#i wants laud to put her in her place

[gracewolf43]

guys, im obsessed with bratty imogen help

i love gen so much

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 3

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

A/N: Steve Rogers is older than Bucky here.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You arrived at the new apartment, feeling a small sense of relief for finally being under a different roof than Caroline’s. The thought of enduring the same torture as before made your skin crawl.

As you settled in, you broke the silence. “Your mom offered the attorney to us.” You remembered how you had insisted the divorce attorney make it as quick and painless as possible. “Why didn’t you finalize it?”

Bucky’s gaze remained steady. “Not once did I think you were actually going to leave me.”

“There’s no marriage between us,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “If you’d finalized it, you could’ve easily married a woman your mother approved of.”

Flashback Start

You recalled every time Caroline mentioned another woman’s name as if they were more suited for Bucky. “You know, Rachel just graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in social politics,” she had said at the rehearsal dinner.

Then, on your wedding day, as you and Bucky sat together, trying to enjoy the celebration, Caroline approached, holding hands with a stunning woman. “Bucky, look who’s here? Katherine just arrived from London.”

Caroline’s voice dripped with approval. “Both of them went to the same law school.”

You clenched the fork in your hand so hard you thought it might snap.

Why the hell was she introducing another woman to you on your wedding night?

Did she expect you and Bucky to have a threesome with Katherine?

From that moment, you knew your place—an outsider who didn’t come from the pedigree Caroline so desperately wanted for her son.

When you finally left the house, you remembered her raising her champagne glass with a smirk. “I always knew you weren’t the one.”

Flashback End

“They need someone with a spotless record,” Bucky said, breaking you from your thoughts.

You stood there, your emotions a mix of anger and disbelief.

“I’m not making excuses for you. I know the old me wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t be the man you could rely on,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

He looked at you with a desperation that caught you off guard. “You could poison my drink, stab me in my sleep. I wouldn’t fight it. I’d let you.”

His eyes, usually so confident and composed, were now filled with a deep, pained sincerity. The weight of his guilt seemed to crush him, and the shadows of remorse darkened his features. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. How could he say that so casually? What kind of twisted love was this?

“That’s how much I need you,” he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re using me,” you accused, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness.

Bucky didn’t deny it. “Like I said, it’s a business relationship. But I’ve trusted you from the beginning. Put my faith in you.”

He reached out, taking your hands in his, holding them together like a prayer. “And I hope we can work together. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to work in the White House.””

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The following day, you met Steve, the future Presidential candidate. He greeted you warmly, his genuine smile easing some of the tension you felt. You’d met Steve and his wife, Peggy, a few times before—honest people who never treated you like you didn’t belong. Steve had even defended you whenever Caroline or others looked down on you for not being in the same league as them.

"I’m so glad you’re here," Steve said, clasping your hand. "When did you arrive?"

You chuckled softly. "Well, when three Secret Service agents showed up at my door, who was I to say no?"

Steve chuckled too, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly. "Let’s talk."

You walked together, the air thick with unspoken words. "I know it’s difficult for you to be here. I owe you big time," Steve began sincerely. He had witnessed your marriage crumble, and despite his and Peggy’s best efforts to support you and Bucky, things had fallen apart.

You sighed. "What confuses me is, why me? He could’ve chosen another woman, someone way more qualified."

Steve leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "To be honest, I think you’re the best option. He probably won’t show it, but Bucky was happy when he heard you were coming."

You scoffed, glancing over at Bucky, who was watching the two of you from a distance. "Impossible."

As you scanned the room, you spotted someone familiar—your brother, Tim. Excusing yourself from Steve, you made your way over to him.

"I’m glad you’re here," Tim said, his voice filled with warmth, though his eyes carried a weight of their own.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I can’t believe you. You knew what I went through, and yet you’re working with him? You sucked up to him."

"Look at me," Tim said firmly.

You glanced down at him, seeing the determination in his gaze.

"Who’s going to hire a disabled person like me?" Tim who seated on his wheelchair, his voice wavered slightly as he spoke. He had been born with both legs, but when bone cancer struck his left leg, the doctors recommended amputation to stop it from spreading. That surgery had shattered his dreams of becoming a professional tennis player.

"It was James who offered me a job," he emphasized, "with a high salary."

Tim continued, "You can keep your anger, but face it, Y/N—they won’t pay the bills. For people like me, I need more money to survive in this world."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Bucky appeared beside you.

"Hi, Tim."

"Hey," Tim replied.

"I'm going to steal your sister for a bit." Bucky turned to you. "Our next schedule is couple’s therapy," he said, his voice calm but authoritative, cutting the conversation short.

You hated this part. The thought of attending therapy with Bucky made your stomach twist with unease. You shot Tim one last look, a mixture of concern and frustration in your eyes, before following Bucky out of the room.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

As you and Bucky sat across from Aiden, the therapist, the atmosphere was thick with unresolved tension. The room was simple yet comfortable, with soft, neutral tones that were supposed to be calming but did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling within you. You could feel the weight of Bucky's presence beside you, a familiar heaviness that both comforted and suffocated you.

Aiden leaned forward, his expression neutral but attentive. "So, what are you feeling right now?"

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. "I don’t think I have the courage to live another day in his family. His mother is the devil spawn. Even seeing her shadow triggers me." The words spilled out of you, raw and unfiltered, a reflection of the years of pain and resentment you'd kept bottled up.

Aiden nodded, his gaze shifting to Bucky. "And what about you, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky's eyes remained fixed on a spot on the floor, his voice steady but lacking its usual conviction. "I didn’t think that way. As long as we stick together, we can get through everything." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You turned to look at him, disbelief and anger simmering beneath your calm facade. "From the beginning, we should’ve never gotten married. You only focus on yourself, never bothering to look behind you. Me, trying my best to fit into your circles."

Your voice wavered, the painful truth of your words cutting through the silence like a knife. You had always known you were out of his league—young and innocent, believing that love could conquer all.

But you had been wrong, and the reality of that mistake was too much to bear.

His mother’s voice echoed in your mind, the countless times she’d told you that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him.

"Your mother was right. I don’t deserve you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s expression tightened, his guilt etched into every line of his face. "I’m sorry. I really am sorry." His voice cracked, the weight of his regret finally breaking through.

He had never wanted this—to see you hurt, to see you broken because of him and his family. But the damage was done, and the guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.

Aiden observed the exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "I see that you’re the victim here, ma’am. And your former mother-in-law is the main reason why." He glanced at Bucky, his voice firm. "Mr. Barnes, your mother hurt her deeply, and now you must do everything in your power to make amends."

Bucky nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "I will. I'll do anything to erase the hurt you’ve received from her." The sincerity in his voice was palpable, but it was clear that the guilt weighed heavily on him. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from his mother’s venom, and that failure haunted him.

Aiden’s voice softened, but there was a steely resolve in his words. "Use this pain, both of you. Let it fuel you to confront Caroline, to reclaim your strength. Don’t let her win. Turn this pain into power."

As you sat there, the enormity of the situation began to sink in. You had been through so much, and the path ahead was uncertain. You had expected to loathe the couple’s therapy, but surprisingly, it turned out to be a beneficial experience.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After the couple's therapy, the silence between you and Bucky was palpable, each of you grappling with the raw emotions that had surfaced.

The therapy had stripped away your filters, leaving you both exposed—your anger and frustration flowing freely. Bucky remained stoic, absorbing your harsh words with an almost resigned patience.

Returning to the Barnes household, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The room was filled with Bucky’s family: his parents, Julius and Caroline; his brother, Shawn, who struggled with cocaine and felt diminished by his inability to meet Caroline’s lofty expectations; and Hazel, Bucky’s sister and Nate’s mother.

Hazel, having felt overshadowed as the spare child, had chosen a career in fashion to escape the constant comparison to Bucky, who was seen as the golden child.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Shawn and Hazel, both of whom shared your misery under Caroline’s disdain. But that sympathy was tempered by their enjoyment of watching you suffer, thanks to their mother’s contempt.

Greg, a family friend, was the bearer of the news that the whole family would attend the upcoming convention event.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said firmly, your tone clipped.

“Why… why?��� Greg asked, confused.

Caroline rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Here we go.”

Bucky tried to interject, “Don’t…”

You cut him off with a steely gaze. “After that consultation, you still want to continue this?”

Caroline's eyes narrowed. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”

Shawn chuckled, and Hazel remained indifferent.

“Quiet,” Julius commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The room fell silent.

With a sense of finality, you approached Caroline. “You’re so jealous of me,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain.

Caroline’s eyes widened, a mixture of anger and shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Because you know I’m going to get what you can’t have,” you smirked, savoring the moment. “Being the wife of the Vice President.”

“You bitch,” Caroline spat, something snapped inside her. Deep down, you were right—she was jealous of you. You were younger, smarter, and luckier. It was her dream to be in your position, but now it seemed like she had paved the way for you instead. What’s worse, you didn’t fit her criteria at all. She felt you didn’t deserve this.

Without warning, Caroline lunged at you, grabbing your hair. The two of you were soon locked in a fierce struggle, yanking each other’s hair and grappling with a fury that left no room for remorse. The physical confrontation was liberating, an outlet for all the anger you had been holding back.

You felt no fear and no guilt towards the seventy-year-old woman. At last, you could release all the anger you had been holding in.

Waiting for karma takes too long, and you can’t expect God to do all the work. So you took this chance to give her a lesson she won’t forget.

“Stop! STOP!” Bucky and Julius’s voices cut through the chaos as they tried to separate you. Shawn and Hazel, their faces a mix of curiosity and apathy, slowly backed away from the scene.

It was a struggle to pry you apart; Caroline, in her rage, was more unruly and disheveled compared to your own controlled fury.

“Hufft,” you adjusted your disheveled dress and hair, glaring at Caroline with a fierce, triumphant look. “You know what? I hope your son wins, so I can rub my new position right in your face.”

Caroline’s expression was one of shock and fury, her face a portrait of someone who had been dealt a blow she wasn’t prepared for. Her eyes were wild with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“You’re absolutely right,” you looked at Bucky, your voice steady. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live in the White House.”

Caroline’s gritted her teeth.

“If the world wants to see us as a happily married couple,” you said with a cold smile, “I’ll give them the most blissful marriage they’ve ever seen. It’ll be the kind of marriage everyone talks about when they mention a perfect union.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise at your cold declaration. For a moment, he was stunned, but as he processed your words, admiration and pride flickered across his face. He straightened, a hint of a smile forming, clearly impressed by your bold resolve and newfound strength.

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[bettsfic]

Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

[ponpuriitx]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

One shot: Blitzø x hell born! Reader.

Summary: A stand up night, that was all it was meant to be. Or maybe it wasn’t..

Word count: 1,0k

Warnings: no use of y/n, smut suggestions but nothing too crazy, friends with benefits, slight angst but fluff.

Notes: This is a one shot ! ! A short story that just came into my mind out of nowhere, and because let’s be honest lil’ Blitzø needs love for fucks sake. If there’s any grammar mistake please let me know ! !

It was no secret that you wanted Blitzø. Well, at least not for Loona.

It all started when you submitted your application to work for I.M.P, you got a call back and had to meet your boss.

And oh boy, was it just you or was he really hot? Couldn’t get through the whole meeting without looking at him not giving a fuck about what he had to say. The last words that actually passed your dumb founded skull was a “You’re hired!” That snapped you out of your trance.

You nodded thanking him like one thousand times, it was easy to do that because you actually needed the fucking money. when you went out of the office you saw a hell hound that was the receptionist. Before entering the meeting you actually got a chance to talk to her, bonding a little rather quickly because of Verosika and her hot Body guard.

After you went out, she glanced at you over her phone “So? How was it?” She asked, going back to her phone but still hearing you. When you told her you would be working here she just smirked still looking at her phone.

It wasn’t a long time till you got used to the Job, I mean it was pretty much just sit there with Loona and usually anytime costumers arrived you would take them. And when Loona did take them and she loose her temper you would do it for her meanwhile she draws daggers with her eyes to the client. You thought that at this steps she would eventually get fired, it didn’t take you long enough to find out that she was your bosses daughter.

Now, with that in mind it didn’t mind you being in this position.

You were in the backseat of I.M.P’s van because Loona called Blitzø to come and pick her up. When you parked and Loona was convincing Blitz to actually hop on the party you weren’t much sure about this idea. You weren’t a party pooper really, but something was telling you inside that you shouldn’t be here. You were on the van because you just so happened to be on the road when Blitz told you to hop on, you didn’t have actual important things to do so you just went with the flow.

Just like now. Looking in between the yelling crowd how your boss was finishing the beer supply without any care and actually beating Beel, making Loona proud. You eventually lost yourself in the crowd, trying not to bump with anyone because you didn’t want to talk to nobody. This type of environment made you uncomfortable, so you stepped into the van and waited for Blitz and Loona to come.

Fuck you fell asleep..

You cleaned the drool from your mouth, looking around where Loona parked in. It was your bosses apartment, “Hey Loona, care to crash at my place for a while and bring me some of the groceries I left? I’m gonna take care of him don’t worry.” She doubted for a second, but eventually let go.

You placed Blitzø in the couch, as you went in the kitchen and grabbed some water for him. Putting the water down, you turned on the tv. After a while of changing through programs you felt a little tug on your things, your head snapping to the sheets as you saw the imp trying to get through your pants. You couldn’t deny it was so fucking hot, still, you pushed him down a little.

“Hey, HEY boss hold on are you all right?” You asked, as he gave you a smirk and relied his head slightly on your inner thigh “I am.. Fiinee” you didn’t believe that because of the tone on his voice. You were about to protest when you felt a sharp but so, so euphoric pain on your inner thigh making a laud moan like whine slip out of your lips.

You felt how the tips of his fingers played through the hem of your underwear, now this was a whole new level. Of course you weren’t a virgin but this, this was different. His fingers slipping in so secure under your underwear touching your aching core, taking high pitched whimpers out of you..

. . .

The next morning, Blitzø woke up in his bed naked. The morning light hurting his eyes as he hugged his own figure, he repositioned himself rubbing his eyes and letting a deep sigh off. He didn’t remember much of last nigh, he could’ve sworn that Loony was the one who brought him back to his place—..

Then, he saw it. Some of your clothes on the floor, he remembered. The long lasting night, the moans, the sounds, how his room was filled with filthy sounds and laughter. The way he grabbed the bare flesh of your thigh as he thrusted deep and rough inside of you. The way you scratched his back so deliciously because of his thrusts, but it was strange. Why were your clothes here if he woke up alone?

It was just a one night thing, this is how it always went for him. You guys fuck and then leave, it was a routine for more that he hated it. That was just how things go, his thoughts stopped when he heard the door opening. You with one of his shirts on and your underwear, “Already up?” You said, you could’ve sworn that he was going to sleep till more later.

Blitz then traced his eyes through your shoulders, how it was laced with Bites and hickeys. You noticed this and chuckled slightly “don’t worry, I’ll get rid of them eventually. Come on, breakfast is ready.” You said walking off to the kitchen leaving a confused Blitzø behind.

This was supposed to be a one night stand thing, but why did you stayed? Weren’t you going to leave? He wasn’t complaining, I mean free breakfast is a win. But it still made him crack a smile.

So it’s safe to say that it wasn’t weird when that “one night stand” turned into three, and three into seven and slowly they didn’t seem like just “meet up to fuck” anymore.

