopped and turned. Roose stood and walked over to the boy. “Do you know what the most important thing is?” He asked.

“No father.” Ramsay stood taller as Roose approached. “The most important thing is the survival of the Bolton line.” Ramsay looked away then, shame filling him as the word bastard bastard bastard invaded his mind. 

“Look at me.” Ramsay’s eyes snapped back to Roose. “You have done the family a great service by finding Annette. She is a valuable possession for our enemies and you found her before they did. Before my own men did. With Domeric dead, Annette is even more valuable to the right buyer.” Roose sifted through Ramsay’s eyes for a moment. “You will not be sleeping with the servants anymore.” Ramsay looked shocked. “You will have a room here, in the family’s quarters.” Annette had remembered the look on Ramsay’s face. It was the happiest she had ever seen him. 

“Thank you, father.” Roose had nodded and instructed the maester to make the arrangements. 

Ramsay never left Annette’s side after that day, not for very long. Wherever she went, he went. The only time she did not feel his shadow was when she slept. She would learn that he used those dark hours for other pursuits. She felt him watching her always and as year after year passed his gaze grew hungrier. 

Annette’s thoughts returned to the present as her lungs found breath again. She stood up, regaining her composure. Ramsay had made himself comfortable in one of the rich leather armchairs in the room. He had grabbed a bright green apple from the table and was peeling it with his knife. These moments of Ramsay testing his power over her were growing more and more frequent.

“Why did you do that Ramsay? You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Father wouldn’t like it.” Annette tried to hide the fear in her voice. It seemed with each passing day that Ramsay grew more bold. She was not a fool. Ramsay enjoyed playing his games, and none so much so then with his little sister. She worried when the games would turn more violent or worse.

Ramsay huffed, halting his peeling to look her dead in the eyes. “Father won’t care. Not anymore.” He paused, a big smile spreading across his face. Annette saw the smile and his bright eyes and held her breath. If Ramsay was happy about something, it didn’t spell anything good for her. He stood suddenly and strode over to her, knife still in hand. 

“You’ve reminded me why I’ve come sweet sister!” Ramsay pointed the knife at her. “You are no longer father’s only true born child. Oh you are going to love this.” Ramsay dropped his knife holding hand to his side and used his other to tenderly tuck a long brunette curl behind Annette’s ear. He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. Annette shivered.

Ramsay drew away, looking into her eyes. He spoke down to her, having trouble keeping a smile from his face as he told her the news. “I’ve been legitimized.” 

Annette felt her stomach drop. She backed away slowly, involuntarily, from him. But he matched her movements. He watched her eyes as they shifted between dread and anger and sorrow and then back to fear, the most beautiful vision on her, he thought. Annette was horrified as one of his signature grins spread across his face, his blue eyes locked on her eyes and seeing her through to her bone. He knows me better than I know myself, she thought, and shuddered. 

“My dear dear little Netty. Don’t be so glum!” He clapped his hands together, making her jump. “We are going to have a lovely time as brother and sister, truly. And when I inherit, we’ll have even more fun! But don’t you worry sweetling,” Ramsay’s expression turned suddenly deeply dark and Annette felt her skeleton shiver, “We don’t have to wait that long.”

***

Ramsay had not come to her rooms again after telling her about being legitimized for a full week. There was so much changing that Annette couldn’t keep track. Ramsay was constantly meeting with father’s men and preparing for gods know what his new position entailed. Annette was glad for that at least. It was the most time she had had alone without his shadow in years. 

Ramsay’s absence wasn’t the only change however, and that was where the good news stopped. It seemed the entire castle had internalized Annette’s reduction from Roose Bolton’s only living legitimate child to the status of younger daughter, and younger to the dreadfully feared Ramsay no less. She was suddenly vulnerable to much more without her father’s intense unspoken protection following her everywhere. And as more men took notice, they withheld their impulses less. 

Walking through the corridors of the Dreadfort, Annette heard men whisper how beautiful she was. Women would snicker in the kitchens about how long it would be before Roose’s daughter would find herself in an unguarded hallway. And Ramsay’s much-loved bed warmer Myranda was very vocal in her gladness. 

Myranda had never dared to speak to Annette before, but had went out of her way to serve her dinner just so that she could speak to her. “I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve been replaced my lady. But don’t fret. You’ll be married off to a lord somewhere far from here before long, now that Lord Bolton doesn’t need to have you here for safekeeping.” Annette had stared at the girl but said nothing, knowing her silence would annoy her more than her words. Myranda loved Ramsay, Annette knew it, and she was intensely jealous of the time Ramsay spent with his little sister. Take him, please, Annette thought. But she stayed silent. She was still Roose Bolton’s daughter and she wouldn’t let Myranda feel more powerful than her. Seeing no response, Myranda had twisted her face angrily and paced out of the room, unsatisfied. 

The most shocking change was her father. And it frightened her more than anything. 

Annette was having dinner in the Great Hall with her father and Walda. Ramsay was off meeting with different lords under the Warden of the North’s command, cementing alliances and loyalties. The dinner was silent until Roose spoke as Walda, the last to finish eating, finally put her fork down.

“Lady Bolton, would you leave us? I have some matters to discuss with my daughter.” 

“Of course Lord Bolton.” Walda stood, curtsied at Roose, and smiled at Annette before waddling off. 

The room was empty.

“Come here.” Roose beckoned and Annette dutifully stood and glided over to the other end of the table, where her father sat. 

Roose stood as she approached. 

“My daughter.” Roose circled around Annette as she stood still, her eyes on the floor. Her father had always intimidated her immensely. Ramsay frightened her, but she could read his moods better. Her father though, her emotionless solemn serious father, she did not know what he was thinking. “You are very beautiful.” Roose stopped his circle in front of her again, inspecting her carefully. “It won’t be difficult to find a strategic match for you.”

Annette nodded. She had expected this conversation.

Roose drew closely to her. “You realize that your situation has changed with Ramsay legitimized as my heir.” 

It was less a question and more a statement. 

“I will use you to secure our alliance with the Lannisters in the South. I have it on good authority from Tywin Lannister that his son Jaime will be removed from the Kingsguard soon. When that happens, you will become his wife.” 

The South, Annette thought. Far from Ramsay, far from here. 

“But until that time you will stay here, in the Dreadfort, for safekeeping.” Annette nodded. “You were always a well-behaved child. Very disciplined.” 

That’s what I wanted you to think, Annette thought. She was lost in her thoughts of her childhood for a moment, inwardly smiling at how effective she was at convincing everyone she wanted to that she was the perfect lady, when her father’s hand on her arm brought her quickly back to the moment. His grip was tight. Annette looked at his hand on her arm, confused. 

“You’re still a good girl aren’t you.” His fingers dug into her flesh and Annette winced. She had never spent more than a few minutes alone with her father before and she felt shock fill her as his eyes roamed her pretty young body. “You’re not going to marry Jaime Lannister for several months. Ramsay is going to be kept very busy, and you,” He looked at her hungrily “you are going to stay right here by my side without the eyes of your brother or your intended or my men to ensure your purity. No one is looking at you anymore. I am finally going to get to enjoy you.” 

Annette was frozen in place. Her father had never said anything like this. Only ever Ramsay, Ramsay with his games and his promises of ownership. Her father hardly glanced in her direction.

“I -- I don’t understand.” Annette stuttered.

Roose released her arm and walked back to his chair, seating himself.

“No? Well perhaps I was wrong to trust in your intelligence. Let me be clear. You are very beautiful and very desirable. You either know this or you’re too foolish to see it. If you’re marrying Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister and all the Lannister men will have no idea what I’ve done to you - they’re thousands of miles away. So I’ll be enjoying what I’ve been wanting for years now. You look much like your mother you know. But far more beautiful.”

The sound of a heavy door opening and boots shuffling invaded the room. A man called out “My lord, news from the Karhold” and Roose’s notice of Annette completely dissipated as he turned toward the incoming men. She backed away slowly before turning and hurrying out of the Great Hall as quickly as her feet could carry her.

Annette started running through the halls, bumping into several servants as she bolted for the familiar wood and iron that promised to protect her. When she got to her room she rushed in panting and sealed the door with the large bolt before collapsing onto the ground against a wall and holding her knees to her chest, rocking and silently spilling tears from her eyes. Nowhere is safe nowhere is safe nowhere is safe, she repeated in her head.

That was where Ramsay found her hours later.

***

There was a time in her childhood when Annette believed she loved Ramsay, with all the loyalty that a sister could have for her brother. She didn’t care that he was bastard, it had meant nothing to her. For several years really, after Ramsay had removed her from that net, Annette had loved him dearly.

He had taught her archery and taken her hunting for rabbits. She had loved the wildness of it all, the carnal desire that she felt in stalking something and the elation when she caught it. She always looked to Ramsay for approval. His attention became an impossible need for her, and she wanted to please him with her hunting.

She had grown up with little companionship of children her own age and her only family, her father, scarcely seemed to look at her. Only once, after Domeric had died, did he pay any real attention to her. Even then, it was only to ensure her wellbeing and safety. Once satisfied, however, he retreated from her life once more, though Annette had remembered several nights when a dark shadow was watching her sleep. It was too big to be Ramsay then and she had decided it was only nightmares. Though she remembered faintly servants in the kitchen whispering about the abnormality of a father going into his daughter’s room late at night. After that, Annette recalled new kitchen servants and an end to those strange nightmares. 

But within those strange and convoluted childhood memories, Annette could remember the exact moment when she had begun to despise Ramsay. She could not forget the way he ripped her heart out and revelled in the pleasure of her pain, simply because he could do it. She had been unable to understand why the boy who had protected her had suddenly and violently decided to hurt her. 

But as much as she hated him, she could not deny the simple truth that he always seemed to find her when she was in trouble and save her. When it wasn’t trouble of his own creation.

I need to get out of here, run as fast and quick as I can Annette thought, still with her head buried in her knees.

