#i paused immediately at this point to finish watching the traitors but i got to kiss her in game after. so THERE!!!!!!

[lesbianlenas]

oh i just threw up blood……

[woso-story]

Mila's Training Session

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x Mila x Caroline Graham Hansen

It was a quiet morning at the FC Barcelona training facilities. The team had finished their warm-ups and was taking a short break before diving into the next drill. Mapi and Ingrid had brought their now two-year-old daughter Mila along for the day, much to the delight of everyone on the team. Mila was a regular visitor by now, toddling around the facilities like she owned the place.

While most of the players were lounging on the grass or sipping water, Mila was laser-focused on a familiar figure across the field—Caroline Graham Hansen. Caroline, true to form, had stationed herself on the far side of the pitch, practicing crosses with her usual precision and quiet intensity.

Mila, clutching a small, well-loved soccer ball in her hands, suddenly took off toward Caroline without a word of warning.

“Where’s she going now?” Mapi asked, glancing up from her conversation with Alexia.

Ingrid followed her daughter’s path and smiled knowingly. “Where do you think?”

The team paused to watch as Mila made her way determinedly across the field. Her tiny legs pumped furiously, and she clutched the ball tightly to her chest. Caroline, focused on her drill, didn’t notice her little shadow until Mila came to a stop a few feet away, holding the ball out as if offering it.

“Cawa-wine!” Mila called, her voice high and clear.

Caroline turned, startled. “Oh,” she said, blinking. “It’s you again.” She wiped her hands on her shorts and crouched down to Mila’s level. “What’s up, little one?”

Mila didn’t reply, simply thrusting the ball toward Caroline with an expectant look.

“She wants to play,” Ingrid called from across the field, clearly amused.

“Of course she does,” Caroline muttered under her breath, though a small smile tugged at her lips. She took the ball from Mila, who clapped her hands excitedly.

Caroline stood and gently nudged the ball forward with her foot. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Mila squealed with delight and immediately gave chase. She kicked the ball with her tiny feet, her movements uncoordinated but full of enthusiasm. Caroline jogged alongside her, occasionally tapping the ball back to keep it within reach.

The rest of the team watched, some of them pulling out their phones to capture the moment.

“Looks like Mila’s picked her favorite again,” Alexia teased, nudging Mapi.

Mapi groaned dramatically. “Of course she has. I swear, that kid has a radar for Caroline.”

Caroline, hearing the comment, looked over and shrugged with a grin. “It’s not my fault I’m irresistible.”

Mila, oblivious to the banter, stopped suddenly and pointed at the goal. “Goal!” she announced.

“You want to score?” Caroline asked.

Mila nodded vigorously.

“Alright, let’s do it.” Caroline dribbled the ball a few feet ahead, then stepped back to let Mila take her shot. The toddler waddled up and gave the ball a solid kick, sending it rolling into the goal at an angle. She threw her arms in the air and shouted, “GOOOOAL!”

The team erupted into cheers, clapping and whistling as Mila beamed with pride.

Caroline bent down and picked Mila up, hoisting her onto her hip. “Nice shot, kid,” she said, ruffling her hair.

“Best mascot ever,” Ingrid called, smiling as Mapi sulked playfully beside her.

Later, when practice was over, Mapi came over and mock-glared at Caroline. “You’re stealing my child again.”

“She came to me,” Caroline said innocently, holding Mila closer. “What can I say? We’re a team.”

“Traitor,” Mapi said, addressing Mila, who giggled in response.

As they left the field together, Mila nestled in Caroline’s arms, the entire team agreed on one thing: the little girl had already found her place in the Barça family.

[lululandd]

run devil run; (ii)

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

word count: 695

warnings: fluff again (boooooooo)

note: ghost is a coward and soap meddles (gaz helps) //

summary: “you know them?” soap blocked his line of sight and waggled his eyebrows.

part i.

Pausing mid sentence, he got caught off guard seeing you at the Starbucks Soap had dragged him into. You were immersed in your newly acquired book, the one that you chose from the bin a couple days ago.

“You know them?” Soap blocked his line of sight and waggled his eyebrows, “Our table has a seat for one more, LT.” 

He made the motions to leave and Soap eases off immediately. Guilt washed over him as he thought about how he acted last time. You did nothing wrong, you even helped him and he acted like an outright wanker. He hoped the books made up for abruptly taking off.

In his momentary mental reflection he didn't notice the knowing look that Soap and Gaz shared, so he thought nothing when the latter left for the counter. He didn't even ask him why he came back empty handed. But when one of the baristas walked over to you and handed you a drink, he slowly turned his head towards his mates.

“Ghost, listen..” Soap started, his hands going up in mock surrender. “You’ve been starin’ at tae hen for fuckin’ ever. Something needs to be done.”

He stared at Gaz next.

The man also raised his hands, nodding his head gently at Soap, “He started it, boss.”

Soap backhanded his upper arm, “You traitor!”

While his friends argue and point fingers at each other, he saw you staring right at him, and tentatively waved when your eyes met.

Fuck that’s cute.

You held up both the book and the drink that Gaz got, mouthing ‘thankyou’

Fuuuckk, that’s even cuter.

Right now he doesn’t know whether to leave alone, leave with you, or just stra—

All the thoughts in his mind grinds to an abrupt halt as you stood up from your seat, pointed at the book, and walked out. He watched you leave, only half understanding what you meant. Did you want to go home and finish the book? Were you saying you liked the book? What?

Both Gaz and Soap are getting a little loud for his liking right now and decided to leave, but promised he’s down for another outing next leave.

Gaz sports the widest grin as he nudged Soap when Ghost was well out of earshot. “They’re gone too.” 

Soap turned quickly to where you were seated and matched Gaz’s grin. “Ten quid he’s nicer to the recruits when we get back.”

“We tellin’ the Cap ‘bout this?”

Soap had already typed in his phone, “I’m making a new group chat with Laswell in it.”

“Don’t forget Farah and Alex.” Gaz checked his phone, he was made an admin and added the people he just mentioned.

Roach replied first, offering to smuggle chocolate bars to the base just in case Ghost gets rejected and makes the recruits cry.

—

Walking home, Ghost sees the bookstore from afar. The book he got for soap lies in his duffel, half hidden under his new masks. Speaking of new masks, he noted how youtube had suspiciously placed sowing videos on his home tab before he even types them out in the search bar. Maybe he should get some sewing books so he can minimise using the computer anyway he can.

He saw you talking to the cashier, placing something in your bag as he walked in. Hearing the door open, you turned your head and smiled at him. Thinking it was the end of it, he walked towards the do-it-yourself section. The book caught his eye immediately, but before he could walk towards it, he sensed you in his peripherals.

You were standing nervously again, “Y'allright?” He offered. His heartbeat turned irregular when you beamed at him.

“Here.” you said, shoving something in his direction.

“What—“

“For you!” 

Before he could say or do anything, you had quickly retreated out of the store. He looked down into his hands and saw it was the bookstore’s gift certificate, worth fifty quid. 

Cheeky fuck.

Grabbing the sewing book with the widest smile he thinks he’s ever had on his face, he promises he’s gonna get you back, one way or another.

[swanky-batman]

Hey, will you be posting a new part to For Narnia??

Ask and you shall receive, no matter how delayed this may be. Sorry! ♥

For Narnia Part 10

Peter Pevensie x reader, Edmund Pevensie x reader

Picking up where Ed left in the last part and the quest continues for Y/N

**Please note since it's been a while since I've consistently written I have removed all tags except people for this storyline. If you would like to be added back to my all tags please let me know thank you!**

Masterlist

Beginning - Previous

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

Previously you and Ed had both taken turns leading but Peter seemed to be a better rider than you both so he had you hold on, at least you were able to help with the navigation and lookout aspects.

The terrain got a bit rocky nearing the end of the day however as you were going up a bit of altitude, you had to hold on greatly to Peter and you noticed you could feel him rumbling.

"Does the High King find this amusing?" You teased and giggled back.

"Perhaps." He mumbled with a chuckle, "Are you alright Princess?"

"I'll manage," You smirked, looking around. "We may need to find somewhere to stop soon."

"Agreed, I was hoping to get to that point there." He pointed, showing a point that seemed to offer a flat surface and some rocky overhang.

"Looks alright to me." You nod as you make your way there. You find an area off the exact path that should be big enough to hide your mount and both of you.

You don't go with a fire as you are worried of bringing attention to your area so cold food it was, you both sat and ate in silence.

------

He watched her closely throughout the day, still in shock that he had found them.

After dinner he realized it would be cold without the fire, he almost gulped to think about sleeping this close to Y/N.

For being in her current situation she seemed calm, if pondering inner monologue, he wasn't sure what to talk about with her… the last time before he found the evidence of a traitor it took everything in him not to kiss her. And now that either of them could talk without the barrier of an arranged marriage in between them it was odd.

Her eyes danced playfully, "What are you thinking of?" 

He immediately gave a small smirk back, "Thinking of how much has changed and how much has stayed the same since the castle." 

"Oh really?" She tilted her head and her hair swept with it a bit, "How so?"

"You're still resilient, brave and badass." He smirked stating it, "And more comfortable with Ed. And for different, you look more… prepared? Calm but fierce. I am very glad we are on the same side."

She giggled and it made him soar again, "I don't know how I still deserve to have you on my side but I'm glad you are as well." She paused looking out, "How strange that I was offered into an arranged marriage and ended up making the best friends I've ever had."

Peter bit his lip thinking about the situation as well, "We are ready to support you… I am ready to support you." 

She gave a small smile, before looking back and meeting his eyes, "Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you Pevensies." She finished her meal and they both agreed to try to get an early night's rest to start early in the morning.

He lay down, his back to Y/N as they found a little divot that protected them from the icy wind that now picked up around them and tried to sleep for a while, closing his eyes but alert to every noise. A long while later he heard Y/N.

"Are you asleep, High King?" Came in a whisper.

"No." He chuckled back his response, both of them turning to lay on their backs.

"It's pretty cold tonight." She spoke, shivering slightly, "I think that mixed with no extra cover from the trees is making me nervous. How about you?" She looked over to Peter.

"It's different, haven't had to sleep outdoors for a while." Peter spoke. "We could double up on blankets if you're cold."

She paused, shivering a bit more. "Would that be okay?" He nodded and they rearranged so they had one blanket under them both and extra blankets on top. He swallowed, being around her had already made him nervous but now she was even closer and butterflies were in his stomach. She rearranged for a moment and brushed against his arm which made the butterflies even more intense.

He tried to shake away the feeling, how could she think highly of him after the jump he made at the castle. It was more than enough that she seemed cordial with him. 

"That already feels warmer, thanks." She seemed content, he could sense her near him.

"Glad to be of service, Princess." He managed to get out as he was focusing on his breathing.

"I owe you Pevensies more than ever." He could feel the smirk and playful tone in her voice.

He chuckled in response and almost jolted out of his skin as his arm was resting against the side of her arm. His heartbeat was loud and fast and he was almost worried she could hear it. "Get some rest for tonight." He whispered quietly.

"Good night High King." She whispered back.

"Good night Princess."

--------

You woke the next morning and to your surprise Peter was already up.

"Good morning High King," you mumble, "you seem to be a much earlier bird than your brother." You state with a smile as you rub your neck.

"Good morning Princess," he smiled to you, "I think I'm just more excitable outdoors." He chuckled, "although Ed can be quite harsh in the morning."

"Really?" You smirked back, "I mean sure he's a bit of a grizzly in the morning but he tried to hide it." 

You started rolling the blankets up and Peter came over to help you, packing your bags back with everything you had.

"Onwards?" He asked as you nodded, normally you and Ed ate in the mornings but this may not be the best spot to anyways.

You both pushed on for hours, trying to scope out any spots to continue your path. At one point you both got off and started walking around an area to scope out how to cross.

A gurgle in your stomach drew Peter's attention, "Right, we should eat."

"I'm fine really, let's keep pushing." You blushed slightly since he seemed like he just wanted to get on with this travel and not stop.

"Too late, Princess." He smirked, unrolling one of the bags he got off the horse. 

You sat there while he insisted on making a meal and you both ate, mostly in silence. You did catch him looking at you a few times and on the third decided to ask.

"Did I do something to offend you?"

He frowned, shaking his head. "No, why?"

"Between the silent treatment and the staring I figured I was horribly transformed from my travels or just awful company." You wagered.

"You are neither," he assured, giving a slight smirk.

You stared, prodding him for further response.

"I-" he moved his food and looked down, "I just keep thinking about how awful I was to you."

"When?" You scoffed, confused for a second before he gave you a look. "Ah. Right. Well, I don't think you were awful. You were taking precautions with the evidence you had."

"I immediately jumped to a conclusion without letting you defend yourself. I was so thrown that it was a possibility and I let my guard down around my family and myself. I'm so sorry," He stabbed at another piece of food as he frowned.

"Hey," you slowly move your hand over his, "It's okay, really. There isn't even anything to apologize for. Please," you meet his eyes, before giving a slight smirk, "make a truce with yourself, High King."

He stares into your eyes for a moment before you both hear some movements. You both quickly cover as much of your stop as you could and ducked into the pit of a larger tree nearby and covered yourselves to try and camouflage. You hear the sounds even louder and some voices, it sounded like a party of at least half a dozen. You felt Peter's hand move slightly to clasp yours and you both breathe lightly. 

You both wait for what seems like a long enough time before slowly deciding to move. 

"We need to press on a bit more and find a safe enough spot to hunker down." Peter mentioned quietly.

"Agreed," you help pack up and you both head out again pushing hard to get further for the day. 

Once it's too dark to travel, you both stop. 

"I think we're getting close." You mention as you absently start unrolling your blankets.

"I think another good day and we'll be at the first location." Peter agreed, also unrolling his blankets.

The night passes by fairly smoothly but first thing in the morning you wake with a start as you feel rain starting. Peter wakes as well and you both rush to pack up and start on the move. It starts pouring even heavier another half an hour out and you spot a rocky overhang that should be enough room to duck under for a bit and is semi covered by foliage. 

You both strip what you can off to try and put up to dry and agree as it's fairly cold to start a small hidden fire for warmth and to try to dry.

"Of course we're delayed," Peter sighs as he leans back.

"I can't say I mind too much," you speak up, looking out, "I love when it rains."

"Do you?" He smirks over to you. "Well, what shall we do while we wait?"

"Mmmm," you think, and after a moment, "I think I have some wine in my bag somewhere from Ed. Or we can play ISpy. Or we can talk tactics or sword training." You smirk. "I'll leave it up to you."

In the end, you both found some small rocks and started going over tactics. After a while you also pop open the wine and start passing it back and forth while you discuss.

Then the drawing of the weapons, training back and forth. You had almost forgotten with everything going on how much you had learned on fighting. And that he and his brother had been the ones to teach you most of what you knew. 

He went to strike and you couldn’t help but give a slight giggle when you blocked and his eyebrow raised. 

“Very good, someone has been training.”

“Much to the dismay of your brother,” You lunge and he parries, too easily for your liking.

He strikes back and you start to buckle back to avoid the swing, falling back into the open unsheltered space and towards the mud. You hear a clang of metal drop as he reaches to try and catch you. 

You both end up falling into a particularly muddy area with a weird wet plop.

You burst out laughing, rather loud before you reel it in and realize you’re still trying to be quiet. You hear Peter start laughing from next to you and you both turn to face each other and assess the amount of mud. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have tried that one,” He looks slightly concerned.

“Peter Pevensie, don’t you dare hold back on me!” You yell and laugh at him, he softens his look and goes back to chuckling. “I wouldn’t say no to some help getting up though, I feel fairly stuck.”

He stands after a few minutes, also fairly stuck it seems. He tries and fails to clear some of the mud from himself before offering a hand to you to help you up, a strong pull finally breaks you free and you are almost thrown into him.

—------

His heartbeat picks up immediately as he helps steady her after pulling her up. She still has remnants of a grin on her face from the fall and she is also covered head to toe in mud as the rain is still coming down but at a slightly slower pace than when they stopped.

She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen, he admits to himself at that moment. It almost startles him, the realization of how deep he feels about her as if she had just stabbed him directly in the heart.

“Well now we have to worry about getting clean and dry.” She breaks the silent moment, teasing him directly. 

He tries to think of something witty in response, anything; but his mind is blank except the praises he has for her. His thoughts of… his eyes go to her lips and he unconsciously licks his.

A snap, out of the ordinary happens not far enough off. Panic sets into her features and his as she grabs his hand and pulls him running. 20, 30, 40 feet away from the noise and she finds a tree stump with a large hollow at the bottom and she quickly pushes him in and grabs multiple surroundings, he feels himself digging his feet into the muck to blend in.

Both of their heartbeats and breath are racing as she tucks into him, trying to lay flat. Part of her is directly on top of him and he struggles to push the feeling down as they both listen.

Hooves, and a short whistle go off back the way they came. They both hold their breath as they hear another set coming from the way they had been heading.

They both wait for a few minutes, which seem impossibly long as they hear horses neighing. Some parts of mumbling break through the otherwise quiet area.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there but at some point he realizes he is no longer waiting with bated breath for them to return. His thoughts, as if a force is guiding him, focus in on her. 

Her breathing, now calm. 

Her heartbeat, still fast and alert but not as fast as it had been.

Her left hand, tucked into his arm as she had fallen into him and grabbed his arm.

Her head, on his shoulder.

Her smell, still her. Even through the mud and very musty smell of the tree hollow.

And then another thought pops into his head, not as alarming -surprisingly- as the last. He loves her.

What to do with that thought, he was unsure but they sit here and wait and he continues to study her.

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

Narnia tags: *some were not able to be tagged*

@ttawny, @hopebaker, @viirgobbyy, @holybatflapexpert

[giggly-squiggily]

Hello, Squig! I hope you are well!

Let this ask serve as a blank entry for your headcanon to drabble event. Write whatever YOU want to write for whoever YOU wish to write for. I'll be happy knowing you enjoyed writing the drabble that comes out of this.

I hope you have a lovely day!

*points* YOU! *brings you a plate of your favorite desserts* You are amazing and I treasure you now. Thank you so, so much! Gang- we're writing Lee!Nozel tonight!

Credit to the lovely @duckymcdoorknob- this was one the fabulous headcanons she shared with me in this post and I couldn't get it out of my head alkjrjkarjej Thank you friend for feeding my endless brain rot about these characters :3

“I’m not ticklish.”

“Really?” Rill blinked, amazed. He had been in a playful mood this afternoon- waiting for Julius and Marx to arrive left him bored and restless. In an effort to entertain himself, he decided to see if any of his fellow captain’s were ticklish.

“Yes, really. Now- unhand me.” Nozel was like a stone, unmoved and unfazed by Rill’s sudden attack. If anything, he seemed irritated, but that was his normal. “Go bother someone else.”

“Since when?” Yami, who had already been ambushed with little to no reaction, grinned around his cigarette. “Last time I checked, you were pretty bad, birdy.”

“Shut your mouth, foreigner.”

“Make me, princess.”