[quietblueriver]

Because I can't imagine Imogen was ready to let that moment in the basement go, some quickly written Southern Gothic angst/love/comfort set between their nighttime excursion and Imogen's visit to the temple the next day. Light spoilers for ep. 77.

-

When the door closes, the sounds of Fearne’s hoofs fading down the hallway, Imogen turns quickly to her pack, doing what she can to look busy as she shuffles clothes and tries to catch her breath. She needs a minute. She needs more than a minute. She needs…

“Imogen.” 

It’s loving and soft, because of course it is, because it’s Laudna, but it’s also…she’s doing that thing she does sometimes, where she acts like Imogen doesn’t know what she wants. Like Imogen is too young and too naive to understand. The same tone she used in the basement. Promise me. 

As if Laudna wouldn’t burn the world down for her. As if they don’t both know it. 

It’s not the first time she’s dealt with this bullshit. Laudna gets to be passionate and protective and fierce in her love (I would murder everyone around us if anything happened to you) but Imogen is supposed to pretend like Laudna’s life is worth less to her, to the world. Supposed to somehow just…let Laudna go. Because what? She’s a little bit dead? A little bit different? Imogen leveled a city block without conscious thought and nobody’s trying to put her down like a rabid dog, so why does everybody act like that bitch Delilah makes Laudna’s life irrelevant? Why does Laudna act like her life doesn’t…like Imogen should just be able to…

Her veins crackle, shoulders so tight they rival Ashton’s, and when the sound of Laudna’s boots stepping closer reaches her ears, she says, sharp and unyielding, “Not now.” 

The steps halt immediately, the room quiet aside from the settling fabric of Laudna’s skirt and Imogen’s heaving breath. 

“I’m…I really am sorry, darling.” 

Her body moves before her brain can stop it, eyes bright and anger flaring as she turns fast enough to surprise them both. Laudna is running her eyes up and down Imogen’s body a bit frantically, like she’s working out a puzzle, and it’s not fear, but it’s a close enough cousin that Imogen sees a flash of her daddy, hard eyes turned on Imogen in the barn after one of the foals got out. The shame is enough to temper her, but it means all the rest of it comes up instead: anger, still, but hurt and fear and the deep grief that lingers in the corners of her dreams, in the desperate way she sometimes holds to Laudna. 

“For what?” Her voice breaks, but she shakes her head again as Laudna holds out a hand, so Laudna drops it, fists her skirt nervously instead. “Why are you sorry?”

There’s genuine confusion on her face as she says, “For everything in the basement. I know…I know how it must have seemed, when my form of dread looked so much like her. I know it can’t have been pleasant to watch me lose control that way. Being there just…” 

Imogen holds her hand up, light licking up her fingertips, and Laudna’s words trail off, her eyes caught on the lightning running through Imogen’s scars, worry furrowing her brow. Imogen forces down the impulse to comfort. She’s started this conversation, and she needs to finish it. For the both of them. If she lets herself get close enough to run a thumb over the crease between Laudna’s eyebrows, to hold the hand still playing with the material of her skirt, that’ll be it. So she doesn’t, focuses instead on the memory of Laudna’s hands in hers in that room. Promise me. 

“I’m not mad ‘cause you looked like her, Laud. Or ‘cause you…I know what that place was to you, an’ I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you to be there again. You don’t,” she works to keep the frustration from seeping into her words, “you don’t have to keep apologizin’ for her. You’re not her, Laudna, even though everybody keeps actin’...you keep actin’ like you are.”

She crosses her arms tight across her chest and stares at the floor, blinking hard as her vision blurs with tears. 

“I know I’m not her. I know that, darling.” 

The toes of her boots come into Imogen’s line of sight and she doesn’t tell her to stop but she does back herself up, pressing as hard as she can into the table behind her and wincing slightly as a sharp corner digs into her skin. The boots come no further. 

“Do you? Because it feels like you…” She uncrosses her arms to wipe her palms swiftly across her cheeks. “It feels like you’re just waitin’ on her to take over. Waitin’…” Her voice cracks again, and she grabs behind her, finds the handkerchief sitting beside her pack and brings it to her face. 

“Imogen.”

She shakes her head fiercely, forces a deep breath and then looks up to meet Laudna’s eyes, fist clenched around damp fabric. “Waitin’ to leave.”

Laudna takes half a step forward and stops as Imogen tries to back up further, managing only to dig the corner of the table further into her flesh and guarantee herself a bruise. Laudna’s going to gnaw through her lip, Imogen can already tell, and there’s black pooling at growing nails, ichor waiting to be pulled between nervous fingers. Still, Imogen holds the line, appreciates the distraction of pain, the sturdy wood that won’t yield to her body’s pressure. 

“I don’t want to leave, darling. I don’t want to leave you. I’m not giving up. I promise.” 

Promise me. Her eyes shine, anger forcing its way to the front of her mind again, and Laudna begins to say something, but Imogen beats her to it, words cutting.  

“Oh, do you? Promise? Should I go get Fearne, then? So there’s a witness?”

“Imogen, what…”

“Is it…d’you think I’m so out of line that…or maybe so ridiculous? So naive that…” Her scars burn now, heat across her skin and in the tears pressing against the corners of her eyelids. They continue to leak despite her best efforts, tracking down her cheeks until Imogen brings the yellow fabric of the handkerchief back to her face, letting her eyes slide closed for a moment. 

When she opens them again, Laudna looks stricken, her body fighting its instinct to close the distance between them, frozen in the face of Imogen’s obvious desire for space. 

She presses out through the thickness in her throat, voice rough, “You made me…you made me promise to…in front of Fearne, Laud. Did you…how was that fair? What was I supposed to do, when she was right there? Are you…are you that scared to talk to me about it? You think I’m that…that absurd, that you needed somebody else there to…to keep me in line?” Imogen laughs bitterly, and shrugs. “I mean, I guess I get it. I’m standin’ here provin’ your point, yeah?” She ducks her head and stares at the worn leather of her boots, breath shaky as shame heats her face. 

“No. No, of course not. Imogen. That’s not…” 

Darling, can you look at me? Please? 

She does, because Laudna asks her to, but even as their eyes meet, Imogen’s jaw aches as she holds herself together, shuts herself off, refuses to give up any more of herself. She can’t bring herself to deny Laudna’s request, but she doesn’t force herself to vulnerability. Not now. It’s strange, to put up her walls this way with Laudna, but it’s Laudna who has hurt her this time. 

Laudna, whose black eyes are nearly as wide now as they are when she transforms, full of concern and confusion and a love obvious enough that it makes Imogen grind her teeth in resistance. 

“I’m so sorry, Imogen. I didn’t realize…” Her lips are black with ichor and her hands are in constant motion at her sides, strings of black magic expanding and contracting as she fidgets. “I thought it would be…You were…you were so alone, last time. I thought maybe, if you had Fearne, if she knew what I wanted…what I wanted for you…Imogen, I don’t want you to have to carry it alone. Not again. That’s all, darling. I don’t think you’re absurd. Of course I don’t. I wasn’t trying to…to trick you. Or trap you. I would never. Please.” 

The pleading tone makes no dent in the wall Imogen has put up, is nothing in the face of the voice in her mind, reminding her of Laudna’s words in the basement, the look on Fearne’s face. I’m quite literally a dead end. Promise me. 

“Why are you so sure I’ll have to carry it at all? Why are you so sure she’s gonna win?” 

The tears are constant and furious, dripping unchecked down her cheeks, and she hates it, hates feeling this exposed, but she forces herself to keep her head up, to hold Laudna’s gaze. 

“Imogen.” 

The same tone–love, yes, but something far too close to pity for Imogen to let it lie. 

“No. No. I’m not stupid, Laudna. I know what you are. I’ve been in your mind, remember? I’ve seen her there. I’ve known since the day we met that you were different, and I still…I fell in love with you, knowin’ full well what you are and what that means. I’ve seen your form of dread, seen your body split open. 

The curtains on Pate’s house are made from my old shirt. Your hound has laid its drippin’ head on my lap. For fuck’s sake, Laudna, I slept next to your dead body. Your truly dead body. An’ I sleep next to you every night. Have for years and will for as many more years as I’m alive, if I have anythin’ to say about it. 

I love you, want you, all of you, and you know that. I’m not quiet about it. So why do you keep actin’ like I’m gonna wake up one day and be surprised by what you are? Why the fuck do you keep callin’ yourself a dead end?” 

“Because I am one, darling.” It’s sad, and resigned, and there is ichor dripping down her cheeks now, thick tracks left on pale skin. “I don’t want her to win, my love. I don’t. Please believe me. But I have to be realistic. For me. For the both of us.

And Imogen, even if she doesn’t win…

I love you so very deeply. More than I’ve loved anyone or anything in any of my lives. But I am dead. I’m not meant to be here, and you deserve someone who can…who can live, really live, with you. You deserve everything, and I can’t give you that.”

Bullshit. It’s bullshit. The part of her that understands why, understands what Laudna’s been through and the demons that pull at her, whisper to her, the part that drives her almost always, that keeps her soft–it’s gone, lost for the moment to a lifetime’s worth of hurt, of being abandoned or tolerated, never quite good enough for love. 

She aches as she spits out, voice as hard as it ever has been with Laudna, with anyone, “If you don’t wanna be with me, you can just say it. You can just…” She shudders, hardens. “Just stop pretendin’ you’re doin’ this for my sake, alright? It’s insultin’ to the both of us. If you don’t want me, just say so.”  

“Imogen.” 

She can’t do it, not anymore, so she turns to the table behind her, grips the edges as her body shakes. She clenches her jaw until she’s overcome, until a sob escapes, loud and ugly and broken, and then Laudna’s arms are around her waist, cool lips and cool breath against the shell of her ear, “Imogen. Darling. My love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you. I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. I don’t want her to win. I don’t want to leave you. Ever.” 

She turns and buries her face in Laudna’s neck, her own arms wrapped around Laudna’s fragile ribs as tightly as she can manage without hurting her. A hand buries itself in her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as she’s held close. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry. Come sit with me? Please?” 

She nods into Laudna’s shoulder, body still shaking, and Laudna hums as she holds her for another minute, pressing kisses to her temple before pulling away just enough to grab Imogen’s hands and lead them both to the bed. They settle across from each other, Laudna holding one of Imogen’s hands between them as she brings the other to Imogen’s face, pressing two fingers gently against her chin until their eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She’s so sincere, so unfailingly honest, and Imogen fights against the urge to duck her head again, ashamed and sheepish. 

“No, Laud. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t…I know you love me and I know you’re tryin’. I do. I’m just…I’m scared. I lost you once and I can’t…I don’t think I can do it again. And sometimes it feels like you think it’s an inevitability, that you’re gonna leave me. That she’s gonna…

And I get it. I do. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have her with you, to know she’s there all the time. But to have you ask me to…to let you go? To move on? To be happy? With Fearne right there like it was…What would you say, if I asked you to do that? Could you promise me?” 

Laudna flinches at the thought, her head almost unconsciously shaking in denial. 

“I know I…I know I’ve said some things. About Predathos and Ruidus and what it might take, what I might have to give up. But I hope you know I don’t…I’m not bankin’ on that, Laud. I don’t want it. Especially not now. Not when we…” She brings Laudna’s hand to her mouth and kisses her palm, her wrist, her knuckles. “I want you.” 

Laudna rocks forward, kissing Imogen fiercely, catching her bottom lip with sharp incisors and settling a hand possessively against Imogen’s throat. 

I want you, too. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you. 

Imogen lets herself be pressed back into the bed, sighs as Laudna trails her mouth across her jawline, bites at the lobe of her ear before making her way down to her collarbones, nipping and soothing with a cold tongue. 

I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you. 

A hand drags at the fabric of her dress, pulling up and up until nails run sharp against the skin of her thighs, fingers moving until a palm presses against her hipbone, holding her down as Laudna’s mouth finds hers again. 

Let me show you, darling. Let me show you how much I want you. Please. 

Later, tucked into the stupidly nice bed, with Imogen’s head resting on her chest, Laudna says, “It’s still difficult for me to believe that you want me. That you’d give up a normal life for me.” Imogen runs her palm over Laudna’s ribs, waits quietly. “Selfishly, I want you to, even though it…it’s not what I want for you. You deserve so much more, so much better than what I can…” Laudna squeezes at Imogen’s arm before she can object, and Imogen snaps her jaw shut. “Thank you, love.” She feels the press of lips against her hair. “I understand why you were angry with me. I…I would be, too, if you tried to tell me to leave you. To live without you. Even if I knew you were doing it for good reasons, as you undoubtedly would be. 

I know you want to be with me, even if I don’t understand why. Even if I worry that I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorry that I keep trying to take that choice from you. I'm going to try to do better. I promise.

And as for me…I want you, Imogen. I want to be here, with you. And if I’m lucky enough that you want me, too, well. Please believe me when I say I have every intention of trying my hardest to stay.” 

Imogen pushes herself up to kiss the sharp point of her chin, the corner of her mouth. 

“I love you. I wanna live my whole life with you. A stupidly long and real happy life. And anybody who tries to get in the way of that is gonna have a real hard time of it. You hear me?” She’s not talking to Laudna, and they both know it. “I’m gonna fight for you, Laud. And I’ve been told I’m real capable.” 

She kisses her again, and again, until eventually they settle, Laudna’s breath evening out slowly the way it does in sleep, muscle memory stronger than the reality of her undeath. While she sleeps, Imogen plans. She might be capable, but she’s also owed a few favors, knows how to make sure she’s owed a few more. She’s never really prayed before, but she can learn. For Laudna, she can do a whole lot more than that. 

[bonefall]

but what makes characters like fallenleaf and bb!brokenstar redeemable?

Choice. They were stripped of their power, put through extreme circumstances, and then made the choice to leave their violent histories behind them.

And you will note that it's VERY rare that I show these types of characters being redeemed. There's two 'redemptions' in a very long history of tyrants. Tigerstar, Dalestar, Skystar, Ashfur, Darktail, One Eye, Leopardstar, Mudclaw, Thistlestar technically if he had become leader. 2 out of 10 is a very small ratio.

(and fallenleaf isn't really 'redeemed' in my mind, so much as she simply stopped being a tyrant. There is no way for her to ever make up for what she did and that is a part of her character.)

And of them, Skystar is the worst individual. By far. He has no reason to want to change, nor would he ever. He loves power too much. He would look for it anywhere he went, because he hates listening to anyone tell him what to do. Having this is important to him than anything.

BB!Brokenstar is so different he's not a great comparison to Skystar, imo. He's a protector spirit, the embodiment of SkyClan's fallen 5th oak tree, and basically the logical conclusion of the "might makes right" mindset that defines Clan Culture in his era. So his redemption in finding his place as SkyClan's guardian is basically about "righting a cosmic wrong," and putting the magic to rest in its rightful place.

Brokey's a mortal when he takes the shape of one, but the story I'm trying to tell with him is that fury, righteous love, and protectiveness have their place. He comes to understand that as he watches SkyClan form, and realize that no matter how different they are from the toxic culture he was born into and molded by, he loves them, and he needs them to become what they want to be.

THIS is what that fury is for. To kill the rats and defend the besieged Clan, so they can live freely while he slumbers.

Fallenleaf's a better comparison. Both she and Skystar wanted to forcefully remake society in their own images, and would brutalize anyone who didn't live up to their strict standards.

(contrast to BB!Brokenstar who strategically took out only two cats. Raggedstar and Marigoldkit. He actually limited violence against his own Clan.)

