#in the beginning he was regularly insulted! All the time!

[eliza-dearest]

You 🤝 Me at that Bakugou Post

You have opened a can of worms. I'm so sick of people denying the truth, and the truth is that Bakugou has always been flawed, dumb, and, frankly, kind of a loser. He gets punished by the narrative for said flaw of being dumb and not thinking regularly. And that, dear Goofy, is why I adore him as a character. I embrace the punching bag-ness of his story arc. The man is a comedy show's worth of odd karma waiting to happen. Man could be one of the impractical jokers.

My evidence is as follows to my theory, manga spoilers ahead:

Tells Izuku to swan dive w/o thinkin -> instantly is called out, gets caught by the sludge villain, has to be saved by said loser shitnerd he told to die along with his literal idol while he's covered in sewer goop. Also because he got saved by shitnerd, shitnerd now has his idol's quirk.

Top score in the entrance exam -> speaker of sports festival/people scout out their class -> says something dumb and impulsive -> instantly makes everyone hate him and as a result his entire class.

Denki said his personality was hot trash and nobody liked him. The class just kinda agreed??

Big power gauntlets to boom with -> almost kills izuku without thinking bc 'he'll dodge' -> is stalled, outsmarted in the end, and fails his first exam.

Yeah he won the sports festival but he also won because the other guy wasted his strength with loser shitnerd. Also because he's raging, they put him in a muzzle. Like a dog.

Final exam. Against Toshi. With Izuku. Spends too much time arguing and decides to go off on his own. Gets punched into the letter C for going in with no plan and being an idiot. Has to be saved by Izuku. Again.

Winning the sports fest on a technicality -> throwing a tantrum and being muzzled -> getting targeted for kidnapping and going off on his own -> entire class is injured, hero loses a quirk -> his idol losing his ability to fight/ending his whole career AND having to get saved AGAIN.

Got chewed out by his mom for threatening her. In front of All Might.

Develops an odd relationship with Izuku n All Might, accidentally becomes son-in-law

Gets to take license exam early! -> is too aggressive and doesn't get it. Deku does though, as does everyone but him and the guy he won against in the sports fest -> while everyone is dealing with the yakuza he's babysitting kids and learning to cool his temper. Shoto now thinks they're besties. He's befriended more idiots.

Gets his license! Misses the entire arc, a man is now dead. He's falling behind.

Goes to an island! Saves the entire place and potentially the world, gets to use All Might's quirk -> forgets all of it and only has broken bones. OFA said 'no we wanna stay with Izuku'

Interns with the number 1 hero -> It is endeavor. Izuku is also there. Shoto invites them to the worst family dinner ever.

Loser boy has MULTIPLE QUIRKS?? and they got triggered bc someone insulted him? That's embarrassing. Now he's gotta go to secret quirk meetings because like it or not, he's involved now.

Gets a quirk upgrade! -> is instantly impaled by shigforone bc he moved without thinking to save Deku. -> announces hero name in dying breaths without thinking -> everyone makes fun of it. Even the villains.

Awakens from a coma to ambush Izuku. He's run off to become a vigilante. has to chase him down in the streets and have an entire army restrain him and he only comes home when he BARES HIS SHAME to him. In front of their entire class.

GETS ANOTHER UPGRADE. GETS IMPALED AGAIN. BY THE SAME GUY. DIES THINKING OF IZUKU. AND IT DOESNT EVEN STALL SHIGGY OR STOP HIM.

COMES BACK TO LIFE, RIPS AFOS ARMS OFF -> Calls himself "Kacchan of the Bakugous" on a live broadcast. Is actively fighting with a hole in his chest. Probably dehydrated and delirious. Has a JEART.

Quirk upgrade -> it comes from the fact that his body is in so much pain. The more it hurts, the stronger the boom.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Sh*t has hit the fan in equestrian sport and I genuinely wonder if this is the beginning of the end of it's social license to operate.

I used to respect Charlotte Dujardin as "one of the kinder riders out there". Sadly it seems like this was all just marketing. She just happened to have a horse like Valegro that tolerated her harsh handling (she described him as "hard mouthed" which is a pretty good indication that he had poor training to start with).

But she was the golden girl of dressage and the UK's darling of the sport. Now the curtain is peeled back to reveal casual whipping of a horse's legs over 24 times, commenting how the whip "doesn't whip hard enough."

Methodical and not at all seeming angry or disregulated while the 15 year old on the panicked horse's back cries out. This is not a one off. It's a technique. I've seen it before. Instuctors that chase after "lazy" horses in riding schools with a whip so that the horse "doesn't get away with it."

What about horses getting chased around a round yard with a whip until rearing in panic and lathered up in sweat? I've seen that too, during an equine science program where we were supposed to be learning how to break in weanlings.

It just happens to be a Olympic gold medalist doing it and getting caught.

In the article it says "you can't force a 400-500kg animal to do something." You absolutely can and horses are regularly forced into things they don't want to do. They're flighty prey animals. They say "no" pretty clearly in competition rings but then the whip comes out, the spurs go on and the horse shuts down. Despite the blue tongues from lack of oxygen, mouths strapped shut with tight nosebands, bits that they can't escape from, froth and blood in their mouths, they continue. Because they have no choice.

When your training principle relies on negative reinforcement and positive punishment, escalation like this inevitably occurs. When your training principle is based in domiance, on "not letting them get away with it" and on "making them do it", this is where it goes. The horse's autonomy and feelings diminished into "naughty" or "just trying to be lazy" ... not fear or pain or just a simple struggle to do something they're not physically able to do.

And it becomes normalised, laughed off and accepted, especially when a gold medalist Olympian does it.

The only reason this is a scandal is because an elite rider got caught doing it. But this is not a one off or a "bad apple" this is what the entire traditional horse training model is based on.

The FEI is making a big show of this because they want to look tough on horse welfare so the Olympics doesn't throw out Equestrian sport. But just wait until the dressage kicks off. We will see the same tense, stressed out horses, toe flicking and hollow with hop-step piaffes that are an insult to the Classic masters of old.

The sport of dressage will crash and burn if it continues on its current trajectory. Equestrian sport will follow as a whole when the public realises these are not animals "enjoying their jobs". Unless the FEI allows for a huge paradigm shift where people can compete tackless and use positive reinforcement (actual +R and not the pathetic pat on the neck they pass off as +R), the sport will fall to ruin and the elites will have only themselves to blame.

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Yanno something I don't think is explored nearly enough? Ambrosius's relationship with the Director, and I'm referring to both versions here because they're both interesting in both similar and different ways

For the movie version (I will talk about the comic version on this post too, don't you worry) first of all my pal @walrus150915 wrote an incredible fic exploring this for the NBB please go read it right fucking now, but moving on from that, Ambrosius arguably saw the Director as his mom, or at least a stand-in for his mom.

She was (or seemed to be) a nurturing but authoritative adult who guided him in the role he was supposed to fill. A lot of people like to write her as an overtly nasty bitch in pre-canon fics, and while I completely get that, let's not forget that Ballister, at the beginning of the movie, found it potentially believable that he was her favorite student. He was dumbfounded and devastated to see she had been the one to frame him, he couldn't believe it and never suspected her for a second. I'll talk more about Ballister's relationship with her in another post, but the point is this is an Oscar-winning actress, people!

Ambrosius had every reason to look up to her and believe she cared about him. And she went from (in his perspective) treating him with patience, kindness, sympathy and respect, to trying to MURDER HIM.

You don't just get over a parental figure doing something like that to you (then oh yeah, promptly fucking d y i n g). The pain, the loss of realizing someone you loved and trusted was never who you thought they were (after he'd been battling those same feelings about Ballister) and never really cared about you as a person, it would be devastatingly traumatic. Like poor guy what the fuck. He had to cope with that WHILST trying to repair his broken relationship Jesus Christ

And that's not even getting INTO the comic version, which I will be getting into now. There's a big difference between the two and I think that's in no small part due to the timeframe. C! Ambro has been under the Director's thumb a full 15 years longer than his counterpart. This gave her time to exert more control over him, and also gave him time to grow more aware of her behavior. M!Ambro and the Director have the relationship of a person and their (non-sexual) groomer, while C!Ambro's relationship with her is more overtly that of a person and their abuser.*

She's regularly seen threatening him, threatening to have his loved one (Ballister) killed if he doesn't obey her thereby forcing him to do things against his will (like murder a child), insulting him, and showing him absolutely zero sympathy or kindness, even when he's seriously harmed. I think Ambrosius would, by this point, know that the Director isn't a good person and that she doesn't love him, but she's had much more time to sink her claws into him.

He's not going to leave her. This life, being the Champion, working for her, it's all he knows, and it's all he has. Where is he going to go, back to Ballister? Ballister hates him (because the Director took measures to isolate Ambrosius from him) and he's worked for the Institution his whole life. He knows the Director is bad, but he still trusts her. This is the devil he knows, at least, so by the time the story takes place he at least feels confident that they have a mutual understanding.

I imagine it took time to get to this point. He saw her as a mentor and spent most of his life desperate for her approval. After the joust, I can only imagine this got worse. She was all he had, and he'd do anything to prove himself worthy of the championship title he knows deep down that he stole. He probably saw her as a real friend for a long time, no matter how obvious she made it that the feeling wasn't mutual, and that he'd have to try ever harder to earn her praise.

What I'm saying is this man spent fifteen years under the boot of his abuser, then after fifteen years of grooming and psychological abuse she threw him in the trash, stripped him of his title and everything he'd worked for, tried to have his lover executed, then fucking died. And NOBODY TALKS ABOUT IT??? HELLOO?????

*this is not to say that M! Ambro's relationship with the Director was not abusive, it was, or that C! Ambro wasn't groomed, he was. Simply that for him, the grooming had more time to develop into overt, recognizable abuse.

[trensu]

have another snippet of stasis in darkness! just 'cuz i'm bored tbh, and kinda stuck on all my wips i'm currently working on.

The seventh night:

“Has he spoken to you yet?”

“How could he when you’re here yammering my ear off every night?”

“He’s a god, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for him to shut me up.”

“Even gods have their limits.”

“Oh, har har. The warrior’s got jokes. You didn’t answer my question.”

“...not yet,” Steve said stiffly. 

“It’s been how long now? A week?” The man hummed in a falsely thoughtful manner. “Maybe he’s just not that into you, man. Maybe he’s letting you down easy.”

At his words, Steve involuntarily curled his shoulders inward, slightly, ever so slightly, in defense. He'd been wondering that same thing earlier that day. Steve had toiled hours in the sun to fix up the shrine; to make it welcoming; to encourage a divine visit. 

He had stopped wearing his armor to free up more time to work. Putting it on and taking it off took too long, and he didn't have to maintain it as much if he wasn't wearing it regularly. He stuck to only his chainmail. He'd kept his shield stored away, too, so it wouldn't get in the way while he worked. Though, he made sure to keep his sword nearby.

He’d taken his knife and traced over the etchings of stars in the alcove that served as a backdrop to the statue. His knife had been ruined but it didn't matter. The Lord of Night would probably want the stars of his dark sky with him, he reasoned, and these had worn so thin. Sadly, it was the only detail he could bring out of all the stone. The statue’s face was so crumbled that Steve couldn’t even begin to guess what it had originally looked like.

He had discovered that the vines he chose to keep were moonflowers. They had blossomed every night since he’d removed the other more invasive plants. He'd draped them carefully so they lay across the statue's shoulders, wrapped lovingly around its torso and clung to its waist before the ends of the vines trailed off at the knees. 

The strange man might have made himself a nuisance during his visits but he never stayed the whole night. Steve had been able to get a few hours of makeshift prayers at the shrine every night. He’d done all this, yet dawn broke every day without a single sign that the Lord of Night had been listening.

“Warrior?”

Steve broke out of his reverie. He refused to look at the man. He had to clear his throat roughly before he could speak.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been rejected by someone I love." Steve tried not to dwell on his father's perpetual scowl and his mother's infinite disinterest. "I’m pretty used to my devotion being one sided by now.”

“That’s a bummer,” the man said. His sympathy was meant to be teasing, Steve could tell, but it came out surprisingly sincere. “Good thing you have a whole pantheon! Strong guy like you? Any god would take you to be their warrior in a heartbeat.”

“What are you talking about? No, I’m nowhere near done with his shrine,” Steve said determinedly. “I know a silversmith and a stone mason who’d give me a hand, and Dustin and Robin have been dying to come up here to bring him offerings. The only reason they didn’t come with me is because I had to do the pilgrimage on my own if I wanted a shot at earning his blessing.”

The man spluttered.

“Are you insane? A god rejects you and you’d come back? What kind of stupid–were you dropped on your head as a child?

“A couple times, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Are you sure? Have you checked? You should go to one of the gods of medicine. Owens, maybe. Have him take a look at your head,” the man huffed in frustration. "For stars' sake, why would you want to come back?"

He ignored the insult to his intelligence. For stars' sake. Steve murmured the words to himself, letting them settle in his mouth to get a feel for them. He'd never heard of that one before. He liked how it rolled off the tongue, natural as anything. 

The man waited for his response. Steve took a moment to try to sort out his words. He kept his head bowed towards the shrine as he ruminated.

“People barely remember my god,” Steve finally said. “And when they do, they remember him as something he’s not. Even if he doesn’t believe I’m worthy of carrying his crest, he shouldn't be forgotten.” 

The man said nothing. Steve took a shuddering breath before the quiet could take over. 

“Having someone forget you is…it’s very lonely. Which is the worst feeling. I…I guess I don’t want him to be lonely anymore.”

The silence that followed his statement stretched long enough that Steve started falling into that meditative state he’d learned during his many nights at the shrine. It helped dull the twisted up, unsteady sensation that lingered from the man’s prodding at his every self-doubt and fear.

“He hasn’t rejected you yet, though,” the man broke Steve's musings awkwardly.

“He hasn’t reached out to me either. It’s fine. I’ll keep coming either way.”

Another silence. It was around the time the man usually left Steve to his worship. He didn't hear retreating footsteps. Instead, the man cleared his throat, and when Steve looked up at him, the man turned his face away, shrouding it in gloom.

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t contacted you yet.”

“Nervous? No way.”

“He sounds like a godly weirdo,” the man said. “Maybe he’s never had a holy warrior before and doesn’t know what to do.”

“He’s the good kind of weirdo! And there’s no way he’s not had a warrior carry his symbol. He must’ve had loads back in the day. I probably don’t meet his standards,” Steve smiled lopsidedly, playing off his insecurity.

“I’m serious!” the man exclaimed. “It’s possible! Some gods never get warriors. Some never want them at all!

“Look, even if I was the first to offer to be his, he’d know he didn’t have to be nervous,” Steve insisted. "I’ve never served a god before either! I wasn’t sure I could have faith at all until I learned about him. So like, if he’s new to it then so am I, and we’d figure it out together.”

“...you really mean that, don’t you? You’d let him make it up on the fly if he took you on.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugged.

“You’d keep coming back even if he rejected you?”

“Yep.”

“But why? That’s so stupid. Nobody would do that!” The man sounded frustrated.