“Enough of that.” Fuegoleon raised a hand before Nozel could raise his grimoire. “There’s no need to fight-” He paused then, brows furrowing. “What do you mean ‘last time you checked?’”

“I mean what I said. Last time I checked, eagle man here was pretty ticklish.” Yami got up from his seat, slowly making his way around the table towards them. “I can prove it too.”

“Do you wish to die this evening?” Nozel bristled, leaning away from the approaching man. “I’ll fill your blood with so much mercury-”

“Scary. Fuego, grab him.”

“Very well.”

“Traitor-” Nozel hissed when hands grabbed his shoulders. Yami was upon him in seconds, immediately going for the ribs. “Stop that this instant-”

“Wow, no way!” Rill was grinning, eyes shining as he watched Nozel’s calm composure begin to crumble, hands batting at Yami’s as he struggled to fight down the giggles. “Nozel really IS ticklish!”

“Come on, don’t fight it.” Yami adjusted his moves, one hand tapping along his highest rib while the other kneaded his waist, looking for a weak spot. “Don’t make me push past my limits, birdy.”

“I to-old you to st-op! I’m not t-ticklish!” Nozel grunted out, his voice cracking as he set his jaw. Behind him, Fuegoleon cleared his throat.

“Hips, Yami.”

“Ah.” Yami did just so.

“You son of a-AH! Aheahhhahhahahahaa!” Nozel couldn’t finish the sentence as loud, beautiful laughter spilled over his lips, his worst spot being squeezed with reckless abandon. “Yohoohoohu dahhahahamn ohooohohoohafs, geheheheheht the heheheheehell ohooohohohoff mehehehehheehe!”

“PFFT- holy crap! That’s amazing!” Jack busted out laughing, absolutely delighted at the sight. Charlotte was struggling to keep a smile off her face while Dorothy cheered them on, giggling just as much. William had his entire body turned away, shoulders shaking with soft snorts.

“Best captain meeting ever.” Rill sighed, already planning his next painting as he leaned into his hand.

Send me a headcanon and I'll write a dabble for it!

[a-gal-with-taste]

Fishbowl

Something silly talked about with a few fellow degenerates, Silco's obsession with fish needs to be spoken about more.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

You jumped, your finger retracting from where it rested on the glass, like it was electrocuted.

"Sorry! Sorry, I got the paperwork, I just, uh..." Standing straight, you held out the paperwork with your eyes on your boss, casually standing at the doorway. You could only hold his gaze for a moment, before it fell back down onto the fishbowl on the desk. "... I just wasn't prepared for the... new decor, sir."

"And I wasn't aware I needed to put up a warning sign," Tone dry as he crosses the room, taking the papers from your grasp. "If apparently my own subordinate can be distracted by fish."

Though his words were biting, there was something about him that almost... softened? No, but something indeed changed in his cool look as his gaze slid from you, to the simple bowl of fish on his desk. They were small, not that colorful, and rather lazy in their laps around the bowl.

And Silco seemed to forget your presence, possibly your entire existance, as he studied them. You felt almost bad to interrupt his concentrated staring at them, and a bit uneasy as you lifted your fist, coughing once for his attention.

"What?"

"I," A thick swallow. "I need a, uh... signature?"

A sigh, as if you were personally exhausting him, but with a flick and a flourish, the paper was soon shoved back into your hand as his other carefully pulled out a small, plastic cylinder. You swear you saw the little marine creatures perk-up at the sound of rattling from the contents, while the ominous Eye of Zaun glowered as he sat back at his desk.

"Anything else?" He pressed lowly while finishing shaking up the fish-food pellets, thumbing open the cap. Quickly shaking your head in the negative, you turned to make a quick escape, but then, stupidly, your mouth opened, "I uh... I grew up in the Alcoves, sir."

Hand paused over the mouth of the bowl. His tone still flat and unimpressed, "Ah. Exactly what I want to hear, the beginnings of a history-lesson. Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to be taught." Again, your traitor-mouth seemed keen to dig your own grave for you, because you kept talking.

"As you know, sir, the top level of Zaun is mostly a fishing-district, canneries and the like... b-but they teach us how to take care of fish, catch the more decorative ones, sell in the market and get the kids excited... I mean with the river-mutations, you don't get many things that come out looking pretty from the river, but there are a few that-"

"The point. Today, if possible."

"Pebbles." You swallowed, tapping your nails on the paper in hand, making it waver. "Um... I wouldn't put kelp in there, but river-rocks would be preferable. Maybe a fake-tree or leaves too, but definitely a bigger container for them, sir. It would make them..." Ears burned; you knew how ridiculous you must sound. "... happier?"

A small clacking sound as the plastic food-container tapped on the surface of the desk. "Is that a question or advice I should actually listen to? Alcovites are known for their forwardness, something I appreciate, but apparently you're the rare exception to the trait."

Ears were scorching now, but you said nothing. After a moment, fingers wrapped around the little cylinder again, and tipped some of the food in. Watching the creatures immediately dart to devour at the miniature pellets, Silco watched with his natural eye hooded and thinking, tapping nails agaisnt his desk.

"... I'll consider your advice. You know where the door is." He didn't thank you, and you didn't dare stick around for one, merely taking the initiative to dart out the door. Silently vowing to never broach the subject again, on how to care for pet fish with the Eye of Zaun, you shoved the mortifying interaction from your mind, and prayed he did to...

Still, you couldn't help but stare for a few seconds more the next time you walked into the office, and saw a new mini-aquarium at one of the bookshelves.

Complete, with river-pebbles.

[the-scandalorian]

What about a mix of two prompts?

“i've never been kissed before so you volunteer but i decline, we're best friends and it would be weird, but a couple hours later i lay awake in my bed and i can't stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you and suddenly i regret what i said”

and

“two characters look at each other. silence. then. BOOM BANG LIPS CRASHING CAN'T RESIST YOU ANYMORE BAM BOOM THERE'S A WALL LET'S PIN YOU AGAINST IT”

of Din Drjarin/f!reader?

Thank you so much for the prompt!! I love this combination so much! Hope you enjoy this 💖 And for the others who made requests, they're in the works!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: alcohol consumption, spice

You and Mando were sitting in your usual evening position—back-to-back in the middle of the hull—so he could lift his helmet just enough to eat. You’d finished dinner a while ago, and now you were passing a flask of whiskey back and forth over your shoulders. The last few hunts had been long and hard, but the carbonite chamber was now at capacity, so you were taking a night off before returning to Nevarro.

As the flask got lighter and the sky visible through the open ramp faded from a dusky twilight to a velvety black, you inched closer together until you were fully leaned against one another. He was fairly comfortable as a backrest considering the amount of metal and weaponry strapped to his body.

Your conversation had been skirting dangerous territory for a while now—a place you’d been working towards for months if you were being honest. You weren’t supposed to be doing this though: the easy friendship, the light teasing, and the casual intimacy of spending weeks together in a confined space were supposed to stop there... not progress into anything more. You were hunting partners—that was it.

Yet, here you were telling him about your first kiss.

“What about you, Mando? I mean... is kissing even allowed for Mandalorians?”

You reached back to pass him the flask. He took a pull and then—in his unmodulated voice, which was always slightly distracting—said, "Mandalorians touch the foreheads of their helmets together... it's called a Keldabe kiss.”

“That’s very sweet and all, but what about actual kissing? Is that allowed? Or are you only allowed to bonk your metal heads together?”

He scoffed and tilted his helmet back to lightly knock against the back of your head. You laughed and knocked him back.

(That only counts as a Mandalorian kiss if you’re facing each other... right?)

“So?”

“Yes, it’s allowed. If you find someone you trust, there are options... blindfolds, dark rooms... eventually, marriage.”

You ignored the way your heart dropped a little more at each of those options. Instead, you pressed him again: “Okay, so... what was your first kiss like?”

“I don’t have a good story like you do.”

You nudged his side with your elbow. “Oh come on, just tell me! I told you mine, so you have to tell me yours. That’s how the game works.”

You heard him exhale and take another long pull from the flask. He passed it back to you over his shoulder. “Isn’t it my turn to ask a question though?”

You scrunched your eyebrows together. Honestly, you’d lost track of whose turn it was at this point, but he’d answered every other random question you’d thrown at him, even the intrusive one about the craziest places he’d had sex. He’d even thrown you some bold curveballs. But he didn’t want to tell you about his first kiss?

It hit you all at once.

“You’ve never kissed anyone.” You blurted the thought before remembering to pass it through your usual verbal filter.

“No, I haven’t,” he confirmed.

“Oh,” was all you can think to say. You took a sip, and the whiskey burned slightly as it went down your throat. You reached back to hand it over again.

His gloved fingers brushed yours when he took it from you. “I never trusted anyone enough in the past.”

In the past.

Your thoughts raced as you tried to decide if that wording was intentional.

...he was sitting here, leaned against you, lifting his helmet in your presence, in the present…

That had to mean something.

You couldn’t help but ask the question that seared through your mind, “Do you trust me?”

He let a pause stretch out between you, laden with the implication of your question, and shifted slightly against your back. “Yes.”

Your heart rate kicked up. There was so much potential in that yes that you couldn’t help but push forward.

“I would kiss you.”

It came out sounding like an offer, but you really meant it as a want. You wanted to kiss him. You’d held that truth for a while now—months probably—keeping it close to your chest, knowing that it would likely live there forever. There was no room for attachment in your utilitarian partnership, or in his strict Creed and your nomadic existence. Kissing him was an unrealistic daydream, a passing thought you regularly ignored.

Though... it was harder to ignore when he let his gloved hand linger on your waist, or threw himself into the line of fire to protect you, or wordlessly accepted joint commissions from Karga as if your partnership was implicit. He’d been doing all those things more and more often.

And now, your carefully guarded truth was lingering out there, floating freely between you. You started to panic as the silence stretched on and scrambled to snatch it back: “I mean... if you want to know what it’s like.”

You immediately regretted adding that qualification. That wasn’t why you said it.

Another strained moment of silence passed.

“It wouldn’t make for a very good story,” he finally replied. He was trying to make light of the weird situation, but it came out flat in his modulated voice. He was obviously uncomfortable... and uninterested.

You were so incredibly grateful that he couldn’t see your face at that moment. You forced out an unconvincing laugh and said: “Right.”

The chirping of the crickets outside suddenly seemed deafening in the fraught silence that settled between you. You felt him adjust against your back once more. The flask appeared in your periphery, and you grabbed it quickly, taking a long pull.

Fuck.

You could tell that you had just taken the quiet, tenuous potential of your friendship and obliterated it with one awkward sentence.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” he said, pushing himself to his feet behind you.

You nodded vaguely and stayed where you were, staring out into the starry night, until you heard the mechanical click of his bunk closing behind him.

It was never going to happen—you’d always known that. It had never been a real possibility. And yet, in some shadowy corner of your traitorous heart, the tiniest bit of hope had taken root, cultivated by months of lingering touches and endless time spent together in hyperspace. And it hurt to have that fledgling hope completely crushed.

Eventually, you closed the ramp and plopped down on the spare cot against the wall. You tossed and turned for a long time, wondering if Mando would even want to partner with you for jobs any more. Probably not.

You froze when you heard his bunk slide open and the sound of his feet hitting the floor. You expected to hear him walk to the refresher, but when you didn’t hear his footsteps, you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

He was facing you, backlit by the light of his open bunk. His silhouette was different than usual—with a jolt, you realized that he was completely unarmored aside from his helmet. The hands that were twitching and clenching by his sides were bare. You sat up and swung your legs over the side of the cot, waiting for him to do something... anything. The silence between you wasn’t strained now; it was charged, electric, expectant.

He reached back and pressed a button on the wall behind him and his bunk slid shut, bathing the space in complete darkness. You heard him take two steps toward you, then stop. He was waiting for you in the middle of the hull, wordlessly asking you to meet him halfway.

So you did.

You weren’t sure what to do once you were standing a foot in front of his dark outline. You waited for a moment, then you both stepped towards each other at the same time, his hands—you faintly registered that you were feeling his skin on yours for the first time—finding your arms in the darkness. You pressed one palm to the soft fabric covering his chest, tilted your face up... and waited.

He needed to be the one who took that final step.

After he released a shaky exhale through the modulator, his right hand left your bicep to reach up and grip the lip of his helmet. Your stomach swooped in anticipation when you heard the pneumatic release, and you watched the dark shape being lifted from his head.

You could feel the beating of his heart under your fingertips as he lowered his hand to his side, helmet grasped in his fingers. He leaned down, and you couldn’t help but lean up to meet him. Your lips connected sloppily in the dark, off-center and a little harder than you meant, but you corrected yourselves quickly. You thought about how soft his lips were as you moved yours against his; you smiled against his mouth when you noted the tickle of his mustache, and he exhaled against you when you reached up to map out the rest of his face with your hands: scratchy stubble along his jawline, a sharp nose, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, soft hair feathered across his forehead.

He let out a satisfied moan and gripped you a little tighter when you parted your lips to run your tongue experimentally along his pouting bottom lip. He responded in kind, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, his tongue tentatively working its way into your mouth. A muffled moan slipped from your own lips, and you slid one hand under the hem of his shirt, dragging your palm up the rippling muscles of his back.

Mando seemed to be emboldened by your exploration; his helmet clanged against the floor when he let it fall, and both his hands were suddenly roaming over your body, large palms cupping your breasts through your shirt. In an instant, a kiss that had started out as uncertain and eager was suddenly hot and desperate. He backed you toward the ladder with decisive steps until you were pinned between it and his broad chest. His hands worked their way down your back, over the swell of your ass, until he was gripping the backs of your thighs. You linked your hands behind his neck, so he could hoist your legs up and around his middle.

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, and his lips found your skin. He trailed kisses up, until he paused with his mouth by your ear.

“It was worth the wait.”

***

everything taglist: @chattychell @fisforfulcrum @meanperegrine @over300books @rebelpitstop @spideysimpossiblegirl @tacticalsparkles @tobealostwanderer @trashbuns @tuskens-mando

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Hey~~ could you write Annie x reader? What I had in mind was towards the end of s1 when Annie was trying to climb up the wall, could she try and take reader with her because they always talked about being together? Kinda like when Ymir took Historia in s2, and I really love your writings 💕 thanks~

TAsdfhjksfadh you didn’t specify whether Annie made it over the wall with the reader or not so uh I just kinda picked one lol hope you don’t mind

Also, sorry this is a little late, I've been feeling just a little sick for the past couple of days.

Prove It

(Annie Leonhart x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: Season 3 spoilers

Category: Mostly angst, little fluff

Summary: When Annie was outed as the Female Titan, she didn’t have a lot of options on where to go. And, as the fight between her and Eren progresses, it becomes clear her best option is to flee. Yet, there’s just one thing she can’t leave without. And it seems the feeling’s mutual.

Words: 3.1K

That wicked laughter.

It rung through the empty streets of Stohess, abandoned specifically for this military operation.

The goal? To lure out the suspected Female Titan, Annie Leonhart. Your girlfriend.

At first, you were violently against participating in the operation. You weren’t going to incriminate her, that would be incredibly faithless. Really, you wanted nothing more than for her to be vindicated, and to prove the the world the the “heartless” Annie Leonhart is a loyal soldier, not the traitorous snake they started to make of her.

It got in your head, most certainly. Within hours of the first discussion, ‘Annie Leonhart’ and ‘Female Titan’ had become synonymous with each other, and you hated every bit of it. You always defended her fiercely, because you could only hear so much distasteful talk towards her before you started to broil over with rage.

So, you agreed. You were going to lure Annie down in to the tunnel and prove once and for all that she wasn’t a monster. You could clear her of suspicion, and the two of you would go back to your ordinary lives with each other.

And oh, if only that was what happened.

But you watched in horror as Annie refused to go down the tunnel. She laughed, laughed, when you pleaded with her to follow you, that all she needed to do was come along with you to be unshackled from the scrutiny and doubt.

But her feet remained planted in her rigid stance of defense.

“Y/n...” She slurred out, laughter finally subsiding. “I’m glad I could be a good person to you.”

The slope of fear seemed to lose it’s steadiness, and the drop-off into the pit of empty horror occurred when she held up her hand to her mouth, preparing herself for the bloodshed to follow.

“You’ve won your bet. But this is where my bet begins...!”

The signal flare fired, and the countless soldiers waiting in ambush jumped from all angles. You watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as they restrained her and gagged her, like muzzling a dog. But, it was no use. Her ring, the silver ring she never let you touch, sprung up a spike out of it’s side, and a quick slide of her thumb across the tip opened up a bloody gash in her finger.

And then came the lightning.

Mikasa had thrown her arms around you and Armin, dragging you down into the tunnel to get out of harm’s way of the transformation.

You knew she had finished her transformation when the thundering stopped, and chunks of debris rolled to a stop at your feet, stirred dust slowly settling itself back onto the stone ground. For a moment, everything stilled, and only the ragged breaths of Armin and the sheathing of Mikasa’s blades were audible.

And then something moved.

You weren’t sure what it was, until around the corner, the light was consumed by a large shadow, growing closer and closer and absorbing more of the sunlight until it rounded the corner.

A fingertip. Then the finger. Then the hand. An arm—and it was traveling down the hallway, fingers frozen in a pose as if it were trying to grab onto something, something it couldn’t see.

“Shit!” You let out a terrified yelp and took off running, Mikasa hot on your tail and Armin stumbling closely behind.

It sought after the three of you, until a distant thump could be heard. You whipped your head around and stopped running, noticing the hand—ever present, it’s finger stretched desperately in an attempt at grabbing something, but it was no use. You caught a glance of it’s upper arm, flush against the wall of the curve.

She couldn’t reach any farther.

You let out of a sigh of relief, falling to your knees and gazing at it. It’s shaking fingers stopped, finally, and went limp into it’s palm in defeat, before slowly pulling itself out. You had no clue whether it was trying to grab you, or Armin, or Mikasa, or if it was planning on killing you or not. Bottom line, it was unsuccessful.

But then more thunder.

It seems Eren finally got his cue, because the signature yellow hues of transformation shone even into the dark abyss of the wrecked tunnel.

The three of you took a deep breath and shared a collective glance. Before long, the unsaid instructions were followed, and the three of you scurried out of the tunnel to witness the action.

And action it was—the first sight you were greeted with upon exiting was that of Annie delivering a decisive punch to Eren’s jaw, sending him flying backwards into the streets of Stohess.

Eren returned to his feet as fast as he could, and let out a menacing roar as he charged at Annie, arms low like a football player preparing to pounce on something.

He charged, but her feet remained planted, arms bracing for impact.

You watched as the two of them brawled furiously. You didn’t even notice that Mikasa and Armin had left your side—you hadn’t moved. You couldn’t find it in your heart to fight Annie, but neither were you going to fight Eren. No, all you could do was watch, helpless.

The battle continued fiercely, absolutely wrecking the city in the process. Building were destroyed and crumpled, streets of stone completely upended as one or the other got helplessly tossed around.