“Annette?” Fuck. Adrenaline shot through her veins. She had forgotten that Ramsay had moved to the bigger and more luxurious chambers connected to her own room, chambers that once belonged to her true brother Domeric. She hadn’t locked the door between the two rooms.

Annette raised her reddened teary eyes to look up at Ramsay. He truly was quite a specimen. He stood towering above her, his shirt in hand, chest exposed. His strong jaw-line, dark hair and powerful build made it obvious why all the girls in the Dreadfort fawned over him. Until they realized what he wanted to do to them. Annette could tell he was about to take a bath as her eyes swept over fresh blood splattered over him. It wasn’t his blood. 

His eyes were angry. She was certain that he was going to hurt her, the rage emanating off of him was so intense. Ramsay knelt to her crumpled form on the ground. Annette decided right then that she wouldn’t struggle, she knew it would make it worse. She resigned herself to her fate and met Ramsay’s gaze waiting to see what he would do to her.

But he was just looking at her, sweeping his eyes over her body, looking for any signs of harm. “Netty, what happened?” He was angry she realized not at her, but at the unexplained ominous “they” who made her cry.

Annette let herself sob then. She sobbed and a few final tears fell down her face, but she was out of tears then. She had cried them all.

“It was father.” 

Ramsay’s eyes hardened. “What happened?” His stare bore into her. Annette just shook her head, unable to say it. He read it on her face.

Ramsay slammed his palm into the wall above her head.

“He touched you didn’t he!?” Ramsay hissed. Annette shook again, terrified at his sudden outburst. He realized then that he was scaring her, and tried to calm his voice. “I’ve known what he wanted for years Netty.” His face hardened looking at Annette’s beautifully vulnerable form collapsed on the floor. “I’m not going to let him have you though. Not you.” He grabbed her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. “You’re mine.”

It was those words that did it. She felt it falling away then, the hatred and disgust that she piled as high as she could, because she didn’t want him to know, she didn’t want anyone to know - she didn’t want to know it herself. The horrible truth of it all. 

And so she let him pick her up, lying still in his arms, and carry her from her bedroom into his, laying her down and covering her up with the soft furs on the large bed. 

“I won’t let father touch you, sweet sister.” Annette smiled faintly as his fingers traced her jaw line delicately.

But then he drew his hand away and his voice turned cold as he stared down at her.

“I own you.”

Conflicted thoughts and emotions grabbed her from every direction, but she was exhausted. Annette couldn't stop her eyelids from falling, seeing him strip down and climb into the hot bath in the distant corner of the room as she faded into sleep.

**** 

The first sensations that Annette became aware of as she regained consciousness were that she had slept on her side and that her body was numb with cold. She remembered being tucked deeply into the many furs that ordinarily covered the Dreadfort beds, but she could make out in the dim early morning light that the furs were now strewn across the floor. As is my dress Annette noted with horror. She realized then that she was wearing only her thin white slip, her lean body completely naked underneath the barely-opaque fabric. Annette shuddered as she registered the reality that Ramsay must have taken her dress off after she had fallen asleep. The image of him unlacing and peeling it off while she lay as still as a corpse chilled her further, goose bumps breaking out over her smooth skin.

The second sensation that Annette became aware of was a firm bulge pressed up against her backside. Ramsay. Instinctively she froze, every pulse in her body trying to silence itself so as not to wake the monster who lay so close. 

Ramsay was a hunter through every nerve and muscle in his body, and he felt that tiny movement when her body woke from its sweet sleep. Although not yet fully awake, Ramsay’s body activated with predatory instinct and his arm curled around her soft belly and pulled her taught against him. 

“Good morning little rabbit.” Ramsay purred into Annette’s neck. He is so warm. Annette thought as her body was pulled completely flush against him. Not warm, but hot, hot like a fever, she thought, a terrible white fire fever that pulsated from him and into Annette, thawing her icy body. “You’re so cold.” Ramsay nipped at her ear lightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up.” He trailed his hand from where it had pulled her stomach close to him over to her hip kneading the sensitive flesh there. “You’re just too skinny.” She heard his breathing hitch, unaware that his imagination was currently at work tying her to an X-shaped cross and running a cold knife over that skinny body, a little nick here and there and pretty bright red ribbons trailing over her sharp hips and ribcage. 

She did feel his cock harden against her and the hand on her hip squeeze tighter, his fingers digging into her delicate skin. 

“Ramsay.” Annette was surprised at how small her voice sounded. “You’re hurting me.” She tried to squirm out of his grip, feeling his fingers press hard enough to leave bruises, but the feeling of her perfectly curved ass moving against his cock only served to excite him. 

“Oh, Netty.” Ramsay inhaled sharply. “This isn’t hurting you, you stupid girl.” Ramsay bit down on Annette’s exposed neck making her yelp before flipping her over onto her back. Annette put her hands up to push him away but Ramsay roughly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head smirking before leaning down and hungrily biting and kissing her neck making Annette cry out. 

“Ramsay stop!” 

The slap shocked her. 

He had struck her so quickly that she didn’t see the blow, only felt her face stinging painfully. Ramsay loomed over her. When he spoke, his voice was dark.

“You do not give the orders here you slut.” He spit the word at her and it cut her deeply. He was livid. Annette started shaking. He was not yelling, but his voice was so measured and laden with hatred that she would have preferred a million times over that he scream at her. “I let you sleep in my bed and how did you repay me? By questioning me?” Ramsay’s stare bore into Annette’s eyes and stabbed at her soul ruthlessly. “You can sleep in the dungeons from now on. Or better yet, the kennel. Get out.” 

Annette didn’t move, she couldn’t move. Her body was frozen. “GET OUT!” Ramsay roared, seizing Annette’s waist and hauling her off of the bed before throwing her body full force toward the door. She hit the stone floor and felt a wetness on her cheek where the cold stones had made contact. Her head was ringing from the fall, but somehow she managed to stand. Still shaking, she touched her cheek, drawing her hand away to see it coated in blood. She looked at Ramsay, her eyes widening and her head feeling dizzy as she stared at the bright blood dripping gingerly from her fingers. Ramsay looked at her, standing there in her white slip with her long brown curls and naive hazel eyes and that gorgeous blood pooling and clotting on her beautiful face. But the only expression that passed across his eyes over and over like dark storm clouds was pure anger. He looked like he was going to kill her.

Annette’s bloodied fingers found the door to the hall and pushed it open before stumbling out and starting to run down the halls. She didn't know where to run to, so she just ran, a lovely phantom in a white dress now stained from her bloodied hands clasping its long train as she bolted down the hall. 

READER’S CHOICE:

Annette decides to run → go to��Chapter 2A

Annette decides to stay → go to  Chapter 2B

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Seldom All They Seem

Summary: It's time, the souling is descending. But things aren't going smoothly.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Notes: All right, y’all asked for this. Careful what you wish for. 

How to warn for this?

There's some scary 'birth' related things, mentions of a possible past miscarriage, mentions of a possible traumatic past. I hesitate to say more because of spoilers, so I'll add more tags to the end in case anyone needs them. Scroll all the way down for spoilers!

~~*~~

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Despite making him a captain in the guard, Undyne still insisted that Edge train with her at least once a week. Partly it was because she was a bossy bitch, as she would gleefully tell anyone, but also a more private concern that both of them keep their skills honed to a razor point.

With a great deal of brutally hard work, Snowdin and Waterfall were slowly turning into places where a Monster could reasonably expect to survive to adulthood. XP Hunters that hid out in Snowdin wood were virtually wiped out once Edge started implementing his traps, as well as any LV-crazed Monsters who used to stalk anyone who took the paths.

Undyne began utilizing his traps in her territories, especially along the borders to New Home. That was still a festering hive of gangs and corruption and the air there always tasted of dust. Underfell would never be safe, not in the way Underswap or Undertale were, but Edge always knew he couldn’t save the world. Not yet, anyway. His focus was on his own corner of it.

A certain amount of safety also promoted a level of laziness, according to Undyne, and at her insistence, they both kept hard at work training. In that Edge believed she was correct; there was no point in creating a safe place if he wouldn’t be able to defend it and he always made sure to meet her challenges head on.

Except for today, when that very specific ringtone trilled a message from his cell.

“You actually have your fucking phone on right now,” Undyne asked with near manic glee. Edge was forced to dodge the vicious kick she aimed directly at his head. “Ain’t I keeping you busy enough, bossman?"

Undyne didn’t believe in pulling punches, not even during training, and Edge had the scars to prove it. Even her words, mockingly sweet, were chosen to sting, but Edge was no longer a stripling to be so easily distracted. He kept his shield of bones up even as he pulled out his phone, his eye lights skimming the brief words.

it’s time. come on down if you want a front row seat.

“I need to go,” Edge said, even as he sidestepped a blow that would have cracked bone if it landed.

That needle-sharp grin twisted into a frown, Undyne drawing up short as she glared at him. The top of the scar that ran beneath her eye patch drew down as her brows furrowed. “You’ll go when I say you can go, Captain.”

Edge was forced to dodge again, this time from a spear that manifested out of thin air. “I need to go, it’s an emergency.”

That gave her a pause, if a brief one. “Yeah? What kind of emergency? If it was your brother, we’d already be hearing alarm bells.” Undyne thrust the point of her spear into the ground, leaning against the shaft even as she gestured exaggeratedly for him to go on.

He hesitated. He trusted Undyne as much as he could trust anyone. She was the one who accepted him into the guard, even when he was obviously a street rat and still far too young. She was the one who trained him how to fight, past the dirty techniques Red ingrained in him from the moment he could summon a sharpened bone. She was his commander and his friend, and surely this wouldn’t be the only time he’d need to make a hasty trip to Underswap. He would need her support.

“It’s my…” Edge hesitated again, searching for a word and settled on a feeble, “significant other. Our souling is descending.”