But Fallenleaf and Skystar are very different people. Fallenleaf did what she did out of strict, obsessive dedication to the Code. She was fueled by what she'd been taught by Bramblestar, allowing Ashfur to physically abuse Lionpaw "for his own good." That you have to hurt what you love to protect it.

Still; I very much made it intentional that her punishment is SO harsh. The Lake cats HATED her. She ruined everything and she knows it. Sol gets bored of her, steals her body, and leaves her stranded 100 years in the past. She's forced to stay in those tunnels and cling to the mortal plane, just thinking about her family to keep her tethered, as civilizations rise and fall outside.

Now back in her home, she's almost unrecognizable. She's traveled so far and lost so much, and been forced to sit with her shame for a very long time. Not even StarClan is old enough to remember her crimes; and it's she alone who carries that burden. It's a weight she chooses to carry, to remind her of the worst version of herself. Something she could become again, if she isn't careful.

BB!Skystar's a venerated founder.

Nearly everything he did in life was to serve his own ends, his own ego, and he's lauded for that. His followers ate up his excuses like slop. He built the battle culture the Clans would come to know, by making a move to crush anything that mildly offended him

Of course he's not going to regret shit. Power gets him everything he wants. He's got a circling entourage of sycophants to tell him how smart and strong he is all the time, droves of warriors who pray to him for strength in battle, all of his enemies in life are now forced to treat him like a god-among-gods in heaven. And this is exactly the way he likes it.

Man got away with it, over and over. He collects his reward every starry night.

Any time where he WOULD be threatened with having his power taken away, he would simply gaslight/gatekeep/girlboss his way back to the top. What? You gonna stop him? He will kill you and then frame your murder like a grand triumph over the Great Unfairness of the world. He has the most prey in the forest. He has the strongest cats in the land. What are you, to him, besides an angry squirrel chattering atop the branch?

Why would he ever choose to be different? He wouldn't. Power gets him what he wants, and he loves getting what he wants.

[unicyclehippo]

15. kiss on the back for the prompt thing!

Imogen has spent years submerged in the sweet, babbling waters of Laudna’s mind so, while she may not be able to hear her thoughts now, she still remembers their current. And besides, some things don’t need to be said. It’s an unspoken agreement between them—a quirked brow, the tilt of an answering smile—to return Zhudanna’s coin. 

Laudna distracts their elderly friend with an enthusiastic—and slightly gooey—recreation of recent journeys while Imogen carries the groceries to the kitchen. She unpacks jars of olives and honey and jam, every pickled thing they encountered, wax-wrapped cheeses, smoked and salted meats, dried fruits and beans, bags of fine-ground flour and spices. She leaves the fresh fruit and vegetables on the countertop with the pumpernickel loaves and, as she does, pulls Zhudanna’s lockbox from its hiding place beneath the beans with a subtle bit of magic. 

It’s easy to use her powers now. She knew she was getting stronger but something about being here—where she spent much of her time in degrees of agony with no way to control it or stop it, her powers flaring whenever they wanted to—the difference is stark. How reactive her magic is now, how finely-tuned to her will. A thought, and the lockbox opens. Imogen busies herself selecting and slicing an orange. Another thought, and the coins lift out of the shopping basket and zip over to the box. She arranges the orange segments on a colourful plate. The box clicks closed and slides back into place beneath the beans. It’s all done in a matter of seconds with Zhudanna none the wiser, even if she had peeked over to check on Imogen despite Laudna’s distraction—though how anyone could look away from Laudna for so much as a second during one of her stories - vibrant, enthralling as she is - Imogen doesn’t know. 

She lingers a while, helps herself to a slice of orange. It’s tart, almost sour, the way she likes them. The sun blankets half the kitchen in a square of light. Standing in that warmth recalls fragments of an old dream—baking, home, Laudna. The details are too faded and vanish when she reaches for them; in the space where they had been, her memory provides instead the aroma of baked bread and the cool press of Laudna’s lips against her own. Fingers sticky with orange, Imogen twists her wrist and presses her smile to the back of her hand. We kissed, she thinks, giddy, and suddenly the handful of steps separating her from the sitting room and Laudna is too far. 

‘—a shape like dripping tar, a great blob of malice, hovering in the air. It struck Orym with a spiralling bolt of shadow, pinning him against the rock!’ Imogen hears as she rejoins the story. 

‘Oh!’ Zhudanna squeaks. Her eyes are wide, both wrinkled hands covering her mouth in horror. When she speaks, she sounds so old—had she always, Imogen tries to recall, or is it all of this…this fucking mess around them? The solstice, the god-damning speeches, the fear suffusing the streets like thick jungle mist, the moon, the way oncoming way tilts the axis of every heart. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small, quavering voice, ‘oh dear, oh no, is he alright?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend. Orym.’

The question makes Laudna’s smile falter. Zhudanna, half-blind, probably doesn’t notice. Imogen does. She fills the agonising pause, steps between them to put the plate down next to Zhudanna. By the time she plants herself on the footstool, twin to the armchair Laudna has claimed, Laudna has recovered. 

‘Yes. Yes, of course! He’s a warrior—a hero!’ Zhudanna heaves a sigh of relief at that, claps her hands. Laudna continues. ‘He pulled free of the shadow spear with a horrid yell and spray of blood—’

Geez, Laud, don’t forget she’s old as shit. 

And? She has such a creative soul, she’s enjoying—ah. I suppose…heart attacks…hmm. Should I…tone it down?

Imogen rests her chin on her hand as she settles in to listen to the rest of the story and, catching Laudna’s eyes, offers a small smile. Just for her, darlin’. 

With a wobbly nod—one that makes Imogen want to yank off the circlet and dive deep into Laudna’s thoughts, wade through them muck and all, hear for herself the knotted tangle of fear and nervy tension and trust she knows is causing havoc in there—Laudna launches back into her tale. 

‘Together with our dear new friend Prism–’

‘I like her,’ Zhudanna says. ‘Sensible, for one of those wizard types. Getting out there and having a go of it. Good for her.’

‘Indeed. Very sensibly, she and I harried the foul spirit with our joined magic, giving our companions time to protect the Heirophant and dragging them clear of the danger of this hungry shadow. We threw everything we had at it—flaying it of its shadow piece by piece, cracking its sallow face, until there was nothing left of it but a slug of tarred shadow that I crushed, sending it back to whence it came, into the merciless dark,’ she hisses, hand closing in a tight fist, eyes a brittle, glossy obsidian. After a moment, her intensity relents; the faint gloom in the corners of the room disperses like an audience post performance, and as it leaves, air rushes in to fill the empty space. ‘Anyway,’ she trills, ‘apparently that wasn’t the first time it had appeared there, can you believe that? The Heirophant—the elf Orym and Ashton saved—told us that they had fought it before—or was it their order that had? Hm. Don’t recall. But yes - it’s like a recurring thing. Like a bad ex turning up on their doorstep. But not a bad ex because Evithorir—’

‘Evi- Evirerth-’

‘Evithorir. I think. It was so hard to tell, it hissed a lot. Regardless, the shadow spirit, it turns out it was some, like, ancient terrible hungry fey spirit that sought to devour everything in the world, blah blah, the usual. Starting with Oma-Dua who is this - get this - equally ancient druid who buried herself in the last moments of her life in the depths of this cavern centuries ago to sustain the land around this mountain for the rest of time and took on the form of an enormous glowing green crystal…’

Laudna drifts into an odd silence and sinks back into the plush armchair, into herself, looking small and troubled. Her teeth dig well-worn trenches into her bottom lip as she loses herself in thought. 

Imogen clears her throat. ‘It’s been an awful long time since we got a proper rest, Zhudanna—d’you mind if we rest a while?’

‘Not at all, not at all. Let me move my easel, dear, and - ‘

‘No, please, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll set it aside, if that’s alright?’

‘Certainly, certainly.’

Zhudanna lets herself be distracted gracefully, pulling an old knitting project from the box by her chair. Her eyes—wrinkled, worried—linger on Laudna as Imogen helps her up from the chair, curling a gentle hand beneath each elbow. 

She looks so exhausted and Imogen is certain she’s bearing most of Laudna’s weight for her when she pulls her to her feet but she’s so fucking light it nearly has Imogen stumbling, off-balance. A dozen questions cluster behind Imogen’s teeth, on the threshold of her mind. Did you eat at all? Did you rest? Who took care of you? The thought might’ve made her jealous a month ago but now it just hurts. Laudna is too light, bordering on frail. Her hair is stringy—dirty, greasy, like its been a week since she washed it, brushed it, cared for it (for herself)—and Imogen knows the answer. Knows Laudna. She cares like caring is what keeps her alive, will drag the energy out of her own fucking marrow for everyone else and when it comes to her, she shows them something dead and dying, shows them a grinning skull. Something beyond repair, beyond need of care. 

Red flickers behind her eyes, smoulders in the cracks that split the tips of her fingers. But her hands stay gentle as Imogen helps Laudna to their old room. 

The door shuts behind them, shuts out the world. Blissful. There’s no window in here to show them the ruddy moon. There’s no crowds, no intrusive minds. No guards, no traitors, no one but the two of them. 

Laudna’s slow walk turns to a hobble. She sits at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. 

Giving her a little space, Imogen puts their bags at the footboard of the bed and Pate’s birdhouse on the bedside. He’s sleeping in there or pretending to be. Creepy, beloved spy. She moves the easel like she said she would, tucking it into an out of the way corner. 

‘She’s really very good, don’t you think?’

Laudna stirs. Glances over, dark eyes flicking between the easel and Imogen, and the smile she manages is a wavering thing but it holds steady at the corners. 

She’ll be alright, Imogen decides. Promises. 

‘Yes. Very talented, our Zhudanna.’ 

Her words trail off again and Imogen watches as Laudna begins to fidget, fingers twisting, tugging, pull and plucking in her lap. Was the closed room not blissful for her? Was it too crowded, with Imogen and her and all her thoughts and Delilah and now Bor’dor haunting her? Or was it as simple as the strain of her journey taking its toll? Or was it…

‘Do you regret it?’ Imogen blurts. Laudna stills. ‘The kiss, I mean. Me, kissin’ you. Because I know I asked and I know you kissed me back but if - if you got caught up in the moment or thought it’s what I want - Laud, you gotta know, it doesn’t matter to me how you care for me, I’m so - I’m so happy. So lucky. Just to have you near me. Truly.’

It takes a hell of an effort to shut up then—to bite her lip and give Laudna the room to speak. 

Her stomach flips from nerves and her traitor heart follows suit; it flips, flutters in her chest, so gentle and so warmed by the memory of getting to take Laudna’s face between her hands, getting to touch her after so long of only being able to dream about it, getting to lean in and—that kiss! The memory of it fizzles through her, sweet lightning, and it’s ridiculous, actually, because her hands start sweating and her lips tingle and her skin goes hot all over, sensitive. It’s such a silly feeling; she feels like a stumbling foal - clumsy and awkward, unsure, but so fucking eager to get up, go, explore. It’s silly - she feels silly with it, giggly and warm - and then, of course, sense reasserts itself firmly because Laudna hasn’t said anything yet—is staring over Imogen’s shoulder with a tiny, worried frown—and Imogen’s stomach sinks, veins flooding with ice. If she could just take off the circlet, but…

‘Laud?’

‘Imogen.’

‘Do you?’ It’s harder to ask the second time. ‘Do you…regret it?’

‘No,’ Laudna says in that barely-there way. Imogen wants the shadows back. Wants the intensity. Wants Laudna cackling over one of Pate’s horrendous comments, or chiding her for mussing the bedsheets. Anything but this ghost. ‘No, darling. I was - I was only thinking,’ she sighs, ‘how silly it is, how hard it is to talk about…well. About what we want.’ She blinks, dim and distant. ‘I often think that if only everyone were honest, there would be less space for misunderstanding and heartbreak –’ The words send Imogen’s heart sinking ever lower, but Laudna doesn’t seem to notice and continues, ‘– and cruelty and war and, oh, I don’t know. People wouldn’t get away with murder or inheritance trickery and such. I think about all the people who lie whenever they speak and how foolish it is and then it is my turn to speak and I…I’m terribly afraid.’

At that, Imogen crosses to sit beside Laudna on the bed. She takes one of her delicate hands in both of her own. It’s so light; bird-boned, Imogen thinks distractedly, mind cluttered with midnight-plumed ravens and the Duskmaven, of scavenging vultures and red seeping into cracked desert soil, of a canary in the dark. She hopes—as it gets harder to breathe, lungs struggling to contend with the weight of hope and panic—that Laudna won’t warn her away. 

‘You can tell me,’ Imogen says, and her words stay blessedly steady. ‘Even if you think I don’t want to hear it. I do. I do.’

For a long moment, Laudna examines their hands. Intertwined. Her own—delicate, long-fingered, pale. The dark web of stagnant veins. Imogen’s—broader, tanned, calloused. The cracked skin, red seeping out. Squeezing Imogen’s hand, Laudna says,

‘I won’t lie, darling. I won’t tell you I wasn’t surprised. I was. I am. You are—’ Dark eyes lift to meet Imogen’s; without thoughts to skim, all Imogen can see in the depths is warmth, a glittering fondness. Sorrow lurks there too, somewhere, even if she can’t see it. ‘You are extraordinary. Young and beautiful and so very alive. I - you wishing to kiss me - you understand why I might be startled. I don’t know what I can offer you, darling. I will always be at your side, of course—to protect you, to wake you from your nightmares, to support you, to - to tether you against the storm, as you said, but - ‘

‘But what?’ Imogen shakes her head with a gentle laugh. ‘Who could ask for more than that?’

‘And the kissing?’

‘We don’t have to do it again. If you don’t like it.’

Laudna tilts her head; it’s not a no, but neither is it a yes. ‘You could choose anyone—’

‘I want only you.’

‘Even though I am—’ Laudna cuts off the words with a snap of her teeth. Turns away, sending a gloomy look to the dim corners of their room. 

Imogen’s heart thuds, hard, against her ribs. She rubs at at it, sympathetic. Her bruised heart. She wants what it wants—to be close, ever closer. To hug her, hold her tight. To love her. To rip Delilah out of her—fry the bitch, burn her to ashes, and the ashes to smoke, and the smoke to nothing at all in white lightning—and then offer up her own heart to fill the lack. To welcome Laudna into the red hollow of her ribs, already wondering what kind of home she could make out of them. To take back the ruby ring and present it again, with all the ceremony Laudna deserves. To kiss her. Again and again. 

But right now, Laudna doesn’t need a storm, even one of love. She only needs Imogen to listen to her. So she asks,

‘Even though you’re what?’

Laudna’s hands curl into talons and a snarl erupts from her throat. Earlier, Imogen hadn’t known what to make of the idea that Laudna could summon a wolf but she gets it now. Hears it in that mournful, ragged sound. 

‘Dead. Broken.’ She claws at her heart. ‘Weak.’

‘No. You’re not, sweetheart, no.’

Imogen cannot resist reaching forward. She keeps her touch feather-light. Skims a high cheekbone before sliding back to the strand of dark hair that has escaped its high bun. She tucks it behind Laudna’s ear with exacting care, thumb grazing the gold ear-cuff. I see you. Every bit. Laudna’s eyes fill with inky tears and, when Imogen lifts her other hand to cradle her precious, lovely face, Laudna leans into the touch. 

For a moment, Imogen can only stare. 

