#it still feels horribly horrendously wrong that she’s gone

[meggettes]

my mom died a year ago

[muddyorbsblr]

i have never

See the full 14 Days Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: When you reveal to your co-stars that you've never had a positive experience kissing anyone, let alone a good experience doing more than kissing, Tom visits you in your hotel room to rectify that situation.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: steamy moments (this is 1 of the 2 non-smut stories from this collection); language; mention of bleeding

Things to be aware of: coworkers to lovers; reader isn't inexperienced but she's had horrendous experience

"Okay I might need help with this, I gotta be honest."

You showed the page that you placed a little pink post-it flag on to your female co-stars, Scarlett and Lizzie, the flag pointing to the part of the script that showed your character had to kiss Loki and a look of 'contentment and relief' had to be visible on your face.

"Wait why? You've had kissing scenes before," Lizzie prodded, looking at the surrounding dialogue of the kiss.

"Yeah, I know, but those kisses were meant to be awkward and I had to be visibly uncomfortable, which is great because that's all I know how to be when a guy kisses me." You grimaced as memories of sloppy, teeth-knocking, way too rough kisses gone wrong began to flash through your mind like a train wreck slideshow.

"Oh sweetie…if you're worried that it's gonna be bad because Tom's going to make it uncomfortable, you got nothing to worry about," Scarlett commented with a chuckle. "Man's never had a bad kiss scene in his life. Ask Lizzie."

"Mmhmm. Yup. Can confirm," the redhead said with a playful grin on her face.

"Well that's all well and good but I'm not worried about him giving me a bad kiss. I'm worried that I will." You slumped your shoulders as they gave you doubtful looks. "Alright then let me put it this way. All the kisses I've had off camera are…fucking awful. On camera I can look past because it's supposed to be awkward and dorky and maybe even so cringe I wouldn't wanna watch it even if you paid me. But the guys I've kissed in private? Let's just say that the least traumatizing kiss I've had ended with my lip bleeding because the fucker bit me too hard."

"Babes, that's absolutely awful!" Lizzie looked at you with her jaw to the floor. "Are you telling us that every guy you've slept with is—"

"Fucking awful? Yep. They didn't have any redeeming qualities. And before you even ask, yes, that means that I have fucking faked it. For years. No one's ever got me to the promised land." You slumped in your chair from the admission. "So that's why I need help. I haven't the first idea how to even look like I'm content because every experience I've ever had is…subpar."

The two promised to help you until you three were called to set, imparting knowledge about imagining a wave of calm overtaking you coupled with the contradicting feeling of a wild fluttering in your stomach. Actions-wise, to pull him closer, as if you couldn't possibly be close enough, clinging to him as if your life depended on it. And the desperation that implied this was a last kiss, because ultimately it would be for your characters, considering the tragic death the Russo brothers had in mind for Loki.

It'd also be the first and last kiss you'd have with the man you'd had a raging crush on since years before you were even a blip on Marvel's radar, so you took all their advice to heart just to make sure that at the very least you didn't leave a horrible impression with him once this scene was over.

After all, you still had all of promo period to get through and considering that the Marketing team had already found your old socials from high school and had concrete evidence that you absolutely had a phase where you shamelessly fangirled over Tom Hiddleston, they would most likely test your sanity and pair you off with him for some, if not most, of the press junkets.

That was the whole reason you were currently in one of the dining tents, your head slumped down on a table as you watched a whole bunch of kissing scenes on YouTube while you furiously jotted down notes on the back of your script. Your scenes were finished for the day, and all you had to do was wait for someone in the costume department to assist you out of your costume. You retrieved your phone from security, meaning you were no longer allowed on any of the filming sets considering how careful all the execs were about spoilers getting out.

"Elizabeth told me I'd likely find you here." You jumped in your seat at the dulcet tone of Tom's voice filling the former quiet of the tent, quickly straightening your posture and turning your phone off, putting the face down on top of your notes. "Apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no, it's all good, really," you chuckled out, the nerves beginning to peek through in your shaky tone. It was borderline impossible keeping your composure around him considering that he'd been in a tight-fitting black muscle tee, the rest of him clad in his character's leather pants and boots, putting on egregious display what exactly Marvel had to edit out during post production of the first Thor movie. "What's up?" you squeaked out.

"Truly, nothing. I just wanted to tell you I look forward to filming with you tomorrow." He placed a hand on your shoulder, bared by the rather revealing nature of your Enchantress costume, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I'll see you tomorrow, darling. I'll see if I can get someone to assist you with your costume."

Your heart caught in your throat as you watched his eyes give you a once over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before leaving the tent.

Here lies Y/N Y/L/N. Cause of death? Sanity and ability to breathe were stolen by Thomas William Hiddleston.

Knock Knock Knock

You looked up from your position on the couch, your neck and back straining from being hunched over and taking notes as you watched compilation after compilation of the "best tv and movie kisses" on YouTube. Every bit of preparation you could do for tomorrow's scene short of trolling through Tinder or Raya, you would willingly do.

After all, if you looked stupid in your hotel room practicing how to kiss on your hand but no one else was around to see it, did you actually look stupid?

Yes. The answer was yes.

"I didn't order room service!" you called out in the direction of the door and sending the mistaken server on his way, turning back to face the TV and somehow transpose in your mind that the actors in the scene were you and Tom, trying to plan out how to move your body the way theirs moved, to not lean in too much so that your teeth didn't knock together, and to not even think about any lip biting considering your own dreadful history--

Knock Knock Knock

You groaned at the insistent mistaken case of room service and turned off the TV, flipping your notes over so that in case they were of the nosy variety nothing could leak. The last thing you needed throughout production was Holland and Ruffalo greeting you tomorrow morning with open arms and goofy grins saying "One of us! One of us!"

"I'm sure you're mistaken, buddy, I didn't order any--"

You opened the door and realized it wasn't room service on the other side. It was Tom, looking at you with a soft amusement in his eyes, the mortification spreading through your system at the knowledge that he was seeing you clad in a loose cotton ruffle sleepwear dress that went down the length of your arms and fell to your knees.

The farthest cry from the allure of Amora. And yet the best possible representation of yourself in real life.

"O-Oh uhh…hi," you stammered, constantly shifting your posture in your attempt to seem casual. "What's up?"

You felt even more chagrined when those eyes that haunted your every dream since you were a teenager that was every bit the awkward dork that you were at this moment once again gave you a once over. Only this time the smirk graduated to him biting his lip. What is his deal? Is he really just trying to make me spontaneously combust? Burn off the final shred of sanity that I'm holding on to? Did he choose me as his use case for a scientific study to prove that death by swooning was most definitively a thing?

"Y/N I heard you earlier today with Scarlett and Elizabeth." Someone call the cemetery and have them erect my tombstone. "I didn't intend to, but I'd been walking by the area and--"

"Ohh fuck," you groaned, pressing your hands to your eyes and spinning in your spot trying calm your racing mind. "Look I'm really sorry maybe we could talk to Anthony and Joe and we could have them write the scene out comp--"

Your words caught in your throat in a hitched squeak as you felt his hands wrap around yours, pulling them away from your face. "Look at me, please." You opened your eyes and became stunned silent when you saw a tenderness in his as he framed your face in his hands. "I'm not here to ask you to talk to anyone about getting the scene written out."

"Then why--"

He silenced you by pressing his lips to yours, all the words beginning to melt away. What little knowledge you'd gotten seemed trivial now, as he coaxed you to kiss him back, as the world around you seemed to fade and a strange quiet washed over you. As you felt your entire body come alive with every tender brush of his lips against yours.

So this was what they meant.

He pulled away from you, one arm wrapped securely around your waist to keep you close, and the other hand gently cradling the back of your head. "I came here because you are a woman who deserves to be kissed breathless. Often. By someone who knows how." He gave you a soft smile before slanting his mouth over yours, tongue gently brushing along the parting of your lips as if asking for entrance.

It was as if your whole body weakened once you parted your lips and felt his tongue gently flicking against yours. His arm tightened around you as he lifted you up seemingly effortlessly and pinned you to the wall, his lips never once leaving yours.

When Tom broke the kiss you were both gasping for breath, the air once again leaving your body the moment his lips latched on to your neck, his hands roaming down your body until they hooked around the backs of your knees to wrap your legs around him. You had to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the resounding moan that escaped you the second his hips rolled into yours.

"No, darling," he groaned against your skin, one hand reaching up to wrap around yours and pry it away from your mouth. "I want to hear you." He moved away from your neck and brought his face inches from yours. "I also heard one more thing. A downright sacrilegious thing. About how you've had to fake your pleasure with everyone you've laid with."

He placed your hand on his shoulder, which you quickly hooked around his neck to hold yourself up as he lifted you away from the wall and walked further into the hotel room, making your mind spin with what he intended to do next. "So you heard that, too, huh?" was all you could say as you did your best to remember how to breathe.

"I did. And I wish to change that, too. If you'll let me."

You could only nod before his lips were back on yours again as he laid you down onto the bed.