It was the only time he’d ever legitimately seen Undyne falter in battle or otherwise. The spear propping her up wobbled, knocking her off balance and taking advantage of the opening was pure instinct. He had her on the ground in moments, his boot poised over her throat, but Undyne only stared at him, her visible eye filled with pure shock.

“A souling?” she whispered harshly, knocking his foot aside. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just say that kind of thing, you idiot, who knows who might be listening!”

Left unspoken was that Alphys was surely watching them, possibly with popcorn as she salivated over their sparring match. That was the reason Red never allowed him to visit Undyne without an audio disruptor, something she wouldn’t know. Video was allowed; according to Red, so long as she could watch the show, Alphys was unlikely to investigate the sound issue too much, but it was impossible to tell how effective a tool it was.

But he didn’t have much of a choice, they would need Undyne on their side.

“You’re my friend--” Edge tried. He held out a hand to help her to her feet and Undyne slapped it away, getting up on her own.

“No one is that good a friend, you fucking moron!” Undyne took hold of the front of his shirt, nearly hauling him off his feet despite the fact that he was considerably taller. “You don’t tell anyone else, you hear me? No one!”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Edge said, coolly, “I can protect my own.” The visible doubt on Undyne’s face made him stiffen and if time wasn’t ticking away, he would have called her on the insult. But then, she also couldn’t know that the child would be growing up safely a world away, with Rus. Edge could protect his own, better that he wouldn’t need to.

She sighed heavily, swiping a clawed hand over the fronds of the fins on her head. The ones not bound in a tie fluttered softly, “Get out of here. You’ll need to go double next week, shithead.”

Edge nodded and turned on his heel towards Snowdin.

Before he could take a step he heard, “Papyrus?”

Edge hesitated, turning back to Undyne warily. But she wasn’t poised for any sort of attack, her burly arms crossed over her chest and her gaze focused on the ground.

Her mouth twisted wryly as she asked, “Gonna let me meet the little crotchfruit when it’s here?”

Edge smiled faintly, “Its other parent keeps insisting that it should be called a skitten.”

“Ha!” Undyne slapped her knee and her sharp-toothed grin was a more familiar one, easy and wide, “That’s pretty good.”

“And yes,” Edge agreed, carefully. He didn’t have his brother or Rus’s affinity with promises, but he didn’t care to make ones he didn’t at least think he could keep. “If I can.”

She nodded. “Good enough. Go on, daddy, go watch the show.”

He gave her a short nod of his own and started back towards Snowdin. He wasn’t halfway there when his brisk walk became a run, dashing through the streets and ignoring the concerned looks of any that he passed. He didn’t bother to change out of his uniform, only went straight to the machine, punching in the coordinates and waiting impatiently for the portal to open.

Once through, he darted around the side of the house, for once grateful of the unlocked door and only then did he pause for a moment, to take off his boots. The first was peeled away and he was working on the second when he heard it.

From upstairs, through the closed door bedroom door came the sound of a muffled scream.

~~*~~

Next to the bed, Rus could distantly hear his brother moving around, the frantic burble of his words mostly unheard over his own cries and the creaking bed as Rus writhed with the next hot flare of pain.

“it hurts!” Rus sobbed. Undyne never said a fucking word about it hurting! His soul felt like it was being pulled apart, agony lancing through it. Rus curled in on himself, his knees tight to his chest as he choked out another cry.

That morning, Red’s prediction came true; he could feel the little souling, the simplest of joy nudging at his own soul while that little spark began wriggling almost uncomfortably, and that was when Rus knew it was time. He’d called his brother and sent Edge a text before going upstairs, eager for the descension

Only eagerness twisted into confusion as the pain increased. His comfortable room abruptly became too hot, nausea filling him, and Blue came home to find him retching miserably into a waste can, hauling him back into bed even as he moaned in complaint at the rising heat.

Rus stripped down to his shorts before Blue finally opened a window, allowing some chilly air into the room. That helped a little, but then the pain grew, swelling in his chest as the little souling struggled frantically within the cage of his ribs.

“ah, fuck,” Rus moaned, shuddering as the agony built again. Pain laced liberally with fear, was it supposed to hurt this much?

Distantly, he heard the door opening, slamming shut again. Gloved hands grabbed at him, trying to pull him into strong arms and Rus struggled free, slapping ineffectively until they let him go. He didn’t want to be touched, he wanted this to be over, it hurt so terribly.

The salt-sweet taste of tears was heavy on his tongue, making him gag and he fumbled for the trash can again, spitting it away before sagging back onto the sweat-damp sheets. It returned almost immediately; his sockets were streaming as he wept helplessly. He hadn’t ever wanted a baby before this little souling appeared and now he was gripped by terror that he was losing it, please, no.

Through the sound of his own soul throbbing in his skull came the pop of teleportation, followed by a loud, gruff voice, “what the fuck is going on?”

“Red!” That was his brother’s voice, shattered with an incongruous mixture of fear and relief. “Oh, thank heavens, you need to shortcut to Hotland, bring back Undyne--”

Red didn’t reply and the bed next to Rus shifted with the sudden addition of weight.

"hey, look at me.” A sharp finger tapped painfully at Rus’s skull and he cringed away from that tiny hurt added to the pain already racking him, curling up harder, “c’mon rus, look at me.” Barely, Rus managed to open his sockets, looking up blurrily at Red. He was rewarded with a hand cupping the side of his face, gloriously cool and Rus leaned into that careful touch, his eye lights locked on Red’s intent gaze. "i'm gonna get you through this, honey bun, okay?”

He managed a slight nod. Red was an asshole, but Rus believed him, clinging to the shreds of his hope.

"okay. now listen. i know it’s scary, but your soul will let go of the spark before it lets your hp drop to zero, yeah? so you ain't gonna dust from this."

"but the baby," Rus whispered, fresh tears welling. It wasn’t his death he was afraid for, hadn’t even occurred to him. Red’s bony hand soothed over his skull, stroking gently.

"your kidlet is fine, too. the spark can feel what you feel. you're scared, so it’s scared. i need you to breathe with me, okay? just breathe. in…and out…”

Rus did as Red told him, managing to match those long, slow breaths, easing back from panicked blurts. It still hurt, but the pain lessened as his panic faded. That pulling sensation was still there and Rus breathed through it this time. Somehow, now that pain actually felt right, almost a relief.

“that's it,” Red said, still breathing loudly, urging Rus to match it. Distantly, Rus thought he sounded strange, the Hotland accent that always clipped his words fading back. “let your body handle it, it knows what to do.”

He didn’t know how much time passed, Red murmuring soothingly, stroking his skull and jaw. Another hand hesitantly took his own and Rus gripped it automatically, holding on, following the arm up to Edge’s worried crimson gaze. His expression tightened when he saw Rus looking, mouth forming a word that Rus couldn’t hear over Red’s constant, soothing rapport, breathe.

“i am breathin’,” Rus mumbled. Maybe it was the grouchiness in those few words that made a faint smile quirk the corners of Edge’s mouth. He could see the tremble in his own hand as he reached out, fingertips grazing Edge’s cheekbone. “like it when you smile.”

Edge’s sockets widened, that smile faltering but before Rus could mourn the loss, he felt the last thread tying the souling to his own soul snap. He cried out, but the pain was already fading, gentle warmth drifting downward as the souling descended into his abdominal cavity.

There wasn’t time for him to even look before his magic flared uncontrollably, his midsection filled to bursting with the flood of it. It was over as quickly as it began and Rus lay back, panting, the taste of sweat and tears still heavy on his tongue.

A soft cloth appeared and Edge tried to wipe away the sweat on his brow bone. Rus pushed him away impatiently, struggling out a blearily. "baby?"

Red was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his still snow-damp boots leaving wet smears on the sheets. He offered Rus a sharp-toothed smile. "may as well get a good look, a few hours you won't be able to see anymore."

Shakily, Rus rose up on his elbows. In his midsection where usually there was only the slender column of his spine, his magic was encasing him in ectoflesh from his ribs to his pelvis. Through the translucent orange, he could see the glow of the souling, its light dimmed through his shimmering magic. Already the ghostly shape of bones was forming around it. As Red said, eventually the magic would lose its translucence and they'd have to wait until it was ready to see it again. Around the bed, the others crowded in, and as different as they looked, Blue and Edge were wearing matching expression of wondering awe. Or maybe not entirely matching, Edge's still seemed tainted with concern, but eh, couldn't blame him for worrying about his kid. Rus knew exactly how he felt.

Rus sank back down, managing to lift a trembling hand to curve around that soft swell. Not a souling any long but an actual baby, readying itself to be born. Another hand joined his, still wearing a stupid glove, entwining their fingers. Beneath their combined touch, the souling gave a happy wriggle and Rus groaned. Okay, great, the kiddo was fine, now he wanted to sleep for about a week.

As if he’d pulled the thought directly out of Rus’s skull, Red hopped to his feet and said briskly. "okay, he needs to get some rest and you two ain’t real good at holding still. go do laundry or some shit, you can goggle more at the…” Red grimaced. “at the skitten when rus wakes up.”

To Rus’s weary bemusement, Edge and Blue both reluctantly obeyed, falling to the will of the Older Brother. Before he stood, Edge leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of Rus’s belly, the way he always had to his sternum before. What he whispered to their little spark this time, Rus couldn’t hear. He was already halfway to drowsing when Edge tucked the soft blanket over him, but the feel of a mouth brushing his own woke him right the fuck up.

Rus barely had time to give Edge a wide-socketed look, he was already moving towards the door, crimson bright on his cheekbones in a match to Rus’s own flusterment.

Huh. They’d fucked more than a dozen times, why was it a chaste kiss that left Rus feeling flutters in his soul that had nothing to do with the recent eviction of the souling?

At the door, Edge hesitated, silhouetted in the light from the living room. His voice was thick as he said, "Brother. Thank you."