There is no one in the world like Laudna—so starkly beautiful, so sweet, so enchanting. There is no one half as creative. She knows Laudna’s story—saw her die—but no one could spend an hour in Laudna’s presence and leave thinking her anything other than vibrant. How could that be death? And as for broken, well, Imogen thinks of the mosaics in Uthodurn’s royal halls, and of stained glass windows in the Dawnfather’s hall—what little she had overhead of that part of Laudna’s story—and thinks of Laudna’s mendings and crafts and the hundreds of achingly beautiful smiles Laudna has made up just for her and yes, maybe she’s been broken, but who hasn’t? How can that make her less? Less lovely, less wonderful? It doesn’t. It doesn’t. She thinks of faith and lets her pinkie slip down to touch, so gently, the ragged mark of Laudna’s first death. She thinks of destiny and meets Laudna’s eyes. 

Beautiful, she thinks, and then - because they are being truthful, because they are telling each other the truth - she says it out loud too. 

‘You’re beautiful. You’re my—‘ Imogen falters, tries to think of a word that doesn’t stick in her chest like a knife, but pushes on because her love doesn’t make her fearless, it just makes her brave. ‘My favourite.’

Her blush blooms purple under Imogen’s hands. Laudna glances down, shy, then up from under lashes dark and sticky with inky makeup, splayed like delicate spider legs. 

��It is strange,’ Laudna says, covering Imogen’s hands with her own when she starts to pull away, worried. ‘Don’t leave, darling. Let me… Let me?’ 

Let her lean in, yes, let her press close, forehead to forehead, yes, stay so still when Laudna touches her cheek, fleeting. Laudna trembles—afraid? excited? damn this fucking circlet—but the contact settles her and when she retreats, she pulls Imogen’s hands from her cheeks but doesn’t let them go. She breathes in and out. Then says, 

‘Waking from death is much like waking from sleep, except it hurts. Only a little but all the time.’

Imogen’s fingers brush over Laudna’s wrist, where her pulse plods away. ‘Laudna,’ she whispers, not to interrupt. Only because Laudna ought never go a moment thinking she didn’t care. 

‘For all those years, even though I…I ran and built my huts and Pate too, of course, and of course I felt things—fear and loss and joy, too, sometimes—I was alive and awake but. So much of me was still dead. I was so - confused. And angry, often. I was surviving, you see. I had strength enough to hold myself together and fix things, here and there, but no more than that. I was hungry, all the time, I had so many teeth.’ Laudna searches her face. ‘And then I met you and you helped. Cared. These past years with you… It used to be that when I wanted something, it - it was hunger I felt. This endless hunger. A great pit in my chest. And it was hard to tell, you see, what it was I wanted except for everything, anything I could get my hands on. Do you understand?’

Imogen gnaws at her lip. Slowly, she shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’ She dips her head, catches Laudna’s eyes. ‘Explain it to me?’

Laudna’s fingers shake as she slides them over the backs of Imogen’s hands. Long fingers curl around one of Imogen’s wrists and she lifts it to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles, lips cool against the burning ridge of her oldest lightning scar. 

‘You have given me so much. You gave me friendship and purpose and trust. Food. Fun and stories. Strength. A bed. A home. And the hunger…it doesn’t gnaw so terribly, darling. Now, when I - when I want something, it isn’t an impossible task. I needn’t lose myself in that great black pit, blinding searching for what I lack. It starts to make sense. I start to make sense. What I want. Outside of her, and hunger. You’ve given me so much,’ Laudna tells her, and her voice creaks with the weight of her words. ‘How can I possibly take more? How - selfish, how greedy it would be to want… To want.’

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ Imogen asks, voice soft. She tries not to sound to hopeful. 

Launda holds her hands for a long time. It’s maddening, because Laudna never stays still for long; she doesn’t now either, instead stroking tiny patterns against her skin, fingers sliding over and between her own. At the occasional scratch of her nails, a frisson of electricity crackles down Imogen’s arms, through her body. Finally, Laudna nods. 

‘I do. Oh, Imogen, I do. I didn’t know it - I knew I would be content for centuries, the rest of my days, if only I could sleep in your bed, stand at your side, content with any touch or favour you might share with me. And then - to be kissed?’ A shy smile creeps across her lips. ‘Would it be terribly unfunny to say it struck me like a bolt?’

Imogen snorts. Pulls her hands free so she can shove at her—lightly, though, barely enough to make even Laudna sway. Her hands settle on the tender branching of Laudna’s collarbones. The fabric of the new dress is silk-smooth under her palms; the lace neckline, though, catches against her work-rough, scar-rough fingers. She strokes it again, entranced. It’s so soft, the lace, in its reluctance to let her go. It’s so beautiful, the whorling patterns of leaves and flowers, and the contrast of blue-black fabric against Laudna’s pale skin is enough to make her glow. And beneath lace and skin, the steady tap of Laudna’s pulse—a knock on the door, on the coffin lid, here I am. 

Beautiful. 

‘That’s dreadful,’ she scolds, wrinkling her nose. 

‘That’s me. Full of dread.’ A ghostly visage flickers across Laudna’s face, there—skin and skull shifting, FRIDA’s inspiration?—and gone. ‘And you?’ she asks. ‘You too?’

‘Full of dread?’

‘Do you wish to kiss me, I meant, actually.’

Imogen swallows harshly. ‘Yeah,’ she rasps. ‘Yeah, I do.’

A frown pinches Laudna’s forehead. ‘Have you been afflicted with this desire for long?’

‘Afflict— You say it like it’s a sickness or somethin’,’ Imogen teases, but Laudna flaps a hand for her to hurry up and tell, so she shrugs. ‘Um. Yeah. I ‘spose I’ve been wantin’ to kiss you for a while,’ she admits, cheeks burning. ‘When I could hear you, it was… Do you remember when Dusk was hangin’ around, you told me you hadn’t thought about it? Hadn’t accessed that part of your brain?’ Laudna nods. ‘I know. I knew that. Because sometimes, when we were close and you…’ 

Imogen pauses. Sucks in a breath—it’s a little stuffy in their room, no windows, but it smells of freshly laundered sheets and paint and wood polish and Laudna and Imogen lets it steady her. 

‘D’you know that you say the kindest, sweetest things sometimes? You always know what to do to calm me down or make me laugh, even when the whole world is—’ She gestures awkwardly to the south wall where the moon hovers in her minds eye. ‘You know. Going to shit. And sometimes—I wasn’t sure how much you…’ She stops again, lips twisting, frustrated. ‘I knew that you cared for me because, well, because you do.’

‘Naturally, of course.’

‘But sometimes I wondered if…if you wanted to kiss me, like I sometimes thought of doing. But when I looked into your mind, you were never thinkin’ about it so -’ Imogen shrugs, cheeks hot. ‘I never brought it up. You hardly ever thought about it when other folk were flirtin’ or talkin’ about it, so I figured it wasn’t something you wanted. And that didn’t matter to me! Just so long as you were with me, and we were together, I was happy with that. But then Dusk,’ Imogen strangles the name in her throat, hopes fiercely that Yu can feel it, wherever the fuck they might be, ‘put the idea in your head and then they…left…and you were confused and I’d sometimes catch flashes of it in your head but it didn’t feel right to bring it up, even though sometimes I thought—the way you were lookin’ at me, and not pullin’ away when I was lookin’ at you—I thought…maybe? Maybe it was - Maybe you could. Think like that. And when you died—’ Her voice cracks. ‘That wasn’t the right time either, obviously,’ she scoffs. Pulls a hand back to swipe at her eyes. 

‘Darling,’

‘It had to be your choice. All of it. Everything, after what happened. And I was fucking terrified because of all those questions in my head like if I’d be pushin’ you if I asked, or makin’ you more of a target, burdenin’ you with all this Predathos moon shit—’

‘Never. Never a burden.’

‘—and then I got this,’ Imogen taps her circlet, ‘and I couldn’t hear you anymore, couldn’t check, and so, yeah, Laudna, you could say I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while.’

‘Thinking about,’ she says, so carefully, like she’s afraid if she speaks it too loud or too fast the whole thing will break, ‘kissing. Me.’

Imogen laughs. Smiles at her with her whole face, her whole heart. Every soft, exposed, grotesque, tender part of it. ‘Yeah, sweetheart. Is that alright?’

Laudna nods jerkily. Eyes Imogen’s mouth curiously. ‘Can I - that is, if it’s alright with you,’

‘Please,’ Imogen whispers, and she isn’t sure if she’s reading her own mind or if Laudna’s is loud enough to overpower the circlet, if she’s letting the power of it subside in her eagerness to know if Laudna wants what she wants, but it’s so clear—Laudna’s dark eyes, warm and kind and wanting; her reaching hands, aligning them hurt to hurt, heart to heart; plum lips pressing, ever so gently, against hers. 

The kiss lasts a heartbeat. Barely long enough to register the touch. Even so, Laudna flushes deeply. Touches her fingers to her mouth and breathes out, shaky. 

‘Oh. Imogen.’

Imogen lifts a hand—‘Can I? Let me, please’—to Laudna’s neck, grazing the high collar she’d been so jealous of in the store for getting to touch Laudna’s neck, but adores now as she coaxes it down so she alone can see, can touch the soft skin of her neck. Feel the way Laudna’s breath hitches when she does, her shiver as Imogen’s fingers slide forward, following the path of her jaw and swiping beneath the hinge of it—tender, awed, lingering on the mottled silver marks of bullet holes and torn skin—before she slides her fingers into the curtain of dark dark. She presses gently, guides her forward for another kiss. Her lips find the corner of Laudna’s mouth and smiles at the noise of displeasure it pulls. 

‘I think,’ Imogen whispers, kisses her more solidly. Tilts her head and loses herself in Laudna: Laudna’s nose nudging into her cheek; Laudna’s hands fluttering between her elbows and shoulders before laying gently on her back; a clumsy bump of lips, which is actually mostly chin, a giggled apology, and then something gives and Laudna’s lips are on hers again, steady and slow and careful, like they have all the time in the world, like now that she is here there is no where she would rather be. Imogen pulls back, licks her lips. Citrus bursts on her tongue. 

Laudna stares at her mouth. ‘What - ‘ She has to clear her throat, voice breathy, like Imogen has kissed all the air out of her and the thought makes want crackle beneath Imogen’s skin. ‘What do you think?’

‘Amazing. Great. Perfect.’

Dark eyes gleam. Laudna smiles—no, she smirks. ‘Darling. You were saying something, that you thought…?’

‘Oh.’ Imogen starts to speak—and has to stop. She laughs. ‘Y’know, I’ve totally forgotten?’

‘Oh.’ Laudna’s blush deepens. She’s so fucking pretty. ‘It will come back to you. If it’s important.’ She fidgets. Reaches out a hand to touch Imogen’s elbow, her knee. She looks for a moment as if she is about to speak but then a calm settles over her and she only smiles and nods. ‘Do you mind, dearest, if I take a little time to fix the birdhouse? Only Pate said it’s dreadfully uncomfortable and I think - if I add some soft cushion fabric, maybe curtains - I can fix the place up for him.’

Imogen nods. She understands—and could do with a minute to calm down too. She crawls around Laudna up to the headboard, props herself up against it. 

Laudna frowns. ‘Really? Boots on the bed?‘

She smiles, closes her eyes. ‘It’ll be alright, I’ll magic the dirt away after.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Laudna insists. After a few moments of Imogen ignoring her, Laudna sets aside the birdhouse and begins to unbuckle Imogen’s boots. Imogen watches, thoughts far too chaotic to pin down. It doesn’t take long—Laudna has helped her before, when migraines stopped her from doing just about anything—and she pats Imogen’s shin, tuts at the unhappy state of her socks, and mends the hole by her big toe with a needle and thread of black shadow. It looks good as new when she is done. 

‘There,’ Imogen drawls, snuggling down into the pillow at her back. ‘What would I do without you?’

Laudna laughs. ‘You’d wear boots in bed and put your cups upside down on the shelves–’

‘First of all, I’m right about that and second of all,’ she nudges Laudna with her toe, ‘I never wanna find out.’

She smiles and, oh, Imogen thinks, Dawnfather, eat your heart out. You don’t know light like this. You couldn’t make a light like hers if you had a thousand solstices. 

//

They spend a lazy afternoon together. They don’t kiss again—Laudna is far too intent on her work, and Imogen merely watches her and allows time and proximity to ease the tight, grating knot of nerves in her chest that had built with every moment of Laudna’s absence. She asks easy questions and retreads old, familiar jokes and stories, and everything resettles. In some ways, it is as it has always been. It’s the two of them, together. It’s also new in a way that makes Imogen’s heart flutter every time she remembers; I kissed her, I can kiss her. 

‘Pate,’ Laudna croons, as she takes apart old clothes and blankets, stitches them into cushions for the interior of the birdhouse. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she sings, and the rat-bird clambers out of his wooden house and up her arm, waits until she’s packed the cushions into place to skitter back inside, taking pride of place in the decadence. ‘What do you think of your new ho-ome?’ It’s so fucking weird. They both are. Imogen has to get closer to her. Tucks a foot under Laudna’s knee—who beams at her, wraps a chilly hand around her ankle and keeps her close—and makes a note to kiss Pate on top of his awful little skull soon. Just because. ‘What do you think? Will this be more comfortable?’

‘It’s nice!’ he croaks, little paws patting walls and floor. ‘I do have a suggestion, though—’

‘What! You’ve only been alive for a few months, what could you possibly know about decorating?’ she demands, aghast. 

Pate flies from the house, landing on the roof. There are no eyes in his bird skull but Imogen swears he rolls them anyway. ‘Pfft! What don’t I know? I’m the whole package, you know. Bird brains and rat cunning, fanks very much.’

‘Fine, then, if you’re so smart! What’s your suggestion?’

‘Curtains.’

‘Curtains?’

‘Curtains. For, you know, setting the mood, or sleeping in the day. Or if you two need a little, heh, private time to lock lips—’

‘Alright, yes, fine!’ Laudna yelps. ‘I’ll make you some damn curtains!’

Pate chuckles. His wings peel open with a wet squelch that Imogen is never going to get used to—how could he be wet, he’s been dead for years, that’s what she wants to know—and he takes off with one, two laborious flaps of his wings, gliding down to the bed covers and scampering back into his now-comfortable home. ‘Thank ye kindly,’ he calls out from within.

Laudna grumbles as she pulls together curtains rather quickly, delving in her pack for supplies. She pulls out shards of metal–splinters, almost, but as long as her palm. 

‘What’re those?’ Imogen asks, as she tries to bully the pillow under her head into a more comfortable shape. 

‘Hm? Oh - one of Ashton’s climbing pitons. It shattered.’

The pillow refuses to be comfortable; Imogen gives up, gets up to search the room for wherever the other pillow went. She finds it, after a while, on the top shelf of the little linen closet and jumps for it before remembering she knows telekinesis. How in the nine hells Zhudanna even got it up there, she has no clue. Wandering back to the bed, Imogen watches over Laudna’s shoulder for a minute as she crafts. 

‘You went climbing?’

‘When we were separated, that’s where we landed,’ Laudna says. ‘On a cliffside. Jagged rocks, Steam vents. Now that I think about it, we were rather lucky, actually, that we didn’t appear in the air above a sharp spike or roll off the cliff. But yes, we had to climb,’ she says, and tells Imogen all about it— finding Deni$e - Mona, at the time—and the climb and the endless valley of verdant trees. 