It came to a head as the fight eventually progressed to a wide, open space of stone, and the two of them were fighting hand to hand, both of them looking worse for wear. You shot your ODM gear into the roof of a nearby building, watching the fight with a slacked jaw. You had no clue how Eren was even standing a chance to Annie, since you yourself had seen how skilled she was in martial arts.

Soon, though, a decisive kick to Annie shin sent debris and rocks flying everywhere. Annie lost her footing, tumbling to the ground with a thump.

And you had been so fixated on Annie in that moment that you failed to notice the debris, and it was headed right towards your face.

Something—rigid and powerful—collided with your head, and you fell to the ground instantly.

Your vision was already fading, and you watched as tiny streams of crimson flowed over the shingles and down the roof—no doubt stemming from the newly opened gash on your scalp.

The distant clinking of the rock as it tumbled down the slope of the roof was the last thing you heard, and the world around you faded to black.

---

Through the darkness, a memory flashed through your mind.

---

It was dark out, of course it was. Shadis would never let you have leisure time at all when the sun was up.

You leaned against an lone oak tree, fingers brushing through the soft grass idly. The air was cold and crisp, and a soft breeze flowed through the air, just barely enough to rustle your soft hair.

Annie sat silently next to you, shoulder brushing up against yours. Slowly, she slinked her hand over yours, hesitantly grasping at your hand. You entwined your fingers with hers, and she looked away shyly.

She often had bouts of insomnia, lying awake at night for hours, unable to get her body to relax. And, the first night she tugged at your nightshirt, waking you up to go outside with her, she fell asleep in your arms due to exhaustion almost immediately.

So, it had become an unspoken ritual from that day on. She couldn’t sleep, she’d wake you up, the two of you would go outside, and talk or busy yourselves until sleep inevitably caught up to her.

But today was different. For whatever reason, something had been keeping her up for a lot longer than usual. You knew something was weighing down on her heavily, but you weren’t going to pry it out of her.

Deciding to break the tense silence, you squeezed her hand gently, getting her attention before you spoke.

“It’s nice out, isn’t it?” You observed. You weren’t talking about the weather per-say, but the thousands of white speckled stars that dotted the sky, and the bright, full moon that illuminated the grass and dirt beneath you.

“It’s cold.” She said bluntly.

You chuckled softly, her bleak attitude was so characteristic of her.

“I guess that’s true.”

More silence.

And then she sighed, bringing your hand into her lap to cusp it in both of her palms, clinging onto it as if it were grounding her.

“What do you plan on doing later in life, Y/n?” She huffed, leaning her head backwards against the back of the tree and gazing up at the sky. “You don’t possibly plan on staying in the military your whole life, do you?”

“No, of course not.” You sighed.

“Then do you have plans afterwards?”

You paused for a minute. She raised a good point, you didn’t really think of anything after the military. Deep down, perhaps you understood that by joining the Cadet Corps you didn’t have much ahead of you. You can only survive so many brushes with death before it’s your turn to go.

“I guess not...” You hesitated, deep in thought. You swallowed a lump in your throat before changing the subject. “Why, do you?”

Even through the darkness, you could feel the shrug of her shoulders against you.

“Not really.” She muttered. “Just... stay with the MPs, make a living wage, retire somewhere in the interior, and... relax. I just wanna... find somewhere to relax.”

She paused for a second. Clearly there’s something tugging at her mind, something she wants to say. So, you sit back and wait for her to find the confidence.

“Do you promise me that... sometime, after a while in the Scouts, that you’ll come back to be with me?”

The future between the two of you was always painted with uncertainty—whether the two of you could ever truly stay together. It would be difficult, between soldiers, to be able to settle down and stay together no matter what, especially from different regiments. But you could always try.

She exhaled shakily, struggling to get the words out of her throat.

“I just can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you. ‘Cause... if anything ever happened to you in the Scouts...” Her voice trailed off near the end, and you assumed she was trying to plan out her next words carefully, until you heard a small sniffle pass her lips.

Surprised, you turned to face her. She was trying to fight off the tears at the corners of her eyes, lip trembling as she struggled not to cry. It wasn’t until now that you realized just how tightly she gripped your hand.

“Annie- Annie it’s alright.” You stumbled, trying to comfort her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was upsetting her—she was scared of living a life without you.

You hooked an arm around her lower back, pulling her closer to you and putting your other hand on the back of her head and guiding her to your shoulder.

“I promise you, no matter what, I’ll live. And one day, we can spend all our time together. I’ll go wherever you go, I swear.” You ran your hand through her hair, undoing the bun she kept it in and evening it out over her shoulders.

“You promise?” Her voice sounded shaky and weak, a vulnerability to it that she rarely showed. “No matter what happens to me, you’ll trust me and stay with me?”

“I promise. Of course I do.”

---

Warmth.

It was the first thing you noticed upon waking up. The second was darkness. You sat up, noticing how wet the surface beneath you was. And how how fleshy.

Your face paled in realization. You were in a titan's mouth.

You raised your arm up, cringing at the trail of saliva that connected you to her tongue.

Immediately, you searched for a way to get out. You didn't plan on leaving her behind, but you'd rather not be stuck in a place as slimy and dark as this either. However, your efforts were pointless, since her jaw was clamped shut, her teeth caging you in and preventing you from escaping. Your heart dropped a little, wondering if she didn't trust you not to run away.

Suddenly, you felt a large thump, the unexpected movement causing you to grab desperately at anything that would keep you grounded in one spot.

But then, another thump. And another, and another. It felt like running, almost, but far too slow. You pondered it for a moment, before you realized what was going on.

She was trying to climb the wall.

But then, the thumping stopped. She wasn't falling, thank god, but all movement has seized.

Hesitantly, her jaw started to open, giving ample space for you to squeeze through. A sudden thought came to you—she needed your help.

With no hesitation, you drew your blades and burst through the skin of her cheek, not even waiting for her to part for lips. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you immediately search for the source of the problem. And you found it in the brute of a soldier, Mikasa Ackerman.

The girl was perched on Annie's nose, staring down at her. A quick glance to your side and you realized, with horror written all over your face, that Mikasa had cut off almost all of Annie's fingers—one more and Annie would easily lose her grip.

You understood, as soon as Mikasa drew her blades towards Annie's hand, you only had one option.

You shot your ODM gear towards her, not even caring when the hook dug into Mikasa's shoulder, causing her to yelp in pain as she turned to you.

She wasn't even given a moment to process as you came hurtling towards her, colliding with her shoulder and sending both of you flying through the air and towards the ground—fast.

Despite the small voice telling you that it would be easier to just ditch Mikasa, to release your ODM gear and let her fall, you shot the other hook into the wall, and your momentum halted to a stop.

She peeled her arms away from their protective guard around her head, processing that the two of you had stopped before looking up to you in surprise. You looked back down at her, an expression of sorrow in your eyes. It hurt you to betray her, and all of your comrades, like this, but you knew as soon as Annie placed her trust in you by opening her mouth that you only had one choice.

"Y/n what are y—!"

"I'm sorry Mikasa!" You yelled, trying to put aside your emotions for the time being. "I can't... I can't leave her, I promised I wouldn't!"

You took a deep breath, positioning on your finger on the trigger, preparing to release Mikasa from your ODM gear's bloody grip in her shoulder. "I'm sorry..." You muttered, before pulling the trigger, watching Mikasa tumbled towards the ground, her betrayed expression still glued helplessly on her face.

You decided that it would only hurt you to look at Mikasa—engraining that image into your head would certainly plague you later on.

You finally turned to look back at Annie, and your heart picked up a couple paces at the sight.

Her head was turned to you, watching—waiting—for you, her hand outstretched in your direction. You smiled, firing your ODM and flying into the palm of her hand, quickly climbing up onto her shoulder to allow her to finish her ascent up the wall.

You turned back one last time, looking over at the destroyed city, and the furious and betrayed faces of your comrades. You sighed, turning back around. That's in the past now, you thought. It doesn't matter. I... made a promise to Annie, I can't betray her. I can't...

---

The line of trees in the distance grew closer and closer as Annie jogged forwards, having made it over the wall and all the way to the forest inside Wall Maria.

She slowed down to a walking pace as she neared the trees, kneeling on the ground before releasing herself from the nape of her titan. Steam flowed from her body as she immediately collapsed forwards, and you instantly lurched forwards to catch her exhausted body in your arms.

"Grab on." You instructed, waiting for her to securely wrap herself around you before you flew through the air and onto a tree branch, making sure you were safely out of the reach of any mindless titans before you let go of her.

She took a deep breath, leaning against the wooden trunk of the tree to recollect her strength. After all, even as a titan, the fight had done numbers to her body.

You sat there in comfortable silence for a little bit, waiting for her to catch her breath while you idly readjusted the straps to your ODM gear.

Finally, she reached over to take your hand, grabbing it in both of hers just like she had during your conversation with her years ago.

"I'm so glad..." She sighed, voice weak and wavering. "I was so scared when I opened my mouth that you would just... run off without me."

Slowly, she shifted, wrapping her arms around your neck and leaning her entire body weight on you. You could feel some of the tension leaving her body as she sighed against you, burying her nose in the crook of your neck.

"I was terrified that if you found out my real identity, you would just leave me. I don't know how I would've handled it. I was just..." She took a shaky inhale as she continued, and you felt a few wet tears against your neck. "Scared. So... So scared..."

You set a comforting hand on her back, hugging her tighter in an attempt to sooth her.

"Annie..." You cooed in her ear. "I promised you, remember? I would never leave your side. I'm gonna stay with you for the rest of my life."

Her breathing started to calm against you, your words managing to ease her worries.

"Yeah," She sighed, pulling away from you. "I shouldn't have doubted you, sweetie."

You smiled and placed your hands on her shoulders, bringing her in for a quick kiss before wiping her tears with the back of your hand.

"It's fine. Just remember," You leaned in and hugged her, exuding a warm feeling that made Annie's heart swell with love. "I'll always be on your side, no matter what."

"God, I love you so much, you dork." She muttered, heat rising to her cheeks with a content smile.

You chuckled, "I love you, too."

MAN THIS IS ASS

This is what happens when you force yourself to write with a headache whoops haha

[luna-loner]

Here’s another ask, Maehara for the ask game please

Of course, of course. Sorry if this is late.

First impression: Didn't really care about him.

Impression now: Well, I can see now that he's not just a womanizer now; he's also a good friend, not only to Isogai, but to other characters as well. Still, he's not really that high up on my fave list, and I feel like it's hard for me to write him well.

Favorite moment: when he's glaring daggers at Gakushuu. I love it because I don't think we've ever got to see this really scary side of Maehara. Ofc, we've seen how outspoken he is, and doesn't shy away from standing up to a teacher like Takaoka, but to just there and give someone a silent death stare? I guess Isogai is a major red line no one should cross. (Plus tbh, Gakushuu deserved it. Watching that scene, I really wanted to slap that smug look off face. You just don't blackmail Isogai and expect people not to get angry, no matter how much of interesting character you are)

Idea for a story: He's mostly has a supporting role in every story he's featured in, usually as Isogai's best friend. Again, I can't write him well, so I have no idea for a story where he the main character.

Unpopular opinion: Until he fixes that womanizing habit, he's not allowed to date anyone. Seriously, this should be canon, imagine if Kataoka's the one who proposes the ban and all girls (esepcially Okano) are in favor. Most of the boys, too, including *gasp* Isogai? That traitor! (Also Karma just to annoy Maehara, and Mimura because he's jealous of Maehara's popularity) The only one adamantly against it is Okajima, who gives a long, emotional speech about freedom to pursue romantic relationships and healthy teenage "developmemts" (yeah, he's going there), but once someone points out that Maehara not dating means less competition for Okajima, he immediately changes his tone by giving a long, emotional speech about the importance of self-restraint and self-reflection (add a little feminism in there) Maehara has the worst friends, doesn't he?

Favorite relationship: Romantically, none. Platonically, I wanna see a friendship with Yada since they go to the same university. I'm also interested in the potential, purely chaotic friendship between him and Karma. His friendship with Isogai is also nice, but I'm more interested in fanon friendships.

Favorite headcanon: He babysits Isogai's siblings a lot, and they play "knights and monsters" with Maehara as the monster. The little rascals give him such a hard time chasing him, and always knock him down so hard on the ground (fr, Isogai's brother jumps from a sofa or something, slams into Maehara, and knocks him down) they also have to have this long heroic speech before finally stabbing him to "death" (Meanwhile, Maehara has to just lay there waiting for them to finish and "kill" him already. He even drums his fingers in boredom, to which whoever's doing the speech pauses and lightly slaps his hand saying, "Stop that, monster!") Maehara hates playing it, but he can't say no to the twins so...

[babypandawrites]

Allies, Pt. 5

The Blue Spirit

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: Death Threats Word Count: 2,742 Summary: While the sickness alimenting Sokka wasn’t affecting you, you still end up with some problems to deal with. 

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“Haha! Classic Appa.”  Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed together as her and Aang walked into the temple that the siblings had been in. Sokka being sick was enough of a worry, him having delusions added another level of it.  “How’s Sokka doing?” Aang asked, as the two of them walked closer.  Katara looked at them, worry clearly written into her features. “Not so good. Being out in that storm really did a number on him.” She paused, looking at Y/n. “You're sure you're feeling alright Y/n?”  When Sokka got sick, Katara and Aang assumed that she would as well since she’d also been out in the storm with him. Turns out living in the forest without proper shelter for several years really amped up her immune system so she was a lot luckier than her friend was. That didn’t stop Katara from expressing concern every time she saw her, though.  “Yes, I’m sure Katara. Save your worry for your brother.”  She nodded, looking over at her brother when he sniffed back his runny nose.  “We couldn’t find any ginger root for the tea, but, we did find a map.” Aang brought out a scroll, and spread it on the ground. “There’s a herbalist institute on the top of that mountain. We could probably find a cure for Sokka there.”  “Aang, he’s in no condition to travel. Sokka just needs more rest. I’m sure he’ll be better by tomorrow.” Katara started to cough after finishing her sentence.  “Oh no.” “Not you too!”  “Relax you two, it was just a little cough. I’m fin-” She cut herself off with more coughing.  Aang took a step back and behind Y/n. “That’s how Sokka started yesterday. Now look at him- he thinks he’s an earthbender!” The three looked over at Sokka, who was swinging at the air. “Take that, you rock.”  Y/n nodded in agreement with Aang. “Yeah. A few more hours and you’ll be just as bad as he is.” She sighed, holding her head in her hand. “I knew you should have let me take care of him.”  Grabbing his glider, Aang went to the edge of the temple. “I’m going to find some medicine. Y/n, can you watch them?” A large flash of lightning cracked in the distance. “Uh, maybe it’s safer to go on foot.”  Y/n, who was getting Katara laid down and comfy, looked at Aang. “Maybe I should go with you, just in case, if you need to get something for an antidote it’ll be faster with the two of us.”  Glancing between her and the sick siblings, he was hesitant to agree. But, Y/n was right, and they should be fine up here. It’s out of the way, the Fire Nation shouldn’t find them. “Hmm.. Alright. Appa, Momo, keep an eye on them.”  Appa grunted, as Y/n joined Aang at the edge of the temple. Sokka laughed. “You guys are killin’ me!”  Aang grabbed onto Y/n, and used his airbending to launch them into the air, before safely landing far down onto the hill. 

They’d ran basically the entire way to the herbalist institute, once they got there, they barged in completely out of breath. A cat meowed, and jumped out of their way. Y/n had leaned her hands against her knees, attempting to catch her breath, while Aang babbled off to the herbalist.  “Hello! I’m sorry to barge in like this, but we need some medicine for our friends. They have fevers and they’ve been coughing and-” The herbalist cut off his quick speaking, mixing something in a bowl that sat in front of her. “Settle down, young man. Your friends are going to be fine.” She walked over to another table, where the cat was sitting. “I’ve been up here for over fourty years you know, used to be others, but they all left years ago.” She started to pet the cat, who began to purr in response. “Now it’s just me and Miyuki.” “That’s nice.”  “Wounded Earth Kingdom troops still come by now and again, brave boys, and thanks to my remedies they always leave in better shape than they arrive.” “That’s nice. Are you almost done?”  “Hold on, I just need to ass one last ingredient.” The herbalist walked amongst the shrubbery, looking around and muttering to herself.  Aang was exasperated, Y/n was starting to get the feeling this lady might be nuts.  The herbalist was looking for the ingredient for a while, the two of them just decided to sit themselves while they waited. They both sat with their heads resting on the table.  “Here’s what I was looking for! Plum blossom!” Both of their heads shot up, Aang got up and tried to take the bowl from the woman, but she smacked his wrist making him drop it. “Hands off! What do you think you're doing?” Aang’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Taking the cure for our friends?”  Y/n got up, and moved to stand behind him as the herbalist laughed aloud.  “Ahaha! This isn’t a cure, it’s Miyuki’s dinner.” The woman sat the bowl down on the table in front of Miyuku, the cat began to eat it. “Plum blossom is her favorite.” Aang breathed out a sigh. “What about our friends?”  “Well, all they need is some frozen wood frogs. There’s plenty of them down in the valley swamp.” “Why couldn’t you have mentioned that sooner?!” “What are we supposed to do with frozen frogs?” They spoke at the same time, the herbalist decided to only pay mind to Aang’s question.  “Why, suck on them of course!” Both of their expressions twisted into shock. “What?!” “Suck on them!?”  “The frog’s skin excretes a substance that’ll cure your friends, but make sure you get plenty. Once those little critters thaw out, they’re useless!”  Silence lingered in the air for a moment. Aang broke it.  “You’re insane aren’t you?”  “Thaaat’s right.”  “Wonderful. Aang, let’s go.” Y/n grabbed onto his wrist, and dragged his out of the building so they could go get these frogs. Soon after they left though, a pair of arrows was shot at them. An arrow landed on each side of the two. They looked around, as a large number of arrows zipped through the air at them. Aang used his airbended to blow them away. He reached down and grabbed one of the arrows from the ground, and held it out.  “Uuh, I think you dropped this.”  Both of their eyes widened as several archers surrounded them in the trees above.  Y/n glanced over to her friend. “We should probably run.”  “Yeah.” 

Running didn’t do much for them, seeing as the two ended up getting caught by the archers. This was… just great. Their captors had brought them to a Fire Nation base and separated them into different rooms. Y/n had been shackled by her wrist, with two short chains that connected to the floor. She struggled against the restraints, as someone opened the door to where she was being kept.  “Well, well, well, look who it is. I almost didn’t believe it when I was told that not only the Avatar was retrieved but you were as well, Y/n.”  Looking up, she glared at the man, but didn’t say anything.  “I always thought you were a lot of things, a traitor wasn’t one of them. Though I guess coward and traitor go hand in hand.”  Zhao stepped closer to her. “I have to keep the Avatar alive, so he doesn’t reincarnate. But, there’s nothing stopping me from killing you. I’m sure you’d love to join that pathetic mother of yours.”  “Don’t talk about my mother like that.”  He laughed. “Or what? You’ll handstand me to death? Maybe throw in a somersault? I’m so scared.”  She gritted her teeth as Zhao turned on his heel, walking back to the door.  “I have some business to take care of, you’ll be dealt with later.” He slammed the door behind him.  The way he spoke made her think that she would be facing death. Or worse.  Probably worse. 