Red only snorted, tossing the socks that Rus peeled off earlier into the laundry hamper. "didn't do nothin’ but help calm him down. baby would've been fine either way."

The door closed softly and tired as he was, Rus lay there, watching Red bustling around the room, cleaning up scattered clothing, tying off the liner in the waste can so it could be discarded. It was like looking at a distorted mirror of his own brother.

“red?” Rus croaked out.

“you’re supposed to be sleepin’, honey bun.”

“thirsty.” That was an understatement. His tongue felt like it recently did a tango with some sandpaper. Red was gone and back in a flash of a shortcut, holding a glass filled to the brim with lovely water. He held it while Rus drank thirstily, only spilling a few drops before he sank back with a grateful sigh. “thank you.”

“not a problem.”

“no, i mean, thank you, for everything.” Beneath the blanket, Rus settled a hand on the curve of his belly again. There was only a flicker of movement this time, lil' skitten was probably as tired as he was.

Red blew out a sharp breath and set the empty glass on the side table with a thunk. “already toldja, didn’t do anything. you woulda been fine.”

Much as he wanted to believe that was true, Rus wasn’t convinced. He was so tired, the world seemed soft and blurry around him, but sleep was still elusive. With Blue and Edge gone, this hushed moment felt like one for secrets, and Rus found himself asking in a low mumble, “what happened to your baby?”

Red went very still. “gonna need to let that go, kid.”

It was gently said, probably great advice, but Rus’s mouth wasn’t finished. “i’ll share this baby, if you want.” He could do that, right? It already felt like he was going to be sharing with the whole of the Underground. Edge wouldn’t mind, he was sure of it. Pretty sure.

“heh.” Red shook his head, ruefully. With a grunt, he hopped back onto the bed and lightly, he stroked a hand over Rus’s skull. His tone was almost fond as he said, “you taleverse monsters always gotta be the hero, dontcha. you ain’t even gonna remember this, honey bun. go to sleep.”

He wanted to, so very much, but tears were thickening again in his sockets, surfacing with his imaginings of another little souling, one that was lost, “m’sorry. ‘bout your baby.”

He shouldn’t have said it, cringing a little, waiting for that petting to get rough with anger. Red only kept up that light, soothing touch, tracing his coronal sutures the way a concerned lover might or maybe a parent. Rus wouldn’t know. He’d never really had either.

“don’t be, ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” Red told him, very, very softly. “my baby grew up just fine. little stupid, sometimes. now go to sleep.”

Almost, Rus wanted to argue, what did that even mean? But he was so tired and the little soul in his formed belly was already giving off its own feeling of sleepiness, dragging him down.

Remember this, he told himself fiercely, but thought was already fading. He slept, dreamless and deep, and never heard when Red got up and left, closing the door silently behind him.

tbc

Read Next Chapter

Notes:

Okay, so spoilers below!

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It's heavily implied that Red was pregnant before and that he did end up giving birth, very likely as a teenage parent. Nothing else surrounding his possible pregnancy is explained yet or even implied, other than it happened. It is however, heavily implied that Edge is his child and not his brother.

End spoilers.

[bleepblopbloop56]

The Murder In The Dressing Room

Chapter 9

Mostly unedited.

Warnings: blood, major character death, guns.

For an update on the situation read this post

"He's so tiny…" Logan laughed lightly, watching as Patton's little hand wrapped around his pinkie, not even closing all the way around it. He tried to pull in his hand to his mouth before Logan tutted and pushed a pacifier in instead. The news that he now had a real human child still hadn’t fully sunk in yet. He was properly accommodated, of course- the apartment was stuffed with cribs, bottles, pacifiers, toys, baby clothes (including Patton’s current light blue onesie dotted with little white cupcakes- which, as a police officer, Logan could say with authority was illegally cute), and diapers galore- but that didn't make it any less terrifying. 

"He looks like a baby doll," Virgil commented, playing with his toes. Patton squealed and drooled around his pacifier.

"He is rather perfect, don't you think?" Logan giggled. A lot had happened in the last few months. Roman had cheated on him, his best friend had died giving birth and he’d had to fight to adopt her child as soon as possible… but now he was here, holding Patton in his home for the first time. 

"Uh oh, is Detective Grey getting all emotional?" he giggled, tickling Patton lightly. "You hear that? Dadda's getting all emotional over you! Your dadda looovesssss yooooou!" he baby talked, punctuating each sentence with a tickle. Patton kicked his little legs the best he could in fits of giggles.

"He loves you so much Patton! He's gonna be the best dad in the whole world!"

 

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” Logan chanted as if it would actually do something as he shot down the road. He had barely had enough time to shout out directions and get his gear before racing down the street like his life depended on it. If Logan had his way, he'd make the forty minute drive in ten or crash trying.

“Yellow?” Emile's typical greeting was as cheerful as ever, despite the obvious grogginess in his voice. That was what he got for being an old man who went to bed at 6 o’clock. 

“Patton- where is he?” Logan demanded, taking a turn a little too fast and sliding off the road for a moment before straightening out, mumbling obscenities under his breath all the while. How many traffic laws was he breaking? What would he do if he came across another car on the road? Did it even matter? 

“He's in the living room- Logan, what's wrong?” he started sounding more conscious, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Go check on him right now," Logan ordered, “and don't let him leave your sight until I tell you its safe.” Another car swerved around him, nearly hitting him. Distantly, Emile could hear a horn honking and Logan shouting curses in return. 

“Logan what's happening?” He shuffled on a robe, pulling himself up and towards the door. A quick peek into the living room verified that the toddler was sleeping peacefully on the baby bed Emile had managed to stuff in his car while picking Patton up. As if he could sense Emile’s gaze, Patton sputtered a bit before rolling over, the picture of peace. “He's fine, fast asleep, but Logan, are you okay?” 

“Go get him. Now. Don't let him out of your sight until I say so, okay?” There was only hesitant silence from the phone. “Okay?!” 

"Okay," Emile whispered back softly. He picked Patton up with shaking hands, shushing him when he started to wake up. But it was to no avail: despite his best efforts, Patton started to cry on the walk back to Emile’s room. "Logan," he pleaded, "just tell me what's going on."

Hearing the sound of Patton's voice made him slow down significantly. Getting killed in a car crash would only hurt Patton; besides, if Logan was going to die, that son of a bitch would have to kill him himself. Logan wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of doing it without putting in the work. 

"There's been a threat... I can't come get him until we know the suspect is in police custody." Logan faltered, his attempt at a neutral voice failing, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "They got Remy… my partner. We have a significant lead, but that's all I can say. This is all going to be over soon." He didn't mention that by "lead" he meant "I know who killed them and I'm currently speeding to his house to either kill him or get killed."

"What does that mean?" Emile put down Patton on his bed, rubbing his hand through his hair to get him back to sleep. His brother had always told him everything, and him evading the question like this was enough to make him feel as if the world was ending. Logan didn't lie, and he didn't avoid questions. No matter what you asked him, Logan would respond quickly and honestly, even if that answer was I don't know. 

"Someone’s made a threat on Patton's life," he said quietly, pointedly not vocalizing "and mine as well.'' "I need you to double check your doors and windows for me, make sure everything's secure, and call 911 if you hear anything at all, okay?" 

The other end was silent as Emile struggled to think of a response.

"Please be safe" he settled on. Logan nodded, mumbling an "I will" before hanging up, grip on the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. 

"Roman?!" Logan screamed. Distantly, Logan wondered what his colleagues would think if they saw him like this, wild-eyed and hoarse from shouting and breaking down doors in a house he didn’t have a permit to enter. He wasn't clearing rooms, he didn't have his gun in his hand; he was just ransacking the place in a blind panic. All of it went against protocol, and right now he couldn’t care less. "Roman, where are you?!"

His mind jumped back to the text he'd gotten right after he had found Remy’s body. Logan had been standing in his office- the room he worked in nearly every day, defiled by the blood of one of his closest friends- when his phone chimed. He could only stare dully at the words flashing there. 'I can't do this, I'm going home,' they read, and for a second Logan wondered if this was it- if he was going to lose Roman as quickly as he’d gotten him back.

But that hadn’t been Roman. It couldn't have been. Logan wouldn't believe it. And the only thing worse than the idea of Roman leaving was the idea that Roman had left because he was in trouble- that Ethan had gotten to Roman before he could.

Logan froze at the sound of the front door slamming behind him, the noise cutting through even Logan’s shouts. He had known, at the back of his mind, that he was being unforgivably reckless. He had entered Ethan's territory disregarding the fact that he had proven himself more intelligent and capable than any criminal he faced before. But he had still thought that he would get farther than a few rooms into the house before being caught.

And now he was going to die.

"God, this is so fucking sad," a voice hissed, the telltale noise of a gun cocking behind him far too close for comfort. "You couldn't just stay put, could you? I was JUST about to go find you, and now I have to worry about fucking blood stains on my white carpet…"

Logan whipped around, only to freeze again at the sight of the barrel of a gun in his face, Ethan behind the trigger. Ethan kicked him in the stomach before he could reach for his gun, knocking him to the floor. Logan wheezed, desperately trying to regain his breath and get back up, but Ethan loomed over him, pressing his gun to Logan's forehead. 

Logan braced himself. He'd been a detective for a long time- he knew what was coming next.

But Ethan only made a tutting noise, wagging his finger disapprovingly. "Silly little detective…" he laughed. "If you behave, I might just kill you the easy way! Let's not make this harder than it has to be…" He traced the gun down Logan's face, the cold metal gazing his eye and cheek before landing on his lips. "Well, let's see how well you roll over for me. Why don't you give it a kiss, huh?" The look in his eyes dared Logan to say no. Like he wanted to see how long he could drag out his little game before either he or Logan snapped.