Imogen listens carefully, heart heavy. She thinks of a long, cold walk and finding truly kind friends at the end of it - a celestial bull they befriended - shopping - the warmth and bustle and commerce and, yes, anxiety, of Uthodurn, and meeting royalty—and she thinks of Laudna, who dislocates something whenever she sneezes, having to pull herself up a cliffside. She rubs Laudna’s shoulder and dips her head, presses a kiss there on her back—because she can, because she wants to, because Laudna wants it too. Laudna hums, a happy sound. 

‘I’m sorry you ended up there.’

‘It wasn’t all bad. It was rather beautiful. I would have enjoyed it, I think, if you had been there.’

‘Maybe we’ll go together someday.’

Laudna smiles. Affixes one of the piton curtain-rods into place as Pate guides her—’Higher, higher on the left - other left - all of it lower now - perfect!’

‘I think Ashton will want to go back.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was something of the Hishari there - a town. Cursed now, apparently. He wants answers.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ Imogen agrees. ‘Kill the moon, then go on holiday to a cursed town in Issylra. Sounds nice.’

//

‘You were right, by the way,’ Imogen says later, as they walk back from the Windowed Wall to their friends. 

‘Of course I was.’ Laudna beams across at her, tone bright, teasing; it’s such a shift from her mood of the morning that Imogen can do nothing but smile back at her. ‘About what, though?’

‘You said if it was important, I’d remember what I was gonna say. And I remember now.’’ Imogen wraps her arm through Laudna’s, pulls her in tight. There aren’t many people crowding the street but she doesn’t need an excuse to hold her close anymore. ‘You know, the thought you kissed right outta my head?’ 

‘Imogen!’ Laudna slaps her hand lightly, but her eyes gleam. Imogen thinks she might be pleased by the idea of driving her to distraction. ‘Well, go on then. What was it?’

‘You asked if I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Kissin’ you. I was gonna say, I think I’ll never get it outta my head. I’m gonna be thinkin’ about kissing you forever. If that’s alright with you.’

Laudna’s chin lifts - proud, pleased by the idea, clearly - and she gains what could only be called a strut. Her cheeks colour faintly. ‘I’ll be thinking about it too.’ Her eyes glitter brightly over a sweet smile. ‘After all, you’re very capable,’ she teases, and laughs, delighted, at the blush her words pull from Imogen. 

They’re still smiling when they rejoin their friends. It earns them strange looks, but fond, relieved. No one pries—though Ashton has a stare like a crowbar—and they say nothing, for now. 

[duncneydivorce]

Lorna was magnetos protégé before she was his daughter and that’s such a fundamental part of their relationship that I feel is lost in the fandom interpretation of their dynamic.

For all his many mistakes with the twins magneto didn’t abandon them, if anything he literally took them in and kept trying to be part of their lives and they’re trauma bonded to him through the similar tragedies all three of them lived through. Lorna is the child he actually abandoned, he knew since she was a child she was his and where she was but he made the deliberate choice not to claim her until she was ready for his crusade, which if we’re being generous was his own way of protecting her but it shows how he will never put his children above his mission and ego.

Lorna spent a lot of her pre 90s era unsure of her place and powers, which is what motivated her to seek magneto out in the 90s. Unlike Pietro who was only on Genosha because he was being emotionally blackmailed by magneto, Lorna was there because she wanted to be, largely because she believed it would help her better understand herself, and that’s where she began her tutelage under him. However, even after mentoring her he still didn’t claim her. For all their estrangement magneto lauded Pietro around like a prince on Genosha and always claimed him, Wanda didn’t even help Genosha and she was still given the royal welcome as his daughter, where as Lorna actually did work on Genosha, trained under him and was significantly less hostile then her brother but that STILL wasn’t enough for magneto to tell her the truth and publicly claim her as his child. In fact it wasn’t until Lorna survived a genocide that he finally accepts her as his daughter despite knowing she was his this entire time because that man is incapable of bonding with his own children through anything else but the suffering that defined his own childhood.

[scarasimplysimping]

All In

Part 1 (might be two parts idk)

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Summary: A bet is placed to see if you can get the Summa Cum Laude to fall in love with you. (Scaramouche x Reader) (College au)

Contains: Idk. So it's one of those love stories where there's a bet. Hu Tao and Childe are kind of assholes for the sake of this fic, I am SORRY. Reader is also kind of an ass. Ooc. Some plot holes because I don't go to college or drink or smoke. Just roll with it.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

2,822 words 15,518 characters

What a stuck-up prick.

That's what you thought of him anyway. He was *the* Summa Cum Laude of your year. He was snobby, self-centered, friendless, and to top it all off, he just so happened to be your partner for your big thesis.

It was not by choice but he had no partner because people were afraid of him and you had no partner because well... people hated you. It wasn't a project that could be done individually either, lest you wanted to die before you graduate.

"He's such a bore." You complain to your friends on the lunch table, Hu Tao, Childe, and Xiao. "I tried to make plans with him, really. I asked if he was free, and you know what he said?" You slammed your hands on the table for dramatic effect.

Hu Tao leaned in closer, strands of her hair falling onto the table, and alarmingly close to Xiao's food, making him scowl as he moved his tray.

"He said," you began, putting up a silly impression of him with a snobby expression. "I don't need bottom feeders like you dragging down my work. I'll handle everything. Pay me if you want."

Childe snorted. Hu Tao doubled over in laughter, mainly because you're impression was so on point.

"God, what a freak." Hu Tao mused as she wiped her tears from her face, she never passed on the opportunity to talk shit about someone she didn't like. Childe agreed with her but he was partly not paying attention. He jabbed his fork into Xiao's food.

"Fucker." Xiao muttered under his breath.

Your silly clique was a ragtag bunch of misfits in their own ways. Hu Tao was your childhood friend who always had something vindictive to say or some storm to stir up. She lived for the drama.

Childe started tagging along around highschool. He was a charming, silver-tongued ginger ball of sunshine, he started developing a negative reputation over time as as somewhat of a satyr, though.

Xiao was above all the petty and immature antics whichever one of you had the gall to cook up. In all honesty, he was only there because his older brother, Zhongli had asked Childe to help him settle in to the college life. Childe owed the man a favor so he dragged the poor emo wherever you guys went and you kind of just got used to his company.

Then there was you, there was one thing that set you far apart from them all.

Money.

They were filthy rich and you, an independent college student, had not a penny to your name after you decided to up and leave your family to follow Hu Tao to college. You didn't really have to work though, your friends pretty much covered most of your college expense as casually as a friend would by you lunch.

"I know I can't really help him, I mean, my grades are dogshit right now but like I don't know how to pay him either," You said, burying your face into your palms.

Childe scoffed. "I don't even think he means it. Plus, it's nothing to worry about. We've got you covered if that greedy little nerd actually demands shit from you."

"Yeah, just let him do everything by himself," He continued "Watch him or something, in case your professor wants updates.."

A small smirk formed upon his lips. "I bet he's not that hard to watch anyway."

You playfully punched him on the shoulder "Gross!"

"You gotta admit he is kinda cute," Hu Tao chided in. "Right, Xiao?"

Xiao shrugged, far too focused on actually having lunch.

Childe snaked an arm over you. "Tell you what, (Y/N). If you can somehow bed the prudish bastard before the end of this semester, I'll fork over some money for this month's rent."

"Hu Tao pays rent."

"I'll fork over some money for anything you want."

"Hmm... I want VIP tickets to La Signora's concert."

"Done~"

"Oh my archons! Like actually?" Hu Tao couldn't tell if you both were serious. "(Y/N), your charm is above average but I don't even know if you can pull this one off."

You roll your eyes." Have faith in me. I bet he's easy."

Hu Tao leans back thoughtfully, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. "Alright, (Y/N). If you manage to pull this off I'll give you a grand.

You gape at her. "Seriously?

"Absolutely."

You know were only entertaining the idea because they had no actual faith you'd pull it off, but to you. This was easy money.

You slowly turn to the brooding emo on the table. "What about you, Xiao?"

His eyes narrowed at you. "What about me?"

"You gonna offer anything?"

He scoffs, groaning internally and being the only one with a moral compass. "Only an asshole would find bets such as these any type of fun."

Childe flicks his wrist dismissevly. "We are assholes."

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was hard enough convincing Scaramouche to work on the project and your (and Hu Tao's) place but now you had to deal with the emanating silence from you both. You've barely ever talked to him but the tension in your room could be cut with a knife, or maybe that was just your imagination.

He was sitting cross legged on your bed, typing away at his laptop with several papers surrounding him. You were sat across from him in the same position, nursing a cigarette in between your fingers.

"Do you want something to eat?" You finally break the silence.

He doesn't look up from the screen as he responds. "What do you have?"

You look to the ceiling, trying to recall what you and Hu Tao had last shoved into the fridge. "Uh... Pesto... Pizza... Dumplings. Probably some leftover vegetables."

"Bring me them all." Talk about shame.

"Alright." You say, putting out the cigarette on your nightstand. You couldn't help but notice the tiny scowl on Scaramouche's face as he glanced at the ashtray.

You come back balancing a bowl of pesto, a bowl of dumplings, and a bowl of salad on a box of pizza. Scaramouche pats on the side of your bed, indicating for you to drop the offerings there.

You light another cigarette as you take your previous seat in front of him.

"The weather is pretty nice today.." A sad attempt at conversation on your end.

Silence

"So... Childe's hosting a party tomorrow night, would you like to come?" You try once more.

Scaramouche still doesn't say anything, he doesn't even look up from the screen.

You blow a puff of smoke on his face. He coughs a bit before glaring at you with cold judging eyes. At least he was actually looking at you now. "I have no time to indulge in that crap."

"You have plenty of time. That thesis isn't due for another month."

"Well not exactly, since I'll be doing the work for both of us."

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"I have a problem with people like you." He glowers.

"People like me?" You raise your eyebrows.

"People who just have everything spoon fed to them by luck or by birthright and take that as a reason to slack off for the rest of their life since everything just magically works out for them." Scaramouche wasn't wrong, you really fucked around and never found out but still, what right did he have to judge you?

"Didn't know you knew me so well." You say, blowing out another puff of smoke but this time it's to the side.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to respond, then closes it once more. You had a point. It was hypocritical of him to listen to judge you based on gossip.

Finally, he speaks after a few minutes of silence.

"I was out of line." It's an apology although he doesn't outright apologize.

"Yeah." You decide to take advantage of his momentary guilt as you inquire about what he's working on. "So, do you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"Well, I'm looking online for research papers related to the topic were studying. I'm taking snippets I find interesting and I'll save them for later to expand on them in our thesis."

Scaramouche speaks a bit more but you're hardly listening. You take this time to really observe his physical appearance. Hu Tao was right; the man was cute. His eyes, his mouth, his lips. If you took a meat cleaver to the center of his skull, you'd have matching halves.

Even his hair looked softer than unicorn fur.

"(Y/N)?" He snaps you out, a displeased expression creeps upon his face upon noticing that you aren't even paying attention.

"Your hair looks softer than unicorn fur," you blurt out.

His eyes widen slightly, and you could've sworn he turned a shade pink before he feigned a disgusted look to save his dignity. "What the hell?"

You caught on immediately. There it was. Scaramouche had a weakness. The Summa Cum Laude, the bridge troll with a big brain and purple hair (as Hu Tao once described him) is someone who gets easily flustered .

"You're kind of cute." You push on.

"Shut the fuck up." His head lowers, he dares not look into your eyes.

"Come to Childe's party with me?" You ask once more.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scaramouche hated you. He hated your face and your voice and your personality. He hated every single atom you were made up of, but most of all he hated the way you were able to persuade him to come to this stupid party. And for what? Just because you were the first person to ever call him cute? He'd curse you and all your descendants to come.

Childe's party was just a gathering of drunks and trouble makers. His house was practically a mansion that could fit 60% of the university's student population.

He hated the blaring lights and unbelievably loud, repetitive, and distasteful music.

"I hate this!" He has to shout for you to hear.

"I know!"

"I'm going home!"

"You can't! You're my ride home!"

"We walked here, dumbass!" Scaramouche wanted to leave you truly he did but something, wasn't letting him. His moral compass or his growing fondness of you?

Childe finds you, placing an arm around your shoulder. "Hey!" He hands you a shot glass which you graciously accept and down in a couple of seconds, much to Scaramouche's dismay.

Childe pays no attention to your companion until he does a double take and realize it's Scaramouche.

"Holy shit! Is that Scara!?" Childe grins hazily. He was drunk drunk.

Scaramouche does not respond. He is frowning while Childe handed you half a bottle of gin.

You drink it within a couple minutes as you chat with Childe.

Scaramouche stands there, awkward, cranky, and out of place as the only person he's aquatinted with in this party is getting absolutely inebriated.

At some point you don't know when or from where but you get your hands on another shot glass.

"You're not drinking that," Scaramouche states firmly.

"I am." You bring the cup to your lips but Scaramouche is faster, he snatches it from you and lets it fall to the ground.

"What gives!?"

"I'm not carrying your drunk ass home just because you drank away the capability to walk!" He shouts at you.

People are staring now. Is it because of the commotion or because Scaramouche was the last person anyone would expect to see at a party?

Scaramouche didn't like the staring or the attention. "I'm going fucking home." He says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past the crowd. "So are you."

Childe is left there, impressed. He takes out his cellphone.

To: Hu Tao

She's actually gonna pull it off. Wtf

From: Childe

You stumble and trip as Scaramouche drags you through the night. It was a miracle you could keep up. (It wasn't, he slowed his pace on purpose to match yours but it still wasn't slow enough for your drunken ass.)

"Scara, slow dooown~"

He ignores you until he feels you slip from his grasp, landing with a thud. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? Do you not have the smarts to walk!?" The boy scolds.

You decide to rest your knees a bit as you stay on the ground.

You hear him sigh sharply before crouching in front of you. "Get on."

"What? Like piggyback style?"

"Yes, damnit just get on." His face wasn't facing you and it was dark. Scaramouche was eternally grateful to the archons that you couldn't see the way his ears reddened.

He carries you like that until you're at the front door of your place. Scaramouche gently drops you off. Miraculously not panting. (He wasn't that athletic.)

"Can I trust you enough to tuck yourself in?" The boy asks, his tone was calm this time.

You nod in response.

"Alright." Scaramouche turns his heel to leave.

"Scaramouche." You call out.

He turns back to you, a little too quickly.

You try to take a step towards him except you "accidentally" trip on air and crash onto his chest. He barely moves an inch but his hands instinctively wrap around you. You can see the exact moment he scrunches his nose as well as the moment before that where his cheeks flush.

You'll blame this on alcohol later. You'll also blame alcohol for when you pulled his collar to place a quick peck on his lips.

This was the night Scaramouche nearly passed away.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scara paced around his room. What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would you do that? His heart still raced as fast as it did when you kissed him.

He replayed the kiss over and over in his mind. Why? Just why? He mussed his hair in frustration as he plopped himself on the bed. If Scaramouche focused enough, he could still feel their lips on his, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

Why had a drunken asshole decided to take his first kiss? Why was he reacting so weirdly?

And why did he just tuck tail speed walk away right after it happened without saying shit about it?

(Y/N) will probably tell their friends. They'll gossip and laugh at how the smartest person in their program was turned into a blushing, sputtering mess at the mere kiss of some drunk. Some overly confident, obnoxious, attractive drunk who's lips were soft as velvet.