A/N: I had to fade to black some of these stories if I wanted to meet deadlines, okay? 🤣

'everything' taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @devilsadvocactus @lokiprompts @sititran @ladyjames78 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @creationsbyme @coldnique @athalialaufeyson @simplyholl @tallseaweed @sarahscribbles @unlucky-number-13 @ozymdias @maple-seed @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfsmom1 @km-ffluv @psychospore @loopsisloops @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovelysizzlingbluebird

[kerrikins]

About Build & Poi's statements

I have so many thoughts and I think it will take awhile for me to sort through them and be able to put them down coherently on paper. I've felt a lot of emotions since January, perhaps the most I've ever felt in any fandom, ever. Shock, doubt, frustration, grief, rage, confusion, relief.

The statements have been posted at both Build and Poi's IGs and Twitter accounts, though I kind of assume that everyone has seen them by now. I have thoughts on what was in them and what they mean but for now I'm waiting for everything to be completely finalized.

In the meantime, though..

This applies to all sides when I say that the lines cutting through this fandom may as well be chasms at this point and I think that's horrendous and horrible in a lot of ways for a show brought to us by a company/cast of people who care about each other deeply. It's at the point where even within the various ships there are deep fractures and the literal insanity going on within ALL of the ships etc is downright disturbing. MA fans hating on BBB fans. M fans hating A fans and vice versa, and the same thing going on for BBB and Jeff & Code. Ghost shippers going to war with fans of actual pairings. All of it is nuts.

It's become clear to me that so much of the hate that's surfaced during Biu's case has been driven by what is, at its roots, shipping culture and wars among stans for the individual cast members. So much of it hasn't really been about feminism or victims at all, and yet it seems like there's so much silence about it or 'oh that's just Twitter' - it's not. I've seen it pretty much everywhere I've gone in the fandom, from Twitter to Reddit to here. And even if it is 'just Twitter' - there are still people behind those keyboards and the 'support' that's really just weird projections and using these men who are mostly incredibly kind and talented as fodder for hate and constant toxicity is... sad.

The last few months has really shaken me in terms of making me take a second look at how society and the internet have started reacting to cases of this nature. I said this earlier on twitter but I really feel like 'trust, but verify' has become 'trust and vilify' - and that is not okay. First, because it's wrong, and second because it is so incredibly detrimental to future cases like this due to the inevitable backlash.

I'm so incredibly disappointed at the lack of discussion that has existed on here, elsewhere on social media, and in the news since the initial blow up. From the phone call to the apologies to the incredibly concerning actions she took last week, none of it got the same level of coverage that the initial posts in January did and in my opinion there's a huge problem with that. Supporting victims should NOT mean 'well, we're just not going to discuss anything else that comes out'. There should be room for us to look at an issue from all angles and consider everything. There should be room for us to be able to speak up and ask questions without it being shut down as a lack of support or victim blaming. It shouldn't be wrong to just have a genuine *conversation*, and by that I mean conversation and not just poorly disguised passive aggressive jabs (and that goes for everyone).

There needs to be a true middle ground and I feel like we haven't found a way to balance that, yet. Not just the fandom or people on tumblr, but society in general.

I have more thoughts about how this entire case has gone, but those will wait.

For now I'm just relieved that we at least have this out of the way and can keep moving forward.

[the-great-knight-gay]

Ranking Live Action Superman Suits (Not all)

Christopher Reeve:

8/10 - amazing for the time and truly a classic - The logo looks a little off centre and (and this is a criticism for some future suits as well) not a fan of the logo looking like its stitched into the suit. I get that practically it makes more sense but it looks slightly off-putting to me

Brandon Routh (Returns):

7/10 - I like the fabric better than the reeve suit but the symbol and trunks are too small and the red is too dark everywhere - I actually love the belt here and I think this might be the best belt and trunk design put together, if only the red was brighter - This had the potential to be a 10/10 but the red is too wrong - Plus they used the logo too much (I mean, I get the belt and cape but the bottom of his boots????)

Henry Cavill:

6/10 - Used to like it more but too much blue - way too dark - the 'belt' which isn't really a belt doesn't break up the blue enough - In concept it's nice but the execution didn't hit - The slightly alien texture to the costume doesn't work the best here but it is done spectacularly in a different suit which I will mention later.

Tyler Hoechlin (Arrowverse):

8/10 - Honestly solid redesign but the blue is still a little dark and the belt is too high up - This may be the only time I've actually liked Superman not wearing trunks as the belt does an infinitely better job than the Snyder version - Still would have preferred with trunks though and this goes for all of Tyler's future suits except the Flashback suit.

Brandon Routh (Crisis/Kingdom Come):

9/10 - Crazy how one of the best superman suits ever came from a late stage CW crossover - easily one of the best they ever made for the Arrowverse and if the black Kingdom Come section of the suits had been swapped out for Yellow like they were post crisis then it would easily have been a 10/10

Nicholas Cage (The Flash):

0/10 - good lord do I even need to say anything what is this abomination - I am so glad this never got made

Tyler Hoechlin (Flashback/Fleischer):

8/10 - Again amazing - The logo was a bit off for me though and (like all of Tyler's future suits) the padding is horrendous, like WHAT ARE THOSE ABS NO ONE HAS ABS LIKE THAT

Tyler Hoechlin (Season 1-2):

8/10 - Good but feels too much like a bad cosplay and the padding is not good plus not a fan of the logo looking stitched into the fabric

Tyler Hoechlin (Season 3-4):

9/10 - A huge improvement over the previous seasons - Fixes most of the problems like the logo no longer looking stitched horribly placed - most of the bad cosplay is gone from the suit - They did use a similar texture to the Snyder suit which was done to make it more alien looking in Snyder's version but here if you look closely then you see the texture is made up of interlocking Superman Logos which is so cool - Padding is still bad but oh well

David Cornswet: 9/10

9/10 - Crazy how the best look they've given us so far is a behind the scenes set photo (what was that reveal image good lord) but good lord is it so good - The logo could use some work - I've got nothing against the Kingdom Come design but maybe a little curve at the bottom to give it a slight S shape - The gold Fleischer outline is a nice touch - My favourite version of the cape so far, using the New 52 design to attach the cape to the body and the yellow logo at the back??? (Ik its not in this photo but its there search it up) - The belt looks so good and there is minimal to no padding in this suit which means he just looks that good in it - The trunks are perfect and the colour is amazing - The lines are a bit much - makes it look a little too MCU style but the costume designer is the same one who did the MCU designs for Captain America 2 and 3, Avengers 3 and 4 and Guardians 2 and 3 so that tracks - She also did X-Men: The Last Stand and Gunn's Suicide Squad so I can understand the MCU like parts - Go check out her work her name is Judianna Makovsky - she's done some of the best comic book suit adaptations.

[butwhatifidothis]

Ever get tired of talking about cans fic? Wanna talk about the absolute missed opportunity that was making sothis a gremlin child and not a milf or even possibly a gilf instead?

Eh, kinda yeah kinda no regarding getting tired of talking about the fic.

Like, the actual act of reading the actual fic? Genuinely ass. Like, I've actually read up to and fully written out the notes for Chapter 62. I tried reading the first sentence of Chapter 63 right afterwards, saw it was a Rhea POV chapter, and went back to reading my otome isekais. That was around late November, and I've still yet to read any more of Chapter 63. The act of reading through something this horrible requires a lot of long breaks in-between sessions of reading.

But! In doing so I also get to talk about aspects of writing, and about 3H in particular, which I love doing. I like geeking out over aspects of writing like characterization, consistency, logical throughlines, character growth, etc. and being able to do so with such a horrible example of pretty much all of that is kinda fun, ngl.

And I also get to see and tackle so, so many of the asinine, horrendous takes that have made this fandom such a volatile space, such as:

Teacher Theory

Edelgard being some poor hapless maiden waiting for her love to save her from her unfair and unjust fate of being "branded" a villain

Dimitri being so toxic and "gone" that he needs to be killed since he just can't "listen to reason" anymore (and that actually him getting killed would make him happier)

the same essentially being said about Rhea

Lonato being a just man during his rebellion, as well as Christophe being just in his attempt to kill Rhea

Nabateans as a race being to blame for all of humanity's problems and so needing to take accountability for all of humanity's wrongs

Claude not actually caring about Fodlan and just wanting to conquer it so he can do better when he goes back to Almyra

Byleth needing to be completely human and needing to reject their Nabatean heritage in order to become happy

Edelgard being the only one among the lords + Rhea to ever care for Byleth

Everyone's best self being found only on CF

the idea that anyone defending themselves against Edelgard's attempt on their life in the Holy Tomb would be the aggressor instigating war against Edelgard

Edelgard caring so much about the people and being the only lord to care about the people

Sothis wanting Byleth to choose Edelgard over everyone else

Everyone making Edelgard kill them

And so on and so forth; this fic has pretty much all of them. In a way, reading this fic and breaking it down lets me have one, concentrated area where I get to dissect exactly how and why all of these takes are either shitty, genuinely disgusting, stupid as hell, or a mix of some/all of those things. And given the fact that Cap'n and multiple people in the fandom want this fic to be taken as meta/required reading, and with this basically being an amalgamation of all of Cap'n's genuine takes on the game (+ those of other Edelstans), going over exactly why such an influential thing is so wrong feels fitting lol. It's a pain to actually have to read through, especially with the pretentious and self-pitying holier-than-thou prose making things hard to actually physically read, but the result of doing so makes it worth it imo.