It would be beyond degrading to kiss the gun that would most likely end him, to look his killer in the eyes when he was on his knees. But between the choice of humiliation and survival… Logan puckered his lips and lightly kissed the gun. If he could just keep Ethan distracted until backup arrived everything would be okay, it had to be… 

"Good boy!" The sick feeling in Logan's gut only worsened at Ethan's tone- it was as if he was talking to a dog who had successfully performed a trick rather than a human being he was threatening to murder. "Good boys get treats! You know what your treat is?!" He spoke in high trills, happy hisses filled with poison. Logan noticed Dee had scale tattoos crawling up his arm, starting presumably from underneath his yellow glove. "Your treat is a quick and easy death! Do try to keep it down, we don't want the noise to scare Roman. " Dee traced the gun around his face again before pressing it against his temple. He pushed Logan's head gently with the gun, moving until his cheek pressed against the wall, and Logan could tell instinctively that this time Dee wouldn’t hold back.

"Wait!" Logan shouted, the refrain keep him distracted, keep him distracted running through his head. "I want to have another… treat." Over the blood thundering in his ears, a thought reverberated in his head, slamming like a wave against his brain again and again: This is the lowest moment of my life.

Ethan perked up, happy his little toy was playing his game so easily, but the suspicious glint in his eyes told Logan he didn't have long to talk.

"Let me say goodbye to Roman.." The words ached in his chest. Logan knew he had to play up the pathetic factor to get Ethan to humor him, but they came out too honest and real for him to convince himself it was all for show. Somewhere behind the desperation, it was a legitimate request. 

Ethan hesitated like he was thinking about it, clicking his tongue a few times in thought. "I don't know if you've been that good" he said slowly. "I think I'd rather just kill you!" He smiled, and Logan suddenly thought back to the brief personality profile that had been pulled together on him when Roman was deemed a suspect. Everything about Ethan seemed to point to a perfectly friendly, if slightly closed-off, man with a clean record and plenty of friendly acquaintances. Nothing to suggest someone like this..

Logan was out of options, out of time, and he decided if he could just drag this out, just long enough to keep roman alive.. If he could just llay into what ethan wanted from him...

Put on a show… 

He hunched his shoulders and began to cry.

"Please," he begged, hoping that Ethan would enjoy seeing Logan in pain enough to let the scene last longer. Maybe not long enough for Logan to come out of this alive, but long enough for the cops to arrive, long enough to save Roman… "I know I took him from you-" appealing to him directly- "and I know that you're angry, but please… Just let me see him one last time." 

His shoulders were heaving now, real tears falling to the ground. It wasn't just Roman he was crying about- it was all of them. All of the innocent lives taken simply because they knew the wrong people, caught in a spider web of murders only because they had offered a home to Roman or a helping hand to Logan. He cried for how he had screamed and broke things after finding Virgil in the bedroom until he heard the sirens approaching his apartment. How he'd pulled Roman away from his brother, lying in a pool of red, the one and only time Remus had ever been quiet. How he had said goodbye to Thomas one day and then hadn't visited him again until he had been murdered. How not even an hour before now he had seen his partner, his friend, Remy sitting where he did so often, coffee cold on the desk and glasses broken on the floor. How Patton could be next, and by association Emile.

And Ethan laughed.

"Oh, alright!" he giggled, high-pitched and manic. He pushed Logan's chin up with his gun to look at him. "No need to look so pathetic, little detective! This'll be good for Roman, to see you die." 

Logan moved to stand up, but Ethan leaned down and grabbed his hair, shoving him back down. 

"Nuh-uh-uh!" Ehtan chirped, bringing the gun up to Logan’s forehead again and pressing down. "Be a good little boy and crawl for me?”

Logan froze, his thoughts from before echoing. But he had no way out, and they both knew it. Ethan grinned like a hunter watching their prey walk into a trap. "Come on, let’s go." 

It couldn't have been comfortable for Ethan to pull Logan forward through the whole house, but for the pleasure of humiliating his victim, it was worth it. He dragged Logan all the way to the back of the house until they reached a door so small Logan probably would’ve skipped it while searching for Roman. He flipped open the lock and turned the light on one-handedly before starting down the stairs, allowing Logan to walk while keeping a firm grip on his hair.

"Logan?" Roman's voice was scratchy from crying, but it flooded with disbelief, wonder, hope- until he registered who Logan was with. "Ethan, what are you doing, let him go!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet.

Ethan shoved Logan to his feet, sauntering forward to Roman. "Little Detective Grey here cracked the case, and this is his reward! He wanted to say goodbye to his precious little baby." The fake pout in his voice was somehow more disrespectful than anything he'd done so far. Roman's lip trembled heavily, crying despite having no more tears. 

"But I followed the rules!" he pleaded. "I didn't run or yell or call anyone- Ethan, I'm sorry, I'll be good- I followed the rules, please! Please, don't hurt him-" He clutched onto Ethan's shirt, shaking enough to match his stuttering, but Ethan just shoved him off forcefully.

"This is for your own good, Roman," he sneered. "You have sixty seconds to say goodbye. Play nice, boys," He let go of Logan's hair and let him lurch for Roman, like a dog being let off their leash.

"Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!" Roman began to sob as the countdown started, loud and He started counting down loudly, Logan hushed the apologies and sobs from Roman, trying to get him to quieten down for long enough to hatch a plan. 

"Roman, listen to me, he'll be watching my hands. I need you to grab my gun and when I say go I need you to use it," he mumbled quickly in his ear. He was trembling himself despite trying to keep things together for Roman. "It's loaded- all you have to do is pull the trigger, okay?"

"Logan-" he sobbed, hand fighting Logan's as he led it down and on top of the gun. 

"It's gonna be okay, Roman… I love you," he said quietly, in the background he could tell they were running out of time by Dee's counting, his numbers getting faster and more gleeful as he counted down. 

"I love you too," Roman said through sobs, gun fully slid out of the holster and now in his hand. 

"Ready?" Logan asked. Five seconds left…

"3…  2… 1," Logan counted down alongside Dee, jumping out of the way of Roman as he pulled up the gun and pointed it towards Ethan's chest. 

It was as if time slowed down to make a frozen tableau- Logan slamming into the hard floor, Roman's shaking hands pulling the trigger, Ethan's expression dropping as he was forced to face the consequences of his actions for the very first time. The noise of the gun was deafening within the small basement, ringing in their ears for what felt like hours after it went off.

One shot, straight to the chest, and Ethan was done, flung backwards by the impact.

Roman dropped the gun after he hit him, flinching at the crash of it hitting the floor and wrapping his arms around himself. 

He looked down at the man in front of him, not dead yet but not alive either. In that state of being where Roman assumes you see your life flash before his eyes. Roman wondered what he saw... 

"I'm sorry..." He cried, jerking away when Logan touched him, hitting the wall and closing his eyes, sobbing as hard as when he had seen remus, shaking like he had been dunked in ice water and left in the arctic, and breathing as if he never would again. 

A door above them bursted open police shouting and flashlights searching every room. "DOWN HERE!" Logan called, flashlights shining in his face when they reached the basement door. Roman raised his hands above his head, now a murderer no better than Ethan.

Taglist

@cataclysm-al @knightinsoftpastels @intruality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality @nonbeenary-enbee @imbasicallyshakespear @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @incoherentfangirl @oofmood @nonbinary-pineapple @royalnerd829 @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @magma-llama @chumo-cookie

[quantifiableme]

Not as Cold... Gendrya Fic

Gendrya Drabble. First time writing, so this is gonna be trash, but I have a lot of feelings about Gendrya and need to get them off my chest!!

Melisandre comes to Winterfell. San POV because I love her, and I like seeing Gendrya from a third perspective.

Jon had called them to a meeting to discuss “something important”. When Sansa entered the room, the Dragon Queen was sitting in the center of the long table - alone. 

Logically, it made sense. Jon named her Queen, but Sansa couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the sight. Just weeks prior, she had sat in that very seat with Bran to her right as she sentenced Littlefinger to death. She sat there when she addressed Winterfell, and when Jon had introduced Danerys Targaryen to the less than thrilled Lords and Ladies of the North. Sansa worked hard to sit in that seat, suffered even more, and to see the white-haired beauty sitting in it felt like a slight on her. 

Jon stood next to the Queen like a knight, and Sansa took her place next to Arya and Bran behind them. 

“Thank you for meeting me,” commanded Jon like the king he should have been. People looked in rapt attention. “Thank you for your patience as the Queen and her troops get settled in, and as we wait for the Lannister army to ride North to help us fight the Night King.” 

Adding to the weather, the room got colder at the mention of the Lannisters. Sansa made a point to look at Tyrion, who grimaced as he recalled their earlier conversation. 

“While we wait, I thought it would be proper to introduce us to the people who have come to help in their own ways, and will in effect be the leaders in the fight. God forbid I or our Queen are ever in a situation where we cannot help you, please answer to them.

“Firstly, the Queen’s Hand, Lord Tyrion. I had introduced him along with the Queen at their arrival. Ser Davvos and Lord Varys each know their share of wars, and we will be discussing most battle plans with the three. If anyone knows that is going to happen next, it will be them.

“Lady Sansa will be taking over as Wardeness of the North until the threat beyond the Wall is resolved. Arya will act as our lead strategist in the endeavors ahead,” continued Jon. He looked proudly at each of his sisters as he spoke about them. Although she did not show much emotion since her return, Sansa could see her little sister straighten at her brother’s words. Sometimes, Sansa missed the excitement her sister’s temper caused. “Her and Brienne of Tarth will work to train the soldiers on advance combat techniques, as well as the common folk on basic battle strategies to prepare them if things should get worse.”

An Unsullied boy walked into the room and motioned to the Queen something Sansa did not understand. The Queen nodded her head slowly, as to not distract anyone from Jon’s words, but Sansa still noticed. 

“Finally, the men and woman who helped me beyond the wall not to long ago- Lord Gendry will act as the head blacksmith at Winterfell, where he will be making us weapons out of dragon glass.”