“I’m not really known for my smarts,” Steve said matter-of-factly. “Robin and Dustin had to translate the only book we found about the Lord of Night because I definitely wouldn't have been able to. It was a tiny book but it still took them ages to do because the language doesn’t really exist anymore. So they told me it’s possible it’s not accurate. It felt true, though, to me. 

“There was this quote, I can’t recite it word for word, but…it was something about how monsters don’t always look monstrous, and the monstrous aren’t always things to be feared.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” the man protested. Steve shook his head.

“No, it’s true! Like, I know I’ve got a pretty face and really great hair,” he smirked when he heard the man scoff, “but I was such a fucking asshole when I was younger. I went around hurting people on purpose, tearing them down for no reason other than I was hurting too, and that’s the shittiest reason to hurt anyone. I had to get some sense knocked into me by the people I call friends now. 

“My friends are the greatest people I know, and I’m really lucky to have them, but to everyone else? My friends are losers. They’re rejects because they don’t act right or they don’t look right; they talk too much or too loudly. People treat them like shit because they're different. 

“And after I noticed that, I started seeing it more even if I don’t always pick up on it. And I still mess up sometimes. I'm not a god, I can't change the world but…in the stories Robin and Dustin translated, the Lord of Night helped people like my friends because it was always the weak and rejected that try to hide themselves in the dark. I want to help those people find him again so they know they’ve got someone holy in their corner. They should know someone loves them enough to protect them.”

Steve didn’t really know where all those words came from; he wasn’t a wordsmith like Robin and Dustin. He always had a hard time verbalizing his thoughts, and he usually messed up the words. Nonetheless, these words had almost burned to be said. 

When the speech that flowed from him finally reached a natural end, he felt…lighter, cleaner. He felt like his shield and sword when they were polished to a shine. But when he turned to see his audience’s reaction, the man had gone. Steve felt strangely dejected instead.

–

The eighth night:

“Hey, it’s me again. My supplies are low and I don’t know what your thoughts about hunting on your land are so I’d rather not…I don’t want you to think I’m disrespecting you. I might have to leave soon to get more supplies,” Steve swallowed nervously. “Which isn’t an ult..ultimate…? No, damn, what is it called? I’m not trying to force you to talk to me before then, is what I mean. Not–not that I could! With you being a god.” 

Steve scoffed at his own blundering. He should’ve had Robin help him make speech notes. Cards with conversation starters. Something! He took a deep breath and tried again.

"But I'm coming back, I promise. I meant what I said about fixing up your shrine. I’ll commission a new plaque and I’ll talk to the stonemason about replacing your plinth. I don’t know a lot about sculpture, but I’ll get you the strongest type of stone and get something nice carved on it. Your flowers? Or cats? Cats are cute. Maybe your bats would be better…?” Steve trailed off.

It was quiet save for the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. The full moon illuminated the area more than ever before. The shrine must have really been a beautiful sight back in its heyday. The thought of it sent a pang of longing through his soul.

The hour came that the strange man usually showed up. Steve steeled himself for another round of questions, another jab at his faith. The hour went by with Steve alone in the clearing. Steve frowned.

“Do you think he’s okay?” 

Steve’s question went unanswered.

After another hour without seeing his stranger, Steve had finally convinced himself to round the perimeter for a quick check in case the man was nearby or in need of assistance. When he found nothing, he checked again in case he missed something. 

Still nothing. Uneasily, Steve gave up his search and returned to the shrine. He knelt before it again, head bowed. He cleared his throat.

“Lord of Night, I don’t know his name, and I know he’s been rude–annoying–but could you please watch over the man? Please keep him safe from harm for as long as the stars shine tonight. Thank you.”

He received no response, but Steve had faith. He knew he was heard. He knew his god wouldn’t let an innocent come to harm if he could prevent it.

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[speedycoffeedelight]

Hello! I've returned with more 'Reader helps get everyone a job' scenarios! And this time, not anon ✨️

Also, so happy to see you referenced my first ask, really made my day!

Anyway, scenarios begin.

~

Reader: Velvette, this is the second job you've been fired from since you got here. There isn't exactly many clothing store in town and if you keep getting fired, you'll be deemed 'unhireable'.

Velvette: *Rolling her eyes on her phone* I don't see why you're so bothered by that, I'm already a small time influencer and with the way I'm manipulating the algorithm, I'll be monetised in no time. Besides, the clothes they sold there weren't even good enough for a dumpster fire.

Reader: Anyway... There's atleast 2 more clothing stores available before we have to start looking elsewhere, a sports clothes store and a thrift shop.

Velvette: Pfft, thrift shop? You can't in your right mind think I'd be touching second han- wait. *Types on her phone* Thifting is in, sign me up! And then call Princess in here, her little lamb form is guaranteed to get me more likes then that bitch Geraldine's yappy mutt in socks and sunglasses.

~

Reader: Lute, I don't mean to be insulting or anything but I'm not sure if you could handle being a supermarket security guard. It can be a very dangerous job.

Lute: I understand you're concerns but allow me to lay them to rest with a quick demonstration of my capabilities.

*Lute quickly tackles Sir Pentious to the ground and pins him as he shouts a quick 'Why me?!'*

~

Adam: Listen Babe, I don't see what the issue is.

Reader: Adam, the bar is looking for a live band to there regularly, not a solo guitarist. Now I'm sure you are a wonderful singer-songwriter but they're not looking for a solo musician.

Adam: *Crossing arms* Fine. What other jobs are there.

Reader: Plenty, and almost all of them are places we've already got someone in so they can recommend you and you're pretty much guaranteed to be hired.

Adam: Okay Babe, fire away.

Reader: Well, the local cafés looking for another waiter (Charlies workplace).

Adam: Uh, pass.

Reader: The fast food joint needs another cashier. (Vaggies workplace)

Adam: Next.

Reader: The restaurant-dinner is willing to train up a sous-chef with no prior experience or qualifications (Angels/Husks workplace).

Adam: Eh, I don't cook.

Reader: The council is hiring more trash collectors, it sounds bad but has incredibly good pay (Niftys workplace).

Adam: As much as I'm down for driving a massive truck, somethings telling me to stay away from that little freak. She might stab me in the back or something.

Reader: You also don't have a driving license. Anyway, the radio station is hiring a files clerk (Alastors workplace).

Adam: They play rock or metal?

Alastor: *From another room* Nope!

Adam: Then, nah.

Reader: *Muttering to self* And I don't think you can work for the mechanics without a driving license either (Cherris workplace).

Reader: The florist is hiring. (Lucifers workplace).

Adam: *Fake gags*

Reader: What about working at that bowling alley and arcade pizzeria? (Voxs workplace)

Adam: *Sticks out tongue*

Reader: The clothing store? (Velvettes workplace)

Adam: *Raises eyebrow*

Reader: The local supermarket? (Lutes workplace)

Adam: *Pours slightly*

Reader: *Sighs and starts rubbing temple* Well, the only other places available is the post office and that steakhouse on the outskirts of town.

Adam: Steakhouse? Now that's what I'm talking about! Sign me up straight away.

Reader: I thought you said you don't cook.

Adam: Listen Babe, it's grilling, not cooking. Big difference. Besides, I literally invented the grill, you know? It's like 1 of the top 5 best ideas I ever had, you know, right next to naming a bunch of birds 'tits'.

Reader: You invented the grill? That's actually kinda impressive.

Lucifer: Don't flatter him, love. He had to invent a whole new way of cooking meat or else he'd have starved everytime Eve made him sleep on the coach.

Adam: HEY!

HEYYY!! Good to see you back again!! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

Yeah , velvette gonna be a real bitch(HAH-) working at stores. She won't settle for anything that's not up to her taste.

* Reader sighing in the corner trying to find more shops.*

Poor Pentious, he had to be the example 🤣🤣

*the cast and reader giving Pentious concerned glances*

And there's Adam, the first man who can't settle on one job( just like girls- *gets shot in the head*). I can definitely see him inventing grilling like this 😂😂

Thank you yet again for your creative and unique headcannons! I truly enjoy reading them!! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

[l0stfoster]

I would literally kill for everything abt cursed au paul. Like when does his redemption start, when and how do him and darry reconnect, does he ever open up abt his home life to darry or anyone else, how do the socs react to him getting close to darry (or the greasers for that matter by association) . I NEED EVERYTHINGGGGGG 🙏🙏🙏

I’m so glad someone likes him as much as I do I've had him on my brain for weeks OKAY YAP TIME!!

When does his redemption start

- Paul's redemption arc starts out preeetty slow and begins after his powers come to the surface again post-rumble, about 4-5 months later. It was being around such a large number of the cursed that flicked a trigger in his brain. He HAD his powers long before then and used them as a kid, but his mother tried to force him to forget about them with her own because she wanted this curse to die. - Dude has a panic attack when he discovers them because he's suddenly a part of this group of people he's hated ALL his life.. and then there's a very temporary god complex because he might have this curse but he's still a soc, he's not really one of those things, is he? He's still got superiority to them, so who cares if he's cursed as well.. and then his parents find out. - It's the same exact situation he had when he was a kid. His parents were already distant and abusive/neglectful but the magic just makes it worse. His mother tells him to his face that she wished she hadn't had him, and it's the first taste of just what the other cursed go through. He's obviously forced to hide his power from the public for the sake of their reputation, but it's how his own parents respond to this that makes him reflect.

When and how do he and Darry reconnect?

- Around a month after Paul discovers his powers, and it's purely an accident. They bump into each other in soc territory (Darry's birthday was coming up soon, and he wanted to visit an old cafe there he'd visit for nostalgia's sake, Paul was just trying to get out of the house for a while) and they're immediately beefing. Miraculously, though, they both had their sights on the same place and ended up directing inside, still bitching (in reality, neither of them could bring themselves to walk away). The poor workers had these two absolutely at each other's throats for hours. "I hate you and I wish you'd die" as Paul buys Darry's exact coffee order he memorized from years ago. "You're such an asshole." While Darry gives Paul the pieces of his muffin that he doesn't like but Paul enjoys. They leave with bitter wishes of hoping they never see each other again. - Weirdly enough, it keeps happening. This goes on regularly until it turns into making out in back alleys as a goodbye. When I said friends to enemies to enemies with benefits I meant it. They're practically dating but both have convinced themselves that it is casual and that they're just homies. This happens over like six months. Steve and Two find out during those months and kinda don't care, Pony and Dally are THE most offended by it. Soda and Ace are there like "I'm insulted but you're an adult, and you're not stupid, so I can't really tell you to stop?" - There's a lot more forced proximity when Paul gets kicked out and crashes at the Curtis' when sleeping in his car isn't viable.

Does he ever open up abt his home life to Darry or anyone else?

- Not willingly. There's the doodle where he gets drunk and yaps about it to Two and Dally, but that's the most he'd speak of it honestly for a long while. Darry definitely knows that the Holdens aren't exactly great people-- met them once during highschool & Paul's father is the police chief so he's already on thin ice. (yes I nabbed that from Born a Grease <3) - They meet again bc Paul needs to attend something related to the police department for reputation's sake (pre-kicked out) and Paul will only go if Darry's allowed to come. Darry gets another taste of how shitty they are there because they make a scene and Paul's powers are bought up and outed. Paul, defending Darry: "The curse doesn't make people a bad person-" Mr. Holden: "You're right, it makes them not people." Paul: "..Then what the hell does that make me?" Mrs. Holden, shouting: "It makes you wrong." - Paul will never really tell them straight up, but they can make assumptions pretty easily. He gets nightmares occasionally and gets pretty uncomfortable whenever the cops are mentioned due to his dad's relation to them. If he's drunk he'll shit-talk them, The dude's an alcoholic as a coping mechanism. I could see him maybe telling Darry, but it wouldn't be something he wanted to do. He thinks it makes him look pathetic. ( I made a what-if doodle where Paul's hair grows longer each time he overuses his power, and he has a fucking MELTDOWN when he looks in the mirror and sees his mom bc of the length. It's non canon, but it's silly to think about )

How do the socs react to him getting close to Darry (and the Greasers)?

- Paul's pretty much thrown into association with the greasers (and by proxy, all of the cursed) as eventually, word gets out that he was kicked out, alongside that he's cursed. He loses most of the soc friends he has, save for Cherry & Marcia due to their own associations (Randy wouldn't turn his back on him either, but for his own safety has to keep a distance publically.) - And since it's related, Paul and Cherry (maybe Marcia, but hers is 50/50 since she has no power) become free reign for getting jumped by other socs due to their powers & associations with the greasers. The girls target Cherry and vice versa for Paul, but we still haven't figured out how they do it without powers getting in the way. (Our running idea for Cherry is that her hands are bound so she can't spark & they butcher her hair so it can't either </3)

[patrickjanebrain]

Patrick Jane's Problems with Authority

On the show there are two specific situations you can expect Jane to get excited about. The first is when he comes across a performer or another con artist, someone who is also in the craft of fooling people. No matter how skilled or clumsy that person is, Patrick is always intrigued. He likes to view the competition. He always perks up when he smells a scam. It’s endearing. 

The second situation is when Jane encounters a petty tyrant available for him to take down. It doesn’t matter how small the throne they sit on, if they’re in any way unworthy, he views it as his honor to kick over that chair and laugh.

It’s not just once in a while. It’s every time. Every tyrant. Every politician, principal, CEO, security head, or society snob. They don’t have to get in Patrick’s way or insult him (or Lisbon) either, although if they do, he strikes like a mongoose. No mercy.

Patrick Jane hates authority. He really does. He especially hates unearned authority, blowhards, and tyrants, but he does not recognize any authority over himself at all. As he tells the sheriff in Red Alert (3x13): “I’m not below or above, I’m to the side.” He sees himself outside the hierarchy, an authority to himself and the only authority over himself. If he cooperates at all, it’s only because it’s in his best interest to do so. Sometimes, even when it is in his best interest, his impulse to be a pain in the ass wins out over practical concerns.

As far as Lisbon goes, she doesn’t control him, and his affection and care for her is the only reason he occasionally lets her put the brakes on him. Not because she’s his boss (she is, but he doesn’t acknowledge it), but because his messes get her in trouble, and he doesn’t want her to suffer. 

Outside of the people he interacts with regularly, Jane has three basic approaches to people. 

AUTHORITY FIGURES

Any person in authority, he automatically begins to try to poke at their achilles heel. He’ll make little mocking digs or outright humiliate them. He’ll question their leadership ability or just embrace his naughty side:

See that flourish? Jane artistically adds it after he paints the last letter in “SNYDER SUCKS"? That’s a fuck-you flourish. The vandalism is enough to get him the principal’s attention (which Jane needs to expose the fact that he’s been illegally surveilling minors in the bathrooms). The message is one of (Patrick’s usual) disdain. The flourish, though: that’s for every kid who’s had to deal with this self-righteous, hypocritical prick. He’s sticking it to the man, almost literally. 

He just loves to do this. It’s not work for him, it’s a privilege. 