The thought has him reeling. Rolling to the side, Scaramouche pulled a pillow over his head and groaned into it.

"I'm done guessing. What's wrong with you?" His inner monologue was broken by his cyan haired roommate.

"Nothing. Fuck off, Dottore." His words still muffled by the pillow.

"All your ceaseless brooding is keeping me distracted. I suggest you stop whining if you don't want me to give you more reasons to whine."

Silence.

That came out wrong, but it got Scaramouche to shut up so who would complain?

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was a crush. That's what Dottore had said to him. It made jackshit sense though. Why would he like you? You were just someone he perceived as a slacker. It's possibly because you were the only one who ever showed interest in him. He'll probably get over it when he finds someone else to adore, but he couldn't.

Scaramouche was once again working on the thesis, on your bed. He didn't bring up the kiss. Maybe you'd forgotten about it? A small part of him hoped that you didn't though.

Finally, he decides to speak up. "I demand compensation."

You shoot him a confused look.

"What? Don't you remember?" Scaramouche scowls.

"You kissed me..."

"Did I?" You feign innocence.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He orders. "That was my first kiss. I demand some kind of compensation." His cheeks were heating up as it became harder and harder for him to look you in the eyes.

"Oh?" You bring your index finger below your lips in an expression of mock thoughtfulness.

Scaramouche's scowl deepens at your mocking finger below your lips. "Do not toy with me," he warns. "You took something and I want fair repayment."

You chuckle, enjoying his ruffled feathers. " And what is a first kiss worth these days?" Leaning back on your hands, you look him over appraisingly. "I'm not convinced it was really your first. You seemed to know what you were doing..."

His cheeks redden as he scrunches his nose at your audacity. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you enjoyed kissing me." You smirk. "Perhaps you even want more?"

Scaramouche's embarrassment only grows at your bold insinuation. "You presume too much, fool," he bites back, though his resolve seems weakened.

You shrug. "Suit yourself. I was just about to offer a date."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if trying to ascertain if this is some sort of trick. "A date?"

[thegirlwhowatchedeverything]

Pete Appreciation Post

Pete and Nat:

As her partner, he not only handles but actually and actively loves her family.

He goes to Al-Anon meetings WITH her (1x2).

He doesn't show up to Christmas empty handed (to steal Carmy's words that'd make him an asshole). He continues to be joyful and make small talk while being ripped to shreds for his attempt at a funny, genuinely considerate tuna casserole (2x6).

One of Nat's biggest traumas (flashback to 2x6 of Donna grabbing her by the face while threatening to kill herself) is juxtaposed with her greatest joy - ending the day with Pete on the couch watching TV (2x8).

Everything Pete does and says in 2x10. I don't even know where to start. Him so beyond proud and supportive and excited and happy for Nat. Him trying to convince Donna to come inside by playing to their shared pride of Nat (and Carm). His reaction after the conversation with Donna. Chris Witaske you talented actor and Pete you beautiful, patient, loving, understanding, forgiving man.

Pete and Carmy:

Pete makes such an effort with him (to steal Mikey's words he gives like the biggest fuck). He genuinely embraces Carmy and wants so desperately to be embraced by Carmy in return:

He brushes/laughs off an unexplained past incident involving Carmy (and presumably Michael) that sent him to urgent care. Very bro siblings roughhousing behavior (1x2).

He lets Carmy use his and Nat's freezer even though he knows she'll be mad at him for it. Very brothers ganging up on their sister/two siblings scheming against the third (which I imagine happened between the Berzatto siblings so much and in so many combinations) (1x5).

He was so hype and adorably complimentary about Carmy's homemade ecto cooler and ugh I wish Carm had given more credit there because they are clearly just both big nerds at heart (1x4).

He defends Carmy for being called a loser at the catered party by bringing up his career as one of the most lauded chefs (as I've said before, he and Syd were the two members of the Chef Carmy club). And he does so in front of a large and intimidating assortment of friends and family (to paraphrase Carmy paraphrasing Marcus we see that Pete can throw down huh). Very protective big brother vibes (1x4).

He then individually compliments Carmy's courage for leaving home and making an incredible career for himself. He also makes a point to tell him that Nat is proud of him. Emotionally supportive brother behavior (1x4).

He thanks Carmy for letting him be a part of his family! It's beyond sweet to say that to your in laws, but when your in laws are the Berzattos (1x4)?!

Pete And The Berzattos:

He still gets ribbed more than not, but at the end of the day he's accepted.

Carmy saying I kind of like Pete now (1x5).

Stevie saying his heart was in the right place after the tuna faux pas (2x5).

Fak saying he'll be a great daddy (2x10).

Donna congratulating Pete about the baby thus signaling her approval (2x10).

Pete Is An Only Child:

I've been convinced since S1 and S2 only confirmed.

The genuine love and effort he puts into each family member (blood, extended, and honorary) of the Berzattos not only shows Pete is truly a nice guy, but it speaks to his deep desire to be a part of a family - to belong (see all examples above).

We learned Richie and Sydney are only children (It must have been nice to have Nat and Carm. Yeah, now you do too. *sobs*) so another proof point that all partners to the Berzatto siblings are onlys.

Stevie. In his speech, he says You guys have been so kind to me. You let me hang out with your every holiday. I don't have a family like this and I'm really grateful you make space for me at this table and you make time for me on the holidays. You can imagine an exact speech coming from Pete. And like Pete, Stevie genuinely loves and gets along with each of the Berzattos (2x6). A last parallel between these two: Donna speculates if he's gay and that is totally something I can imagine her, Mikey or Richie saying about Pete at first meeting.

Something about not knowing Pete's last name or anything about him outside of his relationships with the Berzattos signals to me he's not from a big family and/or is not close to them and really just exists in the Berzatto cinematic universe.

Takeaways:

Pete is the MVP of The Bear. We better get more of him in S3.

The Berzattos attract only children and strays like moths to a flame.

[ishaslife]

A Starlit Rendezvous

One-shot

spawn!Astarion x f!oc (noble) Isla

Genre: fluff, fantasy, romance

(*) Check bottom of the post for photos relating to the fanfic.

Summary: Set about 5 years after the game's events; Isla and Astarion are now lauded as heroes of Baldur's Gate. Celebrated for having saved the world from the tyranny of the Absolute. Astarion holds a prestigious position in society but is able to work only at night due to his "sensitive skin condition," people don't question it as they are quite influencial people. The two have been invited to the theater by his colleagues and decide to spend the evening outdoors.

The sun had set in Baldur's Gate, the city looked almost beautiful in the glow of the pink sky and stars had started to show, though not as clearly as they did out in the wilderness during their travel. Isla and Astarion had been living a quiet life since they stopped the Absolute and saved the world. Well, as quietly as they could...

"Are you ready, my dear?" Astarion was dressed in some of his best attire, he liked to look good. Not necessairly to impress anyone, well, maybe his beloved... but simply because he wanted to. After sifting through several doublets, he eventually settled on one – a maroon piece adorned with gold buttons and intricate embroidery.*

"We'll be late if you take any longer" '...even I don't take this long.' Astarion mumbled to himself while adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. 

"Ugh, the carriage won't wait forever, darling!"

"I'm almost there!" Isla called out as she descended the mansion's grand staircase. "Gods, your impatience echoes up to our room," she said with a playful giggle.

Astarion let out a soft sigh as he gazed upon her, his hand instinctively finding its place over his heart. "Oh my darling, you look absolutely breathtaking! Come on, give us a spin." Isla twirled in her rich crimson evening gown, a delicate velvet masterpiece adorned with gold beads and embroidery. Nothing too flashy but eye-catching enough to fit the occasion.* She greeted Astarion with a graceful curtsey, a radiant smile gracing her lips. He gallantly took her hand, planting a gentle kiss on the back of her palm, and then elegantly intertwined her arm with his.

"Shall we?"

"Of course my love, but before we go-" as they were about to step out of the door, she stopped him in his tracks and planted a small peck on his cheek which made his cheeks and the points of his ears redden. He tried his best to hide it with his hand and an awkward chuckle. Despite the years they'd shared, it remained a mystery to her how something as simple as a kiss could still make him fluster, but a sweet mystery nonetheless.

"Time to face the music!" They laughed and entered the carriage. When they finally reached the theater, it was a sight to behold, a grand place that could hold almost the entire elite of Baldur's Gate. After a few greetings, they were led to a comfortable compartment adjacent to Astarion's peers and they watched the play commence. Alone and apart from the rest of the crowd, Astarion reminisced about how different it was compared to his mortal days, even though he could only recall fragments. He marveled at the memories he did retain – the bustling crowd, the diverse characters that frequented the place, their varied walks of life. It was captivating how adept Astarion was at discerning people's social standing, distinguishing the wealthy, the even wealthier, and the wealthiest, and those who merely put on a facade. 

He said, "Clever, isn't it? You see, true nobility doesn't flaunt, they don't need to. They don't drape themselves in jewels or don their finest silks for a place as drab and unruly as this. No, they're always anxious, fearing that their precious possessions might vanish. These baubles are their only tether to the pinnacle of privilege after all." he chuckled "Meanwhile, the lower rungs of society will adorn themselves with every trinket, gem, and finery they can find."

He paused for a moment and continued, "not everyone is that complicated of course. There are those like our good selves, who simply dress well because we can."

"true, but why do some go through so much trouble?" Isla asked, she knew the answer of course but she wished to indulge him nonetheless. She liked to hear him talk.

"Well, it's all about ensnaring the gaze of the former, naturally. They aim to wed their offspring to these prestigious houses, securing influence and, of course, money."

"Gods, I hope I wasn't quite so predictable when we first met."

"I had expected you to be, but you... you defied my expectations. You were a delightful suprise I hadn't anticipated. Of course, now you're somewhat more decipherable, but that's only because I've come to know you so well. In those days, I was so confused as to why I couldn't understand you, it drove me insane. But... I suppose that's why I fell for you." He gently took her hand once more and kissed it as the play concluded. However, neither of them paid it much mind, despite Astarion's deep appreciation for the arts. Tonight, his focus was solely on cherishing his beloved.

It was now past evenfall and into the early hours of the night. They had whiled away the evening at the theater and continued their night at a charming pub, where they mingled with the upper echelons of Baldur's Gate's high society. Throughout the evening, they had the pleasure of meeting a handful of actors, although Astarion couldn't help but notice how some of them couldn't seem to avert their gaze, their eyes frequently drawn towards Isla. This stirred a touch of jealousy in him, prompting an impulsive act of intertwining their fingers, giving her a swift peck on her cheek, or casually draping his arm around her shoulder. It was as if he were silently conveying, "Don't even consider talking to her."

As more time slipped away, Astarion and Isla bid their farewells to their acquaintances. They were about to enter into a waiting carriage to return home when Isla paused and said- 

"can we perhaps, walk? It's just that... The night is so beautiful, and it feels like ages since we've strolled together, aside from those distant days when we journeyed the Sword Coast."

"Hmm, you're right. It's high time we created some new memories, isn't it?" Astarion replied with a soft smile, the kind that creased the tails of his mouth ever so slightly. 

The two of them strolled through the winding streets of Baldur's Gate. The evening was graced with a gentle, warm breeze, and the sky overhead was adorned with a canvas of stars. 

"They're beautiful tonight, even if they're not so clear," Astarion remarked, looking at the sky. Isla couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu; it seemed like he had made a similar observation once before.

As they walked hand in hand, they passed by lively street vendors selling exotic wares, their voices carrying the scent of spices and roasted meats. The laughter of revelers spilled out from the bustling taverns and inns, filling the air with a joyous ambiance. 

They decided to stop by the upper city gardens to rest their feet. Isla laid her head gently of Astarion's shoulder, he was a little taken by suprise but he didn't mind.

"Ugh, I won't lie, all this walking has made me a little... hungry." Astarion stated, feeling a little tired. 

"Don't worry my dear, we'll be home soon. There's plenty of 'wine' waiting for you." Isla replied, a tinge of playfulness in her voice, hinting at their shared secret.

Isla gazed out at the children in the park, even though it was quite late into the night, they continued to play after their dinners. Their parents kept a watchful eye on them from afar while engaging in conversation amongst themselves. A spontaneous smile graced her lips, one that had emerged without her awareness, until she overheard a young boy yell,

"MISTER! MISTER!" 

The boy darted up to Astarion, catching them both by surprise. Despite Astarion being seated, the boy stood much shorter and couldn't have been older than 5. 

Astarion, a tad confused, inquired, "What is it, little one? Do you need something?"

The boy placed his hands into Astarion's and responded with awe in his eyes, "Sir, I couldn't help but notice your eyes. They're so pretty, they look like rubies. Do you have gems for eyes, mister?"

Astarion, taken aback, struggled for words but managed, "Well... dear boy, my eyes are very much real."

"Really? Can I have a closer look then, mister?"

Isla watched the heartwarming interaction unfold with a gentle smile. Astarion, while still slightly uncomfortable, couldn't help but smile either. He knelt to meet the boy's gaze, allowing him a closer look. Soon, more children joined, their eyes fixed on Astarion's.

After a moment, Astarion, with a hint of playful sternness, quipped, "Are you quite finished with your scrutiny, young ones?"

One of the children spoke, "I hope my eyes are as pretty as yours one day, sir. Mine aren't a unique color like yours."

Astarion, his demeanor softening, said, "Oh, come now, your eyes are beautiful too, like stars in the night sky! Don't wish to be anyone other than yourself, child. Always remember to be strong, fearless, kind, and... well, sweet. Just as you were now." It was a tender moment, one in which Isla realized, she hadn't seen him with children before, and it warmed her heart to witness him in this gentle role. 

As the children continued on their way, Astarion settled back beside Isla, a faint but genuine smile lingering on his face. She couldn't help but keep her gaze fixed on him. Astarion finally broke the silence, "You know, perhaps having one of those around wouldn't be such a bad idea."

Isla found herself taken aback by his comment, and her cheeks gave away her bashfulness as they flushed red. Astarion couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, a fond and affectionate laugh that filled the night. He leaned in and tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

Finally, hand in hand, they began their journey back home, their hearts lighter, and the memories of the evening etched in their souls.

*

[mdhwrites]

Did Luz ever believed that she could save Belos?

I think the bigger question is whether or not Luz ever CONSIDERED that she could save Belos.

Remember, in the first episode, she shoves a pack of fireworks directly into a dude's mouth. She sicks the cubes against the crunch publisher and then just leaves. She lets Willow do whatever she wants to the monster hunters. She straight up leaves Tibbles to be eaten by his miniature pets now that they're full size. Etc. etc. Luz is not exactly someone who seems to even question what she should do to an enemy, let alone their humanity versus her own.

This isn't even a complaint about her but just kind of a fact. I don't mind that she doesn't care about her villains. It admittedly places her mindset more on the axis of the Isles which actually isn't great for her ever disagreeing with them. It's why stuff like her clearing out Eda's cheat box honestly feels weird because her morality in general is pretty close to gray but she is clearly framed as morally better than the majority of the Isles, especially early on. It's just... Not really true by her actions. Remember, by episode three she's already sneaking out for her own self glory and on mass lying to get into the school she wants and only one of those required any pushing from others to do.

It also makes the jabs at SU kind of weird because like... The show never cared about its villains before now. The fact that they're not dead is mostly because Luz just leaves them to other people or can't kill them. She's just not that sort of protagonist. I mean, she fucking branded Belos back in King's Tide as a way to make sure everyone with a brand didn't die... Which you know, kind of means HE'S going to die. She literally uses his life as a trump card to get him to do as she wants. It's part of why people laud that moment as Luz being clever because even if the way she does it is bullshit, the idea is sound.