Y/n went to grab the chains that held her in place, but stopped at hearing a commotion outside. “Aang please let that be you…”  The blue masked figure who pushed open the door was definitely not Aang. Though, judging by the knocked out guards in the hallway, they might not be here to kill her. They didn’t say anything as they approached her, and sliced the chains that held her down with their dual swords.  Wait… dual swords?  There was no time to dwell on the thought, the person was already leaving the room. Pushing herself off the ground she followed them, swiftly taking one of the guards' swords on the way out. She followed the masked person through the halls, silently following their stealthy movements.  They approached a hallway with a few guards watching over it. The masked person looked back at her, and nodded their head to the guards, before sneaking to the other end of the hallway. So she needed to deal with these guys, alright. Bringing her bow would have been a big help right now. Though on second thought, it probably would have just gotten taken in her capture.  She carefully slid through the shadows to get closer to the guards. There were only three of them, so this shouldn’t be too hard. Adjusting her grip on the sword, she stepped next to one of the guards and grabbed them by the shoulder. Using the handle of the sword, she jabbed it into a pressure point on the neck, causing the guard to collapse immediately. She ducked under a wave of fire sent her way, taking the chance to crouch and knock a guard to the ground. When his back hit the ground she grabbed onto his head and slammed it into the ground.  Once she knocked out the third guard, the masked person came back, this time dragging Aang by his collar. He perked up, as the masked person released his shirt collar and led them through the building.  “I’m glad you're okay Y/n.” He kept his voice to a whisper.  “Yeah, I could say the same to you.”  The masked person turned to look at them, telling them to be quiet by putting a finger to their mouth. After a bit more sneaking, the person slid down into a large grate, it led to the sewer. Y/n and Aang glanced at each other, before the latter motioned to the grate as a silent way to say ‘ladies first’. She rolled her eyes playfully, tucking the sword she stole into the rope tied around her waist, before slipping through the grate, Aang soon followed. They slid along the wall, as Fire Nation soldiers walked above. The masked person peaked up through some of the grates, they turned to look at the two and motioned upwards before climbing out. They must have gotten to an area clear of soldiers. Y/n grabbed onto the grates and pulled herself up through them, helping a slightly struggling Aang once she was up. The three ran through the base, to a conveniently placed rope that hung from one of the guarding walls. It was probably used to get in. Aang started climbing, the masked person going next, then Y/n last. As they were climbing an alarm sounded through the base.  “There, on the wall!”  A soldier appeared at the top of the wall and cut the rope they were climbing, sending the three falling. Aang shouted, but used his airbending so the three of them had a soft landing. The masked person unsheathed their dual swords, Y/n did the same with the sword she stole, and the trio started running.  “The Avatar has escaped! Close all the gates immediately!”  Aang ran to the front of the trio. “Stay close to me!”  As they got close to the closing gate, a group of soldiers blocked it, but Aang sent a blast of air to blow them out of the way. While he got close to the gate, Y/n and the masked person got surrounded by a group of soldiers. The two engage in battle with the soldiers, fighting together effortlessly. Aang stepped in, and used his airbending again to blow the soldiers away. Using a large gust of air he boosted the masked person up to the top of the gate then did the same to Y/n.  She landed at the top with a roll, knocking down one of the guards by crashing into his legs. By the time she got up, Aang was flying towards them by spinning a makeshift staff above his head. He grabbed onto the masked person by the torso with his legs to fly off with them. Y/n grabbed onto their leg so she didn’t get left behind. While Aang struggled to keep them all afloat, the two used their swords to block the spears being thrown up at them. 

The trio barely made it to the next wall, crash landing at the top of the gate. Almost immediately they were engaged in battle. There were three guards, each of them took one on. Y/n was able to shove the guard she fought off the wall of the gate, while the masked person and Aang did as well.  It was a struggle to do so, but they ended up making it to the final gate. Though they were still stuck on the inside, and hadn’t managed to get out yet. A small group of firebenders sent a blast of flames their way, but Aang was quick to push the two behind him and airbend the flames away.  Zhao held his hand up at the soldiers. “Hold your fire! The Avatar must be captured alive.”  The masked person slid up behind Aang, and crossed his swords over his neck. Y/n looked at them with wide eyes, but didn’t do anything. This was a ticket out, Zhao couldn’t risk Aang being killed and this person knew that.  “Open the gate.” Zhao spoke through gritted teeth.  “Admiral, what are you doing?” “Let them out, now!”  The gate opened behind them, and the masked person started to back out with his swords still crossed at Aang’s neck. Y/n backed out with them, keeping her gaze fixated on the soldiers with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, an arrow zipped through the air, and hit the masked person's well… mask. Knocked out, they fell backwards. After recovering from a moment of shock, Aang airbended a large cloud of dust around them.  Curious, Aang reached down to remove the person’s mask, revealing Zuko. Both him and Y/n looked at the Prince with wide eyes, shocked. Aang started to back away, scared, before tripping and falling backwards. Y/n didn’t move, expression contorting to a mix of both shock and concern. What had happened to him…  Aang had started to run away, but halted his steps when he realized Y/n wasn’t following. “Y/n, we have to go!”  “We can’t leave him...” Mumbling, she hooked her arms under Zuko’s and started to drag him along the ground, in the direction Aang had started running. The other hesitated for a moment, before he came over to help her. 

They’d found safety in the nearby forest. After laying Zuko down on the ground, Aang took a seat on a nearby root.  “I’ll stay here until he wakes up, you should get back to Katara and Sokka and make sure they're alright. I’ll get the frozen frogs on my way back.”  Y/n’s gaze bounced between the two. “Are you sure, Aang? I can stay if that would make you feel better.”  He shook his head. “I’d feel better knowing all my friends are safe. Zuko is dangerous, I don’t want to risk you getting hurt or worse.”  “...Alright.”  She was hesitant, but left the two and made her way back to the temple Katara and Sokka were at. They seemed to be doing fine, or as fine as they could be while sick. Aang returned not too long after Y/n, and put a frozen frog in Katara and Sokka’s mouths.  “Suck on these. They’ll make you feel better.” Aang collapsed onto Appa’s tail with a sigh. Y/n looked at him with a concerned expression.  “Are you okay, Aang?”  He offered a silent nod.  “How was your trip? Did you make any new friends?” Sokka’s words were slightly muffled, from the frog in his mouth.  “No, I don’t think so.” Aang rolled over, facing away from the others.

[sj-thefan]

Under the Moonlight P.3 (Ahkmenrah x reader)

Hey there! So It’s been a while since I updated this series, aka over a year, so please forgive me. Thank you for reading, if you do! I really enjoy this story. I’m thinking there may be one or two parts after this.

The events of the 2nd movie (Battle of the Smithsonian) have been changed, i.e. Abraham Lincoln does not crash through the window at the end. Also, it’s never mentioned how Kahmunrah knows how to speak multiple languages, which bothers me, but I didn’t care enough to create a backstory.

Also, as a reminder, bolded text is spoken in Arabic.

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Larry would never freely give the combination to Kahmunrah. The self-proclaimed “Pharaoh” had trapped his friends, sent some of history’s worst bad guys after him, and was an all-around evil bastard. Larry knew he would have to make a deal with the Pharaoh to save his friends, but he wouldn’t give him anything until he knew his friends were safe.

They stood in the centre of the room, arguing over who should hand over their half of the deal first.

Kahmunrah gave Larry an ultimatum, “How about I don't kill you right now, like I really, really want to, and I give you precisely five seconds to give me that tablet and tell me the combination?”

Kahmunrah’s newfound army entered the room at that moment, interrupting the two arguing men. In Al Capone’s hand was a little Einstein bobblehead.

“We already got the combination,” Al Capone exclaimed. “It's pi. –3.14159265.” He flicked the little Einstein, shushing him. “See, Crazy Hair here, he sang. Ho-ho-ho, did he sing! Like a canary.” He held the bobblehead up to Larry like he was showing off a prize.

“I’m sorry, Larry,” the Einstein frowned.

Sensing Larry’s distraction, Kahmunrah jerked the tablet from his arms. He threw the hourglass containing Jed, over his shoulder. “Must be a real bummer for you, Larry, knowing that all of your valiant efforts were, in the end, for naught.” He placed the tablet into his gate, beginning to press in the combination. “What a terrible disappointment you must be to yourself.”

The tablet began to glow, catching the attention of everyone in the room. Kahmunrah smirked as a quiet humming, filled the room.

“Do you hear that humming sound? Do you know what that sound is?” Ivan the Great raised his hand. “It's rhetorical.” He slowly put his hand back down as his fellow soldiers leered at him. “That is the sound of the End.” Kahmunrah began chanting in Egyptian.

As he continued chanting, the gate began to open. It started with the carved sarcophagus coming out of the stone. Then the door turned, revealing the gateway to the underworld. It was bright, and many of the people in the room found themselves shielding their eyes. The Egyptian chanting grew louder as it echoed from the open door.

“Welcome to the new, extended reign of Kahmunrah, Fifth King of Egypt and now the world! Horus, Ra, my warriors, come forth!” Egyptian warriors with bird heads emerged from the gate. “Send Larry Daley and his friends to their doom!” They surrounded Larry, attacking him as commanded.

“Halt,” a voice rang through the room, catching everyone’s attention. “The mighty Octavius has returned! I ride on the back of nature's most fearsome creature! I ride the squirrel! Forward now, my mighty steed!” He urged the squirrel forward, rushing through the feet of the soldier until he stood in front of Kahmunrah. He lifted his sword. “Do you wish to surrender honourably? Or must this end with the spilling of your blood?”

Kahmunrah turned his attention back to Larry. “This… This is your big rescue?”

Another voice rang out, catching everyone’s attention again. “Kahmunrah!”

His face fell when he saw who had interrupted him. He clenched his jaw. “You,” he pointed to a group of his underworld soldiers before gesturing to the people who had just entered, “change of plans. Kill her.”

Y/n stood at the entrance of the room, surrounded by some Egyptian soldiers and the group of New York Exhibits. Amelia Earhart had also arrived with several of the Smithsonian exhibits she and Larry had encountered that day.

Kahmunrah’s underworld soldiers approached the group, their spears aimed at Y/n.

“Stop,” she shouted, and the bird soldiers paused in shock. “I am Y/n, wife of Ahkmenrah, and Kahmunrah is no rightful king.” The birds turned to look at Kahmunrah, and everyone else, although they didn’t understand what was being said, followed their eye line. “He’s a cheat. He killed his brother, the chosen heir to the throne, just before he was to become Pharaoh. My husband, the rightful king, and my child, the future heir, are dead because of him. He is a traitor to Egypt. I ask you now, will you follow me—the once future queen of Egypt—or will you follow the traitor.”

The soldiers looked between the two Egyptian rulers. What she said had truth to it. Kahmunrah, although claiming to be the king of Egypt, had no Egyptian soldiers following him. Y/n had several Egyptian followers. After a minute of deliberation, they all came to the same conclusion. They turned their weapons to Kahmunrah.

Y/n smirked as Kahmunrah’s face morphed into fear. Larry slowly exited the circle that surrounded him and joined his friends.

Y/n stepped forward until she was face to face with Kahmunrah. “You should have known we’d never leave the tablet alone.”

“I was foolishly optimistic.”

Y/n turned to the underworld soldiers. “Your rest should never have been interrupted. Thank you for your service to the crown. You may return to the afterworld, but take this traitor with you.”

“You can’t do this, Y/n,” Kahmunrah snarled as he felt the soldiers grip his arm and pull him towards the gate. “I am a king.”

“You are a traitor, and you’ll find that although Egypt’s soldiers will never harm royalty, traitors are free game.” Y/n watched as the soldiers began dragging him to the gate and disappearing into the underworld. “They’ll do as they’re told.”

When the gate door finally closed, she grabbed the tablet and tucked it under her arm. She turned to the men that had been following Kahmunrah. In perfect English, she said, “Kahmunrah was a traitor to his own people. I suggest next time you chose a leader with more wisdom.” She smiled. “Now, I hope you will all return to whence you came in an orderly manner. I would hate to disturb the underworld a second time; they might be angry.”

The men looked at each other before quickly leaving the room.

The room was silent. Y/n looked around the room, accessing the damage her brother-by-marriage had done to the beautiful space.

Larry was in shock. He was glad she had shown up, but he had no idea who she was or what she wanted. For all he knew, she could be worse than Kahmunrah. He had heard Ahkmenrah’s name come up in the conversation between the Egyptians, but he had no idea what the context was.

The Egyptian soldiers that stood in front of the New York group went to the woman as she called them. Larry took the opportunity to talk with his friends without possibly causing them more harm by disrespecting any of the Egyptians.

“What just happened?” His eyes stayed focused on the group across the way as the woman gave them instructions, pointing to different places in the room.

“That there is Queen Y/n,” Amelia stated. “Quite the powerful lady, I’m not sure we’d have won this without her.”

“Why’d she help us?” Jedediah asked as he climbed out of the hourglass.

Y/n finished instructing her soldiers and made her way towards the group.

“She’s Ahkmenrah’s wife,” Sacagewea whispered.

Several of the exhibits bowed their head when Y/n came to stand in front of them.

“There’s no need for that,” Y/n dismissed. She smiled as she turned her attention to Larry. “Thank you for trying to keep this safe.” She gestures to the tablet in her arms.

“It was no problem, your highness.”

“Please, my name is Y/n.” Larry smiled an apology. “I must ask, though, it seems as if you have experience with the tablet. How have you come to possess it?”

Larry shrugged. “I’ve never really possessed it. It belongs to Ahkmenrah; I’ve just been trying to help protect it.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “Ahkmenrah?” She quickly scanned the crowd. “Is he here?”

“He’s in New York,” Jedediah said.

“I see,” Y/n said, her face falling slightly. “Then we must go there immediately.”

Larry frowned. It would be costly enough to pay for all the exhibits to return to New York. He didn’t know how much it would cost to add a mummy onto it. He thought back to his journey through the museum. He hadn’t spotted her all night. In fact, all the Egyptian exhibits that he had encountered were in the basement. Perhaps, the Smithsonian wouldn’t notice if a single mummy went missing.

They’d have to move quickly; the sun would be coming up in just a few hours. In less than ten minutes, Larry had guided all the exhibits into a plane, and they were headed back to New York.

Previous Part |

[pyroclaststan]

CW: This is the softest shit I’ve ever written

You’d asked Kingsley to come over and do your hair as a joke [mostly]. You knew they were hesitant to be in your space on the best of days, and almost always avoidant of any kind of touch or personal interactions on any given day. It was made very clear very early on in your friendship how high Chrysanta’s walls are but it’s always made you try harder, tease more, push often—never too much.

Not out of disrespect for their boundaries, but because it was also made very clear early on in your friendship that they had no friends, and if there was one thing you could say Kingsley needed in this world it’s friends. Maybe also someone to pry the stick up their ass loose, too, but even your hero self can’t work miracles.

And here they are: ringing your doorbell, hood up over that ratty cap you’re dying to throw away, feet shuffling, and a bag over their shoulder. Maybe the look on your face as you opened the door shouldn’t have been such a cross between excited and shocked, because they flinch immediately upon seeing you stand in the doorway, arms held wide.

“Do you want me to w-wait until you get dressed to come back?” they ask, looking pointedly away towards the bottom of the stairs for someone tailing them.

A mental note to figure out what’s up with the ‘who’ of that situation one day, but for now you take a look down at yourself. Gym shorts and a tank top: who knew they were such a prude? You that’s who, but only when they are outside of their uniform and around you it seems. That’s why you chose to ditch the sweatshirt you’d had on before answering the door… and it’s also the height of summer in this godforsaken city.

“What do you mean?” you cross your arms and tilt your head, playing innocent, making sure your braid falls over your shoulder. “I’m in my own home, firstly, and secondly: I am clothed. Not all of us need to be covered head-to-toe with eighty layers in this heat.”

They shuffle again, and you know the hand that isn’t holding the strap of their duffle bag is in their jacket’s pocket doing their tell: the clenching and unclenching of long, strong hands; vascular and calloused, often bloodied or bruised at the knuckles but still beautiful in their rough way. You squeeze your eyes to cut that random thought right there, disguising it as a reaction to the intense orange-toned daylight bleeding into your cool apartment.

“Chrysantamum, get the hell inside: looking at you is making me overheat,” you chide playfully, pulling them in by the strap of their bag and catching them off-guard, so much so they half-stumble through your front door, ducking lower than even they need to.

Jodidamente gigante…

Pink cheeks are quickly hidden as they reach up to pull their hat down lower, head bent in attempted irritation. Closing the door and setting the lock as they walk past, you watch as their back hunches so much that it makes you worry about their spinal health, and not for the first time.

“Jules, you can, uh, you can just say ‘come in’ like a normal person,” they huff, removing their bag from their shoulder but keeping it in hand.

“I could, but when have you ever accepted an invitation of mine?” The gaze you direct at them is cutting: visual representation of all the times you’ve extended your courtesy and company only for them to shut you down, cold and completely.

And speaking of cold, is that a bead of sweat on King’s face? You figured they were immune to the heat: they’ve never been about anything but dark colours and multiple layers.

Maldito lagarto gigante. You know, you didn’t curse nearly as much before you two became friends. Not as creatively either.

“That’s… fair,” their shoulders sag, defeated by their own admission and unaware of their agreement to your internal insult. You win two in one. “I should’ve expected you to get h-handsy anyway. You’re tactile.”

“I’m tactile? How many times are you gonna squeeze that hand of yours?”

They freeze at your smug face, hand immediately retreating from their pocket and down to their side like they’ve been caught red-handed. Anathema used to keep a tally of how often they did that but the whiteboard turned black.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you step past them to head towards the couch: neutral territory that keeps you from crowding King until they relax. You know the drill by now. “Oh! And you know the rules: no hats on indoors.”

“W-what?” it’s almost a whine. “I always wear a hat when I’m with you guys.”

“That’s at HQ—this is a home, Sidestep, it’s basic etiquette. Were you raised in a barn?”

“On a farm,” they murmur, giving in to your request. They’re a little bit of a shit from time to time, but they’ve always been respectful of basic manners in private—raised right by someone at some point, you suppose. You’ve always noticed how well they set a table, pull out a chair, take a coat. Classic manners instilled young, that much you can tell.

There’s a coat hook that you put up on the wall recently—for them—and after setting their bag by their feet, their top two jackets adorn it. A bomber and an all-weather? They had to be boiling walking out there. That ratty cap is pulled off and placed over them, too, so you watch as they take down their thick curly-coily hair, swiftly collecting strays back into the bun to no avail. Fidgeting begins once they’re done and realise there’s nothing to thread their hair through, unused to being uncovered.

“How do you not melt out there?” you ask in disbelief, fanning yourself dramatically. “Can you seriously not just put on a single t-shirt, like a regular person?”