REGULAR  PEOPLE

When Jane questions average people who are not authority figures and who have information to give, he’s sort of a neutral version of himself. He can still be bratty, but it’s not in any way malicious. Sometimes he has to stir people up to get an answer or idea, but there’s nothing personal in that. He doesn’t want to hurt them or help them. He’s just doing his job, and often that’s making trouble to cause a distraction or get someone to reveal something. 

Jane was trained from birth to view regular non-carny people as marks, and it’s still a habit. He doesn’t get involved, and he doesn’t feel guilty about how he interacts with them as long as he doesn’t really hurt them. 

THE VULNERABLE

This is the facet of Patrick Jane’s character that is the most interesting to me: his care and tenderness with people who are hurting or are weak in some way. I’ve read commentary online from people questioning whether Jane is a psychopath or a sociopath, but I don’t think that you can view how he interacts with children, injured or sick people, and anyone who is vulnerable and call him incapable of empathy. He’s capable of enormous empathy.  

He has a personal understanding of grief and pain, and when he sees it in others, he softens. He doesn’t hug people, but he will give them careful, useful advice. Occasionally he will do little favors, like a quick hypnotism to help them break a bad habit, or show them his real self and what he’s learned through suffering. 

Interestingly enough, he will change his approach when he sees someone get downgraded from authority figure to a vulnerable person. He does this with Bosco once he’s injured, and he also immediately drops his desire to toy with the coroner, Dr. Steiner, who has shown him outright disdain in the past (and present!). In The Red Mile (3x18), as soon as Jane comes to understand that Steiner is sick, he goes out of the way to give him what he knows he needs: a front row seat to an adventure, breaking the rules to catch the bad guy personally. He also gives Steiner the great gift of sitting with him and distracting him while he’s committing suicide, though it clearly costs him to see death come and take another person he’s grown to like. 

Jane takes pity on Lorelei Martins after he understands what Red John has done to her, even though she tried to hurt him and engineer Lisbon’s death. 

It’s easy to see Patrick Jane as cool or funny or even cruel, but the reality is that he has experienced a ton of loss and trauma and that’s permanently altered the way he relates to people and how he sees them. Ultimately, I think the reason that he has so many problems with authority is because his father was very abusive and controlling. Every petty tyrant Jane takes down is a proxy for his father and a win for his younger self. He is taking back control for all of the times he couldn’t when he was vulnerable and had no other options.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Bonus Chapter 1 - The Library

Word count: 3,133 Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Please read first, this is bonus content for a long fic and will not make sense as a stand alone one shot.

Summary: I couldn't make this chapter fit with the flow of the story for season 1, but I still really wanted to write it out. Just for fun. So here is some of Alastor's perspective earlier on in the plot line and some fun library smut. For reference, this is a PRESENT DAY chapter and takes place AFTER Mina and Alastor begin sharing a room again but BEFORE Mina founds out about him selling his soul. So it's early on in the plot when they are "back together" but going through a rough patch still.

Bonus Chapter 1 - The Library

Despite how rough the first couple weeks of Alastor’s return had been, things had been steadily improving between him and Mina for a multitude of reasons.

He had agreed that it was best they share a room and had used his magic to combine their separate quarters into two. In hindsight, he should have never chosen a separate room to begin with. Mina had been in such a state of emotional turmoil when he had first arrived at the hotel and he had misread her anger and her tears, thinking she wanted some space from him. Now he could see that had only hurt her more. It had cemented the idea in her mind that his absence of seven years had been far easier for him than it had for her and that just wouldn’t do.

If he couldn’t tell her what had happened, he had to be better at showing her how happy he was to be back. And most importantly, he had to stop getting so defensive when she got angry with him. Every time something reminded Mina of what had happened, she became damn near unbearable to be around. She’d snap at him, insult him, push him away, and purposefully try to wound him. And the worst part was that it worked.

Since he’d laid eyes on her, all Alastor wanted was to have her back, to have her shower him with the same amount of trust and affection that she once did. After seven years of being gone, of having his sheer lack of freedom and willpower shoved in his face day after day, having the love of his life blame him for it was too much. She was the only person capable of hurting him that way, of getting under his skin and past every single one of his defenses, and hurt his feelings.

It was preposterous and degrading and humiliating. And he owed it to her. So he was trying to suck it up and stop getting angry in return. If it became too much to bare, he’d just excuse himself and give her space until she cooled off enough to accept some form of affection from him.

That was a pattern that seemed to work and he clung to it, using it regularly to keep them both happy as they continued to heal the wounds of their marriage.

But the thing that seemed to really make Mina the happiest and most docile was the sex. And as much as Alastor had ignored the teasing and debased comments from some of the other hotel residents, it had been a rather long and lonely dry spell for him as well.

Before Mina, he’d never held sex in high regard. It was awkward, and messy, and required getting far too close to people for his comfort. But with her, it was lovely. He didn’t crave it quite as much as she did but from a purely logical standpoint, he could see the benefits of it. It was an easy way to shower her with affection, to focus his attention solely on her, to let her see and feel the affect that only she had on him. And from a much more emotional, intimate point of view . . . he had really, really missed his wife. Seven God damned years was too long to go without the touch of the person you love. And now that they had recovered that aspect of their relationship, Alastor couldn’t get enough of her.

That first night, after realizing she had been shot and he hadn’t even known it until well after the fact, was like a dam breaking. Every last wall he had put up around his defenses when it came to her was shattered. How he had managed to not scoop her up and carry her off to the nearest horizontal surface that very first day of his return was beyond him at this point. He had kept himself so closed off from her, and for what? To save himself from having to face how much he had hurt her? It was cowardly. And he had only hurt them both more by doing so.

These were all the thoughts racing through his brain as he left the kitchen that morning, leaving Mina and Niffty to their task of preparing lunch. He reminded himself again and again that this was only temporary. That Mina’s anger was justified and it would fade. If he just held out a little longer, everything would work itself out.

____

Earlier that day . . .

“Ah, there you two are. We missed you at breakfast this morning,” Alastor said as he found the two women working together in the large industrial kitchen of the hotel.

Niffty was adding seasonings to something that smelled wonderful in an oversized slow cooker and Mina was chopping vegetables. The two women were a delightful sight for sore eyes and after the morning he had had, Alastor was glad to see them doing something he was happy to join in on. He loved cooking. It was one of the few innocent hobbies he still held dear to his heart, but he didn’t miss the look Niffty and Mina shared when he walked over to them.

“And where did you two run off to this morning?” he asked.

“Just to Rosie’s to pick up some meat,” Mina answered.

Niffty gave a little giggle. “Don’t tell Charlie where we got it. She still doesn’t trust us after the thing with the heart.”

The two women shared a smile and rolled their eyes, remembering something that must have happened before Alastor joined the hotel.

“Rosie’s?” Alastor asked, fighting the feeling of being left out. “I haven’t seen her since the meeting.”

Mina stiffened, clearly reading between the lines and quickly getting defensive.

“It was just a quick errand.”

“If it was just a quick errand, why didn’t you say something before taking off?” Alastor said, hearing the annoyance in his own voice growing with every word. “I thought we agreed- ”

“Couldn’t find ya, now could we?” Mina snapped, letting her knife hit the kitchen counter with a loud smack. “That’s what happens when a woman wakes up alone almost every damn mornin’. Do I have to waste time tracking you down, bright an’ early, just to tell ya I’m going grocery shopping?!”

Niffty looked nervously between the two of them.

“We go every Wednesday. You can come next week, if you want,” Niffty offered.

“Every Wednesday? Since when?” he asked.

Mina huffed again.

“Just a thing we started doing together in the last few years.” She’d stopped yelling, but her tone was cold and she’d turned her back to him, resuming her task with the vegetables.

“I see,” Alastor said simply, catching the meaning behind her words. It was something that she and Niffty had started doing, in his absence. Maybe even as a coping mechanism. He’d hurt them both when he’d gone, after all.

“Next Wednesday it is, then.” He looked at Niffty, who returned his smile, before turning to Mina. He’d been making an effort of being more casually affectionate with her since his return, so he pressed a quick kiss to her hair, grateful that she didn’t pull away or shrug him off. “I’ll leave you two ladies to it.”

____

He found her later on in the library, curled up on the little sofa in there, a singular sunbeam from the window gracing her body with its warmth.

It had taken some time for him to track her down after lunch and he eventually had to resort to having his shadow help him find her. He had marched in here, ready for a proper argument, to remind her that disappearing just out of spite was childish and unnecessarily cruel, when he’d found her dead asleep.

His shoulders slumped as all his anger melted away.

She was positively cute like this.

Mina had taken off her knitted sweater and folded it up as a makeshift pillow and toed off her shoes before she had laid down, and had obviously fallen asleep reading a book. Alastor’s eyes lingered on her, adoring the rich brown skin of her pointed limbs, the leopard spots that danced across her pale shoulders with every slow intake of her breath, the way her slender tail wrapped itself around her hips, and the subtle way her feline ears twitched as she dreamed.

He decided then and there he would spend the rest of the afternoon by her side and slipped into shadow, the blackness melting across the floor, before following the body of the sofa upwards and solidifying himself sitting upright so that Mina’s head rested in his lap.

She shifted a fraction, barely disturbed by the change, and still deeply asleep, began to purr.

Picking up the book she had dropped, he read the synopsis and learned that it took place in New Orleans. His smile softened even more as he turned the cover back over and read the title. Out of the Easy.

For all her cold stubbornness towards him, it was times like these that he knew it was just a reflex against the pain of losing him. Mina still loved him, still sought after little ways - like this book - to remind herself of him, even when she was angry.

Alastor was a few chapters in when she finally woke. He’d been absentmindedly rubbing her ears and running his fingers through her hair, absorbed in the book. She shifted onto her back, keeping her head resting on his leg, as she blinked up at him.

“I have to say, this is a remarkably accurate description of the French Quarter,” Alastor started, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation. “Obviously I died well before the 1950’s, but it seems well researched. This Josie girl is terribly naïve though, reminds me of our Charlie.”

“Since when do you read Young Adult fiction?” she asked, her voice light and teasing.

“Well I can’t say no to a story set in my home town.” He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “And it seems you can’t, either.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She sat up, reaching for the book, but he held it high above his head.

“Alastor!” she said with a laugh, sitting up on her knees to reach higher up but he used his long arms to hold it behind the couch and well out of her reach. “Give it back!”

“Ah ah ah,” he said with a shit eating grin. “You didn’t say the magic word.”

Mina grabbed his face with both her hands and pulled him into a hard kiss.

Alastor’s eyes went wide and he felt his ears stand straighter but only out of sheer surprise. He quickly relaxed and returned the kiss, dropping the book behind the couch and pulling her against him.

The book, the open door behind them, and the tension of the morning were all quickly forgotten as the kiss heated up. He parted his lips and she took the invitation, letting her tongue dance across his, her sharp teeth pressing down for the occasional teasing nip, but never fully biting.

After several minutes of what had become a properly indecent make-out session, Mina pulled away, panting for air.

“You know,” Alastor said, as equally out of breath as she was, “you could have just said ‘please.’ But I suppose that was an adequate substitution.”

She was still in his lap and looking far too good to halt their activities, so Alastor leaned towards her and began sucking on her neck.

Mina tried to talk to him, all the while he left wet, open mouth kisses along her throat.

“I’m sorry . . . a-about earlier. I know you’re . . . trying. I am too, I just . . . Al’ . . . love . . . Alastor!”

“Hmmm?”

He pulled away, raising his eyebrows innocently at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying myself,” he answered before pulling down a strap of her dress and continuing his parade of kisses down her shoulder.

“I’m trying to apologize here,” she sighed but then moaned a little when he suddenly turned his head and nipped the back of her jawline, his teeth gentle and merely suggesting what they could really do to her flesh if she let him. “And you’re acting insane.”

“You want insane?” He took her hand and she let him guide her to the tent at the seam of his pants. “Insane is how much I want you right now.”

“Alastor,” she breathed his name and blushed, but she palmed his erection despite the hesitation in her expression. “Anyone could walk in here.”

Without even having to snap his fingers, he made the door to the room swing shut.

“It doesn’t lock,” she protested and he rolled his eyes before letting his hands wander up her legs and underneath her skirt.

“No one but us ever comes in here anyway. And you’re already so wet.”

She was. His fingers had found her clothed sex and the fabric of her panties were soaked. He stroked her long and slow, teasing her until her arousal was undeniable. He could feel it in the dampness on his fingertips, see it in the flush across her neck and chest, and hear it in the way her breath hitched when he pressed into her core just a little harder than before.

“Go ahead, tell me to stop. But if you don’t, I’ll take you right here on this couch.”

“Oh you smug bastard – oh . . .” she whimpered as he pulled her panties to the side and slid two fingers into her, pumping and stroking just beyond her entrance. No where near filling her up but enough to hit the most sensitive parts of her.

“You started it,” he said with a laugh. “And you know what they say. You should never start something you don’t intend to finish.”

“You are lucky,” she said, shifting her weight so she could undo his buckle and pants and free his erection from the constricting garments. “You are lucky I love you, because you truly are insane.”

He ripped her panties in two as she moved to straddle him, sliding down on his cock with an amount of ease and grace that could only come from two bodies knowing each other as well as theirs did.

“Believe me, Mina, I know,” he said, his voice breaking with static as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her forehead down to his. “I know just how lucky I am.”

She might have been hesitant at first but once she had him fully sheathed within her, she eagerly began rocking her hips.

This was so far beyond what he knew she would ever expect of him and Alastor could see the thrill of it in her eyes, the excitement of something new after all this time turning her on as much as his touch had.

Sure, they had done some rather debauched things to each other in the past, especially when she was in heat or he was in rut. And there was that time in Kassandra’s church . . .

But this was different. Despite their notoriety in Hell, both he and Mina were incredibly private people. And she hadn’t been wrong, anyone could walk in on them at any second. The door wasn’t locked and this library was in the same hallway as Angel and Niffty’s rooms; both of whom would come knocking if they heard anything worth investigating.

Like the moan Mina had just let out.

“Ssshhh,” Alastor whispered to her, bringing a hand up to her throat and squeezing. “Unless you want someone to find us like this.”

She shook her head, her cheeks blooming with the most beautiful red blush as he restricted the blood flow of her neck. He loosened his grip once he was sure she would stay quiet and she leaned forward, capturing his lips into another passionate kiss. 

He groped at her breast still covered by her dress, feeling it bounce in his palm with every rock of Mina’s hips against his. Pulling away from her mouth, his teeth latched onto the upper swell of her cleavage, leaving a red and purple mark surrounded by a halo of shallow indents. She whimpered, so quietly he could hardly hear her, as she ran her fingers through his hair, holding his face to her chest.

It was like she was cradling him, holding him to her as she stroked his ears and nuzzled her face against the base of his antlers, all the while never losing her rhythm as she rode him, bouncing on his cock with such perfection that all too soon, Alastor felt his end drawing near.

She came just seconds before he did and with little warning, given how quiet he had forced her to be. But he recognized the tension in her back and the way her hips moved in shorter, quicker thrusts. And when her inner walls clenched around his cock, he found his own release, emptying his seed inside her depths as she came down from her own high, still slowly pumping herself on him until she was sure they were both spent.