The ONLY exceptions to this are Amity and Hunter but... Only kind of. In the episodes where they are true antagonists, she has no way to actually fight back against them, ending up leaving both unscathed as she has to use trickery or just run for it. Then they're not primary antagonists but instead people in tension with Luz which is different. Luz is shown their humanity and suddenly gives them a chance. Why is a good question and uh... The fact that of her villains, these are the only two conventionally attractive, white people who she might want to date is NOT GREAT. To put it mildly. Especially when in their third proper episode together, Luz is stating that she'll befriend Amity explicitly as part of fulfilling narrative tropes. And if you want to say Kikimora disproves this: She doesn't. Luz explicitly helps Kikimora to prove a selfish point. If she wasn't freaking out about her own family, she'd have likely left Kiki to rot. It's not like she exactly ever tries again with the little demon after all.

No, for the VAST majority of villains, you fuck with Luz, Luz will fuck your shit up. It's honestly weird that it takes Luz so long during Winging it Like Witches to decide to go the violent route on Boscha, which I just assume is so she doesn't end up back in detention or expelled. Or because she thinks Boscha can and will kick her ass if she tries something like that on her own. But yeah, Luz isn't some sort of cinnamon roll. In fact, I think a lot of people's interpretations of Luz are much more based on what her archtype appears to be than what her actual character is (myself included while I was writing fanfic for the show). She's introduced as the quirky, nice girl in the first episode and she's not SUPER far away from it, that is the closest to an archtype she has besides just kind of morally questionable teenager, if she has really any archtype or structural base to her character. You know, besides audience surrogate and thus kind of bland and non-committal in order to serve that.

She has a couple interests but 99% of the time can keep them reigned in. Sure she knows what fanfic is but that just means she spends literally anytime online/with fandom. Her energy is cute but very erratic for it showing up... At all. Her kindness is extremely limited and she honestly just isn't that quirky. She has one series she supposedly obsesses about but quotes at most half a dozen times in the show which makes it more a character quirk than a defining characteristic.

It's kind of part of why Luz doesn't grow because the series seems to spend a LOT of time trying to figure out what Luz is. Is she a morally questionable teenager? Is she an excitable goof? Is she the moral center or the one having to learn morals? And yes, a character can absolutely serve several roles and be flexible. I think she actually does that well in the first half of the series where she shifts a bit for the sake of other characters' stories, which is one option for your main character. You know, before her narrative role changes and they get a VERY firm idea of who she is siiiiiiiigh but it's still weird with how they did it.

It makes so much of what we're told and what people latch onto end up feeling contradictory. As an example: Her being bullied. We only get maybe three moments in the entire series that even hint at her having any sort of bad experience with other people, let alone kids her own age. It informs nothing about how she behaves or her character. She could have just been a normal kid most people left alone and nothing would change. So this element, that so many agree universally on, is just... Almost purely fanon and the moments it comes up in canon are really awkward and just don't make much sense with literally EVERYTHING ELSE she does.

It makes her getting a shapeshifter as her palisman ironically make a lot of sense. Her character has always just been what's convenient for the writers and what others project on her. A lot of her canon character just isn't used a lot. Instead, people opt for what the fandom says about her.

And that version might have considered saving Belos. Might have thought taking a life actually mattered. But canon Luz is just worried about becoming the bad guy. That this is the start of her villain arc, not that she is finally having to murder someone. Just that her justifications might make people say she's like the villain in her story.

Because canon Luz never considered if Belos should live. Not from the second it inconvenienced her back in Hollow Mind. Earlier with what he did to Eda if you want to be REALLY generous, even though she never acts on what Belos did to Eda. She only becomes a revolutionary once she can't have magic cloak because of it.

Almost like Luz isn't the morally good person that the show told us she was. She's just a selfish teenager which can be a lot of fun, so long as you own up to that being your character. Shame TOH never did.

======+++++======

As a note: This blog is actually a LARGE part of why I stopped really being able to write Luz. I literally had a moment writing this one off where I went "Luz wouldn't do this. This is too nice and understanding." It was ROUGH. And what sucks is that with the morality around her, at least when characters are still interesting, her being a nice, caring person is the best dynamic for her. It just... Isn't actually her dynamic and that's rough.

Also that story is from a year and a half ago. Just... Man I wish my brain would unhook from this show already. *sigh*

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[sketching-shark]

Okay so I’ve now seen multiple posts arguing about whether Clytemnestra of The Oresteia fame is one of the world’s first girlbosses or just a power-hungry monster, but personally (and keep in mind that this is my impression after just reading Agamemnon) i think there’s something more interesting and horrifying on a society-wide scale going on with her.

Because right after she murders Agamemnon and the chorus reacts by saying she’s done an “evil thing” and will “go homeless now/crushed with men’s bitterness,” she responds with:

“Now it is I you doom to be cast out from my city

with men’s hate heaped and curses roaring in my ears.

Yet look upon this dead man; you would not cross him once

when with no thought more than as if a beast had died,

when he ranged pastures swarmed with the deep fleece of flocks,

he slaughtered like a victim his own child, my pain

grown into love, to charm away with winds of Thrace.

Were you not bound to hunt him then clear of this soil

for the guilt stained upon him?

Yet you hear what I have done, and lo, you are a stern judge. But I say to you:

go on and threaten me, but know that I am ready,

if fairly you can beat me down beneath your hand,

for you to rule; but if the god grant otherwise,

you shall be taught--too late, for sure--to keep your place.”

So in other words, one of her main reasons for killing Agamemnon was for killing her daughter, but it also seems that somewhere along the way she became convinced that any claimed adherence to justice, morality, honor, and even love were complete bullshit, that the only thing which mattered was how you could wield raw power to get what you wanted. And in the context of Agamemnon, you can understand why she would come to think this. Agamemnon, after all, was a lauded king even though he had murdered his own daughter so that he could go wage war against Troy, he does in fact put this entire city to the sword (and goddamn do a lot of works go into the minute brutality of that slaughter), and his entire household runs on slavery, with him bringing back even more enslaved people from Troy. And in the eyes of their society, all of this is understood as completely fine and good, or at least something that shouldn’t be challenged.

So if Troy and its people were destroyed because Menelaus was pissed at Paris, why shouldn’t Clytemnestra kill Agamemnon because she’s pissed at him? If it’s okay for a king to spend ten years waging war, why not kill one’s husband and take his throne? If we’re working in a social system that ultimately always falls back on a “might makes right” way of organizing itself no matter how much human pain and death may be the result, why not take power however you can and then tell anyone who objects that you’ll kill them too if they step out of line? And who even has the right to act like you’re in the wrong when they made it clear they were perfectly fine with so many other atrocities?

So no, Clytemnestra is not a good person. While I haven’t read it yet, my understanding is that she acts in more and more monstrous ways throughout the other plays she’s in, even going so far as to continually abuse her surviving daughter Electra. But her individual monstrous actions also seem to be the direct result of her concluding that the fine sentiments others claim to be acting upon are nothing more than a tissue-thin veneer for their own greed and lust for power, and that she at least wasn’t going to pretend that hers weren’t.

The Oresteia is a trilogy of tragedies, but I do think it’s one that’s made even more discomfiting by the idea that this was tragedy produced just as much by the allowances of society as the individual actions of its characters.

[immeasurable-depths]

Holding myself accountable by posting a snippet from the fic you guys convinced me to write… was hoping to have it out before the next episode but life happened. Hopefully it’ll be finished by next week! In the meantime…

Putting most of it under the cut since it is not very SFW 👀

A shiver of anticipation ripples up Laudna’s spine, her eyes captivated by the silky yellow bandana in Imogen’s hand. Imogen wore this every day for the first years of their travels together: it is something so irrevocably Imogen, so familiar. And yet, in this moment, it is something entirely new. Exciting. Enthralling. Laudna shivers again.

The material is soft as Imogen places it over Laudna’s eyes and knots it securely behind her head. The last thing Laudna sees is Imogen’s smile, small and secret, and her eyes, fiery with desire and adoration, before darkness envelops her. With her eyes covered, every other sense tingles, intensely honed in to the quietest of noises, the faintest of sensations. Laudna hears the gentle creak of the boughs of Ligament Manor, enveloping them in a cocoon of secrecy, allowing them a space that is private and uniquely theirs. She feels Imogen’s breath hot on her cheek as she kneels in front of Laudna, hands fiddling with the blindfold to ensure its security. Laudna catches the faintest hitch in Imogen’s breath, feels her own breathing stutter in response.

“Is that okay, darlin’? Is it comfortable?” Imogen’s voice is barely a murmur, but in the charged silence that thrums between them, she could be shouting. Laudna detects the faintest waver of uncertainty, and scrambles to reassure; this is new territory for both of them, after all.

“Yes - yes, it’s fine, dear,” Laudna affirms. She presses her palms into her thighs, nervous.

“Good, good.” Imogen is quiet for a moment. Laudna can’t feel her breath anymore.

When she speaks again, Laudna can already detect the change in tone. Imogen is quiet at first, tentative; but then a low husk reverberates in her throat, growing with confidence with every word. Figuring out the next steps, and enjoying it.

“Good. We’re going to leave this on, yeah? And you’re… you’re gonna sit real still for me, aren’t ya, Laud?”

Laudna feels her heart pounding in her ears.

“Aren’t you, Laudna?” Imogen prompts. Her voice is syrupy sweet, but something low and hungry ripples beneath the surface.

“Y-yes, Imogen. Of course.” She rolls her shoulders and takes a deep breath in, settling into a comfortable position. She can already feel heat pooling somewhere deep in her stomach.

“Good. And we’re gonna be real quiet, too, aren’t we?” Laudna purses her lips in response and nods. “‘Cause otherwise, you won’t get what you want. We clear?” Imogen’s breath is warm on her face, somewhere just in front of her lips.

Another frantic nod.

“Good girl.”

And there it is. Laudna inhales sharply, arousal flooding through her, her skin prickling.

Another fluttering heartbeat follows, and then Laudna feels Imogen’s hands clasp hers - though she tries to suppress it, Laudna can feel the slightest nervous tremor, before there is a nudge at the borders of her mind.

She lets Imogen in instantly, and warm tones float through her consciousness as Imogen’s voice, cautious and full of affection, projects into her mind.

If - if I’m not gettin’ it right, or if it’s too much or anythin’, you tell me to stop and we will instantly, sweetheart. Laudna thinks she might break apart at the sincere vulnerability of Imogen’s concern. Okay?

Yes, Imogen, yes. Of course. Laudna smiles, full of love and gratitude for the other woman.

And Imogen’s lips are on hers as she pulls her in for a deep kiss, warm and reassuring, as I love you, I love you so much murmurs into her mind. Lauda smiles again as her hands cradle Imogen’s cheeks, before she lets them fall limply into her lap.

Imogen clears her throat, encouraged. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Laudna breathes. And then, she waits.

[asmutwriter]

You Saved Me (Part 13)

DESCRIPTION: (Season 11) whilst on a girls night out your friend manages to pick up an unexpected friend

WORD COUNT: 3215

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List  

WARNINGS: swearing, drinking, talk of sex/sexual things, flirting, jealousy

DISCLAIMERS

- This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

- Not been proof read

7 MONTHS LATER

“Someone has to do karaoke with me. It’s a matter of life or death” you friend Mel says. You had gone out for a night out with the girlies. Well more of a weekend out. You and four others for a girl’s holiday filled with alcohol. You, Mel, Justine, Izzy, and Tash. 

“I don’t know. I think if any one of us is caught singing it’ll be the death of our eardrums” you respond to your friends comment. She pulls a face as the mocks you before smiling and grabbing your friend, Izzy’s, arm

"Help me” she mouths at you as she gets dragged onto the stage. You put your hand up to your ear. Then motioning at the place 

“Sorry can’t hear you. Music’s to laud. Good luck” you smile at her. Tash smiles

“I’m going to go get us three some more drinks” she stands up. Smiling at you as Justine shakes her head

“No. No more. If I drink more within the next hour I think I may die” she shuts her eyes “I feel like my insides are retaliating” you laugh as Tash walks away. Justine rests her head on the table. You pat her back 

“You’re not used to drinking are you?”

“No I’m not used to drinking the amount of alcohol you two have consumed” she brings her arms around and rests her head on them “how are you two not dead from alcoholism?”

“It’s one of the world’s mysteries” you smile as she grunts out a response. About 5 minutes pass. Tash walks back holding two pints

“Ok what did you do to her?” she motions at the drunk friend who still hasn’t lifted her head, even at the sound of someone else’s voice. 

“I didn’t do anything. I can’t help it if she can’t handle her alcohol” she chuckles as she motions behind her

“I met someone at the bar. I said that he could come drink with us” she grins at you. The smile of ‘I want to get laid’. You nod as she places the drinks on the table. A guy comes over. Your eyes meeting his as she introduces you “Rose this is Dean. Dean, this is my friend Rose. The one passes out is Justine”. The Winchester brother smiles at you before he looks at the girl next to you

“Is she ok?”

“Yeah just very drunk” you look at her. Taking her wrist in your hand you feel for a pulse. “Yep just drunk. Not dead”

“Well that’s always a positive of the day” he sits down “glad to know you girls won’t kill me” Tash sits next to him, resting her arm on his shoulder as she picks up one of the pints

“I don’t know. It’s still early in the night” she wiggles her eyebrows at him as he laughs. You smile as you grab one of the pints

“I’ll leave you two alone”

“No stay” she places her hand on top of yours

“I’m ok. I don’t want to third wheel you guys”

“You aren’t being a third wheel” she says as her eyes meets yours. She then looks at Dean who has a soft look in his eyes as he faces you.

“Fine” the two friends who were up and singing come and sit down at the table you’re on

“Girls this is my new friend Dean” Tash says “Dean. These are my friends Mel and Izzy”

“It’s nice to meet you” Mel says shyly. Izzy smiles, taking his hand in hers 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dean”

“We should play a game” Tash says “obviously one that involves drinking a lot of alcohol” causing the four of you who are conscious to laugh. “Truth or drink? But in the style of spin the bottle” she wiggles her eyebrows as they all nod. Izzy standing up as you get an empty bottle and place it on its side in the middle.

“I’ll go get us a few more drinks”

When it started off the questions were tame. “What’s your favourite colour?” and “how many pet cats do you have?” That’s when Tash decides to spice things up. It’s her turn to spin the bottle, it landing on Dean. She smiles at him as he turns his head to look at her

“If you had to sleep with any one of us, who would it be?” he chuckles, eyes scanning around the table

“Defiantly not the unconscious chick”

“Come on. Answer the question” she runs her tongue over her bottom lip as he smiles. Taking his cup he takes a swig. She rolls her eyes at him “you’re no fun”

“You made me decide between a bunch of pretty ladies. You expected me to choose?” she nods, her arm going round his neck more as he smiles at her. His arm going around her waist as he places his drink down. Taking the bottle and spinning it. It landing on Mel. He smiles at her “if we’re asking more spicy questions then... how old where you when you lost your v-card?”

“19″ he nods. She takes the bottle and spins it. It landing on you. You smile at her “when did you last have sex?”. You titl your head slightly. Taking a sip of your drink.