Buuuut to get off of that: yes, it was an extremely huge missed opportunity that Sothis was a stupid fuckin' loli instead of her actual self. Or, I guess more accurately, that she didn't physically become her actual self after merging with Byleth, or at least become physically closer to it. Full Mommy Sothis is so beautiful from the little we see of her! And the idea of her looking more like how she used to as she gains more of her memories would've been cool to see! And, uh, also, I feel an adult body would make her garb feel less... unfortunate to look at (ngl I get Nowi vibes looking at Sothis and I Do Not Like Nowi's clothing design that much).

I feel there was a lot missed with Sothis tho, and that that's mostly the case because the game more wants the feeling of a mystery to hang around the game more than it does actually writing a mystery with a conclusion. Sothis was seen regaining bits and pieces of her former life as a god, so if she stayed around long enough she could have revealed things to the player that were meant to be hidden. Same with Rhea - she could talk about a lot of the background knowledge of Fodlan's history that could have fleshed out the world so much more. But doing that would "spoil the fun" so to speak; there wouldn't be a mystery anymore, which the writers seemed to prioritize more than actually making the mystery fulfilling to figure out.

So Sothis gets yeeted out of the story halfway through, and Rhea is either an unavailable damsel in distress or a person pushed past their breaking point and thus unable to talk to. That's why Rhea's lore dumps on SS and VW are so rushed and forced - the writers knew they had to eventually get to the end of the mystery, and so held off as long as possible. At least, that interpretation of the writing can exist, given how they've written everything lol

[exoticalmonde]

Arknights Chapter XI - Return To Mist

So... Chapter Eleven is at its end and because I am desperate to have enough Originium I need to go through as many chapters in Adverse level as I can so this terrible Clown Fiesta of a skinset coming out tomorrow would be mine.

And conveniently enough, Dr. Kryo is here to help me out.

SPOILERS OF THE STORY AHEAD

Mandatory Opening video because it's too good to skip. I love re-watching these after I'm done with a chapter.

Me, frantically: "Kryo, Gummy is gonna be eaten." Kryo: "AH- UH- STALL WITH GRAVEL." Me: Stalls Gravel: *Gets devoured* Pinkie, returning out of nowhere: "I see Gravel has been used. They really took 'Eat dirt' to a next level."

---

I have had this woman ever since I started playing, and I have spent all this time almost not reading anything about her. My lass was in Kazimierz, she's here in Victoria with us now, she's a follower of the wendigo, a witch... and I still gape at the mention of her actual relations and experience.

She's a necromancer and a Sarkaz with the funkiest horns ever and just refuses to elaborate, uses her dark arts to heal as a mock of redemption... or something.

---

Me: "IS THAT--" Pinkie, amused, sarcastic, smug: "Yeah?" Me: "Now I don't care who it is."

---

HOLY HECK IT'S THE --- GOOD GOD OH MY GOODNESS AAAAaa--

Kal'tsit lore, Kal'tsit jumping in front of us to save me, to save Amiya little baby saw so much and she's sobbing limp in my arms after the wall crumbled underneath her tiny little bunny feet!!!

I am so sad oh my golly Mrs. Cat lady you are in the middle of all the drama, you are THE historical event you horrendeous fossil you, all the horrible things that happened happened because of you and now everybody is mad; what does your brain see that we do not, what sort of demons haunt you, whose voice do you hear that guides you, I need to know. ---

...

---

Pinkie: "Oh hey Kal'tsit, what are you doing there?" Me, who already knows: "I don't want to." Kryo: "Are you ready to hear the team comp? Oh, it's pre-set. Tell me when you're ready." Me: "... Let me go through the story first. I feel like I need to learn the context before I witness it." Pinkie: "Yes please." Me and Pinkie: *Reading* Kryo: *Falls asleep* Me: "Alright, we're done now. I'm ready for guidance." Kryo: "..." Me: "Kryo?" Kryo: "..." Pinkie: "Is he gone? I have time. Let's do it." Me: "... Alright." ---

Me: "I want to save her." Pinkie: "You can't stop a canon event." Me: "I don't want it to be a canon event."

Pinkie: "O, he's coming." Me: *Sad whimpering*

Pinkie: "Oh, here it comes." Kal'tsit: *Dies* Pinkie: "Now he's gonna leave. So long, losers. Refuses to elaborate."

---

Me: *Pogging* "It's the sword!" Pinkie: "Wow, now we have TWO swords that only work if the one destined and chosen by the sword is wielding it."

---

Man... My life in Operation 11-18, am I right?

---

Kryo: "Why is he panting in my ear? Dog, chill!" Me: "Thank you for your services... Both Hung's VA and Hung himself."

---

Me: "I don't know which one is worse, a level where the enemies are only three 'No Data' boxes, or the levels where there are three rows of them." Pinkie: "Hey, but you get to find out for yourself, right? It's the fun part of it. Trial and error." Me: "I don't want trial and error..." ---

Me: "What was the Steam Knight music called again?" Pinkie: "You don't need to know." Kryo: "Sexy Vampire music." Pinkie: "Damn it... It's Vampire Sex Music." Me: "Reverse-psychologises you into telling us the name because you think we got it wrong and you always need to be right." Pinkie: "... How dare you."

---

Me: "So, the Vampire Sex Music." Pinkie: "Yeah." Me: "..." Steam Knight:

---

Pinkie: "I wish he was someone we could get as a character one day. Imagine being able to deploy the Steam Knight." Me: "He's gorgeous. Look at that."

---

Me: *Squealing* "Look at her! Baba! Look at her tiny ears. Oh my god her teeny tail. I love her." Pinkie: "I remember when people were super surprised to just... see baby Siege out of nowhere."

---

Lord, this scene...

Absolutely insane.

---

First try, here we go-

OH NO

EBENHOLZ

...

Pinkie: "I think you need a better Hoshiguma." Me: "..." Kryo: "My Hoshiguma was lvl40 E2, I think hers (lvl25 E2) would be fine." Pinkie: "I struggled and mine was lvl60." Me: "Maybe because you didn't have Ebenholz E2 level 90." Pinkie: "WELL! You're right. You'd think that I'm missing the boss-killer on the Boss stage and would do something about him sooner, but I just haven't been able to around all the other things I need to do for this game." ---

Me and Kryo: *Finish the stage on the second try* Us: *Celebrating* Me: "It was so much easier than I expected. I've seen so many elaborate videos that are... Really nothing in comparison." Pinkie: "It seems I am the problem. Skill issue."

[marmiteprinter]

Advance Warning - Potentially Upsetting Content

I’m going to put this post under a cut as it could be upsetting for anyone who has experienced pregnancy loss. If you do not wish to read it, skip to the next post.

That evening, once Stephen was asleep, Bethany got up from the couch feeling horrendous pains in her stomach as well as nausea. She knew immediately that something wasn't right.

"Hob! Hob! Come quickly! Something is happening with the nooboo!" she yelled.

Her husband came running. "What's wrong? Are you in labour?"

Bethany looked at him, tears streaming down her face. "I... I don't know. It doesn't feel like labour. I think something is wrong."

Hob'rth started to panic. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. There's no hospital here, Beth! What do we do?"

Bethany shook her head sadly. "I don't think there's anything we can do. The city is too far away. I think... I think we might lose the nooboo."

A few hours later, Bethany had suffered a late-term pregnancy loss. Hob'rth had called the emergency services in SimCity, but he had been told it would take at least an hour to get out to them. He still insisted they come, but by the time they had arrived it was too late.

Bethany could not stop crying for the rest of the night. The ambulance offered to take her back to the city to check her over, but she just wanted to mourn her loss. She allowed them to deal with everything else, then sat and wept like her heart had been torn in two. It certainly felt like it had.

Eventually, as the first rays of morning showed over the horizon, Bethany stood and hugged Hob'rth, who was also mourning in a quieter, more anguished way.

"She was a girl. Her name was Isabelle," she said quietly.

"We'll always remember her," whispered Hob'rth, holding her tightly. "Our daughter Isabelle - gone too soon but never forgotten."

Bethany nodded. "I love you."

"I love you too."

(Side note: this actually devastated me. I really felt their loss here. I've never suffered a pregnancy loss and I cannot even begin to imagine how awful it must be - I'm sorry if I didn't adequately convey it here. But I really felt for them - her needs were all green except for energy and I was not at all prepared emotionally for a spontaneous pregnancy loss in the third trimester. Perhaps I get too invested in my Sims, but still. What a horrible thing to happen.)