The broad-man Jon had walked into Winterfell with not to long ago stood at the mention of his name. “Forgive me, Ser, but I am not a Lord.” said Gendry.

Sansa and many of the Lords in the room looked shocked that the boy had the gall to interrupt Jon in the middle of his speech- Davvos looked especially tired and went as far as to rub his forehead so aggressively Sansa thought he would crack his skull. Jon, however, only laughed at his friend. As did Arya, who was actively trying to hold back a smirk next to her sister.

Sansa had never formally introduced to the blacksmith yet, but from what she has heard and what she could tell, he was hard working and stoic. He had grown up in Fleabottom, and did not know much about high-born customs - such as not interrupting the Lord you served during a speech to other high-born lord and ladies. That was part of the reason Sansa believed Jon enjoyed his company so much. 

“I am very sorry, Gendry,” replied Jon. “I would like to point out to the room, though, that Gendry is the bastard son of Robert Baratheon, if that at all helps to explain his temper in the near future.” A murmur of laughter rippled through he room, and Sandor Clegane takes the moment to grab Gendry by the scruff of his neck and pull him back to his seat. Next to her, Area seems to stiffen. 

The Queen speaks up for the first time, smiling as she does. “If I may, after I reclaim the Iron Throne, I will be legitimizing Ser Gendry, so please treat him as such.”

Arya takes in a breath, and when Sansa looks out, she sees the blacksmith pale. His eyes are locked on her sister. 

At that moment, the door opens and a quartet of Unsullied lead a woman in a red robe into the room. 

“Yes, and if everyone could welcome the Red Preistess, Melis-” before Jon could finish his sentence, a lot happened. Sansa felt a wind as Arya shot past her, towards the woman. Sandor yelled an annoyed Shit! as he and Gendry both stood and ran after her sister. As they did, Arya pulled out her Valarian-steel dagger and held it to the woman’s throat while the Unsullied guards held their spears at Arya.  

“Arya!” scolded Sansa. Danerys stood in confusion as Jon moved to where they were, yelling to the Unsullied to put down their weapons. 

“Do you remember me, bitch?” Arya whispered coldly. 

“I do,” replied the woman. Sandor grabbed Arya and lifted her up as Gendry struggled to rip the dagger from her tight fist. 

After the dagger was successfully manhandled from her grasp and gently thrown across the floor away from her reach, Gendry made motions for Sandor to put her down. It proved difficult because Arya was kicking and screaming the entire time, yelling You bitch! You fucking cunt!. Gendry then tried to hold her face, being whipped around by the force of the girls anger, saying Arry! I’m fine! I’m here! I’m fine! 

Sandor eventually had to pull the two a few feet away as Jon stepped in front of the red-cloaked woman, putting distance between the two parties. 

“I demand an explanation for this,” the Dragon Queen appeared at Jon’s side instantly. Sansa had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as the Queen practically grabbed Jon’s arm in a wedding position as she spoke. 

“That bitch tried to kill Gendry!” shouted Arya as the said blacksmith pushed her head into his chest and wrapped his other arm around her torso to calm her movements. 

“Melissandre is my friend, and as your Queen I command you show her the same respect-” Jon grabbed Danerys’s hand before she said anymore and became the new subject to Arya’s fury. 

The Red Woman, unfazed by the entire situation, looked at Arya as if she was studying her. “That darkness has over taken you, girl. Those eyes I had seen before...” 

She motioned to grab her face, but Gendry slapped her hand out of the way. “Don’t. Touch. Her.” he growled. 

Jon lead the woman in a wide arc away from the two and to a seat nearby as the room began to settle again. Sansa watched as Gendry cradled her sister’s head again, looking down at her with a look of absolute sorrow and admiration. Scenes of her parents in a similar position flashed against Sansa’s vision, and she noted that she had to speak to Arya later about this. 

Perhaps her sister hadn’t become as cold as she had thought. 

[the-twinventors]

The sound of banging startled Stella out of her nap. Oh no, was it the cops again? No, it wasn’t the door being knocked on - in fact, she realised the sound was coming from outside the apartment, in the hall. And the screaming and yelling accompanying said banging didn’t help matters, either. Had someone decided to attack Jayce? She wouldn’t be surprised if the entire campus decided that his release was only because of a lack of evidence...

Regardless, Stella leapt off the couch, grabbing her keys from the coffee table, and scrambled to unlock the door, fumbling with them from her nerves. When she finally got the door open, though, the sight that met her was the last thing she expected.

Jayce was there, alright. But he wasn’t the one being attacked.

No, he was the one doing the attacking. And the victim was none other than the whistleblower, Coco.

“Jayce!!” Without hesitation, Stella leapt forward, tearing her brother away from the beaten rabbit. He screamed as she did, hollering about how he’d kill Coco, but she firmly slammed him against the wall. “Are you trying to get yourself arrested again?! What the hell are you thinking?!”

“Let me go!!” Jayce struggled under her grip, so uncharacteristically feral and angry, but she held firm, giving Coco time to scramble back into her own apartment and lock the door. “Why the fuck are you letting her get away?! She destroyed our lives! It’s all her fault Starlight’s dying!!”

“Oh, yeah, like beating her to a pulp’s gonna change that?!” Stella was furious. “All you’re gonna do is land yourself back in prison - for a legitimate charge, this time! What about the kids?!”

“What does it matter?!” Jayce kicked out, ignoring the audience that he’d drawn in from his violent outburst. “If Star goes, the twins are gonna go with him! And they’ll take Pandora and Ariel too - I don’t have legal custody!”

Out of nowhere, a random heckler yelled, “They’re better off without a psychopath like you as their dad!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” Jayce lunged, but Stella did her best to keep him in place - only to find herself shoved back against the opposite wall, with him glaring viciously at her. “This is all your fault!”

Stella was stunned. “Excuse me? How is this my fault?!”

“If you hadn’t gone and told Starlight I’d been arrested, he wouldn’t be dying right now! He’d be none the fucking wiser! This should’ve been kept between us, you shouldn’t have involved him!”

“What are you talking about?! I had to involve him! His statement and his DNA test are what got you released!!”

“I’d rather have rotted! I didn’t want him to know! Not if it meant this! Now he’s gonna die, I’m gonna lose my kids, and it’s gonna be all your fault!!”

“For the love of Chaos, stop talking shit, Cody!!”

And just like that, the screaming stopped.

Silence filled the hallway. Jayce’s enraged expression had morphed to shock, as had Stella’s, whose hands had flown to her mouth when she realised the wrong name had slipped. Their audience looked between them in confusion, wondering what the fuck was happening.

After a few seconds, Jayce’s face contorted, and he covered his face with his hands. “Shit...”

And then he turned and trudged back into their apartment, failing to shut the door behind him. Everyone did, however, hear the slam of his bedroom door.

Lowering her own hands, Stella leaned against the wall, taking a moment to get her breath back. However, she heard the whispers starting up again, and her ears perked, her teeth gritting. How could they have the gall to start gossiping and whispering like she wasn’t even there? Without hesitation, her head snapped up, and she glared at everyone, spitting out two short, hate-filled words. “Shut. Up.”

Silence fell once more, and slowly, everyone began to disperse. Not bothering to wait, Stella headed back into the apartment herself, locking the door behind her once more. Leaning back against it, she clapped her own hands over her face, clenching them into fists. Jayce had indeed shut himself in his room again, but she could hear him sobbing uncontrollably.

Stella slid down the door, huddled up on the floor, and started crying as well.

[prorevenge]

Don't brag about your sidechicks especially if one of them is MY friend.

Been reading some of the stories here and wanted to share mine after having a chance encounter with this guy (who we shall call asshat) a few years after I wrecked his love life. TLDR at the bottom.

To give some context I'm friends with this girl who was, for the lack of a better word, very dependant. She hooked up with this guy some weeks before I met him. One night the girl invited us out for some karaoke and drinks. The moment my friends and I met her boyfriend (now ex, thankfully) we despised him. He was the kind of guy that spouts alpha male bull crap. He would say women should be begging to be bred by him, how he was the top of the food chain and how women were meant to take care of the men and their children. Everytime he said this sort of nonsense my friend would laugh it off and she would defend him saying he was just joking. But, we all knew he was being serious.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks later and I've been hearing some rumors from friends about asshat and how he's been seen in some clubs and restaurant with different women. From what I've gathered he had two other girlfriends and he was pretty much mooching off of them. He would live in their apartments rent free, borrow their cars and even use their cards for bull shit. some of them would do his laundry or cook his meals. All the while he'd speak sweet nothings to them in order to convince them he was okay and loyal. At first I thought they were just rumors so I didn't think much of it. That is until I hung out with my friend who wanted an ear to listen to her.

She told me about how asshat would be gone for days at a time and would only appear in her apartment whenever he needed something. This would be food, money, a place to crash or sex. She was suspicious that he was cheating on her but she thought it was impossible. I simply told her "Why not just break up with him?" She would go on about how asshat was a sweet and nice guy. When I pointed out how he was barely in her life and kept using her she kept defending this guy like he was a literal angel, devoid of all sins. I was worried about her and how this would affect her career, her life and her mental well being if this kept up. But what could I have done? If I threw the rumors at her, I had nothing to back them up and in her state of denial she'd just say it was fine. I was in a stump and just told her "Do what you think is right."

Fast forward another few weeks later. Turns out asshat and I were members of the same gym. While I was on the treadmill he came up to the side next to my treadmill and ran with me. I didn't like this guy but so long as he didn't bother me then no harm no foul.

As we were on the treadmill he started off with a light conversation such as "how's work" or "you a insert sports team fan." No big deal. THEN, as if the universe was giving me a signal, he starts bragging about his girls or as he calls them "his bitches." I believe he thought he and I were kin, that all i cared about was getting laid. Point is he starts showing off pictures of his "conquests" as he calls them, and was willing to give me advices on how to get girls like him.