They stayed like that, still kissing and holding each other, for several moments longer; well after he had softened inside of her.

She hummed as his lips found her neck again and she returned his affection; first kissing his cheek, then his forehead, and his mouth for one last kiss before she pulled away with finality, though she still kept her arms around him.

“Will you take me to our bedroom now?”

“You want more? In the middle of the day?” he asked.

“No,” she laughed. “But that’s funny, coming from the guy who just insisted on an afternoon lay. No, I just think I deserve the privacy of my own room to clean up after riding you that good.”

“You do, indeed. Can’t have my own wife doing something as indecent as a walk of shame.”

“I would never find making love to you to be shameful,” she said sweetly but then wrinkled her nose. “But I don’t fancy the idea of cum running down my legs as I get to where I’m going. You shredded my knickers, remember?”

“Oh these?” he asked, lifting up the remains of her panties and then stuffing them in an inner pocket of his jacket, before lowering his voice suggestively. “I wasn’t planning on giving them back, anyway.”

He dissolved them into shadow before her smart mouth had a chance to come up with what he knew would be an absurdly bratty reply.

@saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday @redvexillum @visara-valentina @reath-solia

[chewing-drywall]

METALOCALYPSE HEADCANNONS

(Part 1/??)

Buckle in yall this will be a long ass post

TOKI WARTOOTH

Earlyklok! Toki

-the most sincerely homophobic in the beginning. You don't just get raised the way he's been and not have some WILD ass beliefs about the world, he eventually unlearns it but being surrounded by dude bros who constantly call things gay as an insult and his tendency to take things litterally DONT help. And it's not like active hate or anything it's just getting raised that gay people are sinners and are gonna burn in hell is definitely a topic you gotta make an effort to unlearn.

-seeing two girls kissing on the streets of florida for the first time??? SHOCKED, litterally did a full head swivel to check if anyone else had seen it and imploded when no one seemed to be as surprised at he was

-Doesnt really even understand why the rest of the band likes casual sex so much, it feels good but at first he thought it was strange there were all of these girl fawning over a him, a technical stranger, and he just goes along with it.

- got his ears pierced about 4 months into earlyklok sitting on the ledge of their shared apartments crusty bathtub

they were all packed into the tiny bathroom, talking over eachother, the room thick with weed smoke, skwisgaar perched over him in the bathtub holding his head straight

pickles did it with a safety pin and an icecube, joint hanging off his lips as he squinted in concentration

Toki didn't flinch, didn't even stop talking to Nathan about the newest Cannibal corpse album that Nathan wanted to buy a cd of

He liked the feeling of skwisgaars hands engulfing his face, it was a touch that wasn't cruel. Plus knowing that the best guitarist he's ever heard in his whole life hands were soft was a fact that he's gonna ingrain into his head.

Murderface and Nathan actually looked mildly concerned at tokis complete lack of reaction

- the kid will offhandedly say really cryptic shit, through broken English and weird reactions to what they think is normal stuff. the band gets the gist that they'd have to be a hell of a lot drunker to handle his truth (toki: oh don't worry I'm used to the dark! :), everyone else:👀)

-got a lip piercing but didn't take care of it properly, so of course it got infected and had to be taken out

-this is when he starts age regressing but doesn't realize he's doing it,

-he'd watch a kids cartoon in complete silence until the season ends and it's the only way to keep him completely still and quiet

-is attracted to bright and colorful things even if it gets him made fun off by the guys, secretly LOVES Lisa frank art

Regular adult toki

-AUTISM AUTISM AUTISM

HATES tables that aren't clean, when it's noticeably sticky or there's crumbs that stick to his arms when he leans on the table

-same with the feeling of spilt beer, has gotten used to it over the years but the feeling of dried sticky beer still has his skin crawling

-has drunken bong water as a dare (all of them have as some point but still)

-has also smoked weed through his nose (again on a dare)!

-if you look really close into his eyes, his eyes go so light blue it looks pale yellow

-very very kind and pretty eyes, the downwards slope of them make him look sad with a neutral face

-LONG AND THICK EYELASHES

-works out mostly regularly to keep his shape, he gets too energetic for the others to handle so it's a good way to blow off some steam

-Likes the idea of wearing feminine stuff, skirts seem sooooo comfortable but doesn't wear them cause yknow the teasing would be absolutely relentless

-medium thickness chewed on lips, does it mindlessly

-knows hes capable of incredible violence, the band is also very aware and whenever he gets legitimately pissed off during a argument (like a genuine, seriously bad argument) they'll usually just back off and wait to bring it up later when toki doesn't look like he's three seconds away from curbstomping them

-FAT crush on Nathan but for some reason gets really shy around it??

-Nathan will compliment him and toki will deadass write with a fluffy pink huge glittery pink pen in an equally pink journal kicking his legs and giggling

*Nathan told me when I got that chord I kept fucking up correct that he could *see me improving* EEEEE he's soooo big He could throw me Like a football

-fond of murderface, knows people deal with their own shit in diffrent ways so he doesn't take his insults to heart (usually)

-relationship with skiwsgaar is. Weird.

I'll probably get into it on another post but it's SO complicated like. Were both emotionally constipated around eachother, our relationship used to be so kind and gentle skiwsgaar was tokis mentor and wanted to see him grow but has such anxeity around toki surpassing him he purposely beats him down; and toki doesn't have the work ethic or drive to truly get to thay level and it impedes the progress of the band. But engages with this weird rivalry thats also a form of love and respect like. Your the only one I could ever be worried about being better than me and I've watched you grow so much and I don't know how to express that properly YADDA YADDA YADDA

-loves pickles very much, he was the most welcoming in the beginning and always made a space for him at the table, later on a shoulder to cry on.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 6

Ch. 6/? | Ao3

As always, thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @cauldronblssd without whom this story would not exist. Love you guys <3

“You look like shit, Tiny,” Andras said earnestly as he and Lucien walked past her on the way to the training fields.

Feyre propped herself up on her elbows to scowl at them as they smiled back. She hated the nickname he’d bestowed upon her almost immediately, and she hated even more that it had stuck. She fought back the urge to throw him a vulgar gesture as his towering frame blocked the sun.

“Thanks so much, Andras. Now, go be a good boy and find someone to play fetch with.” They cackled as she lobbed the insult back.

She’d been laying on a blanket stretched across the grass near the rings as she did every afternoon, lazing in the sun and reading her newest finds from the library. The two males took a seat on her blanket, causing Feyre to grumble as she made space for them. Andras bumped her with his hip, so casually friendly that she had no choice sometimes but to smile at him through her irritation. He was exactly what she'd imagine having a rather large younger brother might be like– annoying in a charming sort of way. He always made a point to ask her questions, seeming genuinely interested in her answers.

“Seriously, though. Is everything okay?” His eyes did turn serious then, despite the smile still pulling across his lips. She sighed. She hadn’t been sleeping.

Three weeks had passed in Spring in the blink of an eye, and Feyre’s dreams had changed.

She hadn’t seen Rhys a single time since the dream of them by the lake, and she was beginning to worry. Her dreams weren’t stories anymore, but dark flashes and images, more feelings and emotions than any real story or conversation. Occasionally, she could hear voices, but everything was blurry and fuzzy, almost as though she were listening from underwater.

She’d experienced dark, silken sheets and the smell of oranges, a deep sadness covering the two. Another was an endless well of hopelessness so deep and fathomless that it had threatened to swallow her whole, paired with a dark stone wall and the salty tang of tears. She felt worry and rage and sympathy all mixed into one as she looked at a handsome man with beautifully dark skin and equally dark hair kneeling before her. He held his shoulders back and his expression firm, despite the trembling of his body, and then his eyes rolled back and he fell.

“Gods, you’re nosy.” She paused momentarily. She’d caught herself using the colloquialisms of Prythian more often than not now. Gods, not God–her tongue had fallen into it as easily as if she’d spoken that way her whole life. “Just not sleeping super well. I’m alright.”

She rolled onto her stomach to look at them. “Where’s Tamlin?” Tamlin was always cordial and kind with her, but she hadn’t grown quite as close with him. He didn’t make her feel any lesser, even going so far as to encourage her to regularly sit on the back deck with them as night fell, but something about Tamlin kept her at arm’s length. It was all the same to her, she knew he had more pressing matters on his mind, and so did she.

“Patrolling again,” Lucien scoffed.

Lucien was still all sass and quirked eyebrows, but she’d begun to feel less like it was his personality and more a mask he wore. She could see, despite his endless banter, a pull to his brows, something worrying him always just at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t given her a reason to not trust him, and she genuinely enjoyed the banter they shared, feeling for the first time perhaps ever that she didn’t have to hide that sharpened, witty edge to her humor in proper society.

“He was out last night, too. What was he looking for?”

“There was another sighting in one of the villages. Naga this time.” Andras cringed and the blood froze in Feyre’s veins.

Nagas. Like the ones in Vincent’s books. Real, dangerous, and nearby.

They must have caught the look on her face. “Don’t worry, Feyre. You’re safe here.” Andras shoved lightly at her shoulder and she scrunched her nose at him, pushing him back as he feigned being wounded and toppled over.

Feyre had been surprised how easily she’d slotted into the males’ routine in Spring, and she’d been even more surprised at how much she’d enjoyed being around them. In truth, she’d never spent this much time with the opposite sex in her life, and though she wasn’t sure if it had more to do with gender or simply the fae world at large, she’d never felt so free. There weren’t the same expectations of being ladylike here for her. She could speak her mind around them and know that mostly she’d find amusement over agitation. In fact, they seemed to find her funny more than anything else. With the exception of Vincent and Rhys, she wasn’t used to anyone finding her particularly interesting, and it was a nice change.

“Speaking of beating Andras into the ground, is today the day you finally fight us, Feyre?” She rolled her eyes again, turning back to her back and raising her arm to block the sun from her eyes. She’d been coming out to sit while they trained nearly every afternoon, paying close attention to their maneuvers despite never answering their taunts about joining in.

“I’m not sure your fragile ego could handle it, Lucien.”

His responding smile was dangerous. “We’ll see, Feyre. One day, you’ll cave, and we’ll see.”

The two got up and marched on to the training rings, and Feyre couldn’t help but watch as they began to spar. The visual was terrifying and impressive in its own right, their bodies moving so quickly that they blurred in front of her very eyes. While objectively she could find the males here attractive, more often than not, watching them just made her thoughts wander to Rhys.

She thought about him so frequently here that he might as well have been in Spring with them. When they sparred, she imagined what that hard chest she’d remembered feeling beneath his clothes might look like glistening with sweat beneath the hot sun. She thought about how it might affect her to see him slam another male to the ground beneath his hand as she watched Lucien do it. She laid in bed at night, her hand twitching to move between her legs and thinking a little longer and more specifically about what it might be like for such strong arms to hold her, touch her, push her up against the wall and lift her up from beneath her thighs.

She closed her eyes against the sun, willing the shade from the nearby tree to shift her way soon so she wouldn’t need to get up and move. She opened the book she’d held in her lap and draped it across her face, sighing at the relief from the heat. The sounds of the nearby training were still audible, but the calm around her and the exhaustion from not sleeping kept her still, enjoying the gentle breeze that skirted over her skin. It would be starting to get hot as it approached summer in the Human Lands, and she found herself very thankful for seasonal courts.

“Relaxing, Feyre darling?” She startled at the voice, so close to her ear that his breath tickled the hairs on the nape of her neck.

“Rhys!” Her voice was embarrassingly hoarse, the breathlessness echoing beneath the arch of the book she’d draped over her face.

She moved to sit up and remove it, but a strong, gentle hand rested on her sternum, pressing her to the ground. That voice rang out again in her ear.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he all but purred.

“I was worried. I hadn’t seen you.” She could still hear the males sparring in the fields nearby. How had they not spotted him here?

He didn’t answer her, instead letting those warm, wandering fingers dance across her collarbones. Every graze felt like sparkling magic across her skin, and she was so responsive to his touch she arched at every pass they made.

“Did you miss me, Feyre?” The voice rumbled straight from his lips down her spine as the low timbre of it surrounded her ear, his soft breath puffing against her as he let his lips brush against it.

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, the word more an exhale than anything else. His fingers made a lazy loop back, traveling beneath the untied top of her tunic and trailing between her breasts.

Beautiful, she heard him say. She didn’t feel the words in her ear this time, but in her mind, rolling around her head like beautiful music.

“What if they see?”

Who will see, Feyre? No one is here but you and me. Do you like it when I touch you?

She was wild with the need to respond in the affirmative, her frantic nodding shaking the book still covering her eyes. His responding chuckle was dark and low.

His fingers withdrew from her shirt and she let go of an embarrassing noise from her throat, glad for the cover of her book as she blushed a variety of scarlet.

Do you want me to touch you again, love?

“Please.” She could feel the barest ghost of his fingers over her shirt, grazing along the seams of her breast band. She gasped and arched, but he pulled away again.

Ah, ah. I want to hear you say you want it.

“I want it. Please, I want it.” She couldn't believe how brazen she was being, but she couldn’t care–couldn’t see anything past her need to have his hands on her again.

She nearly combusted as she felt the featherlight touch of his hands across her chest, unfastening the band and sneaking his hand below the now loose fabric. She bit back a near-animal noise as she felt the calloused pads of his fingers brush across her nipples.

You’re exquisite, Feyre.

The words ignited a fire within her. “Touch me. Please, touch me.” She felt his lips press to her neck, and the chirping of the birds and smell of Spring fell away, leaving nothing but that lovely, consuming scent of him as his teeth ran along her throat.

To her surprise, he let out a low and feral groan as his tongue trailed across her pulse point, causing a rush of goosebumps to erupt across her skin as she arched her back, forcing her chest more firmly into his hands.

I wish you could know what you do to me. Where else would you like me to touch you, darling?

“Everywhere…” The word left her unbidden, no sense left to hold her back now. She’d let him ravage her entirely right here on this blanket in Spring in clear sight of others.

He hummed in approval, hands moving lower down her torso, his thumbs lightly caressing her ribs as she sighed.

I’ll never tire of touching you, Feyre.

Feyre.

Feyre.

“Feyre!”

She shot up, the book falling to her lap with a thunk and her hands coming up by instinct to cover her chest, only to find her breast band tightly wound around her. Her head whipped to the sides, seeking him, grasping on to the threads of him blindly. She thought she could still smell the faintest whiffs of him on the wind, but she was there on the blanket alone.

Rhys.

She had called it out in her mind, she realized with a jolt. Still she tried again.

Rhys.

Rhys!

“Feyre!” Lucien called from the rings, leaning against the wall and drinking water. “You didn’t fall asleep did you?”

A dream. Another bloody dream.

She could almost taste the disappointment on her tongue. It had felt so real, so lucid.

“If I had, Lucien, you yelling wouldn’t exactly help me along, now would it?” He smiled again. The breeze kicked up, cooling the sweat that had spread along her back and, along with it, the sharp smell of something different in the air. She had smelled this only a few times before, usually on nights when she left the windows to her room open. It smelled light and airy like jasmine, but with an earthen scent accompanying it. She turned, sniffing the air to see if she could find the source, and as she did it dawned on her that she was the source.