[meowmeowbeepy]

PODCAST REVIEW: The Wedding Scammer

So far, I liked this podcast story telling the most bc the main host is a likable, self aware, non-pretentious, not annoying person. And BOY is that important if their voice is going to be the one accompanying you on your every day rush hour drive. Kudos to JUSTIN

My actual main thoughts that encouraged me to log on and punch this out: 1. There is a fine line that I won't act like I can navigate re: rightfully understanding and sympathizing with the challenges of a person w/ depression VS. giving person w/ depression sympathy to justify their really shitty behavior. Like.. in media and story-telling, I REALLY feel like a person's "mental health" comes up in HINDSIGHT only when the person themselves is talking about their mistakes. And that formula is 1. mistake 2. digging into the mistake 3. person is ready to talk about it and says, "I was in a horrible place." I think it makes sense and isn't unfair or untrue. BUT I am really feeling like this is NOT a good or fair look at the stigma re: mental health. And what's crazy is the person will say "there's a stigma around mental health" AND THEN bring up their own when (not necessarily as a direct excuse or justification) explaining "I was in a horrible place and made mistakes". To me, it is hard to not blame the mental health. And when we do that for all these stories it is really unfair to people who also have mental health problems who do NOT make these egregious mistakes. I think we should blame a person's weak character lol. There are people truly struggling who do hit a rock bottom but do NOT bring others into the horrendous mix of their mistakes. And it's crazy that EYE am one to even effing say this bc my sister has maybe had ~25 sweet wholesome good days in her life and is otherwise a very difficult person to love and tolerate. And I don't blame it on her mental health-- I blame it on MOSTLY her character!! But, I won't say I am not hypocritical or at least this exact problem I discussed. It is just easier to tell strangers or people who I just am getting to know "oh yeah, my sister is difficult.. she has a lot of ~mental health issues~". Sorry that I am hypocritical

2. Carl, Carl, Carl. To be fair I am not done with the podcast yet lol. But I know re: spoilers that he has not paid the $100,000+ he owes. And I used to be a very there are two sides to every story but can agree there are actually three sides to every story. Being that the truth is it's own side. And as "non-judgey" of a situation a person can be, if there are receipts..paper trails... that support the truth?? I am sorry Carl, your side is valid but it is safe for the rest of us to assume you are so in the wrong. I don't really need his side other than maybe a little more sympathy. There is still so much wrong on paper. Good luck to everyone who has a wedding there!

3. Can't believe he hasn't gone to jail. I think he should. Accountability, recognition of all mistakes is the first step in this. Which clearly he hasn't done, so do I think he has "turned over a new leaf" uhhhh so clearly not.

[dmclemblems]

Your takes genuinely appalled me to read. Just extremely callous readings of Edelgard, particularly that she "deserved" to be lobotimzed, and awful interpretations of Claude, the latter of which seemingly due to his expanded upon character not fitting the shipping mold you want to shove him into as Dimitri's arm candy. Depressing stuff to see those be anyone's takeaways from 3 Hopes, especially as a writer.

loooool imagine taking away all my issues with Claude's writing and motivation as "oh wow she just wants to make him Dimitri's arm candy".

first of all, nope! dimitri is HIS arm candy, get your facts straight because damn they're off.

anyway in seriousness, I don't really care what you think of how I feel about Edelgard. if she were real I would despise her the same way I despise the old fucker who started a war in real life and attacked another country to overthrow it. yeah, you know the one. that shit is still ongoing. that shit is disgusting and awful and I don't like war.

Edelgard prefers bloodshed to simply talking things out with people and that's been the case through and through. for her it's either submit to the Empire so the whole continent is under the Empire's flag or we go to war with you and kill all your people in power. not only do people who did nothing wrong and nothing to her die, but civilians take the brunt of the war. I cite: the entirety of two games.

let me get this straight for you: I despise Edelgard and everything she does and all the suffering she causes. she is not interesting to me and I think people who start wars, especially just because they want "change" are horrible people. you don't start a war for "change". she's in a privileged position of power and has the ability to start a war and ruin thousands of lives, and she does. the fact that she chooses bloodshed to "change the Crest system" is barbaric.

Sylvain is a perfect example of someone who hates the Crest system and is choosing peace above all else. even in Hopes, even with Sreng invading while they're at war with the Empire, he still insists on peace. he still jokes around with the Sreng commander. he doesn't want them to invade because he doesn't want them to cause harm, because then he does have to take up arms. he doesn't want to do that.

I hate Edelgard. What she does is horrendous. I wish bad things on people who do horrendous things. I wish the best for people who do good things, or people who don't do things at all. starting wars though and causing innocent people to suffer because you have beef with other people in power? fuck you then, because it's everyone else who suffers. also, she was not literally lobotomized. I used the term "essentially" because that's how it would appear, but it is not confirmed and we don't know her full state after the war. for all we know, the magic could be gone entirely and, as suggested in my following theory, she may be restarting her memories from around the age she was when she knew Dimitri as a child.

Claude can have an expanded upon character, but the fact that you dumbed everything I've ever said about him down to "arm candy" is pretty ridiculous and moronic. you see what you want to see and not what's been said. his character lost his curiosity and interest, is much more aggressive, and decided to attack Faerghus before talking things out. you talk to people before killing people (and yes, soldiers are, wouldn't ya know it, people!), not storm in, kill tons of people and then go "I just wanna talk!".

my issues with Claude extend to Faerghus, the Church, Cyril, his curiosity, his motivation, and his lack of understanding about Fodlan and basing his motivation on those understandings. me not liking the things he does has nothing to do with Dimitri in particular - especially considering that he makes it a point that he doesn't want to fight or kill Dimitri. he's also a snake though, and I hate that about him because that isn't Claude. the way he'll tell Dimitri to his face that he doesn't want to fight him, then turn around and talk to Edelgard and even make the suggestion that they team up to fight him when they get out of Zaharas or vice versa is ridiculous. it makes him two faced.

before anyone tries the whole "Claude sides with whoever is winning even in Houses" argument, no, he really doesn't. in every route he either:

sides with Faerghus (AM, and intended in VW) because they're not the aggressors, and even if they were both on the defensive, the two of them combined would help them avoid being on the losing side.

sides with the Church (VW, also AM because he sides with Faerghus in AM who is allied with the Church), who is also the losing side

runs away back to Almyra and does not side with Edelgard (SS)

loses to the Empire and returns to Almyra and does not assist Edelgard in any way, shape or form (CF, in contrast to AM where he returns to Almyra and gives his entire army, birthright and country to Dimitri/puts those things in Dimitri's hands out of trust)

is killed by the Empire (CF)

Claude does not just side with the winner. he does side with his morals though and what he feels is right or wrong. that's the biggest difference between him surviving in CF and in AM, or him allying with the Church in VW despite having some suspicions about it when he was younger.

in Hopes, none of those morals are present.

also, the issues Claude has in Hopes are just as ignorant as Edelgard's. oh no, how dare Rhea say there's to be no non-official contact outside of Fo- oh right, Lambert was trying to be friends with Sreng and Duscur for quite a long time now. oh right, Dimitri has been handling things with Duscur for a while now since he's taken the throne. oh right, Rhea opened the Academy to people of even foreign blood. oh right, an Almyran is in her care and she genuinely cares about him, his well being and his life.

oh right, Claude's entire motivation is based on sheer willful ignorance because he doesn't bother trying to learn what the truth is about what he's claiming to fight for.

oh and let's not forget that he/his army killed Matthias. all he really did was hurt Faerghus' efforts with Sreng because now it's an open invitation for them to invade and cause even more people to die on both sides.

I don't like the second half-ish of Hopes' Claude because I don't agree with how they handled him. they could have expanded upon him without the 180 in his character. they expanded upon him during the rest of the chapters prior to that and it was all just fine. the fact that he would be upset enough to get drunk over having to kill his brother was surprising but also more true to Houses' Claude's lack of aggression. despite that the man said horrendous things about Claude and wanted him dead, yet Claude still grieved for him should have said a lot about Claude. just because I don't agree with how he was written for the last chunk of chapters does not mean my "interpretations" are wrong. plenty of people have the same problems.

oh and let’s not forget the whole, Claude starting a war against Fodlan so they can “take it for themselves”. but I guess you prefer to ignore that because uwu you don’t like other people’s feelings about that.

this isn't even the whole of my issues with the way he was handled, but I'm not going to bother repeating everything or getting into it further because this is already longer than I wanted it to be.

I reeeally don't care if you're a writer. It doesn't change my opinions and it doesn't change how I see Edelgard's actions. Claude is at least a more in depth character, but I don't like how he was handled in Hopes. the fact that you would ignore that and act like I don't appreciate and care for Claude's character is enough to tell me how willfully ignorant you also are, because you don't know anything about me, my other posts about him, or how much I love in depth lore and details. just because I don't like the writing for Claude in Hopes specifically doesn't mean I just want to see him on Dimtiri's arm, like lmao bruh that's the stupidest take I ever did see from anything I've ever written and just your way of trying to hate on me because you don't like the limited things you've read. certainly sounds like you only even read that one post, which mind you was not tagged so strangers could read it and whine and moan. it was tagged for organizational purposes.

don't bother sending another ask and don't bother replying to this. I'm not here to argue with people. I'm here to do my own thing and post my own thoughts on my own blog. people can post their opinions but it doesn't mean you need to come in with your bitching and moaning. you could have just said in a polite way that you don't agree with my takes, but instead you came in with a huge attitude and going out of you way to insult me.

maybe look back at yourself and consider that attacking people over their opinions on fictional media is not only insanely fucking rude, but it makes you a pretty shitty person. the fact that you would hide your identity on anon and send hate to someone is appalling. depressing stuff to see your takeaways being so ignorant and simplified when I've clearly expressed so much more than just that post.

also, this goes for everyone and anyone. don't send people anon hate. don't act like you're better than anyone else because you disagree with their opinions.

also, imagine thinking because you're a writer that it makes your interpretations better than anyone else's lmfao. joke's on them though, I write things too. oh but I bet they'd ignore all the development I write for Claude and all his friendships because they think he's just Dimitri's arm candy (??? lmao what. the fact that this person even completely wiped out his whole character to say that, like lmfao bruh I'm not the one who said that, you did, anon. never in my life has that thought even crossed my mind, so... that one's 110 percent on you).

my takeaway from Hopes is a LOT more than just that post, and it is a LOT more than just about how Claude was written. depressing to think you'd even think that's the be all end all.