“I like the weight.” It’s a short tone that tells you that string of questioning is closed, and instead their focus goes to taking off their shoes and setting them down neatly below their jackets, heels against the wall as a sign they’re staying.

Deliberate motions, unsure emotions.

“Sure, okay.” Leaning far to your left you pat the seat of the couch three times, signalling them to sit their ass down which they do slowly, taking their bag back into their hands.

It settles into their lap as you sit back and watch them: eyes running all over—casing for exits—and hands fidgeting nervously. Inviting them over always feels like entering a kennel pen with the way you have to sit back and wait for them to settle into your space with you, but you’re used to it. It’s kind of endearing, really… in some kind of vigilant way you can’t quite explain. Or at least, it’s become endearing. Traitorous eyes once again find themselves settled on Kingsley’s hands.

“What do you want?”

You startle, face flushing at the thought that they caught you staring and got annoyed, but when you look up they’re still staring straight ahead. This is an opportunity to take in their profile, always having been drawn to their sharp jaw and the pronounced line of their cheekbone since they’ve been unmasked—tracking the cloud of freckles on their skin and some faint scars here and there. Counting the numerous ball hoop earrings that cover the entire edge of their ear, you’re reminded of your old therapy tricks, the calm helping as you quickly gather your composure. Keeps you cool and sane while they become a ball of unrest.

Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste—or whatever combination works best for your surroundings. It’s been a long time since you’ve needed that trick.

Realisation hits that they’re still expecting a response.

“What are my options?” you tease in a soft flirty tone you can’t fight; teasing them is just so second nature nowadays.

King sits a little straighter as they pick up your double meaning, then cover their face by leaning forward into their propped-up palm as if bored—fooling no one in the room. You know they’re anything but bored by how their fingers tap, and soon the leg starts bouncing just as you knew it would.

“That’s up to you th-this time. Just don’t pick anything that’ll have your PR team suing me or breathing down my neck. Remember when, uh, when you dyed it blue?”

“It was temporary!”

“And they still freaked.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you concede with a pout. Not as much freedom as you’d like has came of your stint in the Rangers so far. Sure, you can walk, you can fight, you can muck around to your heart’s content, but you’re still on a leash. One that you’ll be expected to pay off. “I don’t know—I didn’t really plan on you actually showing up.”

A quick frown in your direction. “Gracias por el voto de confianza, polla.”

Okay, geez, so you both rubbed off on each other.

“No offence!” you put your hands up as a gesture of peace. “You just don’t like coming around.”

“I’m not used to coming around,” Kingsley corrects, looking at you, “I like coming around...”

As they trail off your heart leaps at that; your stomach flips, you’re about to respond when—

“…you’ve got A/C” they finish, turning their head, smiling that dammed crooked smile at their own joke.

There’s a quiet huff from you that mimics theirs as your ego deflates a little. That was a jab in true Sidestep fashion, sure, but you can’t help but feel a little… disappointed.

Sidestep—Kingsley, King, Chrysantamum—is looking at you expectantly now. “Well?”

“Dealer’s choice,” you get up, looking anywhere else as you pace. Can’t stand sitting this still this long much less with their gaze on you.

The sound of them lifting off the couch quickly stops you in your tracks.

“What? Y-you’re just gonna let someone do whatever they want to your hair?”

“Not ‘someone,’ you—I’m letting you do whatever you want to it. It’s just hair.”

“It’s not just hair!” they exclaim walking fiercely up the edge of your personal space, surprising both of you. They take a long step back, a pause of quiet as they collect themself and stand straight, making them taller. “Hair is… it’s personal. It’s…” a look of discomfort as they trial off, “intimate.”

You didn’t expect this: for them to get some up-in-arms about hair of all things. Looking at theirs, for the first time you start to think about all the work that goes into those long curls. The care, the maintenance, the time. Cultural and personal significance as well, you assume.

You smile with a softness that melts through you, “That’s why I asked you to do it.”

The look that passes over their face is the closest thing to affection you’ve ever seen. There is sorrow in their brow, but the tiny smile on their lips and the way they hold eye contact with you says… everything. Then it’s gone as quick as it came, eyes averted, hands pulling at the sleeves of their hoodie, their feet shuffling. Those tiny little things that they consist of, live by, exist with. It is always about the little things with them: it occurs to you that this may be a big thing. Maybe they need more time to—

“Alright,” a cracking voice cuts you off before you can ask the question that was still building, “grab a dining room chair, a tall one, and meet me in the kitchen.”

Kingsley’s already moving, mechanically yet fluid in the way they walk over, picking their bag, and navigate around and past you as you’re walking in their path. Nervous muscle and hyper focus—so like them it makes you smile. You diverge by the dining room, heading over to pick up a chair as directed, confused as to why you’re taking it to the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we be in the living room or bathroom?”

“Living room has nothing we need, bathroom’s too small—I uh, take up most of the space as is.”

You avoid imagining the two of you crammed into that private space.

Looking at them again as you approach, you watch the way they deftly unpack: eyes locked on the contents, right hand grabbing items and tossing them to the left without a single shift in their line of sight. Thinking. These little pieces of themself that Kingsley leaves around your apartment always make it hard to resist inviting them.

It’s too much, too fast for them, sure. But there is something about Chrysanta’s presence in your home compared to anywhere else. It is quiet—it always is despite their size—but it is rooted, in a way they never are to any thing or place or moment. Their steps are slower, their movements more eased, the calm they feel reflected in how little they stutter or panic because they can’t feel you in their confusing telepathic way.

“Where should I set the chair?” you ask softly.

“At the sink.” Not bothering to look at you to respond.

As soon as you set it down, facing the sink, Kingsley’s hand reaches out and turns it around.

“One more, please,” absently said as they set up all of whatever it is they’ve brought, set to boiling water, and wash their hands at the sink.

You muse on how they’ve always reminded you of a surgeon, the way they wash up or are exacting in their ministrations. Absentmindedly, you ponder if they’d have made a good med student, leading you to wonder if they’d ever had plans of what they wanted to grow up to be when they were young—outside of a vigilante. You nearly bump into them with the chair during your daydream before their hand quickly snakes out to catch you by the shoulder.

“This one is for me later, we can leave it over here.”

As swift as they stopped you, the chair is out of your hands, and you realise you’ve never seen Kingsley so… in charge. The way they move through this small space like it’s their own world in yours.

In charge of Charge, you chuckle to yourself at such a dumb joke. Sounds like a tag line to one of those adult movies they make about the two of you. They spare a glance your way.

“Alright, I’m just gonna g-grab some towels. Go ahead and sit.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal, sir,” you call out cheekily as they walk out, following orders with a small laugh.

There is a small well of feelings that has been bubbling in your stomach and you’re not quite sure what to call them. ‘Sir’ sent a small ping of questioning to the back of your mind. The two of you never quite discussed what kind of words Kingsley likes being directed at them. Masculine or feminine, in the way words are gendered. They’ve told you they’re not a woman, but they’ve also expressed that they’re not a man either, or maybe they’re both—it’s new to you, in the sense that you’re not sure where you stand without pre-conceived societal notions as a guideline between the two of you.

Would they like to be called handsome? Or beautiful? Is there something else that fits? Would attractive be a safe word to use? Does anyone compliment them? Should you do it more?

You shake your head, focusing on undoing your braid instead, settling your face back to a small smile as soon as they walk back in. They move the saucepan of hot water off the burner, setting a jar of oil in the centre, then busy themself with a small box they pulled from their bag.

“Shall we?” they ask, looking at you as they put on a pair of tight black nitrile gloves.

“Is this an examination?” you joke nervously, pointing at their hands.

There’s a cringe when you think of your last mod check-up, invasive and impersonal. Your brain can’t help but carry on, thinking of hospitals and your various stays in them. You don’t like them as is, but Kingsley’s proximity to you has made you even more wary of them; the panic they show when you bring up medical attention sometimes is sobering.

“No? I mean… uh, I’m not calling you dirty, but I don’t know how clean your hair is, and you d-don’t know how clean my hands are.”

The look on your face must have been either offence or murder because they take a step back, hands up.

“It’s a health precaution! I’m just being careful,” they croak.

“I wash my hair!” Your tone is indignant.

“I know! I’m just being safe!”

“I feel like I’m going in for a pap sm—“

“Alright alright!” they yell to cut you off, face red up to the ears at your unfinished sentence. “I’ll take them off as soon as I’m done washing your hair.”

“Thank you,” you give their hands one last nervous glance, only eased by the thought of how attractive the gloves makes them look. You sincerely hope the sudden mortification at that is not showing on your face, but they’re already turning their back to you.

“Wait, Kings,” you interrupt, “take off your hoodie.”

“W-what?” You do not miss the look of absolute panic on their face.

“It’s gonna get soaked handling all my hair,” you clarify.

“And my sh-shirt is gonna get wet if it isn’t on.”

“But your shirt will dry faster.”

“You have a dryer—my sweater can be dried.”

“Well… about that...” your exasperated laugh and a wiggle of fingers from your raised hand tells them all they need to know.

“Julia. How the hell did you break your dryer again? I just fixed it!”

“It wasn’t on purpose this time—there was a static build up!” Your hands slap you in the mouth as soon as the sentence finishes. Your eyes widen as Kingsley’s narrow.

“This time?” their voice is low, their eyes sharp.

“I uh, may have broken it to get you over here for dinner that time…” The half-hearted chuckle you let out is fake even to you.

“Julia.” A stern glare.

“…Kingsley?” Utter avoidance of eye-contact.

“That’s incredibly dangerous, first off. And I’m not a maintenance worker. You don’t pay me for that.”

“I can absorb any electricity that comes my way and I pay you in food,” a quick retort, regaining composure. “And I got you to stop avoiding the simple notion of a meal together as if I were threatening you with a gun.”

There is a specific face they make at that, and for the umpteenth time in your life you wish you knew what it was they were thinking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever—just sit down and shut up.”

From anyone else that would sound rude, but that’s simply Sidestep’s tone. The impact is also lessened by the movement of them removing their hoodie, leaving behind a loose long-sleeve that briefly reveals a long-sleeved compression shirt tucked in beneath. The upper layer had lifted while they were pulling the hoodie over their leaving the outline of Kingsley’s back muscles and bra lines on show before they fixed it.

Just a friendly look at your friend’s back. Friendly-ly.

Mouth not at all dry.

“So what’s on the menu? What are we doing?” you cough as they position themself in front of you, looming even more than usual now that you’re sitting.

They reach behind your head and your heart skips; they gather all of your hair carefully and lift it with the gentlest touch, moving a hand to guide you to sit all the back by the shoulder.

“Luckily your sink is low enough that I can lean you back for this to work,” they hum, setting your hair into the sink and tilting your head back, “I’m uh, only used to doing my hair texture… I’ve never done someone else’s hair.” They swallow hard, suddenly nervous. “First: shampoo, maybe a deep cleanse. An oil or deep treatment mask, heat treatment to that for thirty minutes. Rinse it out, then moisturise, comb, and braid.”

“You’re gonna give me braids?” you smile up at them, the orange light of outside slipping through your blinds against their skin and yours. They look bronzed in the lighting. “Like yours?”

“Not quite,” they laugh. “Something more l-like French braids or not-quite-cornrows. I don’t think your hair could support the protective styles I do. I don’t… think so at least? My curls are much tighter than yours.”

“You don’t know?” Teasing.

“I’m not a, not a fucking aesthetician or cosmetologist or beautician, Ghoulia. I’m a vigilante—I don’t get paid the big bucks to make people pretty, I’m usually the one fucking ‘em up. For free!” They sigh heavily, pulling at their gloves to make a loud slap noise as they let go to shut you up.

You giggle quietly, only for it to grow louder and your shoulders to start to shake as Kingsley pulls you forward to set a towel around your shoulders, then let’s you fall back into place before they lean over to turn on the water and pull out the sink hose, adjusting your hair once more.

“What are you laughing about?” they ask, looking down at you, smiling softly and holding you by the back of the head with one hand.

“Did you just… did you just call me fucking Ghoulia?” you burst out laughing uncontrollably.

“You literally call me Chrysantamum—that’s not a worse pun?” they ask, spraying the top of your head with water playfully before setting to work rinsing the rest thoroughly.

“I mean… yeah! That’s so much worse!”

The laughter carries on for two more minutes, much to Kingsley’s displeasure—and your abs’.

“Sidestep Spa… you could make good money with this.”

“No,” they cut you off. “Hair is… like I said, I’ve never done someone else’s. Hair is personal. It’s trust.”

You stare silently at them, considering their words. Is this you showing trust? Or them? For you, this had been a joke but… not anymore. You understand now, as their fingers carefully and dextrously work through your hair: you feel the mutual connection, respect and trust. It feels like a ritual; some kind of magic never really touched on by most.

A thoughtful look at Kingsley. You think of the things they share with you, and that seem to mean something to them. Food, space, and hair. Those must be their love languages: how swiftly they make sure you’ve eaten and how careful they are right now. How often they sit with you on rooftops for a sunset and a beer. The light pulls and parts; the way their fingers massaging into your scalp threatens to make you melt into your chair, and the rinsing calms you.

You think, suddenly, to your mother. The days of your youth spent sitting between her knees as she pulled your curls and waves into a neat braid before you ran off to cause a ruckus. Of her styling your hair the ways her mother styled hers. Hair that connected to your culture, your roots, your family. It dawns on you that this is what that must be for King, too—especially having grown up viewed as a woman.

Time flies by while you’re lost to the memories and motions.

Even now, as you sit in the chair with a warm towel wrapped around your head and with the hot oil they prepared working it’s magic, they don’t sit still. Instead their hands are busy with small bowls, a brush, and a fork, mixing things together into a larger bowl.

“Making your hair mask,” they comment absently, feeling your gaze on them. “Fresh ingredients are better. It’ll help repair what your stylist’s constant flat-ironing damaged.”

Pelo malo, you remember unkind neighbours saying to you. You remember your mother yelling at them in turn, before pulling you close on your walk home, petting your hair.

You think of your mother’s hands as they mix with a fork. It takes you back to a different kitchen, to the sounds and smells of pancakes sizzling on the cast iron griddle. The ingredients they mix reminding you more of a meal than a hair product: honey, avocado, yogurt, brown sugar, banana, apple cider vinegar. You don’t even bother to ask how they came across some of those ingredients here in the west, you know they have more tricks than they let on.

Chrysanta’s movement back into place directly in front of you drags you back into the present fully, tracing details of their face in the rarest moment of absolute openness. No shields, no walls, no topics. Just their hands as they carefully unwrap the towel, taking great care not to pull your hair or have anything drip onto you instead of the towel.

As they rinse your hair, once again focused on threading fingers gracefully and massaging your scalp and hair, your eyes close.

You wonder what Kingsley’s life is like, outside of you and the Rangers. What their childhood was like. What their youth was like. What their teen years were like. You’re not even sure how old they are now. You wonder about questions you know you can’t have answers to, because you know they won’t tell you. Questions you think might hurt them if you asked.

More so, you wonder what their family was like. Your eyes open and you wonder if Chrysantamum ever sat in a chair like this, with their mother lovingly washing her daughter’s hair at the kitchen sink like a right of passage. If kind hands cared enough to catch every curl, with kind eyes at her child like they were the sun—the light of her life. If she’d smooth down King’s baby hairs with the same long, swift fingers and small smiles, or brush them down just-so. You think she would have been beautiful: both young Kingsley and her mother. You look at them again, while they’re focused, and wonder if their grandmother is in their features like your’s is in yours.

You think about how Kingsley can’t cook: was she not there to teach them? Was their mother not there either? With their hunger now, you bet they needed to eat so much as a child, and it hurts to ponder if they ever went hungry from the way you see them ration their leftovers.

You close your eyes as they part sections of your hair, cool bare skin on your scalp now, and the occasional rat tail of a comb catching stray hairs. Part, a dab of oil, a clip to hold the section: you can practically hear the steps light up in their head. As careful and precise with hair as they are with machines.

You think maybe they like machines because they don’t muddy the waters with feelings. Feelings—accepting or giving—do not come easy to them. And you have learned by now that what they feel is best determined by their actions, not the words they use as sword and shield against others. You wonder how they feel. Looking up at them does not make it any clearer, but…

They rub the mask between their palms to warm it, and you know somewhere in you this is love. This is as close to love as they know, and that is enough for you.

There may be lingering confusion in your feelings: you have always been attracted to men, and they are not a man—but they are also not a woman. There may be some hesitation to take a step from friendship with someone who means so much to you. But whatever you both have to give, when you’re both ready, will be enough for you.

You can imagine that little girl: too tall and lanky and active for their own good. Bruised knees and scratched arms and torn dresses every time they came back into the house in the evening, like you when you were young. Maybe the two of you would have been good friends back then, too. Maybe the world wouldn’t have gotten to Kingsley so much if you’d been there with them. It’s nothing you can change now: you know better than anyone that the past stays behind where it can only hurt you if you try to go back to it.

They look down at you now, the mask application finished, and survey the soft look in your eyes, the light smile on your face with a mirrored one of their own. You too, see the small traces of confusion flash by, but it melts away. The eye contact held as their bare hand comes up, brushing against your forehead softly as if to move stray strands away you know they’ve collected, then down the side of your cheek as if to catch some oil left behind they never dropped. Excuses for intimacy that does not come naturally to them. And right now that is enough.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” you ask softly, hoping they see in your eyes how much their opinion truly matters to you. More than anyone’s ever has.

The question brings a sharpness to their brow, eyes still soft and searching.

“Do you want to? If you want to, do it—I’ll help. However I can.” Their face hardens. “Don’t ever let those stylists tell you what you can and can’t do for yourself. Don’t ever let them make you their doll.”

The last sentence is spat like venom; there’s a deep bitterness in those words, in that choice of words, but you know that’s a question you cannot ask.

You reach up and gently pull a curl that freed itself from Kingsley’s bun. You watch it stretch, far longer than it looks, and let it rest again, pushing it from their brow. You wonder what Kingsley looked liked with hair as long as yours, or what they’d look like with it even shorter. You wonder what colour they’ll braid in next, what length of braids, and if anyone ever gets to help them.

Their soft gaze breaks, reaching for the hose one last time to rinse the mask from your head. There is a new kind of quiet blossoming between the two of you as they rinse: a maybe, an almost, a sort of. An electricity even your mods can’t match, a feeling in the pit of your stomach even hunger couldn’t touch.

And when they begin to carefully dry your hair you ponder what it will mean in the future—what it means now. There is a soft tap on your forehead, twice, and you know that means to lift the mask but you’re not the one who wears it, so you turn your gaze upwards instead. Chrysantamum is leaned down, far enough to be close to your face, and their face is soft and their ears are red. That bright green gaze looks to your lips and back to your eyes, the tilt of the head a question, one you know well: may I kiss you? Your question. Just as you know the answer as you smile softly like they do, and lean in for them to catch your lips, always soft and questioning—never wanting to lock you in, never asking for more than you’re willing to give, never staying long. You part slowly, smiling softer than you have all night.