In the back of my head, as he's talking a mile a minute about nothing but his dick and the girls he's screwed, I thought the planets aligned and was giving me the chance to destroy him. So, I played along.

For another few weeks he and I would hang out. He and I would work out together, get meals afterwards or hang out at a bar...like friends. Unknown to him I had been collecting any and all evidences of the women he had been messing with. Whenever he left his stuff, like his gym bag, I'd rummage through them. If he left his phone I'd make sure to remember the pass code and get myself screenshots of everything he took of the women he had been playing with. There were a lot. It took me a good while to put up with his bragging and me covering for his drinks just to get a couple of pictures. Some of these were the most NSFW. He would have selfies of himself getting head from some woman. A picture of him with his hands under a woman's shirt. Or just plain nudes he had saved up. It wasn't enough I needed to do more because I had to make sure my friend understood she was dating a Triple A scum sucking leech.

Remember those rumors earlier? It was a risk because if they were true he'd leave his gym clothes and such to be cleaned by one of the women he was taking advantage of. If they weren't true then what I did would've been a waste. So, I went to a lingerie store and got some lacy black underwear, dunno what they were I saw expensive fancy women's underwear and thought perfect. Bought lipstick and some perfume. Then during one of our sessions in the gym he left his gym bag for me to look after. At this point I was on a weird roll. I put the underwear in his gym bag, put lipstick on my own lips and planted them on his shirt and the pants waistline (...yeah gross. Could've just bought a lip shaped stamp or something close to it) then sprayed a bit of perfume on it for good measure. I had some weird looks in the men's locker room. Embarassing? Yes. Worth it? Hell yeah.

Earlier that day I handed my collected photos of his cheating ways to the same group of friends that I heard the rumors earlier. I asked them to just hand it to the other two girls, explain to them that he was a piece of garbage that needs to be thrown out. It didn't take much convincing for them to whip out their phones, get copies from me and start texting, sending fb messages and just screaming to their friend to kick asshat out of their lives. I legitimately wondered if this was gonna work because if they were really dependant then it wouldn't matter.

Next day. I was awake for a good long time, tried to fall asleep, played some videogames and even tried to drink myself to sleep. All the while I was wondering if this stupid plan had worked. I left lipmarks on asshat's pants in the men's locker room!!! Turns out...IT DID!!!

I was told about how one of the girls found the underwear and, I'm guessing, the rest of the planted evidence. She had found it as she was about to do his laundry. Like a classic angry wife/girlfriend movie scene, she chucked asshat's clothes in the garbage bin. She kept the PS4 he had bought because he bought it with HER money.

The other woman locked asshat out of her apartment and blocked him on her phone. She tossed his clothes and some other stuff in a garbage bag before donating it to the nearby donation bin AND took photos of it for us.

My friend, after some convincing from us, broke free and when asshat tried to stay at her place she wasn't having it. She cancelled the gym subscription she paid for asshat, cut his access from netflix and hulu. Packages he ordered online? She either repacked them as gifts for her brothers or returned.

This was confirmed when asshat texted me asking if he could stay over at MY place. I lost it. I had the biggest shit eating grin ever. I couldn't believe my stupid plan worked. I put up with his alpha male nonsense and had to listen to him belittle women as breeding cattle. Asshat had to go back to his parent's home.

The best part of this? My friend was a little stronger after all of this. She took some therapy, got away from the dating scene for a bit and when she was ready she found herself a guy who, as of now, is completing his residency. She went from dating a moocher to a doctor! He's an awesome guy, shame he's a Patriot's fan...but if he makes my friend happy then I'll overlook it.

As for asshat? Still living in his parent's home. He's "inbetween jobs" which is just a stupid way of saying he had no job. I had bumped into him in my favorite coffee places. It took a lot out of me not to smile at his unfortunate circumstance.

TLDR: I framed a guy who had been using my friend and two other girls like sex toys with wallets. Got him locked out of their homes and forced to live back in his parent's home.

(source) story by (/u/biobiobio777)

[onewhoturns]

fictober.13.: speech

#Fictober19 Prompt: 13. I never knew it could be this way. Fandom: Oxenfree Pairing: Alex/m!OC, Jonas/Alex (ambiguously maybe/maybe not one-sided) [future fic] Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Alex is getting married, Jonas isn’t happy about that, implied stepcest Word Count: 2032

There’s a chime around the room as the man stands, tapping silverware against his crystal glass. Clean cut, clean shaven, well dressed, looking like he just rolled out of a J. Crew catalogue. That formal kind of casual. Everything about this event screams expensive informal.

The invite said casual wear. Jonas is under-dressed. As per usual, with this group. (Apart from Alex, that is. At least, how she dresses around him.)

“Thank you all so much for being here with us this weekend, for such a momentous event in our lives,” the man begins, his teeth too white as he smiles that too straight smile. “Alex and I are so grateful to all of you.”

Bullshit. 

Jonas’s head cocks slightly, chiding himself. That’s not fair. He probably is legitimately grateful. He’d better be.

“Before the ceremony on Sunday, I just wanted to take this opportunity - with a much smaller audience - to say a few words. So… be patient with me, okay, I usually only make speeches with a nice array of visual aides to back me up.” The room laughs politely.

The man (Jason. Jason Flemming.) clears his throat, and his lips have that little quirk that Jonas reads as smug. Which might be unfair. He has to keep reminding himself not to be unfair. Cause Alex loves him. (Maybe.)

Jason pulls out a note card, but only glances at it briefly. "I never knew it could be this way."

His hand is on the back of Alex’s chair. He’s got a watch that probably costs more than half of Jonas’s wardrobe. Jonas watches it carefully, and tries not to see Alex’s adoring look up at her fiancé. Soon to be husband. 48 hours. Less, actually. 

“I can honestly say that I am truly blessed to have Alex by my side,” Jason continues, and his hand slides onto her shoulder, squeezing for a second, even as his eyes watch the rest of the room. It’s something that irritates Jonas just a little bit. That he’d take his eyes off his bride-to-be for even a moment. “I have had the privilege to watch her grow and mature and develop into the woman she is today.”

Jonas’s jaw clenches, and he’s too focused on his breath, on keeping his temper in check, because that’s just—

“If you had told me, the night I met Alex, that years later she’d be my wife, I never would have believed you. I would have looked at her - dancing on a table, I kid you not, the night we met - and said there was no way that she could ever be tamed. Yet here we are, four years later. Alex is wearing white - and you know that’s a feat in and of itself - and my parents are thrilled to call her their daughter in law.”

Tame her. He wants to tame her. Alex isn’t meant to be tamed. Tempered, maybe, but never tamed. Yet that’s what this Jason has done. Slowly, over time, but gradually he’s been sanding away at her rough edges, polishing her up, smoothing her into something pretty to stick on his shelf.

Maybe.

All of this is conjecture on Jonas’s part, of course. It’s not like it’s something Jason has done maliciously. And Alex may have been just as complicit. But it feels wrong.

“Tonight never would have been possible without all of you; our family and friends,” he goes on. “I’m sure my own parents are well aware of our gratitude and - well, mom, I’m sure Alex is thankful for the pearls as well-” Pearls. Alex in pearls. It’s too cookie-cutter country club. Jonas glances to Alex, finally, and she’s looking just a little nervous. A little bit put on the spot, offering a crooked smile to her very blonde soon-to-be mother-in-law. “-but I want to extend my personal thanks to Alex’s family as well.” Jason himself has dark hair, like his dad. Who’s wearing Hugo Boss. To a rehearsal dinner that was labeled casual.

“To Alex’s father, David; thank you. Without you, this never would have been possible.”

Without David’s threat to stop paying Alex’s tuition. Alex had been utterly distraught, and Jonas had been the one comforting her through it, through her security crisis, when she felt like she was just hovering over a precipice of no education and no savings. The ‘compromise’ that had come to pass moved Alex out of their house and into her dad’s. She got Thanksgivings with them, but Christmas was with the new family. Jonas knows she never really felt at home there. It was why she took every break she could to come visit. But it was never the same, not really. They never had what they used to. Not that Jonas didn’t want it.

“To Alex’s stepmother, Anne; thank you, for your kindness and hospitality. You truly are the perfect hostess, and I honestly think my mother envies you.”

Translation: good little housewife. Alex may not have brought it up recently, but that was one of those things she’d mentioned a lot after the move. Feeling like she had to be performing around her new extended family. Like she was constantly being judged, like they were deciding if she was worth the investment. She was terrified, and Jonas was her shoulder to cry on as often as he was her guilty pleasure. Not— not like that. Not since they were teens. But he was the one she could wear sweats around every day, and stay up with til 2 watching horror movies (her choice, not his), and unabashedly eat all the processed foods banned in Anne’s home. He was her pillow and her ride home and the reluctant participant in every instance of acting out that she couldn’t do around her dad. Well, maybe not every instance. He got the inside scoop on some of her wild nights in college as well.

Until Jason. Until fucking Stephanie, and Casey, and Jason. Being brought into the Stepford fold, as he so uncharitably considered it (to himself, never aloud). Their gentle guidance.

It’s not fair— Jonas knows it’s not fair to think of them that way. Alex really does like them. And he’s met them and… well, aside from being kinda… basic, they aren’t too bad. Just sorta boring. Not exactly the type to go breaking into old amusement parks, or climbing around unfinished construction sites, or deciding that 21 was the year to cross bungee jumping off of her bucket list. They were cosmopolitans, she was a shot of jaeger with a coffee chaser. Unorthodox, and an acquired taste that you couldn’t really forget. Also, maybe a little fucked up on the palate. His lips twitch at that thought.

“To Alex’s mother, Grace; thank you. I have never felt such warmth as I do around you and Martin. Martin, as well, you have always made me feel part of the family.”