[imbeccable-writes]

What do you think would happen if the canon Warners met the ones from your AU, after they took over Warnerstock? My guess is the canon sibs would recognize the capes and crowns and mentions of Salazar and Warnerstock and instantly, half-rightly clock they were from a universe where the Wakko’s Wish movie was real life. Assuming only the Separated sibs needed filling in, they’d explain their life story…

Canon Yakko: So we were all locked in this water tower, and ‘cause toons here are immortal, we were stuck here for sixty years! And we finally got out -

Separated Wakko: Wait. You grew up together?

Canon Dot: Well, yeah. We spend every moment together. It’s one of the few redeeming qualities of our frankly horrendous lives.

Separated Yakko: (eye twitches, while his Wakko just stares at their other selves in awe) So you always knew where your siblings were and that they were okay?

Separated Dot: (with slowly building rage) You always knew what your brothers’ faces looked like?

Separated Wakko: (not angry, but curious) You never felt this ever-present sense of wrongness and loss because you weren’t meant to be alone?

Separated Dot: You didn’t nearly die of tuberculosis on the streets and then get taken in by strong contenders for the Worst Parents Award?

Separated Yakko: Did you ever even stumble upon the hanged corpse of your surrogate mother, giving you PTSD and the beliefs that you were innately unlovable and everything you loved would inevitably die?!

[Beat.]

Canon Wakko: …I get the feeling your lives weren’t like our movie.

Canon Yakko: I mean, we’ve definitely been abused, neglected, betrayed and abandoned by most authority figures who have had and still have power over us, if that somehow helps. Wow. No wonder the fandom is a sadistic, masochistic mess.

GOD i am So Sorry, I tried so hard to expand on what you already gave me but my brain just Would Not Cooperate, and now it's been months since you sent this and I feel so bad akdjaj. Maybe one day I'll finish that drabble, but for now it shall just haunt me from my drafts, never to see the light of day again.

ANYWAY, but I really love the idea of the canon Warners comparing their lives to Separated Warners, if only so there's no sugar coating the bullshit both versions of them went through. S!Warners hearing that C!Warners have always been and will always be with each other from conception hits right home because that is quite literally the only thing S!Warners have ever wanted. and C!Warners hearing that not only have their counterparts been split up from one another since childhood, but also that they have gone through such horrible trauma without having their siblings there to help them through it would allow C!Warners to look back with a slightly less bitter eye and think, well at least we had each other.

I think having each individual character set next to each other to see just how differently they could have turned out is interesting too.

S!Dot is still sassy and spitfire-like, but she's subdued, often wracked with indecision and insecurity. C!Dot has never been unsure of anything she's done ever in her life.

S!Yakko is haunted by the death of his mother figure and has done mental gymnastics to conclude that everything that has ever gone wrong was his fault specifically, as victims of trauma are wont to do. C!Yakko has anxiety much like his counterpart, but he's confident, he's brash. He knows his sibs love him and that doesn't scare him; in fact, it's what gives him strength because he knows they'll always be there for him.

S!Wakko has taken it upon himself to be the sole bearer of happiness and love in a time and town full of sorrow and fear. He berates himself when he feels down because he thinks he's letting everyone else down. He thinks he shouldn't be feeling bad because he thinks of himself as a beacon of joy. C!Wakko is just happy to be here. KIDDING, he's happy to be here, but also he loves his siblings very much and loves to do skits with them and sing with them. He likes to have time to himself where he just vibes, which contradicts S!Wakko, who can't relax unless he's specifically helping someone Else relax.

The C!Warners understand that their fandom is full of people that love angst and hurt/comfort, so while the S!Warners' stories are upsetting, they're not all that surprising. It allows them to reflect a little, like I said, and be grateful they at least had each other.

The S!Warners look at their canon counterparts, and two-thirds of them are angry, sad. Why couldn't that be them? Sure, they went through bullshit too, but they had each other. That's not fair. And I think S!Wakko, beacon of light that he is, would take his siblings anger and understand it, but would inevitably be like, "Well... I'm just glad there's a version of us that's happy."

And it's a bit shocking hearing S!Wakko admit that he isn't, or at least wasn't, happy, but his siblings take a look at their counterparts, who are joking and teasing with each other now. S!Dot looks at how C!Dot doesn't hesitate to quip and snark and snap. S!Yakko looks at C!Yakko's relaxed shoulders, half-lidded eyes, smarmy smile, how he jokes and jabs and jabes with his siblings as if there was never any doubt that he'd be able to. Like the thought of parting with them for any reason had ever crossed his mind.

"Yeah," says S!Yakko, still bitter, but he had to admit, it was nice seeing a relaxed version of himself. It was like looking in a fun house mirror. "I guess there's that."

"Still wish it was us, tho," says S!Dot, who finds it harder to let go of bitterness and anger.

"Sure," says S!Wakko. "We can still be happy for them, tho."

"... I guess," she mutters.

ANYWAY, ended up writing a half-drabble anyway. Why is my brain like this. But yeah! I think fanfic characters meeting canon characters is always fun, because comparing similarities and differences is always interesting and cool. Thanks so much for the ask and I'm sorry it took this long to get out, again.

[inhonoredglory]

Run Away from Me: A Levi Meta

The core of this meta is to show that, IMHO, Levi’s violence against Historia in Chapter 56 is his emotional fallout from the torture of Sannes, as well as his own guilt at the person he had become. Coming from having only watched the anime, I personally found this placement in the manga of the Historia scene right after both the torture sequence and the Reeves Company alliance as incredibly meaningful, especially for Levi’s character and his emotional journey.

Levi is an immensely compassionate person, someone who wants to aspire to the “unimaginably altruistic” life of Erwin Smith (Isayama, SNK Encyclopedia). So how would this torture he had to inflict affect him? Because imagine for a second: This is the man who was the only one to truly react with horror and sadness at the knowledge that they’d been killing human beings all this time when they fought Titans. This is the man who went out of his way to ally with the Reeves Company in order to answer the Trost townspeople’s woes:

In Chapter 53, Levi is confronted with blatantly disrespectful Trost merchants who think the Survey Corps haven’t done enough to save their town. It’s the everyday things that burden these people—taxes, thieves, putting food on the table. Levi doesn’t once shoot back at them for their criticism. Instead, he listens. And then he spots a woman at the side of a merchant’s stall. She’s holding a baby and her eyes burn into Levi’s. She holds his attention while above him, the merchants continue their tirade. I think Levi’s thinking of his mother here: like this woman, she was a single parent raising a child in a city that is not unlike Trost now, a town abandoned and forgotten by society, poor and struggling. That child reminds Levi of himself, and this time, Levi can do something about it.

This is why Levi goes out of his way to ally with the Reeves Company. Levi and Dimo share a long, deep conversation, demonstrating that Levi’s alliance with them is more personal than merely the company’s strategic value. Dimo Reeves called Levi an “awkward yet kind man.” He goes on the say that Levi will “protect us and the barely-alive District of Trost, even though he doesn’t really have to.” This is Levi answering that townsperson’s accusation that “you in the Survey Corps aren’t working hard enough.” Levi entrusts to the Reeves Company the responsibility to bring the town out of poverty in the new world the SC will create. That’s his compassion, that’s his care, that’s his humility. That’s how he values the lives of people, not just by defeating Titans, but valuing their livelihoods. “A man like that must have come from absolutely nothing,” concludes Dimo.

This is the same Levi we find torturing Sannes.

In Chapter 55, the torture of Sannes happens because of the horrors Hange saw inflicted on Minister Nick. It is Hange’s passion for avenging Nick that drives the torture sequence, their anger at the tortures that had happened under the MP’s First Squad that motivates the payback inflicted by Hange and Levi. Levi’s violence is done, not out of his own desire, but primarily Hange’s. This is not to say that Levi was guiltless or without responsibility for Sannes’s torture; on the contrary, his actions weigh heavily on him, as will be discussed. But it’s interesting to note that out of all the tortures they did, breaking Sannes’ nose was the only retribution all Levi’s own (in reaction to Sannes’ justification of a series of horrific things the MPs had committed).

I also find it relevant that after everything they had done to Sannes, Levi was still visibly shocked at Hange’s overreaction to Sannes’ hesitation to answer their first real question. Because in Levi’s mind, everything they had done up to that point wasn’t torture—in one sense. It was instead a like-for-like payback for the horrors Sannes had inflicted on Nick. Note that it was Levi who had to pull Hange out of the emotional distraction of Nick’s death in Chapter 52, the same emotional distraction that drives Hange to overzealous violence here.

There’s an interesting parallel in what happens next with what Levi had gone through with Annie earlier. Levi threatened Annie with torture of her real body and said he enjoyed intimidating her as she was bound and trapped. Sannes confessed that for him, he enjoyed violence and tormenting the helpless—so why should he complain if these torturers, Hange and Levi, are the same as him? It’s a subtle parallel, but it’s a relevant theme in SNK that everyone, on all sides, are devils and monsters. Or as Sannes says later, “The world will always have people like us.” People who are violent, people who are lunatics, people who condemn themselves and get their hands dirty for the sake of some higher “good.” Sannes’ accusation isn’t lost on Levi, because this is the same Levi who looked at a struggling mother in a forsaken city and did something about it.