Feyre hadn’t realized how strong fae magic made your sense of smell, and she was mortified to find out that she, along with everyone else, could smell so well that they could detect emotions. Surely, if smelling her annoyance or fear had embarrassed her, this would send her spiraling until she managed to bury herself in the earth. She gathered her book and blanket as quickly as possible to return to the manor before, gods forbid, Lucien or Andras smelled anything.

“I’m going in! I’ll see you both at dinner!” She cursed herself for how frantic her words had sounded and refused to look back at them as she jogged back into the house, wrapping the blanket around her waist and sprinting up the stairs to her room, all but slamming her door closed behind her.

Just a dream. It had only been a dream.

She slumped to the floor, chest still heaving as her heart thrummed near painfully against her ribs.

Only a dream.

This time, the thought made her want to cry.

Feyre had roused herself for dinner, leaving the confines of her pillow-soft bed and moping to join the three males conversing and waiting for her as she came through the doors. Her heart still felt sunken low, but she knew there was no use sulking over dreams.

“Feyre, we were beginning to worry you’d grown tired of us.” She intentionally bumped into Andras as she sat, making him slosh his wine.

“Oh, me? Never.” The grin she gave was mocking, but the laugh genuine. She looked at Tamlin sitting at the head of the table. He seemed grim, but felt her eyes on him and tried a small smile, raising his glass.

“Let’s eat, then.”

Feyre wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to adjust to the food in Prythian, but she’d never tire of trying. Every bit of it was like magic on her tongue, and part of her ached to find a way for her sisters to try it, too. Elain, especially, who loved to help with recipes and planning of meals for parties, would tip head over heels for the foods here. She missed them–mostly at night when everything got quiet–more than she’d imagined she would.

After dinner, as they did most nights, the four made their way out to the porch, their chairs positioned just so around the great fire pit, a member of the staff bringing out a rather large bucket with bottles of a bubbling mead. Feyre didn’t love the feeling that too many drinks gave her, not unlike the sparkling flutes of champagne back at home that had tickled her nose until she felt dizzy. She usually kept to one bottle, but she enjoyed being out there with them. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like she had true friends. Not sisters, not guards, not mentors, but real, true friends who enjoyed her exactly the way she was.

Of course, she still remembered in the back of her mind that they wanted her here for a purpose. She also remembered that she was still keeping things from them and that sharp guilt coiled in her gut like a writhing creature. She shoved it out of her head as they all sat, Tamlin nearly throwing himself back into the chair.

So dramatic.

It was a lovely night, the air warm and heavy and filled with the sounds of the wild around them. Some nights, she’d crack open her window to sleep, letting the cicadas sing her to sleep while she watched the lightning bugs zip past. It was truly the most beautiful place she’d ever been.

She was ripped from her thoughts by a flash of flame blasting past her face as she scowled.

“Foul play, Lucien,” she snarled at him playfully, holding her hand up and lobbing a ball of fire back at him that he barely dodged.

“Tiny, you’re getting faster!” Andras exclaimed from nearby as he relaxed into his chair with his drink. He and Tamlin liked to watch Lucien and Feyre practice as though it were a sporting event, and they’d made a habit of doing it most evenings now.

“You’d never know she was new to it,” Tamlin said. “That fire is powerful.”

It was true. In the time she’d been in Spring, her fire had become nearly second nature to her. She could call it to her hands with nearly no thought or effort, though she struggled to contain it when her emotions were heightened.

“Do I need to taunt you again so you can use it, or do you think you can make shapes on your own this time?” He’d been trying to get her to coax the flames into shapes a few days ago, getting a flare in his face when he’d told her that her rabbit looked like a potato.

She growled again. “What shape tonight?”

Lucien just laughed while Andras yelled, “Try writing something. Perhaps an F for Feyre.”

She started on the F, willing the flames into a specific shape.

“Perhaps F for failing at flame work.” Lucien’s laughter turned into a yelp when her fire turned a bright blue and shot at his face. She hadn’t made it blue before, and she marveled at the sight as he ran a few feet away.

“You almost got my hair!”

“Good, I was aiming for that,” she deadpanned.

“Maybe that’s enough for tonight, children.” Tamlin’s voice was powerful but filled with amusement. Feyre dusted her hands on her pants, walking over to her normal seat and easing into it with a deep sigh, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Lucien sat beside her warily.

“You are getting better. You sure you don’t know who your father is?”

“Why, Lucien? Do you think it’s you? Do you make a habit of entering the Human Lands and seducing the women there?”

“Why? Should I? Would they be interested in that?”

She scoffed at him. “Unbelievable.” She turned to Tamlin instead. “So, the naga?”

He shook his head. “No luck. I found traces, but they had long since moved on.”

“They keep turning up,” said Lucien. “She is getting bolder.” Tamlin nodded, and Andras looked at him. They all knew the she to which he referred.

“Only a few months left now.” They all quieted after the admission, the crickets’ and cicadas’ songs the only noise in the temperate night.

A question occurred to Feyre, and before she could think better of it, she spoke it quietly. “Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

He seemed startled at the question, emerald eyes growing wide as he gaped.

Had no one ever asked him before? Everyone knew of the curse, but had anyone ever checked how he felt about his part in it?

His voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it when he answered, and he sounded centuries younger than he was. “Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.”

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.”

Andras, already on his third bottle and not showing signs of slowing down, chimed in, “I rather think I would like to be in love.” Tamlin and Lucien both scoffed and Feyre looked between them.

“The only ones you love are the ones in your bedroll for the night. You’re a dog.” Lucien shoved him from his chair, nearly knocking him backwards as he stood, tipping his head back to the moon and howling.

Feyre tried to shove past him to grab a drink, and he gripped her with a single sweep in his massive arm, ruffling her hair as she struggled against him.

“Tiny is in love. I can tell.”

“Mmph–Get off!” She shoved him, hair now a tangled mess in her face as she scowled. “Who says I’m in love anyway?”

“You live with three of the most handsome males in Prythian and yet you haven’t tried to warm any of our beds. Clearly, there’s someone special.”

“Gods, you’re all egomaniacs. You know that?”

Lucien passed her the bottle she’d been trying to grab and narrowed his eyes at her appraisingly as he leaned forward. “Maybe, but my money’s on him being right. I think you’ve got a lover, perhaps someone you gave your heart to and never got back.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re all actually hideous, no one has the courage to tell you, and your personalities are even worse.”

The males’ laughter cracked across the night sky, filling the space with a mirth that Feyre wondered if she’d ever really been a part of before. They enjoyed teasing her, but she felt a sense of belonging that warmed her heart more than she’d ever thought possible. Not for the first time, she was glad she’d started in Spring. If she needed to bide her time somewhere, she felt lucky that it was in a place she could easily learn to love.

Feyre slept horribly once again, despite the alcohol she’d unwisely chosen to partake in numbing her senses. She’d desperately hoped to pick up where she’d left off earlier by the fields now that she was alone, but instead she’d been plagued with horrific nightmares all night long. It was nothing but darkness and pain and fear, culminating in being held down by a horrid winged creature with breath that smelled of death. For all her struggling, she couldn’t break free of its grasp, and her magic hadn’t worked no matter how she’d tried. She’d woken covered in a cold sweat, trembling and panting in fear. It had felt so real, and she had been absolutely helpless beneath the monster.

After taking a long bath to rinse off the sweat and shake the horrors of the creatures gnarled and rough hands on her arms, dawn was breaking over the horizon. She went ahead and got dressed and decided to start off in the library early. Eventually, one of the staff would find her there and bring her some tea and breakfast, but she was in no hurry. Often, if she awoke early or if sleep evaded her, she’d spend time there before the rest of the manor was pulsing to life for the day.

She loved the library, set apart from the rest of the house, the lighting low and lovely and a massive fireplace overlooking a sitting area she could lounge in if she wanted a break to simply read. The walls were covered in paintings and tapestries, Feyre’s eyes immediately drawn to the colors and skill. Above the enormous fireplace and mantle was a map of Prythian that Feyre had spent what felt like countless hours looking at, memorizing the layout in case she ever needed it. She’d tried to track her eyes to where her home had been, but the human lands were marked insignificantly, so she'd only had a vague guess. Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night–all beautifully depicted on the brightly illuminated wall.

Tamlin truly had the most lovely collection of books, however dusty and unorganized they’d been. Once the actual cleaning and dusting and moving of furniture had been completed, Feyre had truly enjoyed sorting the books by category and shelving them alphabetically. Of course, she’d made a frequent habit of borrowing any that struck her interest, setting them to the side as she went and ferrying them dutifully along with her after finished for the day.

She’d never had access to this many books in her life, the pitiful library in her home not even coming close. These books were all like the lovely works Vincent had always been hard at work finding for her, and so far she’d enjoyed each thoroughly. While her preference was always the tales of adventures and dragons and romance, she was finding she enjoyed learning more about the history of Prythian too without the confines of human sway changing the facts.

She spent the first few hours continuing to sort on the large tables in the room, placing books in their assigned piles before cataloging each and placing them in their newly assigned and labeled shelves. The work was a bit tedious, but she enjoyed the routine of it. Eventually, as the sun was peeking broadly over the distant rolling hills and illuminating the bright windows, a servant brought her a tea tray while she worked. Certainly, this was not the lifestyle she’d been expecting when Vilja had told her she’d be staying in Spring, but the predictability of it soothed a rough corner for Feyre, and she genuinely did enjoy it.

In her sorting, she’d found a well-maintained but dusty collection on the written histories of each court, apparently kept up-to-date by magic as each cover had the most recent date of change on them, and some dates were as recently as the past year. She was certain Tamlin hadn’t bothered to do it. She’d set the stack of seven books to the side and decided to make her way through them one by one so that she could familiarize herself with not only the territories and customs, but also the magic of the High Lords that she had running through her veins. Perhaps, with more recognition, she might be more easily able to control them.

After she’d done her sorting for the day, pushing the final group of books up onto the shelf she’d designated, she slouched down on the plush couch, tossing her hand towards the fire and igniting it brightly. She tucked her toes beneath the blanket strewn across the cushions, grabbing the top tome from the stack of books. She’d decided to read her way up the map, skimming Spring since she could just discuss any questions with Tamlin in real time, and moving all the way up until she ended with the Night Court.

She was currently on the Summer Court, flipping through pages until she reached the section on the High Lord. It had been updated fairly recently, a large picture of a very handsome male named Tarquin on the page. She spent the next few hours learning about the High Lord’s powers and the court’s customs, military, and history.

When she could no longer ignore the growling in her stomach, she tucked a slip of ribbon she’d plucked from the drawers of her room into the book, marking her place, and set it carefully back in the stack. As she eased into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her, Lucien’s voice behind her nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

“Hello, Feyre.”

“Gods, but must you always sneak up on people?” she spit out. Her hand found her chest as her heart threatened to beat out of it. Lucien simply laughed.

“It’s not my fault you aren’t observant. Going to take a nap while we train again?” Feyre was tempted to shoot another retort back, but memories of her dream stopped her. Lucien frowned at the contemplative look on her face.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer?”

“Our offer to train you?””

Feyre flushed. “Just some self defense.” She hated how his eyes softened at the words. “I just want to be able to fight for myself, should I ever have to.”

“Sure, Feyre.” She didn’t want his pity, so she shot him a look. Lucien, ever the observer, picked up on it and changed his expression to a grin. “If you’re sure you can keep up with us.” She smiled, letting loose a puff of breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

“I’m going to grab some lunch, then I can change and meet you both out there?” He sketched a mocking bow to her while she rolled her eyes, then he sauntered off back down the hallway towards the rooms.

At least, perhaps, she could work out some of her frustration in the rings. Perhaps she’d even be exhausted enough to sleep tonight.

Feyre was not especially skilled in self-defense, a truth that was especially apparent to her as she laid flat out on the ground for what felt like the hundredth time since she joined them in the rings. Andras reached a hand down to pull her back up.

“You almost had it that time. Make sure you plant that back foot so it’s harder to lose your balance.” She nodded, wiping her hands on her trousers and sinking down into the stance they’d shown her. “You are very small, Tiny. You will need to use your wit and wiles in fighting more than just brute strength.” She was sweating, panting, and exhausted after only an hour of this, but for the first time in maybe her entire life, Feyre really felt that she could be powerful. She would need so much more practice, but she could see herself holding her own.

Andras struck out again, his hand barely grazing her as she pulled back just in time. His smirk widened into a smile, but before she could even feel pride at her success, he was dropping down to swipe her feet. She jumped out of the way with yet another second to spare, nearly losing her balance again, but holding her back foot in place this time.

“Good, now try to hit me.”

“Andras, I said I only wanted to learn defensive–”

“And sometimes, to defend yourself, you need to move on the offensive. Now hit me.” She sighed loudly, blowing the sweaty hair from her eyes. She circled him as she planned her attack, him moving as her mirror image.

“Your eyes are giving you away, Tiny!” Lucien called from where he was lounging on the wall, and she growled at him.

She shook her head, trying to clear the doubt and remember all they’d taught her so far. She remembered what he’d said about using wisdom over strength. Andras always favored his right side when he went to strike, perhaps she could use it to her advantage. She moved in.

He’d be expecting her to use her hands, would be expecting her to go for the face. She could see with great clarity that he’d explicitly lowered his arms to tempt her into it. She fought the instinct to smile before she lunged. She pulled her right arm back in a dramatic show, pretending to aim for his face, Andras grinning. The second his arm shot out to block, she ducked and threw the entirety of her body weight at his now unprotected center. She caught the moment his eyes widened right as she tackled him, catching him off balance and taking them both to the ground. They hit hard and inelegantly, the air whooshing from his lungs and turning into a wheeze as she looked up. He had his hands out at his sides, flat on the ground, and his chest was shaking with laughter as he cackled wildly.

“Tiny, you tackled me.” Meanwhile, Lucien was about to fall off the wall from laughing so hard, gripping his sides as he howled. Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at herself, the adrenaline wearing off and the exhaustion seeping into her bones. “We’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

“Maybe you can join us on patrol. If I was a naga, I wouldn’t want to cross paths with you.”

“Oh, shut up.” And the laughter began anew as she rolled off Andras to lay on the ground.

“Truly, Feyre, it was good. If you keep practicing, between that and your magic, you’re much stronger than I think people would give you credit for. You could use that to your advantage.”

Her breath evened out and she took in the words. Lucien’s shadow blocked the sun as he held out a hand to her.

“Thank you both. Will Tamlin be cross with you for showing me?” He hadn’t seemed happy with the idea when she’d come to find the three out in the rings earlier, asking more than once if she was absolutely certain that she wanted to learn something like fighting.

Lucien scoffed. “Tamlin will be fine. He’ll come around. His family was traditional in every sense of the word–overtly proper. It’s hard for him to step into the way things are now sometimes, but he won’t hold it against you that you want to be able to protect yourself in a new place.”

“Even if he did, it’s a worthy endeavor to learn,” Andras added.