They suddenly knock the towel off your head and flee to the living room cackling, knowing you’ll give chase. Always one step ahead. You don’t disappoint, throwing the towel after them and bolting over to catch them in a kiss as they turn around. Charging in. For just a few minutes more you stay entangled, hands at the back of each other’s necks—another small intimacy with grand connotations.

When the two of you settle back into the living room— King on the couch and you between their knees—you wonder if this will one day become a memory you can fondly look back on. If you will remember the sepia tone streaming in through the window, the feeling of their fingers as they separate your hair—moisturising and combing, and of the soft pulls as they carefully weave braids along your scalp.

“Think PR would be pissed if I p-put a teal ribbon in your braid?” they ask with a surprising cheekiness.

“I’m a hero, not a cheerleader,” you complain with no actual objections. “Put a piece of jewellery or something instead.”

You hear their hands ruffling in their pocket, so you turn to look, curiosity piqued. They remove a few small charms, the kind you’ve seen in their own braids, twists, and locs. Pumping their brows at you cheesily, they put the hair tie in their hand between their teeth, moving to get a better grip on the braid they’re working on.

A few pulls you don’t quite feel later and you hear a little “Ta-da!” as your braid falls over your shoulder. You lift it up to get a better look and you see a charm woven in seamlessly: a small piece of turquoise more teal than blue.

You lean forward a little, drawing your knees to your chin with an arm around them, fiddling with it as the two of you fall into silence. The sensations of their hands on you, and the comfort of your home around them.

Right now, this is more than enough for you.

[malfoymanortings]

lavender and velvet //part seven

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: to be decided.

hello all! hope you all are doing lovely and had a good thanksgiving. dont forget, im accepting requests for just about anything, and you can find the info on my masterlist post pinned to the top of my page. i would love to write stuff for yall! anyways, enjoy!

taglist: @person1839 @big-galaxy-chaos @spooderham @iamashlynmarie @acciosiriusblack @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @ivettt @msmarklee1213 @briargardens 

as always, just let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!

“Miss Black, wake up.”

Juliet was jolted from her sleep to the sound of her head of house’s voice, opening her eyes to see Snape looming over her menacingly. The sight caused her to jump to attention immediately, and she quickly sat up while eyeing him suspiciously.

“Professor Snape, why are you..” Juliet trailed off, very confused.

“Arthur Weasley has been injured,” Snape responded distastefully, motioning for her to get out of bed. “You are due in Dumbledore’s office with the rest of his children and Mr. Potter.”

“Is he alright?” adrenaline now waking her thoroughly, Juliet hurried off the bed, ignoring Snape’s grimace when he saw she was only wearing a shirt. She quickly tugged on shorts, grabbing her robe and her wand.

“I am unsure of his condition,” Snape was clearly annoyed now. “I had to get you quickly so that you could leave with the rest. Unless you want to be left behind, I suggest you come now.”

“What about my trunk, my owl?” Juliet questioned, following Snape out of the dormitory and down the steps. The castle floor was cold on her bare feet, and she cursed herself for not thinking of putting on her shoes.

“It will all find its way to you.” Snape responded dismissively, opening the door leading out to the common room.

The two walked swiftly to Dumbledore’s office in silence, Juliet’s heart pounding in her chest. How had Arthur been hurt? Was it something to do with the Order? It had to have been bad, for them to rouse the Weasley’s and her out of their sleep to leave the castle.

Snape entered Dumbledore’s office first, where Harry and the Weasley’s were gathered around the headmaster’s desk. Juliet followed suit, immediately drawing her eyes on George, who stood next to Fred with similar expressions of worry and fear on their faces.

“Oh Georgie, Freddie,” Juliet breathed out, gathering the tall boys in a group hug. They held back to her tightly for a moment, before they all pulled away from each other. “What’s happened?”

“Harry saw dad being attacked,” George answered, looking quite shaken. “We dunno if he’s going to be alright or not.”

“He will,” Juliet replied forcefully, taking George’s hand in her own. “He has to be.”

“You have all used a Portkey before?” asked Dumbledore, interrupting whatever George was going to say. Everyone looked at the old man, nodding as they reached out to touch some part of the blackened kettle on his desk. “Good. On the count of three then… one… two… three.”

Juliet felt a powerful jerk behind her navel, the ground vanished beneath her feet, her hand was glued to the kettle; she was banging into other others as all sped forward in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onward and then-

Her feet hit the ground so hard that her knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground and somewhere close at hand a voice said, “Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their fathers dying…?”

“OUT!” roared a second voice.

Juliet winced as she felt a pain in her feet; it seemed as though she had scraped them quite good after their harsh arrival into the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher’s loincloth swished around the corner leading out to the hall, and Sirius hurried over to them all, looking anxious. He was unshaved and still in his day clothes, and Juliet scrunched her nose as the scent of stale drink wafted towards them.

“What’s going on?” he said, stretching a hand to help Ginny up. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured-”

“Ask Harry,” said Fred.

“Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,” said George in a tight voice. 

Without much thought, Juliet slipped her small hand into his large one, giving him a comforting squeeze. George held back tightly, his eyes trained on Harry with a hard look.

Everyone was staring at Harry, even Kreacher's footsteps on the stairs had paused. Harry looked overwhelmed for a moment, before he launched into his tale of seeing Arthur be bitten by a rather large snake. Juliet eyed him carefully, as she had noticed a look Ron had given him when he described the scene. What was the chosen one leaving out?

Fred and George immediately began demanding they head straight off to St. Mungos, which caused an argument with Sirius. He explained that Arthur had been hurt while on duty for the Order, and it was all too dangerous for them to have already got word before anyone else. It made sense to Juliet, but of course, Fred and George were forces to be reckoned with when it came to their family.

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” shouted Fred, cutting Sirius off.

“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!” yelled George.

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” Sirius said angrily in his turn. “This is how it is -this is why you aren’t in the order- you don’t understand- there are things worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!”

“Enough,” Juliet stepped in, standing in between her father and the twins, who glared at her. “This is hard for everyone. Think of how Umbridge has been. Do you really think it would be wise for us to rush St Mungos when no one should know about your dad yet? Whose to say they wouldn’t assume he was working against the ministry, and they either make sure he dies, or fires him?”

Fred and George still looked mutinous, but Sirius shot her a grateful look. He glanced back at Fred, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to hit the ginger haired boy, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.

“We just have to stay put, until we hear from your mother. Alright?”

Ginny was the first to sit down. Harry and Ron sat next, at the opposite side of the table. Juliet sat next to Ginny, wincing as pain flared up from her feet. The twins glared at Sirius once more, then George sat next to Juliet while Fred sat next to Ginny.

“That’s right,” said Sirius encouragingly. “Come on, let’s all…. Let’s all have a drink while we’re waiting. Accio butterbeer!”

He raised his wand as he spoke and a dozen bottles of butterbeer came flying onto the table from the pantry. They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table.

At some point, George’s hand had found Juliet’s once more. She ran her thumb consolingly over the back of his hand, resting her head on his shoulder. In turn, George wrapped his arm around her, keeping hold of her other hand. Juliet rested her other hand on his thigh, tracing circles over his pajama pants. 

Harry seemed to be deep in thought, across the table from them, his brows furrowed and guilt written all over his face. Juliet frowned slightly. Had it not been for Harry, they would have had no idea that Arthur had even been injured. Harry shouldn’t feel guilty.

A flash of light appeared, and with it came a note from Molly, delivered by Fawkes. She told them all to stay put, and she was with Arthur now. It didn’t sound very hopeful, and that was clear to everyone in the room.

“Still alive..” George said slowly. “But that makes it sound…”

He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded as though Arthur was hovering somewhere between live and death. Juliet held onto George’s hand tighter, and he laid his head on top of hers. Fred examined the letter himself, taking it out of George’s hand. Ron stared at the letter, as though he hoped it would bring him words of comfort.

At some point, Sirius suggested they all go to bed, but the murderous glares from the Weasley’s were enough to answer. They sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sink lower and lower into the liquid wax. They spoke only to check the time, wonder aloud what was happening, and reassure each other that if there was bad news , they would know straight away, as Molly was at St Mungo’s then.

Fred fell into a doze, his head sagging sideways on his shoulder. Ginny had curled up on her chair like a cat, but her eyes remained open. Ron had his head in his hands, and it was difficult to tell if he was awake or not. George kept his head rested on Juliet’s, the grip of their hands onto each other letting her know that he wasn’t asleep. 

Finally, at ten past five in the morning, the door swung open and Molly entered the kitchen. Everyone half stood in their chairs, but Molly waved them back down, giving a wan smile. She informed them that he would be alright, he was sleeping, and Bill was sitting with him now. 

They all let out shaky sighs and sounds of relief, and George, Ginny, and Juliet walked over to give Molly a hug. Sirius declared they had breakfast, and although he called for Kreacher, the house elf didn’t appear. He began breakfast himself, and Juliet slipped away to help him, Harry, of course, joined him. 

Eventually, Molly came over, waving Harry and Juliet off, to begin breakfast. She told Sirius that they would probably be spending Christmas there with him, and he beamed brightly at the news. 

Juliet felt the sudden urge to talk with her father, maybe vent about Umbridge, but before she could, Harry had taken him out of the room for a talk. Her face fell, and perhaps it was the mix of disappointment and lack of sleep, but she felt tears fill her eyes.

“Come on now darling, there’s no need for tears,” George appeared at her side, giving her a kind smile. “Let’s sit at the table while we wait for breakfast.” he reached a hand out, his thumb swiping at a tear that had escaped and rolled down her cheek.

Juliet swallowed hard, and followed George to the table with the rest of his siblings. Soon, breakfast was served and they all ate rather quickly, the nerves of the night having made them ravenous. Once they were done, and the table was cleared up, Molly ordered them all to bed. She told them that once they woke up, they would go back to visit Arthur.

The kids all trudged upstairs, Harry and Ron entering the same room they had spent the summer in. Juliet went to follow Ginny inside the room they had shared with Hermione, but George tugged on her arm.

“Would you mind..” George trailed off, suddenly looking shy. It was very unlike him. “Can you sleep in mine?”

“Oh,” Juliet paused, thoughts of Theo swarming her head. Well, he wouldn’t care anyways, would he? She and George always did this. Surely Theo wouldn’t mind, not that he would find out anyways. “Of course, Georgie.”

George smiled down at her, and she followed the twins into their room. Fred immediately fell into the bed, pulling the covers over his head, and it sounded as though he was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Juliet laid in the bed first, shrugging her robe off before she did so. She was aware of George’s eyes on her, but she ignored it. After all, he was just waiting for her to get in bed so he could lay down. He was surely worn out from waiting all night for news on his father. That was all.

George slid in next to her, turning on his side to face her. Juliet peered up at him, getting lost in the many freckles that dotted his nose. He reached out a hand, swiping her hair out of her face, resting his palm on her cheek. Juliet’s heart quickened, and she glanced at his lips before looking at his brown eyes, glistening with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. 

“Jules,” George’s voice was soft, full of exhaustion, and his eyes fluttered shut as he pulled her into his chest. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Georgie..” Juliet swallowed hard, looking at the face of her best friend. That didn’t sound like something you said to your best friend. 

George’s lips parted, and he let out a deep breath. His face relaxed, making him look much younger than his seventeen years. He was asleep, no doubt ragged from the exhaustion of the night's turn of events.

For a long moment, Juliet stared at his face. He was so handsome in a ruggedly, manly yet boyish way. His smile could brighten the darkest day and his laughter would make you laugh yourself, especially because it normally followed a joke. This close, his lips in such proximity to her, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if she just inched further and pressed them to her own-

Merlin, what was she thinking? This was her best friend she was talking about. Besides that, he had Alicia Spinnet. And she had Theo, even though they hadn’t given each other a label yet. 

Juliet screwed her eyes shut, and before long, she had fallen asleep in his embrace.

For the first time, Juliet woke up before George. It had felt like she had jolted awake, and she glanced around the room wondering what had caused it. Of course, the cause of it was Fred, who was tugging on a shirt with his trunk next to him.

“Afternoon, Jules,” Fred winked at her, looking at how she was wrapped in George’s arms. “Nice sleep?”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Juliet was immediately defensive, and despite not wanting to, she pulled out of George’s arms. She missed his warmth at once. “We always sleep together- not together, but in the same bed- oh for fucks sake, you know what I mean!”

Fred let out a roar of laughter at her words, grabbing his stomach as he fell onto his bed. He shook the frame, he was laughing so hard.

“Merlin, can you be any louder..” George sat up, his hair ruffled from his sleep. His eyes fell onto Juliet, who was an unflattering shade of maroon as she sat next to him. “What’s going on?” 

“Freddie’s just being an arse,” Juliet grumbled, carefully climbing out of bed. “I see our trunks have come. I’ll have to get ready, I’m sure we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Alright, see you,” George gave her a half wave, sitting up and glaring at Fred. “Merlin's beard Fred, what is your problem?”

Juliet left the room before she could hear his response, nearly running into Ginny in the hallway. The redhead was brushing her wet hair, her dirty clothes bundled up in her arms.

“Good, you’re up,” Ginny nodded to her, walking into their room. “We’re leaving in about ten.”

Juliet dressed quickly, jeans and a hoodie, and walked downstairs. Molly was speaking to Sirius in hushed tones, and their conversation cut off rather quickly once she came down the steps.

“Hello, dear,” Molly smiled, looking out of place on her haggard face. “Good to see you.”

Nearly at once, everyone else came bounding down the steps. Within minutes, everyone except for Sirius was heading to St. Mungos. It was most unassuming, appearing to be an abandoned muggle shop, but it was the entrance to the Wizarding hospital.

Moody and Tonks had arrived with them, but they stayed out in the hallway while the others entered the room. Arthur was doing well, sitting up and reading a book, and he thanked Harry for saving him. Soon enough, Molly was herding the kids out of the room so they could speak privately with Moody and Tonks.

It was a pleasant visit, but Fred and George had the great idea of using their Extendable ears to listen in on their discussion. Juliet was huddled around with them, as they all fought to listen in on the conversation.

“The boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake… Obviously, Potter doesn’t realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him, then there’s no telling what can happen. Dumbledore has to take whatever precautions he can.”

Juliet pulled away from the Extendable Ear, glancing over at Harry who was now white as a sheet. The others were looking at him too, giving him a fearful once over. 

Was it possible Harry was being possessed?

They left back for Grimmauld Place shortly after. The mood was subdued, mainly due to the information they heard through their eavesdropping. Molly didn’t seem to notice much, and began prattling on about their Christmas plans and how they were going to be going to Diagon Alley the following day for the kids to do their Christmas shopping.

After they arrived back, Harry went up to take a nap, claiming he didn’t feel well. Juliet could assume it probably had more to do with what they had overheard. Fred and George headed upstairs to work on more ideas for their shop. She, Ginny, and Ron went into the living room, and began playing Exploding Snap.

“So, Jules,” Ginny nudged her knee with her own, a grin on her face. “Theodore Nott? Are things getting serious?”

Juliet blushed, suddenly wishing this conversation hadn't come up. “I wouldn’t say that, no. We haven't really given ourselves a label. Just kind of going with the flow.”

“You guys snog all the time. Seriously, I feel like he’s always touching you in some way. Plus, he carries your books for you. Literally. I didn’t even know guys did that.”

“Well, we haven’t really discussed if we were dating or not.” Juliet was starting to get very uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going now. 

“What’s this I hear?” Sirius suddenly appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed and a smile on his face. “Have you and George started dating, Juliet?”

“No!” sputtered Juliet, her face heating up as she threw out her arms in protest. “Absolutely not! We’re just friends.”

Sirius cocked a brow, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve never looked at my friends the way that boy looks at you. If you aren’t talking about George, then who are you talking about?”

Ginny began to speak, but Juliet cut her off. “No one. No one, just drop it.”

She really didn’t want her father to know she was kinda but not really dating Theodore Nott. His father was a Death Eater, she was pretty certain, and her father would certainly blow a fuse if he knew she was even friends with him.

“Alright, alright, I have other ways of finding out. Perhaps I should go have a talk with the twins…” with that, Sirius left the room.

Juliet groaned, falling backwards on the floor. She grabbed a pillow off the couch, and shoved it in her face, letting out a frustrated scream. Ginny laughed from beside her.

“Blimey, girls are difficult.” Ron muttered. 

Juliet could only hope for the best.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 17

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A FEW MINUTES LATER

BJORNHEIMR

Sigurd dragged his feet across the uneven terrain, slogging through the dead woods that now served as Dag’s tomb. His hand shone vividly with a bright layer of red due to the blood that clung onto his skin, and his ears still buzzed with the echoes of his friend’s final cries.

As for Eivor, the jarl’s son appeared to be equally as harrowed as his companion. His eyes mirrored the frozen desolation of the bleak landscape sitting before him, and his face remained expressionless much like the corpses that now rested at Bjornheimr’s temple.

Both of them traversed the world like a pair of hollow shells, wandering through the dark in search of any light to hold onto. A black haze had blotted out the beam that once twinkled in their eyes, and it seemed as if the fire that once burned in them had been completely snuffed out.

Eivor just prayed this would be the end of their grief. It wouldn’t be long before they got the information they needed from Gorm, and the young man imagined they would soon be braving the seas again in search of the wretch’s father.

It was an endeavor that would only lead to more war, no doubt. There was a high chance that more people would die during their pursuit, and Eivor could no longer guarantee that even he would survive a second battle against Kjotve.

But after everything that had happened, he refused to shy away from this fight. Kjotve’s death wouldn’t bring Ulfar or Thora back from the dead, that much was true. But even then, Eivor hoped that -- at least -- it would serve as a balm to ease the pain now wracking his heart. 

He didn’t even care about reclaiming his honor anymore. All he wanted was to bring this horrid war to an end. Far too many people had been lost to Kjotve’s barbarity, and Eivor’s only desire now was to deliver peace unto those who had suffered for so long.

It was something he was willing to die for at this point, and a part of him suspected that he would.

“Wait,” Sigurd said as they entered the village. He stopped in his tracks and gazed in the distance, looking towards the docks. “Is that Randvi’s ship?”

Eivor followed his line of sight, nodding in response. “Yes. Randvi and her men returned not too long ago. They arrived whilst you were dealing with Dag.” He paused briefly, giving the prince a grim face. “...I’ve already told her about Thora and Ulfar. She’s at the temple now with my father and Ingrida. They’re preparing for tomorrow’s funeral.”

“...How is she?”

“How do you think? She knew Thora and Ulfar even longer than I did. She... she’s beyond devastated.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, hanging his head low in regret. “...Damn it. I should’ve killed Dag weeks ago. I should’ve confronted him from the start. He had been acting so strange ever since we came to Bjornheimr. I shouldn’t have waited this long to do something about it. Perhaps none of this would’ve happened then.”

Eivor took a few steps closer to him, speaking softly. “You are not to blame, Sigurd. You had no way of knowing Dag was the traitor.”

The prince wasn’t swayed. “On the contrary, I was the only one who could’ve known. I was the closest one with Dag out of anybody in our clan. I should’ve been paying more attention. I shouldn’t have let my love for him blind my judgement.”