Justified violence is still violence. So what if Annie deserved to have her limbs cut off, time and time again, without relief of death? So what if Sannes deserves to have his fingernails torn off, one by one, without even a question put to him? They had, after all, inflicted death and untold horrors on innocent people. But does justice look like this? Does the name of justice absolve your hands from actions this ugly?

Morality is complicated. And Levi is the first to tell you that he doesn’t know how to slice it. “I’m not telling you what’s right or wrong. I certainly don’t know what is” (Chapter 59).

So now in Chapter 56, we come to the scene with Historia, right on the heels of that torture. The first red flag for me went up when Levi realizes he has “forgotten” to tell his squad about Historia’s true bloodline. It’s not that he didn’t intend to tell them, it’s not that he was not supposed to tell them. (Unlike, say, the entire Female Titan arc.) He forgot, and he’s clearly embarrassed when they confront him. Why? Because he’s not supposed to lose focus like that. But he did, because that information came from Sannes, and after that horrendous experience, Levi, like Hange before him, was emotionally distracted. That’s the only reason I can figure for Isayama focusing on Levi’s oversight like this, and showing Levi in such an obviously emotionally awkward place.

Hange isn’t here to translate for Levi, like she did when Levi berated Eren for being unable to harden during the experiments in Chapter 53. Levi takes the scenic, colorful route when explaining his feelings. To Eren, he admitted that his criticism wasn’t about blaming Eren for being unable to harden, stating that “going over our shortcomings and bitching about our situation is an important ritual.”

In this light, we can read Levi’s words and actions with Historia as a complicated picture of his psychological landscape. Notice how just prior to this scene, we saw Hange act out the aftermath of the torture by kicking the table. Levi too reacts, taking it out on Historia.

Imagine where Levi is right now. He’s taken on the role of Sannes in this new world—the executioner, the ultimate killer, Humanity’s Strongest. “Your hands are already dirty. You can’t go back to the way you were,” Levi tells Armin later, but it’s also what he believes about himself. All that idealism that brought him into the Survey Corps—a life bigger than being a thug in the underworld. Did all that idealism bring him here, to do this? He has to make it worth it, he has to make it count for something. It’s what he does every day when his soldiers die under him—he’s been there to make their deaths worthwhile. But who’s there to make the deaths and terrors he’s dealt out worthwhile for him?

Levi’s expression in the last panel is angry, yes, but also wracked with pain.

So when Historia says she’s unfit for the role of Queen, when she says she can’t be Queen because she’s not good enough, Levi snaps. “Then run,” he said, grabbing her. “Run away from us as fast as you can. Because we’re going to do anything and everything to make you do what we want.” Levi’s eyes are downcast, not looking at her, because what he’s saying is more about him than it is about her.

Because he knows he’s dark enough to follow those orders to do the worst things to a human being to make the entire world a better place. He knows it’s in his bones to commit these atrocities. He is afraid of what he found he’s capable of. He’s already come to terms with killing humans as Titans. He’s come to terms with torturing humans as humans. He knows he can and will do horrible, unforgivable things. That’s his strength, that’s what makes him valuable, useful, important. He’s not like other people—“I’m abnormal… probably because I’ve seen far too many abnormal things.” But he’s ready to condemn himself, to make his hands dirty for the sake of others. He’s decided he has to go full through with the darkness he’s committed, because how else can he justify what he’s done? “I’m fine playing the role of the lunatic who kills people like that. I have to be ready to rearrange some faces. Because I choose the hell of humans killing each other over the hell of being eaten. At least that way… all of humanity doesn’t have to be damned.” His are the hands that will be stained with blood, his is the conscience that will be stained, his is the soul that will sink to hell—all so that others’ innocence can be spared.

The 104th look at him like he’s gone mad, abusing a young, helpless girl like that. But they haven’t seen what he had to do. They haven’t seen how bloody his hands have gotten. His violence here is a desperate reaction to get someone to save him. He’s always been able to avenge the deaths of his soldiers. But this time, he is the one in need of redemption. He could not justify his violence completely, he could only plea for her to make them unnecessary in the future. By becoming Queen, it means he won’t have to keep torturing, keep killing, keep shedding human blood. Her becoming Queen means a peaceful transition of power. Her becoming Queen means he won’t have to pave the path to a new government with more blood and more guilt, at least, not more than he has to. He’s enslaved to doing what his strength allows him to do. He’s begging her to not let people ask that of him.

[shadowsinger11]

John Wayne

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Christmas lights and stunning dresses are enough to spark a desire for a winter romance. But could you have possibly gotten the wrong idea?

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: fluff, angst

A/N: I might've listened too much to Cigarettes After Sex while writing and this is totally not a song inspired fic, born purely as a result of my procrastination with other projects

Tag list: @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @theweasleysredhair @harrysweasleys @loony-loopy-lupinn @whiz-bangs78 @slytherinsunrise @starlightweasley @ickle-ronniekins @gcdric @vivianweasley @aprilsrant @idont-knowrn @thisismynerdyself @wonderful-writer @feetoffthetablee @minty-malfoy @vogueweasley @elf-punk @oh-for-merlins-sake @heart-of-tempered-steel @spilled-prose @itseatyourdamnapples @aaannabbanana @l0ttadreamz @potter-redheads @pastanest | message me to be added/removed! (if you're in bold, I couldn't tag you)

You were staring at the crowded dance floor.

Beautiful ladies were being spun around by their partners, gorgeous gowns twirling and swooshing with their every elegant move. Everything was perfect about them; from their smile which lit up the Great hall more than the sparkling white Christmas trees, to the way their wrist gracefully twisted around their lover's neck, eyes piercing into theirs. The music was playing, slow and melancholic, exactly as it had been playing for the last few hours, luring lovers and encouraging them to bare their souls in front of each other.

And so they danced, connected by fearful desire, united by hope and bonded by love.

It was a kind of magic no one could truly understand, mysterious and private as though you weren't meant to witness it that night. So when among the sea of couples lips met in a silent oath, your heart began to ache, pleading you to leave.

It should have been you. It should have been you the receiver of those loving glances, of those kisses which made your head dizzy and caused your knees to buckle, but it would've been no problem as you would've had the arms of your lover to keep you secure. Then, as you'd dare to look up through your lashes, gorgeous eyes would be already on you, their obscure flame consoling you and pulling you in. And you'd simply fall, letting the warm, velvety darkness envelope you.

You flinched from the slight chill, rethinking your choice of a sleeveless dress. The enthusiasm with which you had picked it months ago now seemed utterly ridiculous and foolish as you were sitting a good distance away from where you believed you'd have been dancing your heart out. But, as you took one last look at your surroundings, only to spot your lovestruck friends indulging in the presence of their partners, the comfort of your pajamas seemed far more tempting than the unreasonably expensive piece of fabric which didn't even matter to you anymore.

It was pitifully funny how things could change in the blink of an eye, in a single breath; how fast you had gone from blooming with excitement to wondering how you were foolish enough to contribute to your own heartbreak.

"How come I'm just finding out about this?" Fred exclaimed, chasing after you down the stairs of the Astronomy tower. "I bet I wouldn't have known if it wasn't for those Ravenclaws chatting back in class."

"You were gonna know eventually, what's the deal?"

"My point is, why didn't you tell me and I had to hear from someone else?"

A group Hufflepuffs gave you questioning looks as you practically ran past them, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process, "You're making a fuss about nothing, stop acting entitled to every piece of information in my life!"

"McLaggen? That git?" Fred yelled in frustration and disbelief; he didn't at all acknowledge the small crowd which had gathered to observe the scene, nor did he care in the first place. He stopped in his tracks, gripping the wooden railing tight, knuckles turning white and jaw tense. "You cannot be serious."

Shocked faces now turned to you, and you desperately wished you could use reducio on yourself. Instead, opposite to what your consciousness was screaming at you, you dug your feet into the floor and shot Fred a stern look over your shoulder, "We're not discussing this right now. Besides, what's in it for you anyway? You're going with Angelina."

Had you kept walking, you would have missed the way Fred's chest was heaving with shallow, rapid breaths, and his face was more maroon than you had ever seen. And you? You couldn't quite breathe yourself.

A week ago your untamed happiness brightened every room and hallway; classes seemed to fly by, exams were over and the Yule ball was right around the corner. Your heart was ringing with joy as you were so looking forward to forgetting your troubles for just one night. 

In the midst of shining Christmas decorations and beautiful dresses a dreamy, yet pretty bold idea had begun to form in your head, an idea which Ginny and Hermione encouraged with their support and affirmations. Deep down you had started to believe Fred Weasley took an interest in you, harboured feelings for you even, and your ever-present goofy banter which contained far more flirting than what would be acceptable between two best friends, only fed your imagination and raised your hopes up.

You were aware you were the only one on the receiving end of Fred's teasing jokes, cheesy pickup lines and lingering stares which had you staying up an extra hour in your bed at night. Even his siblings shared the same opinion - there was no way on Godric's sword that a person who clearly wanted to be around you as often as possible and got his hands on you every chance he could, wouldn't be at least a little bit interested in you.

That's why you nearly broke down when exactly a week ago in the hallway Ron casually mentioned his older brother had just asked out Angelina.