“It’s worth it to watch Andras fall on his big ass.” Lucien grunted as Andras shoved him to the ground, and Feyre couldn’t help but laugh along with them. She was losing count of the moments where she realized how happy she actually was, finding this sense of friendship. It was foreign and she often felt it hard to let her guard down entirely, the feeling itself of belonging here was so welcome. She hoped, even after they found out that she’d lied, that they would forgive her. It was getting harder and harder to imagine giving these friendships up.

They grabbed their water skins and gear and began the trek back to the manor.

“I’ve got to go clean and drop off my weapons in the barracks. See you both at dinner?” Lucien asked casually before splitting off.

“Sorry, patrol tonight. Soon though?” Andras was up for his rotation in the Human Lands. It was just as well, Feyre wanted to practice her other magic this evening and for that, she’d need privacy.

“Tomorrow, then.” Lucien tossed over his shoulder as he walked towards the barracks.

“Truly, Feyre, you did well today. You’ve improved so much in your magic since you came, and the stronger you get, the more your confidence will grow.” He smiled down at her as they walked.

“Why bother training me? Especially if it makes Tamlin uncomfortable.”

“You remind me a lot of my older sister. She passed a long, long time ago, but she had the same spirit you do– the same determination behind her eyes. If someone had taken the time to show her how to fight, she might still be here now.” They’d reached the manor, but Feyre hated to part on such a dour note.

“I am sorry about your sister. Women are not taught where I’m from either. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you and Lucien have been so accommodating.” Andras smiled, clamping a great hand on her shoulder.

“It’s been a nice change of pace. I like having you around. Stay awhile, hmm?” He squeezed and turned to go.

The guilt bit at her as she moved to climb the stairs, but a voice ringing out through the foyer pulled her from her thoughts. “Maybe just beat Lucien’s ass next time, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, Andras. I’ll be gentle with your pride!” She chuckled as she made her way to her room.

Alis had already had a bath running for Feyre by the time she returned, the lovely fae seemingly always knew when she would need one.

“I’ve rung for your dinner, so it should be up in just a few moments. Everyone seems to have plans tonight, so I imagined that would be simpler.”

“That’s perfect. I got a bit filthy today, so I’ll be looking forward to eating in my nightclothes.” She smiled conspiratorially at Alis, who only shook her head amusedly in response.

“Speaking of clothes, I was in town today and grabbed you a few more things, dear. I put some of those muslin trousers you like so much in your wardrobe.” Feyre’s heart lit up. She’d had lady’s maids and governesses throughout her life, but never a single one she felt had genuinely cared for her or thought of anything but their expectations from her parents. Alis truly seemed to care for Feyre, despite her repeated protestations that while she loved her company, she didn’t really need the help.

“You’re so kind, Alis, thank you. They certainly make it easier to get around.” Alis had only laughed, shaking her head as she folded the towels on the sink and left Feyre to bathe. Feyre stripped in front of the mirror, chuffing lowly at her sweaty and disheveled appearance. She loved to embrace the wildness within her here in Prythian–she liked that, mostly, it was celebrated. She let the glamour she held over her shoulder drop, running her fingers over those three lovely stars that she had hidden during the waking hours. She couldn’t help but associate the stars with Rhys now, even though they symbolized her bargain with Vilja. The ring that she never took off the chain around her neck only reinforced the thought.

She sighed, removing everything but the necklace and listening closely at the door. Once she was sure she was alone, she locked the bathroom door, scampered back towards the steaming tub, and sank deeply into it, closing her eyes.

She’d read about the powers of the High Lord of Summer earlier in the day, but this was her first attempt at practicing. Remembering the way she’d summoned her fire that first time in the woods, she tried to call the water around her in the bath. She focused on it, thinking of it forming into a small ball she might hold in her hands. When she opened her eyes, there was a ball of water. Feyre would have smiled had it not been enormous, half the bathwater now hovering above her.

“Uhhh, not quite that much.” She tried to coax it down with her hands, but like popping a bubble, it burst all over her, soaking her and sloshing over the sides of the tub wildly as she laughed and shoved the soaked hair from her eyes.

“Perhaps that will require a bit more practice.” But she grinned at the attempt. It had worked, technically. She spent the rest of the bath trying to communicate with the magic, feeling how it moved within her and beckoning it to move in smaller increments. By the time she got out, pruned and waterlogged, she could send out small ripples in the water and make small bubbles of water dance along her hands with great control. They were baby steps, but progress was progress.

She pulled the towel around herself, anxious to crawl into bed. Though the magic was still only able to perform small feats, she had to work it like a muscle. It exhausted her to use even the smallest amounts of it still, and she resolved to practice every single day here going forward.

She wrung out her hair, braiding it back for the night and slipping into her robe before she sat down to eat at the small table in front of the windows as the twilight grew darker and the stars emerged.

Would Rhys have magic, too?

She wasn't entirely sure how magic doled itself out amongst the high fae here. Tamlin of course had all the powers of a High Lord, Lucien had the fire power of Autumn, and Andras seemed to favor the shifting of Spring.

If Rhys was of Night, what gifts might he possess, if any at all? Would he be impressed with the magic she had?

She finished eating and changed into her nightclothes, tucking herself snugly under the soft covers. She hoped tonight Rhys might find her in her dreams. She ached to touch him, to talk to him, and she wanted to finish what they’d started yesterday, her thighs clenching at the mere thought of it.

Feyre hadn’t been asleep long when something woke her, the stars sparkling in the deep, black sky.

What had woken her?

She listened carefully and nearly jumped when she heard the slamming of a door and a great clatter from outside the doors. Without thinking twice, she jumped from the bed, grabbing her robe from the chair by the door and throwing it on. She could hear yelling as she skidded into the hall, running for the stairs with the deep, gnawing feeling that something was truly wrong.

When she rounded the corner, taking the stairs two at a time, she found the front doors slung wide open, the staff gathered in the open doors to the kitchens in their nightclothes watching the scene in the foyer unfold.

Tamlin was on all fours, half-shifted from a great beast, panting and heaving while Lucien bent over him with a hand on his back.

“What’s happened, Tamlin? Tell us what’s happened.” Lucien’s voice was a frantic pitch that Feyre hadn’t heard before, and the moment seemed to freeze her very soul to the spot she stood while Tamlin raised his face. She could see the tracks of dirt down his cheeks where he’d clearly shed tears, his eyes wild and panicked.

No, this was not good.

“Andras.” He gasped. “A human killed Andras.”

Taglist: @witch-and-her-witcher @cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Just wanted to share my thoughts on canon Adam and Canon Lilith, I hope you don’t mind my rant.

So I think that what happened with with Adam and Lilith it’s a bit similar to what happened with Stolas and Stella in HH(no trying to throw any hate on Stolas or to defend Stella just trying to tell my experience when I watched the show for the first time).

I feel like at the beginning of HH both Stella and Stolas were relatable characters, like I could understand that Stolas would be unhappy with his marriage but that wouldn’t give him the excuse to cheat on Stella, publicly humiliating her, whether she liked him or not. So that scene in the kitchen when she’s insulting him and throwing things at him, I saw it as a normal response from a partner who has been cheated off, I didn’t really read it as someone who was regularly being abused (maybe that’s on me but I know I wasn’t the only one so…)

Also, when we find out that Stella is trying to kill Stolas, I mean it’s hell, I don’t think there’s a better way to deal with things and I kind of sympathized with her, and saw a lot of people who did too(not that I’m agreeing with it or that I think it’s right but I could understand where she was coming from). But suddenly the second season comes around and it turns out being that she has always been abusive to Stolas and he has been a victim all this time so him cheating on Stella is now an empowering move. (Again I’m not throwing hate on Stolas or anything, I love him and I love that they made him get out of this abusive relationship and try to come out in such a great way). But it feels like a bummer, because we could have had such complex and well written rounded grey characters with both Stolas and Stella, but they made Stella an asshole just so we would not see Stolas cheating on her as something bad.

It’s similar to what they did in TOH with Alador and Odalia, in which they were both bad parents in season one but suddenly in season two Alador is just a goof who follows his wife’s wishes and she’s the real bitch while he gets to be redeemed. Again, I love Alador and I love that he got redeemed, but changing his whole character just so he can be a victim to earn redemption is kinda lame. I know it would have been more complicated to redeem a adult than a seriously traumatized child(Hunter) and it would have taken a lot of screen time that they didn’t have, but still…

Now coming to Adam, I feel like something similar was done with him and Lilith. Like both Lucifer and Lilith did wrong things, besides the fact that they took the apple they also tricked Eve into eating it too, but since Lilith was escaping a “abusive controlling misogynist man” it’s okay! She is the hero and everything is Adam’s fault. Like instead of doing them both round grey characters in which we can sympathize with both sides, they make them flat but one is pure evil and the other one was just trying to escape a abusive relationship so whatever they did to do so (be it right or wrong) is okay.

Again, I’m not trying to throw any hate to either the characters or the writers of the show, I’m just commenting on what I feel is happening with characters I love and would have loved to have seen get more fleshed but couldn’t. It also makes me sad that as much as I want him to appear in the next season, Adam will probably just stay dead and we won’t get his side of the story(but again I don’t think the writers would go around to make him a justified character and he would just stay as an asshole, so maybe it’s just for the better that he stays dead). Sorry for ranting so much it’s just that I have no one else to rant to and had this on my head for too long

They likely won't bring Adam back and that really sucks the big one. But yeah we probably won't get his side of the story he likely is just the villian that died in the end.

He served his purpose time to move on.

Which is a waste, the potential there could be. You can't tell me that in the beginning where he was supposed to be kind and innocent free of sin that Adam was an asshole.

Something happened that we don't know that really changed him. Something more than Lilith cheating. Or maybe that's it idk.

I already gave a rant about this on another ask about the book of Hell, Lucifer and Lilith, all that jazz.

I just want him to come back. lol

[theno1joelhater]

max harm…yeah no idk why i made this. i guess max is just an interesting dude to me. i like thinking abt him. also content warning for sa, more specifically sexual coercion. i don’t go into excruciating detail on what happened but justin case, yk? it is a large part of what i talk about. you got warned get warned go away if you don’t like that (can’t believe im actually going there).

so max harm. maximilian maximus harmageddon. i don’t know how to properly begin this. i guess ill just start with how he views people/patients/potential patients.

to him, patients are just things he can control to get more money. it’s a whole monopoly type deal where if he gets more people unhealthy he gets more customers and he gets more cash and he just repeats the cycle (or something idk i’ve never played monopoly). he doesn’t care about his patients and never has. he only cares about what they can offer them, and in reality they aren’t really people to him. i mean, just look at any of his videos! he doesn’t give 2 flying fucks about them!

i mean, sometimes it doesn’t even seem like max likes his job much. or respects it. i mean, he drinks on the job (1), during surgeries (2), regularly insults his patients (don’t need a source for this one, but if you insist look through the emily wokerson story) and is completely willing to break his hippocratic oath for like no reason (3). this dude doesn’t care about his job status in the slightest. it seems like no matter what, he knows he’s gonna be ok. and he is, being the only doctor in the cgcu (4). like there’s no way he’s going to lose this job.

but if he doesn’t like the job, why keep it at all? there are plenty of cgcu characters without jobs (ik emily doesn’t have one, too lazy to search for it) and they do just fine. so what’s the deal with being a doctor, if he could live just fine as a normal dude?

well, let’s go through it.

number 1: free access to drugs whenever. this is pretty sick, if not for the fact that robin banks exists. he’s a drug dealer (do i really need a source?). max could just get it off of him. only thing is this’d cost money. in canon, max and robin work together peddling drugs (5). in this hypothetical world where he isn’t a doctor, max could possibly still work with robin, but it’s unlikely. but the thing is, to me drugs could be a reason he stayed a doctor, not a reason he became one. if that really was why, he might go be a pharmacist or those people that make the drugs or something, not a doctor.

number 2: money. while being a doctor does make plenty of money, there are other higher paying jobs (al iby/marty woodshaft—i’m saying lawyer) out there that aren’t nearly as grueling. personally i get woozy at the slightest amount of gore, and i can’t imagine that what he’s seen is normal since he’s some weird weird jack-of-all-trades-definitely-not-master-of-any doctor. i mean he has limits at unhygienic hands (10). the fact that he can’t handle dirty hands just shows that he probably wasn’t all that cut out to be a doctor. honestly, money is definitely a factor in becoming a doctor for him, but it doesn’t exactly seem like he was looking for high paying positions and “doctor” was the first thing to show up. i believe money had something to do with him being a doctor, but it isn’t the primary reason, even if he says otherwise.

so. those are the main reasons. my brain hurty no more thinky. so his reasons to be a doctor all aren’t super solid. honestly if he really wanted free drugs i don’t think he’d become a doctor for it. like, do you know how much work that is?

ah, well he wouldn’t. this dude didn’t become a doctor through hard work, he just slept with the right people (9). that explains his lack of qualifications. like he has to look up stuff that he should know (7) and doesn’t use proper equipment for medical procedures (6), it’s a wonder how he’s only gotten into trouble with the law a few times (from my memory it’s like once but i wouldn’t be surprised if it was higher).

but that’s how, not why.

so, to recap: max doesn’t care about his patients or his job and only got here through being an absolute manwhore. good for him. i’ve tried to think of answers to why he became a doctor, but the question still remains: why is max harm a doctor?

well, it’s time for me to do what i do second best: bullshit together a backstory and hope i can explain it well enough so that you accept it into your canon.

so. why do most doctors become doctors besides helping people since we’ve established max doesn’t care? parental pressure! yeah we’re going there!

i firmly believe that max harm had parents (🤯) with high expectations for him. he was kinda wealthy i guess—maybe like middle class? i’m bad at class systems. he was not poor, but also not rich. parents stingy and occasionally speak of money issues, but they weren’t like dirt poor. either way, he could a bit comfortably, by our standards at least. they wanted him to be successful more than anything. they only wanted to see their baby boy be happy, but the way they enforced it wasn’t awesome. just the classic strict parents who don’t understand that friendship is magic and that grades aren’t everything. they pushed him to be a doctor pretty hard. like, really hard. they were super hard on him about grades n school, trying to force him into a million different things all at once. insert pressure and intense fear of disappointment here. they instilled the idea that max had to get good grades, or else they’ll be like super mega disappointed, and max was desperate for their validation.

switching gears kinda not really: in my eyes, max was a bit of a jock. just take this as me using tropes for characters that i think fit them. so dumb sport boy max harm it is.

so max did sports, and he was pretty good at it! it was one of the few things he liked doing. it was a nice respite from school and stuff. but he was failing pretty hard in sciences and stuff. you know, just stuff that’s important to being a doctor. the career choice his parents were pushing him to be. it stressed him out a completely normal amount: failing. he practically studied his ass off trying to pass, but he couldn’t. and his parents were getting pissy and if his grades dropped any more he couldn’t play anymore and it was all stressing him the fuck out so he was going to march his way down to that teacher, get on his knees, and beg for a higher grade. and get on his knees he did.