Sigurd shut his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, clearly exhausted from the day’s events. “...I’m sorry, Eivor. I know you don’t fault me for what’s happened, but even then, I still carry some of the blame on my shoulders. I must be more vigilant from now on. I can’t allow anything like this to occur again, and I won’t. You have my word.”

Walking away before the other man could respond, Sigurd left Eivor behind and simply pushed forward into the village, emerging from the forest like a shadow slipping out of the night. The despair that once dimmed his expression had been replaced with the flickering embers of a growing rage, and the Wolf-Kissed could almost see sparks igniting in his eyes.

As for the young man himself, he simply followed the prince from a distance and trailed along quietly, unsure of what else he could do to comfort his lover. A few of the villagers -- including Styrbjorn -- had turned their heads upon Sigurd’s anticipated return, and immediately brought their attention to the blood now staining his hand.

The color faded from the king’s flesh as soon as he noticed the striking pigment. He didn’t seem to understand what had transpired just yet, but the dreary cloud hanging over his son was enough to imply that something terrible had unraveled.

Styrbjorn approached the two of them, carrying a look of concern.

“My son...!” He called out, keeping his tone hushed. “Where have you been? What’s happened to you? Whose... whose blood is that?”

Sigurd exchanged glances with his companion, hesitant to answer. He didn’t appear to be any calmer than when Eivor first found him in the woods, and the younger man feared that it wouldn’t take much more to send him into a storm. 

“It’s... Dag’s.” The prince admitted. “...I killed him.”

The older man fell into silence, taken aback by his son’s actions.

“You did what?”

“I had to,” Sigurd justified, steeling his voice. “Dag was the traitor. I had to get rid of him before he did anything else. I couldn’t allow him to harm more people.”

“A traitor?” Styrbjorn repeated in disbelief. “Are you positive? What makes you so certain he betrayed us? Did you find any evidence?”

“He confessed his crimes, father. He told me everything. Dag was the one assisting Kjotve. He was the one who informed him of our alliance. Ulfar was right.”

The king didn’t seem convinced. “I see. And was there anyone else around to hear Dag’s confession?”

“...No. It was just me and him.”

Styrbjorn shook his head in disapproval. “Then how can we be so sure that you killed the right man?”

Sigurd stared at his father in bewilderment, finally catching on to the man’s concerns. “...You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, son. But other people may not -- and for good reason, I might add. You just killed one of our own clan members because of a confession that nobody was around to hear. Nobody except for you. How can I accept that as evidence? How am I going to explain Dag’s death to our people? How can I convince them that what you did was not, in fact, murder?”

Sadly, Sigurd was in no state to process things rationally. The king’s doubt only added more fuel to the anguish that was already festering inside him, and his temper quickly took over like a hurricane commanding the seas.

“You can explain to them that I just killed the man responsible for Thora’s death! I killed the man who would’ve thrown the rest of us to the wolves. Had it not been for that rat, this village would still be in one piece. Thora would still be alive. I killed him because it was necessary.”

Styrbjorn was quiet in response, urging Sigurd to fill the silence.

“You think I murdered him out of indulgence? You know how much I loved him, father. He was my brother! I didn’t want to see him dead. But I did what was required to keep our clan safe. I finished what Ulfar started.”

But the king had nothing else to offer other than criticism. “You acted carelessly, Sigurd. There is no honor in slaying a man who cannot defend himself. You know this. If you truly believed Dag was the traitor, you should’ve brought him to me -- not slaughtered him in the woods. I could’ve held a trial to determine his judgement. His crimes would’ve been brought to light.”

“You think we have the time for something like that? Dag may have been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool. If there really was any evidence to find of his collusion with Kjotve, he would’ve destroyed it. We’d be investigating for weeks, if not months!”

“And what if there is evidence? What if we discover that Dag was not the only traitor in our midst? What will we do then, hm?”

Sigurd grew irritated. “We’ll deal with it. Just like I dealt with Dag.”

Styrbjorn sighed in defeat. “You rely too much on impulse, my son. You cannot take matters into your own hands like this. If you are to wear the crown someday, you must learn to respect the ways of our kingdom. A good leader enforces the law with a firm hand, but is never above it.”

The prince didn’t take kindly to that. “You are the last person to dictate what makes a good leader. While I’ve been fighting alongside our warriors on the battlefield, risking my life, you’ve been idling with a bottle in your hand, watching everything unfold! You say I’m reckless, but who else is going to defend your kingdom if not you?”

The older man turned away in shame, causing his son to descend even further into his tirade.

“Killing Dag was the only way to proceed, father. I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other options, but we are at a dead-end here. You don’t want me to act like this? Then you can swing the axe yourself next time!”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Sigurd cut himself off and took a moment to glance at his surroundings, suddenly realizing just how much attention he had drawn to their argument. Everywhere around him, men and women alike gawked at their altercation with a blatant sense of fear in their eyes, alarmed by everything they just heard. Not a single word was uttered amongst the small crowd that had gathered around them, and yet, it felt as if their very thoughts lingered in the air.

Looking at his father, Sigurd stepped away from the other man and slunk to Eivor’s side, backing down as if he were shocked by his own behavior. He appeared to be even more devoid of life now that he had argued with Styrbjorn, and within moments, he was desperately searching for a way out.

“I... I need to be alone.”

In the blink of an eye, Sigurd removed himself from the vicinity and retreated to the longhouse, aching for the solitude of his chambers. He left Styrbjorn and Eivor with nothing more than the company of their own thoughts, and disappeared as if he were smoke being whisked away by the wind.

In the meantime, the two men simply watched the prince vanish in the distance as the crowd began to disperse, granting them the luxury of privacy they so fervently desired. A portion of them already felt somewhat sheepish due to announcing their troubles to the public, and frankly, the only thing Eivor wanted was to lock himself in his room.

Unfortunately for the young man though, Styrbjorn didn’t seem ready to let him go just yet.

“Oh, Sigurd...” the king muttered to himself. “When will that boy learn...?”

Eivor approached the conflicted man, attempting to calm his nerves.

“Forgive him, my lord.” He pleaded. “Grief has befallen Sigurd. He made a great sacrifice for us today, cutting down his own friend like that. It will take him a long time to recover from this.”

Styrbjorn pinched the bridge of his nose out of stress, pacing back and forth in the snow.

“I understand that my son was only trying to protect our clan, but I must ensure he’s prepared to inherit the throne. We are at war, Eivor. There’s no guarantee I’ll be around by the time Kjotve is vanquished. The dawn of Sigurd’s reign could arrive sooner than he expects. He must be ready.”

“He is ready,” The Wolf-Kissed reassured. “He just needs time to heal.”

The king halted in his tracks and glanced at the younger man, inquiring about one other matter.

“Listen, Eivor. I hate to ask you of this considering everything that’s going on, but could you speak to Sigurd for me? I’d feel better knowing he wasn’t dealing with this alone.”

Eivor raised a brow. “Me? Why not you?”

“You’ve witnessed firsthand the animosity that stands between me and my son. Very rarely does Sigurd ever greet me with a smile. Whenever we’re together, it always feels like he’s angry at me, or frustrated. And the worst part is... I can’t even say he’s completely unjustified.”

“What do you mean?”

Styrbjorn sighed regretfully, dropping his gaze to the ground. There was a clear rein of hesitancy holding him back, but he knew that in order to help his son the best, he’d need to offer his full candor. 

“Perhaps he’s already told you this, but... ever since Sigurd’s mother passed away, I’ve found myself continuously drawn to the allure of drink. It’s something that’s haunted me for years now. I’ve tried many times to put down the bottle, but in the end, it always ends up trapping me in its clutches. I’m not proud to admit it, but it’s the truth.”

Eivor nodded in remembrance. “Sigurd has told me about this, yes.”

“I’m not surprised. He often speaks fondly of you. It’s clear you’ve gained my son’s unwavering trust. Unfortunately however, I cannot say the same for myself. My relationship with Sigurd has suffered due to my addiction. I have not always been the father he deserves, nor given him the guidance that he needed.”

The king’s stone facade faltered briefly. “It breaks my heart to consider it, but I fear that my own son views me as a nuisance more than anything. A lingering shackle that keeps holding him back. Sometimes I even wonder if the boy hates me.”

The young man’s expression softened with sympathy. “...No, Styrbjorn. No. He  doesn’t hate you. Even Sigurd himself has told me that he loves you. He just feels ignored.”

That caught Styrbjorn’s attention. “Ignored?”

“Yes. The last time he and I spoke about this issue, he expressed that he often feels like you don’t heed his advice; that his words tend to fall on deaf ears. Sigurd wants to help you overcome this, but he says you won’t let him.”

“It’s... true that I haven’t always kept my promises. I cannot deny that. But this battle is not so easily won.”

Eivor gave him an understanding look. “And Sigurd is aware of that. He knows you won’t be able to discard this overnight. But he just needs to see that you’re making some kind of effort. That will be more than enough for him. Trust me.”

Styrbjorn took the man’s advice to heart and quietly thought to himself for a moment, evidently shaken by this revelation. It was clear that a part of him drowned in guilt due to the discovery of Sigurd’s frustrations, but a hint of relief also twinkled in his eye now that he knew the boy still loved him.

“...I see.” The king said sincerely, gazing at the young man with an immense amount of gratitude. “Thank you for telling me this, Eivor. The path to reconciliation will be one laden with difficulties, but at least I can see where I must go. I will think on what you’ve said, and I’ll speak to Sigurd when the moment is right. In the meantime, could you talk to him for now? I fear that my presence would only amplify his anger.”

“Of course,” Eivor said with a firm nod. “I’ll check on him for you.”

“I appreciate it. Stay safe, my boy. Our struggles are far from over. I pray that the gods will extend their mercy to you from now on, and that you recover quickly from today’s tragedies. Peace is a distant reality for us at the moment, but not unreachable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE LONGHOUSE

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Wandering through the longhouse’s dimly lit halls, Eivor followed the trail of torches as he made his way to Sigurd’s chambers, overwhelmed by the looming silence that was broken only by his footsteps.

The adamant walls of the building had blocked out any intrusive sounds --  including that of the howling wind -- and as a result, nothing but the low crackling of fire was present to accompany the thoughts screaming in Eivor’s head.

He just didn’t know how to feel anymore. When he first discovered Thora’s body, the agony that overcame him was so fierce it almost crippled him entirely. He felt like the gods had ripped a hole in the very fabric of the world, and the impact of Ulfar’s death only pressed harder on the weight that was already resting on his shoulders.

Still, he couldn’t imagine what Sigurd was experiencing. Even though Eivor was no stranger to the atrocities of war, he had never been cursed with the responsibility of striking down his own brother. The mere idea of putting himself in the same position with Randvi was enough to crush him, and he worried that the guilt would twist the prince’s spirit into something much darker. He just hoped he could help the man before it was too late.

“...Sigurd?” The Wolf-Kissed said gently, knocking on the surface of his door. “It’s me, Eivor. Can I come in?”

A soft rustle emitted from the inside, followed up by the muffled thuds of Sigurd’s boots. The door swung open after a few moments, and standing in front of him, Eivor saw the prince, looking somber as ever.

“Eivor...?” He whispered, still afflicted by the ordeal with Dag. “You’re here?”

“Yes. I know you said you wished to be alone, but... I was worried. You disappeared from our sight before we could even get a word in. I wanted to check on you. I hope I’m not intruding.” The younger man paused for a second. “...How are you feeling now?”

Sigurd’s gaze fell to the floor. “I... I don’t know, Eivor.” His posture slouched in remorse. “...I’m not doing well.”

“Of course not,” Eivor said in understanding. “Dag was like a brother to you. No one could do what you did and come out unscathed.”

The prince scoffed. “No one except for my father, apparently.” He turned away from the door and stepped aside, allowing Eivor to come in as he spoke. “Can you believe that man? We are this close to winning the war against Kjotve, and he’s more concerned about due process.”

Eivor followed Sigurd into his chambers, closing the door behind them.

“Your father just wants to make sure you’re ready to rule the kingdom.”

“Well, there won’t be a kingdom to rule if we don’t catch Kjotve soon enough. My father says I’m careless in my behavior, but I don’t recall the last time I saw him lifting a sword. What else does he expect me to do?” 

Sigurd took a seat on the edge of his bed and sighed, completely drained of all vigor. “...I know I’m not perfect, Eivor. I know I still have much to learn. But everything I do is for the betterment of this clan. Why can’t my father see that?”

Eivor sat beside his lover, placing a comforting hand on his back. “He does see it. He may not be the best at getting his message across, but trust me when I say your father knows you have good intentions. He just worries that you’ll act with too much haste.”

The prince’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Is that so? And what makes you so certain of that?”

“He and I talked after you left,” the younger man admitted. “He wanted to speak with you personally, but he thought that his company would only aggravate you more.” Eivor frowned in empathy. “...Your father thinks you hate him, Sigurd.”

Sigurd’s entire mood seemed to shift at the response, and for a split-second, it almost looked like he had completely forgotten about the rage he harbored. 

“He does...?”

“Well, he suspects it,” Eivor clarified, “but he said that things are always tense between you two. There never seems to be a moment of peace whenever you’re together.”

The prince shook his head, eager to dispel his beliefs.

“...No,” he said softly. “No. I don’t hate him. I love my father, in fact. I just hate the things he does sometimes.” Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want to keep him safe like I promised my mother I would. It brings me no joy to see him endure any pain or hardship, but...” he let out a breath of frustration, “...he never listens to me! Whenever I try to help him, he only pushes me away. Once, I even dumped all our ale into the river to stop him from drinking, and he broke into a fury unlike anything I’d ever seen.”

A grip of fear took hold of Sigurd’s voice. “...That stuff is poison, Eivor. It’s going to kill him someday. The last thing I want is to see my father step into an early grave, but how am I supposed to help him when he won’t even help himself?”

Eivor brought his partner into a hug, allowing his chin to sit on the man’s shoulder.

“You need to be more patient, Sigurd,” he advised. “Ultimately, your father’s recovery is his own responsibility, but a hostile relationship won’t do anything for either of you. He’s still trying to move on from your mother’s death. Just like you’re trying to move on from Dag’s. Give him time.”

The prince let out a sigh and warmed up to Eivor’s embrace, finally cooling off from the heat of his argument with Styrbjorn.

“I... I suppose you’re right.” He conceded, turning to face the younger man. “...Okay, Eivor. I’ll try to make things right. Not just for my father, but also for you. I promise.”

Eivor smiled at that. “Good. It won’t be easy, I know. But it’ll be worth it.”

Sigurd sat up from his position and laid a hand on the Wolf-Kissed’s lap, diverting the focus of their conversation elsewhere.

“Anyway, enough about me. How are you doing, my love? I’m... so sorry about Thora and Ulfar.”

Eivor separated their hug and stared bleakly at the floor, trying to keep himself together.

“...I still can’t believe they’re gone,” he said. “I thought I’d be used to losing people like this after what happened to my parents, but it hurts just as much as it did all those years ago. Only this time, I feel like I could’ve done something. I wish I did.”

A tinge of regret blanketed Sigurd’s face. “Are you angry that I held you back during the holmgang?”

“No,” Eivor answered truthfully. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. You were only trying to preserve Ulfar’s honor, and to be honest, I’m grateful that you did. As much as I wish I could’ve saved that man, I’d feel even worse if he never reached Valhalla. I’m going to miss him more than words can describe, but at least I know he’s at peace now. At least I know he’s reunited with his wife.” A cloud of sorrow fogged the young man’s eyes. “...I just wish I could say the same for Thora.”

Sigurd’s nose crinkled at the memory of discovering Thora’s body. “Gorm is even more of a coward than his father. It’s a shame what he did to her. He will get the punishment he deserves, Eivor. I won’t let him get away with it.”

The Wolf-Kissed found some solace in the prince’s reassurance. “Thank you. I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Thora back, but it seems only fitting that the man who murdered her joins her side in Helheim.”

“And he will. One way or another.”

Standing up from the bed, Eivor straightened his tunic and inched towards the door, preparing to take his leave. He didn’t want to abandon Sigurd’s side just yet, but he also wanted to see how his family was coping before the day came to an end.

“Anyway, I’ll give you some space, Sigurd.” He said, pressing a hand against the door’s surface. “I imagine you probably want to be alone right now, and there are some things I need to take care of before the funeral starts.”

Contrary to his belief however, the prince didn’t seem to share his sentiments. “Actually, I’d like you to stick around a little longer. If you’re willing to stay, that is.”

Eivor halted mid-action, unable to hide his interest. “You would?”

“Your company is one of the few things that offers me peace nowadays, Eivor. If you want to take this conversation further, you’re more than welcome here.”

The blonde viking took a hesitant glance outside the door, still carrying the same concerns he had lugged around for the past two weeks.

“But what if someone finds us? Don’t you think it’ll strike them as odd that I’ve been with you for so long?”

Sigurd let out a fatigued breath, slowly rising from his bed. “...I don’t care anymore. All this death sitting on our doorstep has shown me just how precious life truly is. I have no idea if I’ll even survive this war, Eivor. I’m not going to spend what could possibly be my final days pretending that I don’t feel anything for you.”

He walked up to his companion, leaving no more than a few inches between them. “I love you, Eivor. And I’m not ashamed to say it.”

Eivor froze at the confession and simply stared at Sigurd in silence, entirely at a loss for words. It wasn’t too long ago that the prince nearly tore himself apart trying to keep their affair a secret, and yet, he was practically declaring his love from the top of the world now. He no longer cared about the rumors that would spread, or the judgmental glances he’d receive. He was finally done hiding, and Eivor wondered if it was time he felt the same.

“Forgive me,” the younger man replied, “I... I don’t know what to say. I just never expected to hear you say those words.”

Sigurd chuckled. “Neither did I. I used to berate myself without pause when I first realized I was growing attached to you. I tried so desperately to shift my attention to Randvi for the sake of this alliance, but... it never worked. Things only deteriorated for me, and as a result, my life turned into a never-ending battle. I was miserable.”

Eivor smirked affectionately. “And now?”

Sigurd returned the grin. “Now, I know what I want at last. I can finally see why the gods led me here, and I’m done pushing against this fate that the Nornir have woven for me. I’m done with living a lie. My only question is... do you feel the same?”

The Wolf-Kissed let his hand drop from the door and focused completely on the man in front of him, peering fondly into his eyes.

“Of course I do. You’ve always been there for me ever since you first arrived at Bjornheimr. The circumstances under which we had to meet will forever leave a scar on this clan, but I can say for certain that our encounter was a blessing.” Eivor beamed brightly at the prince, holding his cheek in his palm. “I love you too, Sigurd. And nothing will ever change that.”

Sigurd’s expression radiated with a vibrant joy upon hearing that, and he pulled Eivor even closer to him, gently pushing him against the wall. He pecked a small kiss on the younger man’s neck and held him securely by the waist, allowing himself to forget about his troubles for just a brief moment.