The ground was pulled beneath your feet, vanishing along with your oblivious hopes. The news stung sharply, leaving a sour taste in your mouth; never had you believed you’d spend the few days before the ball stitching up your heart, and you were willing to do just about anything to forget about your humiliation. So when McLaggen invited you with an obnoxiously flirty note in Charms class, you didn’t hesitate much.

You could feel a wave of tears burning your eyes as you looked up to where Fred was standing. His face and ears were still as red as they could get, and his chest was vibrating with every shaky breath he took. Fury had disappeared from his eyes long ago, replaced with concern, regret and hurt which you couldn't quite place.

He climbed down the few remaining stairs.

"He's obnoxious! And beyond what's good for you!" Fred stated, though his voice now lacked power and slightly trembled, loud enough just for you to hear. "You're setting yourself up for a pretty bad night."

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and finally turned around to fully face him, looking him up and down.

"Seems like I have a terrible taste in men then."

A second glass of firewhiskey did nothing to burn down the growing turmoil in your stomach. You tapped the edge of the empty glass with your fingers and smiled at your friends who were visibly exhausted from dancing to upbeat songs for quite awhile now, but enjoying their time far too much to take a break. You admired their spirit - just because you weren't feeling your best, it didn't mean your friends didn't have the right to have fun.

However, the inevitable sense of regret lingered in your bones, and you found it hard to not focus on how the ball had gone wrong for you, in more ways than you had originally thought.

Even without Fred as your date, there was still a chance you'd have a good time. McLaggen could undoubtedly make it awkward to be around, and with the fact that your heart had recently been sliced open, you weren't sure how much of his ridiculous antics you could take. But at least he was trying; if you put aside his overbearing ego, you could see genuine effort into creating something romantic for both of you. It was going to be okay. Not necessarily what you desired, but somehow okay.

And that last bit of hope vanished the second you caught your former date snogging your crush's date in an empty classroom merely an hour ago.

You didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the universe's bitter joke, but the tears on your face as you ran down the hallway in your beautiful dress were eloquent.

A bitter, bitter joke.

You couldn't take it anymore. The charming smiles, sultry glances and stolen kisses you had been observing for the past hour were too much. And when another slow song made an appearance, you rose to your feet and headed towards the tall doors of the exit. Perhaps sleep would be a decent ending to your horrendous night.

You had barely made it out of the Great hall when loud footsteps echoed on your right.

"Bloody hell, I've been looking for you!" Fred said through heavy breaths, having run all the way to you as it seemed. His ginger hair had escaped its slicked look long ago, now too messy to fix despite his numerous attempts to smooth it back. His suit was no better, slightly wrinkled and shirt open to the third button.

"Why have you?" you asked and folded your arms, feeling a bit chilly in the hallway.

"McLaggen. About him," Fred sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry for having to say it, but I just saw him-"

"I know."

Fred frowned in confusion.

"You do?"

It was your turn to let out an exasperated sigh as you looked down at your feet, "Yes. A while ago."

Fred's features softened.

"I'm sorry."

You barely found it in you to respond with a weak smile, "It's alright. I guess I was right. I do have a terrible taste in men." Then you gave Fred a sympathetic look, "I'm sorry for Angelina too, it's horrible she did this to you."

Your friend allowed the ghost of a smirk to appear on his lips and he shoved hands into his pockets, "I'm not really affected by it in all honesty," he shrugged. "I'm rather angry about the fact that the prat thought he could pull off something like this and get away with it."

Fred's heart ached at the sight of your slumped figure and glossy eyes; he hated himself for having contributed to the failure of the event you were expecting with so much hope. He tilted his head to the side, attempting to meet your gaze.

"I'd gladly prank the crap outta the git until he doesn't even dare to show up to classes… But for now is there a way for me to make your night any less terrible, love?"

You couldn't help but giggle at the thought of McLaggen skipping classes out of sheer fear of Fred. But then your thoughts wandered to the way Angelina was practically straddling his lap, and you wondered if Fred had been doing the same all this time unbeknownst to you; if right after a flirty joke sent your way he'd go to an empty classroom and kiss Angelina with the passion you had just witnessed.

The image of Angelina's lips on Fred's caused you to become nauseous and you attempted to swallow down that lump again.

"No," you replied. "But please, tell me one thing. What was that entire tantrum for?"

Fred didn't really seem taken aback by your question, realizing you'd eventually bring it up. He furrowed a brow, carefully thinking of an answer, and wettened his lips.

“Perhaps it would be inappropriate of me to say it- selfish even, but the mere thought of you being in the embrace of someone, especially with that someone being a foul git, caused me to get unreasonably angry.” Guilt was seeping into his every word and he bitterly chuckled to himself. “Ironic, isn’t it? Attempting to spare you heartbreak by being the reason for it.”

He gently took your hand and looked into your eyes, remorse swimming in his own, "I had no right to treat you the way I did. I'm terribly sorry for being controlling and you absolutely do not have to forgive me. Just know that I truly regret my actions; I never intended to hurt you."

His words were a feather-light caress to your wounded heart and you shuddered. You couldn't stay mad at him. Reciprocated feelings or not, he was still your best friend and you wouldn't let that go.

"Apology accepted," you gave his hand a light squeeze and Fred beamed, the entire hallway lighting up with him. Dread released your chest of its merciless grasp and you could finally breathe. However, one question never ceased to haunt you. "But I just need to know…” you began, absentmindedly playing with his fingers, “...why were you so upset to begin with?"

Fred's shoulders immediately stiffened and he averted his gaze from you in an attempt to come up with a reasonable reply. His jaw was clenched, and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I didn't want you to go with him." He stated simply. "Not when you could've easily gone with me instead."

You froze.

"What do you mean?” you asked timidly, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “What about Angelina?"

Fred only shook his head, fighting back a grin.

"Darling, Angelina was never the catch."

The air was knocked out of your lungs.

You could only stare at Fred wide-eyed, and though his expression was unreadable, maroon had begun to crawl its way up to his ears and cheeks again.

"I'm sorry for putting you through all this," Fred spoke softly as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, a kiss that awakened the butterflies within you. "I was really too much of a wuss to confess to you and settled for this instead."

"I guess that makes us two," you smiled sincerely, perhaps for the first time that night. Fred returned your smile with a grin, and asked.

"How can I make up to you for this oh-so-awful mess?"

"Dance with me," you said without skipping a beat. "That's what you owe me at least. Let's finally do what we both wanted."

Fred's expression became serious as he intertwined his fingers with yours, and led you into the direction of the Great hall, from which music could still faintly be heard.

"With the greatest of pleasure, my love."

Most people had already gone to bed, leaving just a few couples and you to drench in enchanted serenity. Fred's arms around you felt like home as you both swayed to the soft rhythm of the song, one of the many to follow, but his racing heartbeat under your palm caused your own pulse to speed up as well. 

You looked up at your lover through your lashes, gorgeous eyes already on you, their obscure flame consoling you and pulling you in. There was an odd, enigmatic allure that Fred possessed, and even after years of knowing this man, it only caused you to fall further into the velvety hell you didn't wish to escape from. 

And when his lips collided with yours, they tasted sweeter than the forbidden fruit.

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

[harrysweasleys]

a day in the life // f.w

request: Hi Alexaaaa So someone brought up this idea on my blog and i wanna request it id thats alright with you. So like imagine Fred having an auror wife and stuff and him being v protective and not wanting her to go on this dangerous mission but she goes anyway but gets really badly injured and poor freddie is worried sick. I love comfort fics i cannot lie and i hope u like this request thank you

warnings: mentions of explosions, injury, blood, and food

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hey guys! i hope you all had a wonderful week and that everyone is safe! the new year is right around the corner, can you believe it? where did the time go?? anyways, this was such a fun request and i loved writing it so much, so i hope you all enjoy! xx

“For the last bloody time, Freddie, it’s going to be fine,” you groaned, your head tossing backwards as you repeated the words to your husband for what felt like the thousandth time.

He crossed his arms, “I know you can handle yourself, but please. Please, for me, be careful. Don’t let anyone get the jump on you.”

A small smile made its way onto your lips and you placed your hands on his shoulders, “I always return, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. You knew he hated it when you went off on dangerous missions — how couldn’t he? You were his wife. It was practically an oath of his to protect you. A vow. There was no way he’d let you run into the jaws of death without giving you a rough time beforehand. He always had something to say about it.

And he often did just that. He’d go on and on about how you could get hurt, how something could go terribly wrong and he could be left by himself. How you needed to see things from his point of view. You’d then spend the morning comforting him and convincing him you’d be fine, but at the end of the day, he’d always give you a bone crushing hug, muttering “glad you’re home safe” as he did so.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner, yeah?” you asked, standing up on your tip toes and pressing a light kiss on his nose. He scrunched up his face as you did so. You could tell he was trying to act upset at your leaving, but he couldn’t stay mad at you. Especially when, in his thinking, it could be the last time he sees you.

“Fine,” his lips stuck out in a small pout, one of his hands reaching up to run through your hair, “Stay safe, love.”

You brought your hand to his, lifting it to your lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “Love you. See you soon. I’ll be fine.”

He then tossed your hand to the side — gently, of course — and brought your lips to his. His hand was cupped under your chin, fingers causing a slight ticklish feeling as they delicately moved against your skin. But the feeling went practically unnoticed as you lost yourself in his kiss. His kiss that often rendered you breathless and weak in the knees.