(this is the part i gave a trigger warning for)

so his teacher said that they would pass max in exchange for sex. max is fairly attractive (he sleeps around a lot as an adult + he’s played by cam, who like 90% of the fanbase lusts for) and the teacher saw this as a great opportunity to get laid, rules be damned. and…cmon. how could he ever face his parents again with a failing grade? there’s no fucking way he could do that. and what about the sports team, his friends, the one thing is this goddamned school he likes? he had to do it. there was no other choice. he was backed into a corner.

but “oh, couldn’t he just leave? report that teacher to the authorities?” i hear you ask. to that i say…the hell do you think would happen? when male students and teachers have such relations, they’re usually applauded instead of taken seriously. max would be “lucky”, not someone who was taken advantage of. i mean, this exact situation is an incredibly popular porn genre. he wouldn’t be taken seriously. and didn’t i mention the intense fear of disappointment? poor boy was too scared to go home without that 65% or more. he didn’t feel like he had a choice. he was backed into a corner. he was backed into a corner.

after that was all done with, max just felt…empty? there was this growing void in him, and he was scared of it. he had to fill it somehow. so, more sex it is! i feel like hypersexuality describes it, but i don’t want to misuse that term unintentionally. you get what im getting at though, right? he hooked up with more and more people, as both a coping mechanism to deal with the void, and in some way…regulate what happened to him. sex is normal, this happens to everyone. it’s fine. it’s also a distractor. when left alone max starts thinking, and when he starts thinking his mind goes to dark places. digs up things that should never resurface. things that he never wanted to resurface. this keeps his mind off of it. never really works though, does it?

so…with that out of the way…let’s get to how max got his job!

medical school, it’s medical school. i fully believe he did go (because i don’t think sleeping with a hospital ceo would get you a medical license), and max used the same tactic he used for that one teacher all those years ago. he slept around like crazy, absolute who—i probably shouldn’t call him that anymore. either way, he’s a doctor now. a shitty excuse for a doctor that never did any real work with a black hole where his heart should be. poor thing.

he still does it as a doctor btw, sleeping with patients (8). in some twisted way, he has the upper hand now. he has all the power, all the control. the control he was denied so many years ago. now he has the upper hand. now he has power.

so…what did i just say? max got coerced into having sex with his teacher in hs, causing intense feelings of emptiness. he began having more sex because he thought it would help with it (it didn’t), and it continued on through med school and all throughout his career. oh, speaking of his career! what do his parents think of him now?

well, they don’t know shit. they don’t know anything. they don’t know. they know max has been acting a bit weird, but they ignore it since he’s been improving in school so much! they don’t know.

and after he became a doctor? oh, they were so proud. but honestly? they just take money from him every now and then. sometimes, it seems like they just think of max as a wallet. so he thinks of others as a wallet. it’s all very human.

don’t get me wrong, i think max still talks to his parents. he can’t hate them. he can’t, no matter how hard he tries. it’s horrible, i guess. he still talks to them, still has an ok relationship with them, only because it’s expected of him. he’d drop them in a nursing home if he could.

so…tldr? i should stop calling max a whore. also max only became a doctor bc his parents forced him, a teacher forced max to sleep with him which led to a whole slew of problems, and now he’s a doctor? i don’t even know what to say. how will this affect the economy??

also, as a final note i’m sorry if this was inaccurate. i tried to do research and stuff, but i haven’t really experienced something exactly like this before so i can’t make this 100% accurate. im sorry for any and all inaccuracies.

1. https://youtu.be/TINR2rOep1A?si=erv0mYRJXs07OWFd

2. https://youtube.com/shorts/vpNyGvJZ2f4?si=BuoFfgfo4aGG3eKg

3. https://youtube.com/shorts/g4iz3LfJ1jo?si=Wci-R4G15nmZ6asH

4. https://youtube.com/shorts/We-3L1NAtlQ?si=mMIzLs1WYaFhcR8r

5. https://youtu.be/QjB321d1ScA?si=0OOLsev0NjtCJiji

6. https://youtu.be/f5ZAcKClhKk?si=n6FCBa5Q6ua7GjLb

7. https://youtube.com/shorts/Zu-3UA5oJpI?si=7rHj8DL11L1wpifA

8. https://youtube.com/shorts/05vcp2i7tZA?si=Rj1ua_Jzdr1wFZ2u

9. https://youtube.com/shorts/obIhonJcQzo?si=Vkn-0Xx7zq_k3GKH

10. https://youtube.com/shorts/8D04Vk1kYJA?si=DG-Q8rhdCHDpD3ZF

[cassynite]

Look guys! I can still write!

Done for Owlcatober's prompts 4: Luck and 22: Nobility. Have some very early Sparrow and Daeran interactions :)

--

Sparrow had been very lucky, all things considered. Lucky to have found an artificer who might help with the problem prickling at the base of her neck. Lucky that he was willing to meet with her, to undo a Cheliaxian tracking brand for the right price. Lucky to have survived whatever attack had given her the ever-bleeding wound on her chest, as well as the demonic attack that tore the city in two afterwards.

She's no believer in fate, but luck is chance, a die cast to fall on the six. Though it's random, the patterns in the chaos can be a comfort, even if the comfort is a lie. Sparrow is used to hoarding the moments of good luck she receives, counting them out like coins and budgeting them the same way, stretching out the hope they offer as far as it can go. The string of good events can give her the strength to push on past the bad ones--that she is trapped in a burning city under demonic siege to begin with, that the man who had offered her salvation is very likely dead.

All streaks of luck must come to an end, however, the pattern returning to random chance once more. And Sparrow finds the end of hers in a broken banquet hall, staring at the one man who might destroy the last remnants of her plans to escape with just a few simple words.

In retrospect, Sparrow should have anticipated the complication. When the liveried footman who had begged for the help of her and her companions mentioned the surname "Arendae," Sparrow had recognized it from the snatches of conversation she regularly overheard during her mandatory appearance at Mendevian court functions. Old family, old blood, royally inclined, marked in tragedy.

But the Count Arendae, known for his raucous parties and and his disregard for social norms, lived in Kenabres, and his time in Nerosyan was filled with events Sparrow rarely attended. They'd crossed paths, but briefly, and the incidents were of so little note Sparrow barely remembered them.

However, after the demons are left bleeding on the floor of a party that had been going well into the destruction of the city, the glittering aasimar who had fought instead of cowered steps forward with a cold green gaze that focuses on her immediately out of the group, and Sparrow realizes that she had miscalculated. She might have only barely remembered him, but he somehow remembered her as well, and recognizes who she is.

The count gives an elaborate bow. "Greetings, valiant stranger who has just burst into my life. I am master of this house, Count Daeran Kael 'Myriad-Mellifluous-Monikers' Arendae. No need to introduce yourself--"

I already recall the last time we met in Nerosyan, Lady Evaethi, Sparrow hears, and steps forward before the count can finish his sentence. "I am called Sparrow." The words come out a little too forceful.

The count raises a single golden brow, amused and condescending all at once. "--As I was saying, I find insignificant details such as the names of passing acquaintances a bore." He gives her a mocking smile and says nothing else about the matter, not even as the rest of her companions begin to make comments. It doesn't ease the tension ready to break Sparrow's spine; she's on the knife's edge of this conversation, and the count can turn the blade whenever he likes. He knows it, too, judging by the looks he gives her as he trades insults with Lann about his curtains.

"Now that we're finished with the niceties," the count finally says, "tell me--how did all these thrice-damned demons end up at my soiree?"

There is a pause where someone needs to answer, and doesn't. Sparrow can feel the others' gazes on her, crawling on her skin--she'll never get used to this, the way that the people she fights with cede the space to her to answer the questions, take charge. She never asked for it, did less than nothing to imply she wanted it or was qualified for the role, and yet the righteous paladin, the savvy hunter, the sharp-tongued noble, they all look to her to be their leader.

When she answers, her words are stilted and blunt. "Demons attacked the city. Kenabres is in ruins." There's a murmur of shock, not from the count but from the other party attendants. Sparrow had almost forgotten they were there.

"I wanted to ask if you were joking, but what little expression you have tells me you are not." He turns his attention to the curtains he had just been inviting Lann to blow his nose on, seeing the telltale flicking light of raging fire through the gaps in the velvet.

The conversation turns away from Sparrow, letting her step back as her companions trade verbal blows with the count--Seelah in half-amused disapproval at the count's callous lack of regard for the situation at hand, Camellia making unsubtle hints to the count's terrible childhood losses as if it were ever an appropriate thing to bring up, and Ember successfully disarming the count's barbed tongue if only for a second by her genuine distress at the thought that the count could not have a lamb as a pet.

The entire time, though, she feels the count's attention never truly leave her. Paranoia, perhaps, but he knows, he has to be asking questions about how and why, and even if he isn't questioning her identity now in front of her companions, that doesn't mean he won't. He could just be waiting for the right moment, the perfect time to strike--Sparrow's impression of him in Nerosyan had been vague, but his defining feature had been his propensity for cruelty as entertainment.

She wanted away from the count and his malice as quickly as possible, so she finally gathers the courage to step forward, addressing the room at large. "The Defender's Heart has been fortified under the Eagle Watch. It should be safe."

The other drunken nobles and poor servants at this revel take Sparrow's flat statement as the call to action it's meant to be, gathering in groups and approaching Seelah, who is more than happy to provide help and instructions on safe passages to the tavern. But the count doesn't turn his attention from Sparrow.

"I thank you dearly for the invitation," he gives another mocking bow, "but I am not quite as desperate as I may seem. In fact, I do feel like stretching my legs. I know rudimentary divine spells, I am no friend to demons, and I elevate any society that I deign to grace with my presence. I shall accompany you--only for a short time, of course. I have no desire to remain at the vanguard for a protracted period. What say you, my ephemeral but highly diverting acquaintance? After all, Lord Deskari spoiled my party. I now burn with the desire to spoil his."

Highly diverting acquaintance. He's laughing under the thick coat of false sincerity. She wants to tell him no, but she can't afford to. The city is burning to ash around them, and no matter the count's true intentions, she saw what he did to the demons in that fight. They need all the help they can get.

She gives a small, shallow nod, half-hoping the count doesn't see her acquiesce.

Of course, he does. "Capital. Good acquaintances that begin and end at just the right moment often leave the most pleasant memories, wouldn't you say?"

Sparrow ruminates on his words for a long time after, as they continue to claw their way through the demons in the Market Square and try to collect information and allies for the assault on the Gray Garrison. Did he mean to imply that their 'acquaintanceship' beginning at that moment meant he would not bring up her past? Or was it a veiled threat of some kind, the mention of memories an indication that he remembers her and will bring it up if she crosses him? She wouldn't even need to cross him, really; the count is notorious for destroying livelihoods and reputations out of boredom.

By the time the crew returns to the Defender's Heart for a much-needed rest and restocking, Sparrow decided to confront him about it. She hates the thought of it, but it needs dragged out in the open. Regardless of how it resolves, she will at least know where she stands, what to anticipate from him. She cannot continue with him as an unknown factor.

She finds the count near the sleeping quarters Irabeth insisted Sparrow still use, somehow having managed to snag one of the nicest chairs in the place. He's quiet, watching the survivors trying to create order out of the chaos of their situation: groups of injured and war-shocked civilians resting in clumps across the floor or consulting with a haggard Vissaliy and his assistant; the Eagle Watch and other soldiers discussing plans with shadowed gazes, or bartering with Gemyl for ale to drown the world out with; Irabeth grimly going over the assault plan with Anevia on the other side of the room; the Storyteller, still recovering from his burns, resting nearby; the rest of their companions, talking or preparing or simply sleeping. The count's expression is blank, and Sparrow wonders what he's thinking of, what story he is making out of the disorder.

Then his attention catches on her approach, and his eyes hood in disdain, a familiar mocking smirk spreading across his face. It's strange, the abruptness of it; Sparrow is reminded of a performer stepping out from the shadows into the spotlight of a stage.

"I must commend the crusade's choice on an outpost," he comments as Sparrow nears. "The very sight of these walls brings back such fond memories of drinks and revels."

Sparrow stops, the rehearsed opener she'd planned to drag out his intentions disappearing in an instant. "...I don't believe they had a choice," she says, wrong-footed. "It was the best available option at the time."

"So you plan on migrating all and sundry if a better symbol of shelter comes along then? A nice Iomadean cathedral would do nicely, I imagine. Though if I were a demon I would burn those down first."

Sparrow opens her mouth, then closes it. Finally, she says, "It wouldn't be up to me either way."

"Would it not? I'd taken from this endeavor that you're the banner these stalwart defenders are rallying behind, what with that angelic sword you can pull out. Where does it go, anyway, when you aren't talking down fanatical zealots from murdering supposed traitors?"

Sparrow looks away. She doesn't know--she doesn't know why she's able to wield a sword meant to burn mortals, or where it goes when it's not there other than in reach when she needs it. She doesn't know why the scar on her chest still bleeds, throbbing in pain, or what anyone in this tavern sees in her that makes them think she can appropriately lead anything. It's a yawning chasm of uncertainty she's been doing her best to ignore up until this point. She has no answers and no solutions, so there's no point in tackling it. At least, not until the immediate threat has been taken care of.

If the count expected an actual answer from her, he mercifully doesn't act like it. Resting his cheek in one long-fingered hand, he regards her with a catlike slyness, like he's silently laughing at a joke. "I shall admit, I did not quite expect to see you favor a celestially gifted weapon. Forgive me if I am incorrect in my understanding of your culture, but you prefer more...infernal sources of power, do you not?"

Sparrow lets the barb fly by painlessly; his misplaced insult is as good an opening as any. "About that. I would be grateful if you did not mention my...past...in front of others."

"But my lady, how could I deny a woman of such fine breeding as yourself the respect you deserve?" His smirk grows wider at whatever he sees on Sparrow's face. "To find the mouse of Nerosyan among these ruins was quite the surprise, and with such a different title than before--I would gently suggest changing your name, if you are open to constructive criticism. It's embarrassing to me to think that you picked such a moniker of your own free will."

Sparrow's hands find each other, fingers interlocking tightly together. "I have left that life behind me. What would you want to do the same?"

"Are you trying to bribe me?" The count barks out a delighted laugh. "This is straight out of some paltry penny novel--what are you even planning to offer? Money?" He laughs again, like that's the funniest thing in the world. "Or, what, your virtue or some other such nonsense?"

Sparrow stares until the laughter dies down, the mirth draining from the count's features. Finally, he scoffs and turns away from her silence.

"You really are the most tedious woman alive, aren't you," he mutters. "Let me be blunt: I could not care less what shade of youthful rebellion has led you to renouncing your identity and playacting a pauper. If you wish to be named after a bird, I will not stop you--go forth and chirp as you wish."

"You would swear to that?" Sparrow presses, and immediately regrets it. The emotion that flickers across the count's face is cold and snakelike, and it takes all of Sparrow's willpower not to rear back.

"I would not force some kind of oath from me, if I were you." The count's smile is poisonous. "I would feel the urge to break it out of spite. You will simply have to take my word, as-is, that whatever little mess you are wading through is not consequential enough for me to bother with during the brief acquaintanceship we must endure. Now, do you have anything of actual interest to say, or is this topic finished? I'm sure there are far more entertaining subjects to actually speak of."