"It was either really good sex or really bad sex if thats your reaction". Taking the bottle and spinning it. The bottle lands on Dean as your friends make small comments about your boyfriend. He smiles as he looks at you. You think for a moment, gently running your tongue over your bottom lip as you contemplate a good question 

“favourite sex position?”

“Probably cowgirl. But I like any so long as I can see her face” he smiles at you as you resist the urge to bite your bottom lip. Eyes darting to his upturned smile before he takes the bottle and spins it. It lands on Tash. You look at your now empty glass as he thinks

“I’m going to get a refill. Anyone else want one?” half of them nodding as you stand up. Taking a mental note that you need three beers for you, Tash and Dean. You head over to the bar. Getting out your purse you wait in the queue. A couple of minutes pass. Feeling a hand gently touch your lower back. You turn and see Dean next to you. He smiles at you

“Thought I’d give you a hand carrying the drinks back” you smile at him as you look back forward. Feeling his hand still placed on your lower back as he goes closer to you. “You’re friends are nice”

“Yeah. Tash seems to have taken quite an interest to you” A cocky grin appears on his face. You hit his shoulder slightly “keep it in your pants dude” he chuckles “the hotel we’re staying in isn’t to far from here if you want to take her back to it. Just let us know when you’re done” you smile as you talk to the bartender. Ordering some drinks.

The comfortable silence you could only share with Dean surrounding you both. The bartender resting the drinks onto the counter after hes made them. He takes two of the glasses and you take the other one. Moving away from the bar. Sipping the top of it as you follow him back through the crowd. 

“What did we miss then girls?” he says, sitting down next to Tash again as he hands her one of the two glasses he’s holding

“Nothing much” she answers as she takes the cup from him, once again resting against him. Justine lifts her head up. Looking around as she stretches “Welcome back to the land of the living” she grunts out in response. Taking Tash’s beer from her hand and sipping it before handing it back to her. 

“Jesus its cold in here” she wraps her arms around herself causing you to let out a small chuckle. Taking off your jacket and handing it to her “are you sure?”

“Yes. Can’t have you catching a chill because you didn’t think to bring a jumper. Plus I get too hot anyway. Especially when I’m drunk” you smile at her as she takes the jacket from you. Wrapping it around herself and placing her arms through it. You grab your drink again, sipping it before speaking.

“Come on. I want to play darts” They all shake their heads apart from Tash who also stands up

“I’ll play” Dean shrugs slightly

“Make that three then”

“You girls are wusses” you grab your drink as you go over to the dart board. Tash gently takes Deans arm in her hand

“Something you should know about Rose is that she is shit at darts. So if you want to bet something then you’ll likely get what you want” he chuckles slightly as he looks at you. 

“What do you want to bet then?” you say in a slight mocking tone as he smirks, lips tilted up as he thinks through his choices. 

“I'll be nice to you girls" He reaches into his pocket. Taking out his wallted and a £20 note. You smile. Going into your pocket and taking out the same amount of cash. As does Tash

“Bring it on pretty boy” she smiles at him.

The three of you play for ages. Tash beating you both. Taking your money. SHe was obviously very chilled about it. Placing it into her back pocket before dong a mini victory dance. Including her blowing the end of the dart, like blowing smoke from a gun. You laugb at her.

"Ok. Lets play again. £30 this time". SHe nods.

"Hell yeah. i can beat you all over again" you laugh. Looking at Dean as he nods.

"Im game. I'll go get us some more drinks though". He says. Walking off to the bar. Tash's phone beeps. SHe takes it out. Her smile turning to an annoyed frown.

"Fuck" she says. "Youve got to be fucking me".

"Everything ok?" you say. SHe nods. Rubbing her face with her hands as she continues to nod.

"Yeah. Just dandy. Just got a text". She holds her phone out towards you. You take it.

'Hey Tash. Really sorry but something has just come up. Are you able to come home tongiht?'

"SHit. Is that the babysitter?" she nods. Taking the phone from you again as she places it into her pocket.

"I have to go or else he'll be on his own"

"How will you get back? Youre well over the limit"

"I'll get a cab"

"Text me when you get home, ok?"

"Yes mum" she playfully says. "SHit what about Dean?"

"I'll explain. I'll tell him that it was something you couldnt avoid and I'll give him your number"

"Thank you. Best wing woman" she smiles. Hugging you close to her before she walks off. Dean coming back over. His eyes confused as he watches her leave.

"Was it something I said?". You shake your head. Taking the drink thats yours from him.

"Her babysitter just cancelled on her"

"That sucks". He takes a sip of his beer.

"Im still up for beating you in a round of darts though. For £30" you smile. Causing him to laugh.

"Oh youre on"

-

"You have been practivcing" he says as you score better then him.

"I had a good teacher. What can I say?" you go over to the board. Pulling out your darts. He chuckles as he aims. Managing to score highly, but not quite as high as you. You sile. Looking at him as you hold a hand out. "I believe you owe me 30 quid"

"Yeah I know" he says. Reaching into his pocket and taking out the money. Placing it into your hand.

"Pkeasure doing business with you". He chuckles. Looking at you as you place the darts down near the board. Shoving the money into your back pocket. Picking up your nearly finished beer and sipping it.

"You know... we could always blow this joint. My car is out the front. We could go to a motel or something". You look at him. A soft, apologcetic smile on your face as you speak.

"Im still with Mike"

"Oh" his cocky smile fading quicky at your words. You hlf smile.

"But I'll play a round of pool with you" he chuckles. Nodding slughtly as you both head over to the table. He sets it up. Eyes looking up at you before back down.

"WHat do you see in him then?"

"WHo? Mike?". He nods.

"Hes kind to me and the kids". You stay quiet. Taking the qhite ball and hitting it.

"Thats it?"

"What more do you want me to say? Hes kind, funny. What more do I need?"Watching as he ais the stick. Hitting the balls.

"Does he even know your real name?". You look at him. Shaking your head dslightly as he scoffs. Taking your turn as you feel his eyes on you. "You claim to like the man yet I still know you better then him". You shoot your ball. STanding up straight as you turn to face him

"Are you jealous of him?" He lets out a soft 'pfft'. "Oh my god you are. Youre jealous of him"

"I just think that a girl like you deserves so much better then some posh twat"

"You dont even know him Dean"

"I dont need to too know that hes a posh twat". You shake your head. Looking away as he takes his turn. He notices your defensive nature as he ends his go. Looking at you. Your eyes slightly hazed over from unseen tears. His jealous behavious leaving as he realises hes upset you. "Rose?". You face him. Annoyance in your face as you meet his green eyes. "I am happy for you. Truly. You deserve someone who will treat you right. ANd if you think hes the one... then I wish you both the best". You half smile.

"Thank you. You know, you desevre happines too". You say. Taking your shot. His eyes giving off an emotion you cant quite read.

"I dont have the right lifestyle for happiness like that".

"Thats a shame. Bcease I was going to give you Tash's number agyer this... But if you dont want it" you say. Your playful behavious coming back nto your tone as the mood suddenyl changes.

"No. I'll happily take her number from ypi. Lets just finish this game" you smile. Watching as he takes his next turn.

You watch. Both of you neck in neck. Having only the black ball left. He takes his aim. Hitting the ball. You clutch your pole. Watching as it goes into the hole. He fist bumps the air as you roll your eyes. And annoyed groan coming from your lips. "Good game" you say. Holding your hand out for him to shake. He smiles. Gripping it and shaking it.

"Pay back for the last time we played and you absoluetely pummeled me in this". You pick up the small chalk block. Using it on the end.

"Best out of three then?" you smile at him. Wiggling your eyebrows.

"What about your group of friends?". You move. Looking to see them all sat around a table. Arms lonked over each others shoulders as they sing whatever song is playing on the radio.

"I think we're good for another half an hour". He chuckles.

"Bring it on then" you smile. Setting up the table once again.

You hold onto your pool stick. Your friends had come over to watch the minn championship you were having. Cheering you on. That was until Dean started to absoluetly thrash you. You still had 5 balls on the table, whilst he was just trying to ping in the black ball. It was his turn. You held your breath as you watch. He leans accross the table. A cocky smirk on his face as he winks at you. Hitting the ball. Watching as it goes into the whole. He smiles. STanding up as he looks at you.

"You jammy fucker" you say. A slow clap as he coes over to you "Well done". He smiles.

"I think that calls for celebratory drinks, dont you?". You smile at him. Nodding. He looks at your group of friends. "Drinks on me in my cebrationary victory. WHo wants one?".

"We're going to call it a night" Mel says. Holding up Justine. "Im taking this one back to the hotel". SHe motions at the friend. He looks at Izzy.

"Im also going to call it a night. Rose, are you going to join us?"

"Im actually going to stay here for one more drink" you smile at your friends. They give you a soft and knowing look. Trusting you and your intentions.

"Text us if you need us to call a taxi"

"Thanks girls". You blow kisses at them as they leave. You and Dean left around the pool table.

"I'll go get you a celbratory drink" you say to him. SMiling as you head to the bar. Buying two more beers. ANd a whiskey each. Some vodka shots. Then another whiskey. You sit at a table. Laughing as he tells you a very unfunny joke. Your brain being to drunk to comprehend much logical thought.

Thats when you hear the bartender call out. Closing time. You look at the bar. "SHit, how long have we been in here?"

"Im guessing around 8 hours".

"Well fuck" you say. STretching as you stand up. "Im going to tkae that as my cue to leave. Go back to my girl friends". You fold your arms over yourself. "Shit..." you mutter. He stands near you.

"You ok?"

"Justine has my coat". He lets out a soft chuckle.

"I can give you a ride back to you hotel if youd like?"

"No. Im only just round the corner. The fresh air will do me good" you say. Feeling into your jean pockets and taking out your phone. Getting up a number. "I said I'd give you Tash's number" you say. Handing him your phone. He lets out a soft chuckle. Taking it from you asa he takes his mobile out. Typing in the digits and saving it to his phone.

"Its been good to see you Dean" you say. Placing a hand on his cheek as you kiss the other one. He looks at you. His eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Kat?"

"hmm?" you humm

"Im sorry. For everything. What I-". You shake your head.

"I forgive you. I will always figive you" you say. Going forward again as you hug him. He wraps his arms around you. Kissing the top of your head. "Im just glad that youre ok". You whisper. You stay like this for a few minutes befoe you pull away. Looking up at him. "I need to get back to my friends"

"Yeah. Sams probably waiting for me in the car so I should go and see him". You smile.

"Tell him I said hi. And dont forget to text Tash" he chuckles. Watching as you turn around. Heading out the back. Walking to your hotel. Quick paced as the cold morning air hits your skin.

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@sojuxxi

[incomingalbatross]

Laud Rising

I made a thing for the Chesterton Challenge! Day 18: Friendship.

---

“The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.” — C. S. Lewis

---

As a child in the city of Laudness, Katherine dreamed of wonders. The world was dulled and faulty, with days always too hot or too cold, too long with work and too short for excitement; weeks spent first learning her lessons, then her bookbinder’s trade, as seasons passed by. But everywhere around her -- in stories and games, in sky and flowers, in the hidden corners of houses and streets -- she glimpsed something more hiding behind. She longed to find that more, to get inside all of these things and away from the plodding irritations of the world-as-it-was.

Her mind was filled with wondrous adventures and brave comrades, victories over monstrous evils and gifts beyond imagining. She devoured old legends of her land’s founding, when the city had first been named -- when the Heroes of Laud had raised the nation into a place of liberty, freeing their people from servitude and protecting the land. Somehow, since then, the shine had been rubbed off the world; nowadays even legends and fairy-stories were unpopular, and Katherine found her books by scrounging alone in the city library.

She learned from other books that other people held her longings too -- learned words for it, words like hiraeth and sehnsucht and nostalgia and joy. And she learned, as she grew older, that the world-as-it-was couldn’t be separated from the wonders she glimpsed in it; even that, maybe, the most legendary heroes had once had to deal with blisters, and boredom, and dullness -- but that even so, the thrill of a sunset or a goose-call were just as much a part of her world as the blisters. But even as she learned to accept these things, to weave her dreams into the fabric of daily life without letting them be more than that, it only made some of them only sharper, clearer, more distinct with time.

Because Katherine dreamed of heroism. The more she grew to love the world as it was, to see the longed-for as only hidden under stains in its fabric, the more fiercely she dreamed of fighting for all the good that it held. She burned with the need of it -- but how, how, how? There was nothing so simple as a dragon to slay, in their nation; there were human problems instead, like corruption and falseness and poverty. She was no warrior, anyway, and no leader -- she wasn’t even particularly good with people. She was smart, she’d learned that, but staring at the troubles of the world was more like staring at the Gordian knot than anything else. It needed something other than her mind to fasten on a starting-point, and so she could only freeze in indecision.

But she could see what the world could look like, with those threads untangled -- what it could look like if it were washed clean. And from her books and stories, she could imagine the type of people that could start such a fight.

What she could do was what she had always done; daydream, spinning beauties and wonders together into tales.

So she began, at last, to share the little she had, and told her stories, for want of better things to do.

She began writing: fables and adventures and quests, telling them at first to whoever would listen, then selling them to whoever would print them -- binding them herself, if she had the time and paper. Stories of what the world could be, of the kind of heroes that could fight its evils, cast into the molds of her favorite legends; new tales of the Heroes of Laud, their Captain-King and his wise Queen, the Minstrel and the Steward and all the other famous figures, turned into her new heroes. She put her dreams and longing put out into the world, begging someone to take them up, to do what she couldn’t.

Begging for someone who could see in her dreams all that she could, and more.

Then, one day, a young man knocked on her door. “You printed this,” he said, eyes shining, and held out her first book: The Rising of Laud, half-a-dozen stories inside an amateur cover. “Do you know the author? I haven’t been able to find them yet, but this is their first work --”

“Why do you want to know?” she asked.

He looked down at the book, then back up again. “I’ll sound mad if I tell you the truth,” he said gravely.

Katherine raised an eyebrow, uncertain what to say. “If you do, at least I’ll know you must mean it?” she offered.

“A very good point.” He breathed in, and then said, “I’ve wanted to meet the writer since I first read their stories, because -- they’re the first stories I’ve ever wanted to come true.”

She stared at him.

“They see things truly,” he continued, as if he thought she didn’t understand. As if he weren’t understanding her as he spoke. “It’s -- it does sound mad, I know, but this is what I want to be --” he gripped the book in both hands, looking down at that worn cover “-- what I will be, if I’m allowed, and I just want to talk to the other person I think wants this.” And then he looked her squarely in the eyes, focused and alight with conviction in a way she’d never been -- but the way she’d always wanted to be helped to find.

Her dreams had never had faces, but she thought that her Captain-King would have hd a face like this.

“I do want this,” she said, somehow unhesitating. “I wrote it -- that’s why I wrote it, to call for someone. But…I don’t know how to help.”

He laughed. “You called, I listened,” he said. “Others might too. And after all --” he held up the book again “--the Heroes have to have their Minstrel, right?”

“I can’t sing very well,” Katherine warned, stepping back from the door to let him in.

“That’s not the important part,” he insisted. He held out the book to her, and she took it automatically as he stepped inside. “You said it yourself, in this -- what’s the role of the Minstrel?”

“She has several.”

But she knew which one he meant, even as she spoke. She ended up saying the line in unison with him -- the tenet of the Minstrel, in more than one tale:

“The Minstrel’s role is to tell the Heroes that they will never be alone.”

And after all, Katherine began to remember, that applied in more ways than one -- not just to the Minstrel's audience, but even to herself.