“Then let us cast away the burdens of our struggles for tonight, and cherish our final hours of peace together. The stability of this war is precarious enough as it is. If anything happens to us, I don’t want to leave this world with regrets. Freya gave you to me as a gift the day we met, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

Eivor closed his eyes in bliss and linked his arms around Sigurd, caressing him in his embrace. The prince’s touch soothed his skin like ice on a fresh burn, and for the first time in a while, he was able to let his mind roam free from its continuous torment. The bond they shared was something that provided Eivor with a tranquility unlike anything else, and he silently begged the gods to keep his lover safe.

“From here to Valhalla,” Eivor whispered warmly, “I’ll always be at your side, Sigurd.”

[gwenbrightly]

The Great Flower Chain Making Competition

Written for the @ninjago-calendar project. The Ninja take Lloyd on a picnic and Cole teaches everyone how to make flower chains.

“He needs normalcy,” Lloyd heard Nya tell his uncle in a hushed voice. He paused outside of his uncle’s room to hear what would come next.  

“But his training-” Wu started in, but Kai interrupted him. 

“But nothing, Master Wu. You can’t expect him to adjust to being the Green Ninja right away without problems. He’s just a kid, so let him be one.” 

There was silence for a moment and Lloyd could easily imagine Nya giving Wu her signature you’d better do as I say or else look to prove her brother’s point. He waited to hear the response, not quite sure what they were talking about, but knowing it involved him. 

“I… suppose you have a point,” Wu admitted eventually, “you can do what you asked on one condition: Everyone stays nearby and return to the Bounty immediately if I contact you.” 

“That’s technically two conditions,” said Nya, pointedly. Wu sighed.  

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

“We won’t,” Kai assured him and then the door opened before Lloyd could disappear around the corner. Nya raised an eyebrow when she saw him.  

“Lloyd, were you… eavesdropping?” 

“N-no,” he insisted at first, but both siblings immediately saw through his lie. 

“How much did you hear, Lloyd?” Kai asked quietly. Lloyd shrugged.  

“I dunno. Not much. But you guys really didn’t have to get on Wu’s case for me over training. I’m fine.” Another lie.  

“Considering we literally just got you back from a group of traitorous snakes, I’d say it’d be completely understandable if you weren’t fine. And besides, it’s our duty to protect you. Even from your uncle,” Kai stated fiercely, ruffling Lloyd’s hair. Nya nodded in agreement.  

“Which is why we convinced him to give everyone the day off so we can take you to do something fun!” she announced. Lloyd blinked.  

“Fun?” he repeated blankly. He had to admit that doing something to get his mind off of, well, everything, sounded appealing. But there was so much to be done now that he knew he was the Green Ninja. Could he even afford a day off? Lloyd wasn’t sure how all this destined savior business worked.  

“That’s right! We’re going on a picnic!”  

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lloyd questioned, not sharing Nya’s enthusiasm, “I mean, the Serpentine probably want revenge for what happened at the fire temple.” 

“Sure it is. We’ll just have to be careful,” Nya assured him at the same time as Kai insisted, “We only have good ideas!” 

They rolled their eyes at each other, but neither backed down.  

“We’re not taking no for an answer, Lloyd. Fresh air is good for shrimps like you,” Kai continued, giving Lloyd a smile. Lloyd knew he was probably right, though he didn’t know much about fresh air. Darkley’s had always been kind of stuffy.  

Nya looked at him expectantly. He bit his lip.  

“Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I’m telling Pythor to eat you first,” Lloyd relented. A few hours away  couldn’t do any harm.  

_________________________

“I think we’re almost there,” Cole announced. Lloyd could just make out the clearing up ahead. After gathering the rest of the ninja and packing lunch, which had been a hectic affair, the group had set out to find the perfect picnic spot. Cole claimed to “know a place” and the others had eagerly followed his lead.  Lloyd had never been on a picnic before, so he wasn’t really sure what they were looking for, but hopefully it would all make sense sooner or later.  

“Awesome,” Nya said, running her hands together enthusiastically.  

“Yeah,” Kai agreed, sounding less excited, “what did you put in this thing, Zane? My arms are starting to get tired.” 

“Oh, just the picnic essentials.” Zane called over his shoulder. Kai held the picnic basket in front of him, giving it a distaste glare.  

“You sure you didn’t pack the kitchen sink?” 

The nindroid deigned not to reply and Kai continued to mutter complaints as they continued down the trail. Deciding to have mercy on Kai after a few minutes (he was a little tired of the complaining), Lloyd asked,  

“Want me to take it for a sec?” 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Cole cut in, “we’re here.” 

“Thank goodness,” Kai declared, staggering forward to set the basket down on a tree stump. Lloyd rolled his eyes at his dramatics before wandering off to explore while Nya and Jay spread out the ginormous picnic blanket they had stolen from Wu. 

 He found a stream not far from where Kai had left the picnic basket. Sitting down amongst the reeds, Lloyd watched the water ripple and swirl. He could see tiny minnows swimming in and out of the shadows. What other creatures might be lurking nearby?  

Maybe after they ate, Kai would be interested in helping him find out. There could be water snakes, turtles, or maybe even frogs! Frogs liked marshy areas – didn’t they?  

Lloyd could just imagine the look on Jay’s face when he and Kai brought back the biggest, slimiest frog they could find. He giggled maniacally as he skipped a stone across the stream. It bounced a few times before sinking with a soft plunk. The minnows scattered. Lloyd sighed happily, watching them.  

There was something so peaceful about this place. About the way the gentle breeze tickled the flowers that covered the meadow. Maybe he should pick some for Nya. Girls liked flowers, didn’t they? There hadn’t been many girls at Darkleys.  

Of course, there was always the possibility that she was allergic to flowers. After all, Nya had once told him that she had a perfume allergy. He should probably ask Kai about that before he went and picked too many flowers for her…  

“Lloyd! It’s time for lunch.”  

Someone called, interrupting his thoughts. Plans for pestering his honorary siblings would have to wait. Lloyd sidled over to the picnic blanket and plopped down next to Kai, who handed him a plate.  

“So, Cole. How did you know about this place?” Jay inquired as he set out the sandwich supplies. Cole smiled wistfully and explained,  

“My parents brought me here a few times when I was a kid. We would play in the stream for hours and then Mom would teach me how to make flower chains and force Pop and I to wear them. It was really fun.” 

“Aww. That sounds nice,” Nya commented. She held out a jar of peanut butter to Lloyd, who happily accepted it. He slathered some onto his bread, listening to Cole share more stories about his childhood. Lloyd wished his own parents had been around to take him on picnics and have water fights with him. But that wasn’t the way the world worked.  

With a sigh, Lloyd took a bite of his sandwich. Just the right ratio of jelly to peanut butter. Perfect.  

“You mentioned flower chains, right?” Jay asked through a mouthful of food. It sounded more like he was saying, “Ooh entond oor Jane’s ight?” 

“Yeah?” Cole replied, raising an eyebrow. Jay swallowed before continuing.  

“This might sound kinda silly, but… I’ve always wondered how people make those.” 

“Oh, it’s easy!” Cole announced with a grin, “want me to teach you after we finish eating?” 

“I, for one, would love to learn,” Nya stated. She took a bite of jello salad and glanced around at the others, who nodded.  

“As would I,” Zane agreed serenely. Kai smirked and said,  

“Sure. Why not. But I say we make it a competition.” 

“A competition?” Lloyd asked curiously, his eyes widening. That sounded promising.

“Yeah! I’m thinking we each make a flower chain, and whoever has the best one wins. We can, like, have Master Wu judge them when we get back to the Bounty, or something,” Kai explained.

“That sounds kinda fun,” Nya decided, before turning to Lloyd, “whaddya think? You in?”

Lloyd shrugged noncommittally, but ultimately agreed to join in. He had nothing better to do and was awfully curious about these… flower chains, anyway. What was the point of making chains from flowers? It wasn’t like you could use such a chain to trap enemies or anything exciting. Oh, well. He knew this entire trip was just to distract him from Green Ninja stuff. So it was probably okay if there were no practical applications for flower chains that he could use to cause chaos later on.  

The small boy shoved what was left of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed messily as he gazed around the meadow. There sure were a lot of flowers to choose from. He wondered how they would know which were best to use. And how long it was going to take the others to finish their food. Lloyd was starting to get bored of sitting there with nothing to do. 

“All right, listen up, people. What you’re looking for is flowers with nice long stems, like this,” Cole finally announced. He held up a daffodil. “That makes it easier to weave them together. Once everyone has their supplies, meet back here, and I’ll explain the rest. Everybody ready?” 

“Aye, aye, captain!” Jay said. He gave a teasing salute and trotted off across the meadow. Cole rolled his eyes as he watched him go.  

“Apparently, we have started,” Zane observed with a wry smile. The others laughed. 

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say the competition has begun.” Cole agreed. 

“Well? What are we waiting for?” Nya asked before nudging Lloyd, “We can’t let Jay beat us!”

She grabbed his arm and drug him off toward the opposite end of the meadow from where Jay had gone.

“Are teams even legal?” Lloyd heard Kai ask in the distance. 

“I never said they weren’t.” came the response. Nya giggled and came to a stop. 

“This looks like a good place to start picking flowers,” she said, bending over to examine a patch of irises. Lloyd nodded and plucked one, careful to make sure the stem was long enough to meet Cole’s standards. 

“Perfect.” Nya smiled approvingly. She began gathering an armful of flowers of her own. Red, then pink, then white, then purple. The two soon had sizable clumps of irises and various other flowers they had found growing nearby. Ready for the next phase of the competition, they returned to the picnic blanket just as the others began heading back. 

“Congratulations, competitors. You have completed the first challenge,” Cole stated in his best announcer voice. The rest of the group cheered with much more vigor than was truly necessary. They were all quite invested in the competition by this point. 

“Now you must learn how to make flower chains from the pro himself. Watch as I demonstrate,” Cole continued. He showed them how to weave the flowers together by taking clumps of 3 and braiding them in an intricate pattern. Next, he showed them how to connect new flowers to the braid by counting several stems as a single strand while braiding. 

The project had mixed results. Cole kept having to jump in to assist Kai before he could tear his flowers apart in frustration (they wouldn’t stay in place), while Jay’s weaving was so complex that even Zane couldn’t make sense of his strategy. 

Nya and Lloyd were hard at work designing a pattern of colors that was extra appealing to the eye when they realized that they had neglected to collect any blue flowers. Nya nodded her head meaningfully towards Jay’s pile of flowers, which contained a variety of blue wildflowers. Lloyd grinned and swapped spots with her, giving her easy access to Jay’s stash.

“Hey, Jay- I seem to be having trouble with this part… mind helping me out?” she asked ever so innocently. Jay flashed her a smile and scooted closer to her before launching into a tirade about the art of braiding. 

“Mhm. Oh, that makes sense,” Nya commented, pretending to be interested as she slipped a few of the flowers from Jay’s pile into Lloyd’s waiting hands. She continued to do this for several minutes before Jay finally caught on. 

“Hey. Hey wait! You can’t do that!” he protested in frustration. Nya simply smiled. 

“All is fair in love and war, Jay.”

“Yeah!” Lloyd agreed, nodding vigorously. Jay glared at him. 

“Do you even know what that means?” he asked. 

“Nope!” Lloyd said, happily adding a blue flower to his chain. All in all, the picnic had been way more exciting than he’d expected. 

[dragonturtle2]

Charting Penny's course, on the eve of the V8 finale.

I just realized that one of the lengthiest essays I ever posted online was never copied or cross posted over here to Tumblr.  A huge mistake on my part.  For one, as a big fan of transhumanism, I got a kind of enjoyment mapping out the distinctions Penny Poledina’s series-wide arc, even with the flaws.  Two, I’m actually kind of proud of the predictions I made at the end.  Not because I was correct about one of them; I remarked how I’d LIKE Rooster Teeth to do something, not that they’d actually take the shot.  But some of the stuff I thought of was fun, and I do feel a bit of validation for having my thoughts line up with the actual writers; especially in lieu of how heated other people’s reactions were to something sorrowful and unexpected.  

Tonight I had been responding to a critique I'd found earlier on Tumblr. They had remarked that Penny's conflict in Volumes 2, 7 and 8 were just recycling the question of whether Penny was a real girl. That doing so was just boring as heck, when the question has been answered firmly with Penny becoming the Winter Maiden. I thought the question of “what makes a person a person, and not just a simulated pattern of behaviors with the instinct to survive?” was broad enough to get a few arcs’ worth of visitation.  But I thought just responding with that one lengthy sentence could come off as belittling sarcasm. So tried to offer up an my actual interpretation and clear opinion. I got this monstrosity.

Volume 1 has Penny reaching out to make friends, V2 is finally admitting her robot nature to someone and vocalizing her fears about being a real girl.  Volume 3 dangles the upcoming conflict of her wanting to exercise independent action, step away from the national military organization that bankrolled and housed her, and go to Beacon with her friends.  But that got cut short.

Volume 7 picks up the thread of Penny’s independent actions.  Not just with the ability to disagree with or full-on disobey orders, but her own value system and initiative.  Not only is she asking Winter about how to make decisions in life, she is also silently (and not-so-silently) judging whether Winter is morally right, or even truly happy with her own choices.  When she takes Freya’s hand, she asks something that no one has probably said to Freya in awhile: “Are you OK?”

Volume 8 is focused on the things being taken from her.  Her previous family-unit-facsimile of James, Winter and the Ace Ops have labeled her a traitor and are now hunting her.  Being targeted as the Maiden makes her distance herself from her friends, so they aren’t further harmed .  In doing that, she also leaves behind her previous dedication, protecting Mantle, to launch Amity Tower and assist in the bigger picture of warning the entire planet.  Then in the pursuit of that goal she damages herself, pushes her body to it’s limit, and says goodbye to her father.  

Volume 8 might seem to backpedal, and spend much of the season emphasizing how inhuman Penny is. That’s the point.  After Freya essentially canonizes Penny as human, with her ‘blessing,’ Penny’s new identity (to herself and the audience) is arrested in the most traumatic ways possible.  Her body is peeled back and cut open.  Her schematics are passed around and assessed by characters and factions more than ever.  The hacking is the Atlas military complex literally claiming ownership over her, exploiting the body and code they created alongside Pietro.  (In contrast with the earlier consensual control and teamwork with Pietro, which even then she hardly enjoyed).  How much pain can you inflict on a person until they devolve, or abandon rational thought?  Little wonder Penny ends up begging the team to end her own life.  She’s now taken Winter’s role from Volume 7, her self-esteem having sunken even lower.  “My life doesn’t matter!“

When that ghastly moment was (temporarily) resolved with a quick revelation and Jaune’s Semblance, it was a moment of mixed feelings for me in an episode I otherwise loved.  But I really came around to it afterword.  They have to head to Vault for a permanent fix pretty much immediately, so it doesn’t feel like the writers used Jaune to kick the can down the road until they felt like tackling it.  A very direct benefit is that by pausing Penny’s affliction, Penny gains the ability to actually have a conversation with people, to have scenes beyond just desperately wrestling her.   It also spared us the repeated dialogue of “I must go to the Vault.  I don’t want to!  I must - I don’t! - I MUST- I DON’T!”  Seriously, that routine was wearing thin.  

Whether any fans predicted Jaune’s Semblance being able to help or not, I’m pleased when characters are able to quickly conceive applications of in-universe fictional powers.  This is such a refreshing improvement over how CRWBY previously couldn’t bring Ruby to even ASK about the Silver Eyes that put her in a coma.  

There were missteps along the way.  Ruby really should have reacted more to her friend coming back to life; RT leaning on the Fourth Wall doesn’t fully remove the sting. ("It seems we will have to wait!”)  We also never see any of our protagonists outside of Ruby even react to the revelation of a robotic life form.  When they meet Penny again at V7′s start, apparently ALL of them, even Oscar, were so acquainted with Penny’s story that none of them had any questions for her the entire Volume.  There was no sense of betrayed trust, or trauma from watching one friend be ripped apart by another.  These are disappointments, but not deal breakers.  Now, I want to talk about how post-Ambrosius Penny may fit in with the rest of the story.  Maybe it’s stupid of me to try to get this out by 4 in the morning the day the finale drops, but I’m on a role, and I want to get my ideas out in the open before they’re tainted by hindsight.  Otherwise I won’t feel like even finishing this.  

I’m not going to launch into a tangent with the metaphysical mechanics on whether Penny’s new body would have ‘logically’ been conjured or not.  (For the record I think it works).  I just want to talk about the message the show is conveying, and what they could do with it.  My base assumption is that Cinder is going to get the Winter Maiden power.  It would be great way to coincide with her (GASP) actual character development this volume.  But more importantly, if she doesn’t succeed in her goal, and get an upgrade to compete with our leveled-up protagonists, I can’t see how she can be an interesting or threatening villain going forward.  A few ways this can end for Penny:

Pietro could give up the last bit of his life to bring her back.  He’d probably need to get assistance from Abrosius, since he’s lacking in equipment; he’s a brilliant scientist, so explaining it certainly wouldn’t be an obstacle.  Maybe Penny would be back to being a synthetic, maybe she remains organic.  Either way, it’s a compromise with having a functional villain, while keeping around a fandom darling.  Personally, I think RT needs to evoke the spirit of Volume 3, and make people cry.

Actually killing Penny would be bold and stand-out.  By taking away Penny’s function of a core that can be salvaged (as explained at the start of Volume 7), and having her body get incinerated just like Pyrrha, RT can fully signal “This character is dead, and can’t be resurrected.”  The heart break would be brilliant, with Penny getting to know the joys of an organic body just to be immediately ripped away from life.  This would beautifully parallel with General Ironwood.  James clamped down on human emotion because he thought it would give him the strength to stand against the darkness.  Penny’s friends made her MORE human in a loving act of rescue, but now have to watch as she dies like any other human.  Both characters would be cautionary tales regarding the Atlas Arc’s question of Trust.  To leave yourself open.

Alrighty, now that I’ve gotten to feel like an intellectual by making some proclamations of doom, I want to throw out a tinfoil hat theory that actually combines the two previous versions.  What’s fascinated me for years, and the show hasn’t re-visited, is the nature of Cinder’s parasite.  Can Cinder talk to it?  Will it begin gaining sentience?  What’s relevant to Penny is what exactly this thing DOES.  When it comes to it’s soul-power-absorbing function, we’ve never actually seen it’s full extent.  The process with Amber was interrupted, with half the power just zipping over to Cinder after Amber expired.  With Raven and Penny’s power, Cinder’s arm only got a little taste of them both, since both of their captures were unsuccessful.  What if Cinder’s parasite can absorb more than raw power?  Pinnochio is eventually swallowed by a monstrous beast.  We were all sure it would be The Whale.  But what if it’s Cinder?

I’ll be watching the finale in about 5 hours.  The idea that I could be correct about something that takes everyone else off guard (Penny’s death) has an electric feeling, and I totally understand why people can get hung up on the stories they compose in their head.  But I don’t want to start thinking any of MY ideas HAVE to come true for me to get joy from whatever happens to Penny or Volume 8.  Regardless, reviewing character arcs that preceded wherever we are in the present is always worthwhile.