At Sparrow's silence, the count continues on, though his gaze remains glass-sharp and watchful. "Perhaps you would like to hear of some of my own youthful exploits then? Those always do well among the highborn sort--not that you'd know anything about that, as I understand it."

When Sparrow finally escapes the conversation some time later, she is certain that Count Daeran Arendae is a cruel, childish, and capricious man, but that he was almost certainly honest when he told her he didn't care about her secrets--he is far too self-absorbed to give a whit about anything that doesn't directly concern him.

It seems that Sparrow's luck has held out after all.

[mannerofwhump]

A Normal(cholas) Day (part 1)

All characters belong to @spookyboywhump and are used with their permission :) This has genuinely been sitting in my drafts for AGES but I couldn’t write a way to continue it (and have yet to do so) but I really wanted to post it lol. So here it is in all it’s unfinished glory and do forgive the abrupt ending. Enjoy.

RIGHT for context, this is an au where a Normal Nicholas who does not, in fact, regularly torture people gets isekai’d into canon Nicholas’ body/universe. (Very fitting to be posted on Saint Nicholas’ day).

———

It was a regular Saturday morning, he was sure of it. He had checked. He’d woken up, brushed his teeth, styled his hair, and existed in the normal sort of way that he always had.

That is, until the truck came.

From the beginning, it had come, sinister in its approach. There were no flashing lights, no warning sounds. There was just Nicholas, the truck, and then his intimate acquaintance with the ground. And then nothing.

Blissful sleep overtook him. Thoughts still rang in the background. Was this it, then? Life, and then not. He wasn’t even allowed the courtesy of realizing he was dying, until the darkness washed utterly and devastatingly over him.

Far, far away there was a light. In the distance, it had no shape or form to it. Just a glow in the raging sea of inky black. Of course, of course, he ran—swam—floated towards it. There was no real choice when the only other option was to succumb.

He awoke with a gasp.

The chair underneath him was solid. He gripped the armrests, knuckles going white. He touched his head, his body, felt at the utter lack of blood. Still, he was alive. God, it didn’t even hurt. He felt completely fine, as if nothing at all had happened.

Wait. Why was he on a sofa? Where was the beeping? The bed? The hospital gown? Maybe even the IV drip in his hand?

He stared at his hand, gaze intent. He turned them over, both of them, staring wildly at the evidence of completely unmarred skin. Unless he had dreamt up the whole thing, all of this made absolutely no sense.

Wait. His brain caught up to his surroundings. Right. Obviously he had dreamt up the whole thing. That made sense. Especially now that he was looking around and realizing this was his own house—

“HOLY SHIT,” Nicholas said calmly.

Ok. That part wasn’t right. Definitely not right. The black-haired man kneeling on the floor next to him was not a regular fixture in his choice of home decor. He was pretty confident about this one. Ok. Maybe he was staring. Maybe he was looking at the man with eyes that practically screamed what the fuck? But that wasn’t his fault.

Because there was one thing ringing in his mind right now, and it was not the ringing that came with vehicle-pedestrian collisions. Instead, it was the incessant echoes of what the absolute fuck in the now-empty cave that was his mind.

He smiled sheepishly, stretching his lips in a way that felt anything but natural. “Would you excuse me for a second?” he said, politely. Higher than his usual level of politeness, but he felt that the poor man fettered in his home who he didn’t even know deserved that much at least. He could do that much.

With that, he darted for the bathroom.

Nicholas splashed his face with cold water, trying to sober himself up. Dispel the nightmare. How drunk did he have to be to imagine a whole live man in his living room? A man who looked like he’d been beaten up upwards of 6472 times and counting? Not that he’d remembered drinking, but hey, maybe he’d forgotten that too.

He splashed his face again for good measure and rubbed at his eyes. Hard. Hallucinations begone! The bathroom door was left ajar as he peeked outside again, hoping for the illusion to dispel itself. No such luck. The illusion in question was watching him with a raised eyebrow instead.

“What the hell is going on with you, sir.”The last word was said with a hint of derision. Like it was an insult. It probably was. But he also said it with a hint of familiarity, as if it had been uttered enough times for the word to not really mean anything any more.

Bad sign. Bad fucking sign.

“Um,” he started, the very picture of coherence, “who are you? What are you doing in my house? What the fuck?” He didn’t mean to say that last one out loud, but it had slipped, just like his sanity.

“Haha, very funny, sir.”

“No, tell me. Please? Please.”

The other man looked thrown off by his words. Confused. His words came out slowly, as if he believed Nicholas was playing a trick on him. God, he wished this was all a trick. “Zander. I’m here because you’re fucking sick and get off on kidnapping people and torturing them and making them fight other kidnapped tortured people. And yeah, what the fuck. A lot of all around fuckery going on on your end, sir.”

This, admittedly, made Nicholas feel worse.

———

ask to be added to the taglist!!

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@spookyboywhump

[istherewifiinhell]

were back to our (ir)regularly scheduled bullshit!

[ID: Splash page with the issue title and creative credits. Megatron is bound up in cables, some plugged into him, effecting repairs. He speaks: Remind me to thank you when i get down from here, Shockwave. Meanwhile, resumption of my command must begin now. Shockwave: You don't seem to understand. These autobots you see lying dead on the ground are there because I put them there. The Decepticons you see barely clinging to life are in that operating mode because of you. Until I intervened, Autobot victory over us was assured.* The evidence says your leadership was faulty, Megatron. Logic says I must assume command of the Decepticons. Editor's Note: *as seen in issue 8 END]

back to the USmarvel, The New Order, issue no. 5! (22-23 UK reckoning) from feb 1985!

Script: Bob Budiansky Art: Alan Kupperberg Letters: Rick Parker Colour: Nel Yomtov Editor: Jim Owsley EiC: James Shooter Digital Re-master by Digikore Studios Limited. Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon. Editorial notes and assistance by Mark. W. Bellomo

now... welcome back digital re-master. just in time for me to rip you a new on... bare with my folks...

so this issue opens with new king bitch in town, shockwave, conducting research into humans via television. so uh.., they put honeymooners in my transformers comic?

[ID: Both images of a Full page B&W illustration, two men stand behind a table, one asking "Whatsa matter Ralphie-boy?" Ralph, staring wide eyed, dead ahead, grips a chair saying "Homina-Homina-Homina!" A woman looks in through a window, with a scowl. 1. The illustration uses blocked inks, and half-tones for the characters, but the background and objects have mid and dark halftones added in an almost painterly fashion. 2. The art now with most of the tones and shading removed, everything left either black, midtone, or stark white. END]

surely. one of these images is higher definition. but which one looks BETTER? now its possible this is actually about which master copies they were working from. perhaps a rights issues? (the uk printing replaces this page with a different image) but i note here ALSO. they removed the artist, Kupperberg's, signature form the bottom left corner. a hateful affair all told.

though, this doesnt just piss me off to see an artist works edited, and made to SUCK! (tho boy does it...) my friends... comrades, fellow bloggers. lend me your eyes. DO they see this the way mine do? cause ill eat my fucking hat if that's not DUOSHADE paper. the infamous medium of many a B&W indie. not familiar? check out my previous blogging on the friendly neighbourhood martial reptiles. but i digress.

if this. this INSULT to my very being wasnt enough. they also recoloured shockwave from a perhaps accidentally stunning shade of magenta to a cool lavender... which i personally just found quite boring. well. most of the time

[ID: 1. UK printing, Shockwave seated on throne like seat, coloured very warm toned purple. He listen to a sports broadcast and says "These humans are even more primitive than I thought." 2. Digital remaster, Shockwave's profile visible, coloured red, as he watches a news reporter. END]

the very first image of this post has another, red shockwave, btw. I suppose, they could be printing or colouring errors, but they could also be lighting/compositional choices by Yomtov (its not uncommon for his foreground characters to be done in monotone, particularly, purple) either way they corrected for it. and to me, this instance just comes of that whatever work flow being used, doesnt even flag the second figure AS shockwave, so a redwave remains...

i stress. i never blame any individual who does this work. its to them, just a job, and why should it not be? my ire is with IDW, and why they enact these "restorations" anyway, and why the fuck people ought to pay new money for old art that has been given so little respect...

anyway reading the print version meant a lot of tabbing between the us and uk printings. which is why i noticed this

[ID: The crediting for the colourist, Nel Yomtov. In the US printing the say "Colors" and in the UK "Colour", the S removed, and a U added. END]

im just amused by the effort taken... surely the kids dont care that much? and yes apparently they do this every time.

JEEZE CREESY WHO CARES. LETS SEE SOME ROBOTS

[ID: Shockwave watching the news, off panel dialogue Reporter: Ms. Beller, you have been called a computer genius even though you're only a few years out of high school. What is your role in this? Beller: It's true I designed the secondary and tertiary oil recovery systems Reveal of Beller, a very young looking woman in a jacket and a hard hat. She continues: --the semi-automated defense system, the refinery's non-polluting digitized micro-scrubbers. But I consider it all just a part of my job. END]

shockwave learns the alarming news that a new female character is being introduced!

[ID: 2 page spread, the bodies of almost every single introduced Autobot are hanging from the ceiling, damaged and "bloodied". Shockwave scrolls under them, saying "Indeed" END]

also. check this shit out

anyway WHATS going on between shockwave and megs?

[ID: Shockwave pointing to the still bound Megatron: You will explain now how you permitted our position to deteriorate so drastically, Megatron. Megatron, mostly off panel: As… Commander… it is your right to demand anything of me. It is my privilege to oblige. END]

OH. its like that huh?

[ID: Shockwave offpanel "--Should logic so dictate." A close on Megatron, he thinks "Talk, Shockwave..." A close on his repairing hand twitching "...talk while you still can!" END]

well maybe not for long...

anyway... turns out the WAS a reason we saw ratchet helping those EMT's

[ID: Ratchet driving into the hospital parking lot. Buster calls out "Ratchet!!" who responds "Greetings, Buster Witwicky how nice to see your carbon-based face again!" Buster asks "Ratchet, where've you been?" END]

I hope your all ready to become extremely endeared by ratchet, or else just put up with it. cause...

[ID: Buster and Ratchet, still in alt mode, continue to speak, while EMTs are searching for the source of this mysterious voice. Buster: If they attacked the Autobots they should all be broken-down junk-heaps by now! Ratchet: Wonderful! I knew your father was a human we could trust EMT 1: I'll look behind the grill, Mel! EMT 2: I'll check under the seat cushion, Gus! Four people react in shock as Ratchet shouts: Do you organic creatures mind? I don't go poking around your mouths to see how you talk, do I? END

my beloved....

[ID: Ratchet on the road, stopped at a red light, as Buster rides inside. Ratchet: Listen, friend traffic signal, we're in a hurry, so if you could please turn green… Buster: It doesn't hear you, Ratchet, it's only a machine. Ratchet: I'm a machine, and I hear you, Buster! Buster: Yes, but you're different, you're-- Inside view as the light turns green. Ratchet: Ahh, he changed! Thank you, friend traffic signal. May the rest of the day find you in proper working order. You see, Buster, you have to learn how to talk to people. Buster: I… I'll try to keep that in mind, Ratchet. END]

this is so charming can we get corey burton and uh. well rest in peace don messick.., so just corey burton twice will do, to record his.

oh and anyone interest in timeline of when tf lore gets introduced (me... thats... mainly just me)

[ID: Shockwave points to Megatron: As always, you underestimate Optimus Prime, Megatron. No, he will not be cut up into wires and microchips. His value is far greater to us if we keep him functional, for it is logical to assume that an Autobot of his stature contains within him--The Creation Matrix! Megatron thinking: By the divine weld! The Creation Matrix is the computer program that allows its possessor to construct new transformer life! Its power is the stuff of legends! Shockwave continues: It is said once every ten millenia a new Autobot leader is chosen and encoded with The Matrix. END]

MATRIX MENTION? everyone have their lore bibles out? someone WRITE THAT DOWN.

[ID: Buster stumbling through the Ark in shock, "N-no… it can't be true! There must be some explanation! There must be! Wait a second… I didn't see Optimus in there…there's still optimus… there has to be--" He walks into a room with Optimus Prime's severed head, plugged into grand machinery. Buster yells "--Optimus!" Prime, weakly: Buster Witwicky… You must help me… you are… the Autobots… last hope…" End card-- Next: Oil Rig Assault! END]

OH MY GOD!

[yuurei20]

Leona Info Compilation part 21: Intelligence (pt2), Perceptiveness and Effort

In a vignette Leona helps Epel and Grim create a voice-changing potion that Rook told Epel is so hard that it shows up on graduation tests and “there is no absolute, surefire recipe”.

Epel insists that they could never get the potion done in an hour, and Leona recreates it without issue over the course of a conversation (during which Grim insults him for being “a putz who’s already gotten held back a year”, but it is not unusual for Leona to ignore insults from people who regularly assume the worst of him).

When asked how he managed to create such a complex potion so quickly Leona responds, “the normal way."

Grim claims he must have used some secret cheat or “threw some random stuff in and called it good!” (The rare times he makes an effort being met with insults may be another part of why Leona does not seem to try as hard as other people think he should.)

In addition to being well educated, Leona may be unusually perceptive: he seems to be the only person who was suspicious of Lilia’s role in Spectral Soiree from the very beginning, and refers to Lilia as “old man” during an event, while every other non-Diasomnia character seems convinced that Lilia is no older than 18.

Leona also catches on to Ace using him as a shield so that Ace can protect himself from Floyd (intentionally sacrificing Epel instead), and deduces that they were all gathered together in the same location at the same time intentionally before Malleus’ reveal during Halloween.

Leona is also the first to realize that Malleus is faking his own possession.

Due to language restrictions EN has Leona catch Malleus referring to him by name, but the original situation was more subtle: Malleus slips into a different verbal tic mid-conversation, which Leona notices and calls him out on, starting a domino effect that ultimately compromises Malleus' charade and to Malleus' confession.

During Book 6 Leona is also who makes the connection between the missing Grim and door in STYX that got blown off, deduces that Idia and Ortho are throwing out obstacles to try and buy themselves time and notices the presence of the Crystal Titan through changes in the wind, long before Jamil.

When Ruggie returns a presumably missing Lucius to Trein, Leona is suspicious based solely on the fact that Ruggie did not ask for a reward in exchange.

It is revealed that Ruggie had arranged the entire situation in order to get Trein to give him a break in magic history class.

Leona also (accurately) suspects Jamil of having unpleasant thoughts about him based on his facial expression alone and says he cannot imagine what Kalim must be thinking to risk spending time with a “schemer” like Jamil: “He just doesn’t get that any one these nights could be his last.”

Characters like Vil, Jack and Ruggie are often complaining about Leona’s lack of effort (“You could skate through life if you’d just TRY”), and we learn that Leona has given up because he will never succeed at his one and only goal no matter how hard he tries (“succession ain’t got nothin’ to do with ability”), so he just doesn’t.

(A point about Leona being a “hated” second prince was removed from EN, and possibly has something to do with why Leona is choosing to repeat years at NRC and stay away from home as much as possible, as well as maybe the real reason why he is so troubled about being secondborn.)