Jonas’s dad is smiling. He’s too easygoing. And Jason is… unobjectionable, Jonas supposes, grudgingly. Business major. Not a frat boy, but still in a fraternity. He’s generous, at least, and conscientious. Always makes an effort to follow up on things they’ve talked about in the past. He can even dial down the rich-kid thing, when he stays with them in Camena. But that’s kinda the annoying part; that he’s not that bad. Just irritatingly unobjectionable. He’s nice to Alex, he is. He’s patient with her. And he’s soft and affectionate when it matters, but… But Jonas still gets her calls when she’s upset about something. He’s still the one getting called at 3am so she won’t wake up her fiancé with panic from nightmares.

“To Alex’s brothers—”

Jonas tries not to wince. Aside from just the dropping of the step distinction, being compared to Alex’s other stepbrother is… well, insulting. The douche is a workaholic med student, who’s never in a good mood. Who can never resist the chance to throw insults at Jonas over his vocational schooling and lack of a four-year degree. In layman’s terms: Will is an asshole.

“Will; I am thrilled to no longer be the youngest child! Finally, someone to give noogies to, and lecture about— well, nothing, you’re way more educated than I am,” he grins as the room laughs. Will is smirking, and Jonas resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I fully believe that you will be the next top surgeon wherever you decide to take your talents after residency.” Optimistic, assuming the douche is gonna be a half-decent doctor, when Jonas already knows his bedside manner must be horrific.

“Jonas;” Jonas tries to put on a slight smile. It’s easier if he looks at Alex, whose eyes are bright and appreciative and warm when she looks at him. “I really do have to thank you.” Jason sounds sincere. It almost makes Jonas feel guilty. Almost. “From the bottom of my heart. I have no doubt-” Jason breaks off, speaking more casually, speaking to the room at large, with a crooked smile that feels like something he probably picked up from Alex; “-Have you guys met Jonas? Look, when I started dating Alex— he’s an intimidating guy, right?” Jason grins, looking back at him. “I have no doubt that if you ever thought I wasn’t good enough for your baby sister I would’ve been kicked to the curb in a matter of seconds - either literally or figuratively.” Baby sister. Yeah, he’s never thought of her that way. Though the rest of that is… close. There may have been times Jonas grumbled that Alex’s boyfriend wasn’t quite enough of a dick to actually deserve a threatening.

Jason goes on, jokingly. “I always have this sneaking suspicion that Alex only gave me a chance because she misread my name as Jonas instead of Jason.” There’s a tittering of laughter, and Jonas’s eyes flick to Alex, who’s blushing a little, a hand over her eyes as she shakes her head. She’s still smiling, though. It’s cute. “So for that I have to be insanely thankful.” It’s less cute when Jonas spots Jason’s hand rubbing reassuringly at Alex’s shoulder.

“Alex goes to you for everything - I think your name comes up more than the rest of my entire family-” he jibes, teasingly. It’s frustrating that he’s having a good sense of humor about this. When Jonas has always felt a little… guilty. About that. “...and you have been the most supportive stepbrother she could have ever asked for.” Oh. Oh that’s something that makes Jonas’s lips curve up a bit with his own little touch of pride. Because that’s Jason siding with him over Will. Which is kinda nice.

“It’s a little unorthodox to have a Man of Honor, but Alex has always been a little outside the box. And, I’ll admit, I was pretty jealous of you once upon a time.” Again, Jonas looks to Alex, who’s rolling her eyes, but hasn’t taken her eyes off of him. She’s still blushing. It kinda makes his stomach flip a little bit. “But taking the girls to Vegas, that was really taking one for the team, and your patience is utterly commendable— being the cock in the hen do, so to speak.” Jason has that slightly sheepish smirk as a few people - including Alex - giggle a bit at the words.

Right. Vegas. That had been…

Jonas’s brow furrows for just a second as he studies Alex. She’s still bright eyed and glowing. Like a girl in love. Even if he’s… he’s just not sure if she is. Not after Vegas.

“But that’s enough about that,” Jason smiles, gesturing to the room in a sort of apology for going on. “Suffice it to say; I’m thrilled to have not one but two new sets of parents to buy Christmas gifts for, and two new siblings to rib me about all of my bad life decisions. Luckily— I know that this isn’t one of them.” Jason finally looks at Alex. And… yeah, okay. He looks happy too. In love. Which… well. It’s good, probably. At least he’ll care about her.

“So I invite you all to raise a glass. To all of them, and to Alex. For being exactly what I needed.”

[source for AO3]

[snorlaxlovesme]

i guess i should write down some final thoughts before i dive into the tag and mold my opinions to look like the rest of the fandom’s:

it took a LONG time for the book to pick up speed, imo. and i know a lot of it has to do with me comparing it to The Raven Cycle, which isn’t totally fair, but it’s gonna happen regardless. but it took a long time for the different POVs to finally converge and an even LONGER time for me to even understand the purpose of some of the POVs?? which could just be me being DUMB but still

i was just trying to mentally calculate how many POVs there were in TRC and while my tally is telling a lot it never felt like too many, and i think that’s the biggest thing that bothered me. cdth felt like too many POVs for me to keep track of/to care about and that’s what was frustrating me while reading it and making me take more time than i usually would to finish a book of that size. 

maybe it also had to do with me not understanding the purpose of the Liliana chapters for so long. even after FINALLY getting that we were being shown the destructiveness of Visionaries turned outward + the age shifting conundrum they experienced + Liliana’s love for children i still feel like there had to have been a tighter way to prove that that didn’t involve giving me so much depth to tertiary characters who were going to die anyway

ESPECIALLY because maggie put so much care into making up backstories and quirks to Liliana victims but then just kind of casually mentioned people who were incredibly important to Ronan’s character development in the last series. like every time i got a TRC easter egg i was ridiculously pleased but also upset for people who hadn’t read that series and were starting with Hawk bc people like Gansey/Henry/Blue, Mr. Gray, Greenmantle, Cabeswater, Kavinsky, and Opal were condensed into one or two paragraphs of explanation while fucking Dabney Pitts gets three pages about his lack of courageousness. it was mindboggling

plus i just feel like climax of the book didn’t prove to be as exciting as i had hoped. it wasn’t a gun on gansey or adam parrish making a deal with cabeswater or a fire dragon-level threat in my mind. i didn’t think matthew was going to be killed bc that would dash ronan’s motivations for the next two books. i didn’t have much emotional investment in Hennessy’s other copies so their loss didn’t really sting. and battling the Lace just didn’t really take all that long, i guess. if it had been a harder fight maybe i would have been more invested? it just felt stunted for all that build-up (even though i know its not permanently defeated). just with the terrifying Adam scream and Hennessy’s absolute fear of it i wanted there to be more of a struggle to keep it at bay. 

and this is yet another book in maggie stiefvater’s arsenal that doesn’t come with falling action/a resolution. this one’s a little different bc the climax led straight into a cliffhanger but i have to bring it up bc it’s something about her style that’s always peeved me

and now the good things, shall we?

everything about declan’s perspective is fantastic. i loved how maggie drove it home that his boringness/invisibilty was calculated, that he was as precisely plain as he needed to be to go unnoticed, and that his paranoia was an armor that kept his brothers safe. it’s going to make the next book SO interesting, to see declan unravel bc his camouflaged safety net has been incinerated 

matthew finally learning he’s a dream is as heartbreaking as it is exciting bc i’ve been WAITING for this boy to get a personality other than “loveable” and i might actually SEE it now. also Matthew finally acknowledging that ronan is a dreamer is fun bc in literally ALL of TRC he was like...goofily listening to his headphones whenever that was being discussed. i want a matthew lynch who’s present in his own life and present in the plot. so that bit was cool and i hope it continues to be cool later on in the series

ronan lynch being a BADASS EXPERT DREAMER was so so fun?? especially when the first quarter of the book was ronan bleeding black from his orifices and bringing back murder crabs to his boyfriend’s dorm room and getting kicked out of Harvard for 2kforever. compare that to the end of the book where ronan is a king in his Lindenmere is a thing to behold. i loved ronan being able to show off his dreaming prowess to hennessy and prove just how hard he worked in the entire last series to become the dreamer he is today. he tends to flounder a lot in his own head but dreaming is a thing he’s GOOD at. he’s the fucking Greywaren after all

the complexity of Jordan’s identity crisis was really cool. i loved the concept of her choosing not to paint an original until she got to live an original life. i loved her choosing not to get Hennessy’s newest tattoo. i loved that she was seeing Declan as herself rather than as Hennessy. i HATED declan finding out he was learning to love another dream.

Hennessy’s POV was hard for me to get into bc the second i learned about her timers she just made me SAD and so, so tired. like i felt like i was dragging myself through her perspective the way she was dragging herself through her life and it was exhausting. i hope in the next book she learns more about safe dreaming so i can see what her personality is like without constant fatigue attached to it

and carmen farooq-lane’s perspective was....well. annoying. she seems like a fine person and by the end i was truly starting to enjoy her character but knowing that she was on the antag side of the book (me classifying that as anyone not on the brothers Lynch side of things) made me not thrilled to read about her and Parsifal. her POV always managed to show up right in the middle of something good and turn interesting, actual plot into inaction once again when she continues to bitch about Parsifal being annoying. any time her POV came up i felt like i was ready to stop reading now. so, here’s to her being more interesting in book 2 bc i feel like on my rereads of this book I’m likely to begin skipping her POV like i do Barrington Whelk’s

and who knows how i feel about Bryde?? i enjoyed all of his philosophical monologues, and i give him props for making ronan go find hennessy and finally make the book something i want to read, but like. he’s a bad guy?? flying off on his little ufo with his dreamers to do bad things?? so who knows. the worst kind of villains are ones who start off kind, so that’s as exciting as it is awful

and i’ve already mentioned Liliana so i think that about covers it, for now. book 1 was like a solid 5.5 for me, which was lower than i expected but i plan on rereading it a bunch and will probably like it more with time. i’m someone who legitimately hated The Dream Thieves for a very long time, so opinions are bound to change