You could feel his love and protectiveness in the gesture and it almost made you want to call in sick so you could stay curled up in bed with him, ignoring the world’s problems and acting as you two were the only people on the planet.

But, sadly, that couldn’t happen.

So you gingerly pulled away, already missing his warm lips against yours, and muttered a quiet “I’ll be fine,” once again before beginning to button your jacket.

It was going to be a long day.

Hours later and you were, in fact, not fine.

The mission had gone horribly wrong, leaving you with a heavily bandaged left arm, a throbbing head, and a group of St Mungo’s best Healers giving you countless antidotes and potions to prevent bleeding and further damage. You had only really been in for about an hour, but the swelling in the left side of your body had gone down heavily.

The pain was still rather horrendous, but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Especially not with the current levels of exhaustion floating through your body. You felt as if any second now, you could completely pass out and stay asleep for the next seven years. And you wouldn’t even complain.

Pain really did take a toll on one’s body.

What was even more draining, though, was the fact that your Healer told you you’d have to stay the night. You trusted the staff at St Mungo’s with your life — it wasn’t exactly the first time you’ve been treated here, to be honest — but the room you were staying in was incredibly chilly and the food here was never as good as at home.

Plus, here, you didn’t have Fred’s body curled up next to you.

Fred.

He had gotten the message an hour ago that you were here and he said he’d close up shop early to come see you. They said he sounded rather when they sent someone to deliver the message, but you knew he’d barge in through those doors with wide eyes and panic written across every inch of his face. He was never one to really hide away from his worry, but you had seen him silent on a few occasions. Usually when he was in shock.

You felt awful. Both physically and emotionally. Fred had every right to be paranoid about you leaving the house; this wasn’t your first injury. And yet, you spent every morning persuading him to let you go. Fast forward to today, where you were currently bandaged in an uncomfortable bed at St Mungo’s. Not an ideal ending to your day, to be honest. And not an ideal piece of news for Fred to receive.

“Your husband is here, should we let him in?” one of the healers came to your side, checking under the bandage on your hand before nudging her head in the direction of the hallway.

A small groan left your throat, “Of course.”

She walked towards the door to the room and opened it, Fred’s frantic face finding its way to your bedside as quickly as possible. You could see the paleness of his skin, making his usually fiery hair stand out even more. His sweater was badly buttoned, and you were pretty sure the scarf he was wearing was on backwards.

If the situation was any different to the way it was right now, you’d probably have a good chuckle.

His hands immediately found yours, giving small, gentle squeezes as if he would break you if he put any more pressure, “Love, are you okay? What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

You let out a sigh with a small smile, “Freddie, I’m fine. It’s just some minor bumps and bruises. I got caught in the middle of an explosive curse, it’s fine.”

He pulled his hands away from yours and sat on the small metal chair next to the bed, pulling it as close to you as he could, his eyes scanning every inch of you as if he were doing his own evaluation, “It’s fine?! I was worried out of my bloody mind, woman. Can you imagine the panic when some bloke comes to tell me my wife’s at Mungo’s? Bloody thought you were dying.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you joked, rolling your eyes playfully before reaching your hand out to grab his, toying with the wedding band on his left hand, “I just have to stay here for the night. I’ll be home first thing tomorrow.”

“You have to stay?” his bottom lip stuck out, the childish pout on his face adding to the guilt fluttering in your chest.

You sat up slightly, trying to limit the weight on your bad arm, “I’m sorry, love. It’s for precaution. I don’t want to leave and make things worse. But, I promise, as soon as I’m discharged, we are heading home and doing nothing all day, yeah?”

“Well, I’ll stay here with you tonight ,” he puffed out his chest slightly as if he was a superhero, causing a bubble of laughter to erupt from your chest. Maybe it was just the exhaustion from your day, bud Fred’s sense of humour really never failed to get to you. Even at the worst of times.

Your eyes began to droop, but you gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that even though you were fading, you were still listening and conscious. The last thing you wanted, now that he was here, was to leave him alone in the cold room. Cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere.

“You look tired, love,” his voice was soft, gentle. Loving. All the things you wanted to hear right now. If you were honest, you were worried he was going to be furious. Not at you, per say, but at what happened. So the fact that he was being caring and sweet meant more to you than you could begin to express.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand, “Tired? Me? Never.”

His laugh was quiet but you could hear it loud and clear, “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you get up.”

You didn’t want to sleep, to be honest. You wanted to sit up and talk to him. To let him know you were sorry and just what went wrong today. You knew he’d listen, and would most likely panic a bit more when you told him the details — but he’d be comforting. And that was kind of what you needed right now.

But, alas, your body had other ideas, and before you knew it, you were sound asleep.

“I can handle it myself,” you groaned, both hands gripped tightly on the jar of jelly, twisting with all of your might and still, somehow, not getting the lid to pop off.

Fred stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his lips, “Alright, I’ll just watch from here.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, turning back to the jar and focusing all of your strength into opening it. Which wasn’t saying much, to be fair. You hardly had your strength back, and your body was still as sore as ever. You should probably give the jar to Fred, but your inner stubbornness told you to do it yourself. You couldn’t improve if everyone did everything for you.

“You’re sure?” his voice was laced with amusement as he held back a laugh, watching as your cheeks turned red from the amount of force you put into opening this jelly jar. You were surprised it hadn’t broken, but then again, were you even applying that much force?

“I’m fine!” you grumbled, using your sleeve to prevent the skin on your hand from getting irritated, your palm already bright pink from excessive use.

But it seemed to be no use. Your toast will have gone cold by now, and your breakfast just wouldn’t taste the same.

“Fine, here,” you mumbled, sticking your arm out and pushing the small jar into Fred’s chest, your bottom lick stuck out in a pout that could rival your husbands, “I hate feeling useless.”

He popped the lid of the jar as if it were nothing before handing it back to you, “I know, love. But you’re not useless. Your body just needs time to recuperate, yeah? Can’t go pushing your limits or you’ll just end up back in St Mungo’s, and I reckon you don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that,” you replied, beginning to spread the contents of the jar onto your now-cold toast, “I’m just bored. I miss work. I stay home alone all the time.”

His arms slithered around your waist, giving you a light squeeze as he rested his head atop yours, “Georgie’s taking over the shop today so I can stay here with you. We can do whatever you want.” His warmth spread through your body.

You had to admit, that did lift your spirits a little bit. The whole day at home with your husband? That sounded like quite the treat.

“Really?” you turned to face him, his arms still wrapped around your waist, but he took a step back so you could actually look up at him, “The whole day?”

“Course,” he grinned, pressing his lips to your forehead, “Gotta take care of my girl.”

The day hadn’t been overly eventful; a few cuddles on the couch, a few cuddles in the bed, listening to music, sitting next to Fred and watching telly as he organized paperwork for the shop. Just a few small things. But being with him for the whole day, it really did make you feel a million times better than you had all week.

Maybe that was his plan. To use his very presence as a way to cheer you up. Whether he did it knowingly or not, it did the trick. And now, the aches and pains in your body seemed to dissolve as he ran his hands up and down your arms, the two of you curled up in bed and ready for another night’s sleep.

“Thanks for spending the day with me,” your shot him a smile, but highly doubted that he’d see it in the dark, “I already feel loads better.”

“Of course you do,” his voice sounded cocky even though you couldn’t quite make out his face, “I make anyone feel better. I’m a real treat.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, I adore your humbleness. That’s why I married you.”

One of his hands slid around your waist and pulled you closer to him, body flushed against his. He was still gentle as if not to hurt you, “Not the only reason you married me, love.”

“Right, I also married you for George. I don’t know what I’d do without that chap in my life,” you teased, one of your hands finding it’s way into Fred’s hair, twirling at the strands that were starting to get long. Not as long as when you were in school together, but long enough that it covered his ears and often made you tuck a few strands behind his ear.

“You wound me,” he tried to pull away, but you held onto him enough that he couldn’t. Your strength was starting to come back, which was a massive improvement.

“I’m actually the wounded one,” you rebutted, your face finding it’s usual spot in the crook of his neck, his warmth encasing you like one of his hugs.

His arms wrapped around you, “You can’t be wounded anymore! I gave you so much love. That should have healed you.”

You giggled, placing a light kiss as the nape between his neck and shoulder, “Silly me. Your love has healed me, that’s very true.”

Fred might have had a certain reputation while the two of you were in school. But now, with your marriage only getting better by the day, you couldn’t help but see him as just one thing. As Fred. Your husband, your lover, and the man who would throw himself into a fire if it meant saving your life.

You lucked out more than you can even begin to express, and you would continue to be so for the remainder of your days.

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[freddie-weaselbee]

Reflection//F.W.

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Implied eating disorder, implied body dysmorphia, body insecurities, insecurities in general, mentions of food/drink, language, angst, fluff, sad and insecure Freddie :(

Summary: Fred can’t even look at his reflection without feeling bad about himself and thinking about how you deserve so much more than anything he has to offer. 

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. No matter who you are or what you look like, you are absolutely beautiful. If you or if you know anyone who suffers from body dysmorphia (specifically men because it’s not talked about enough), please reach out to someone and learn more. My messages are always open!

Arthur Weasley. Molly Weasley. Bill Weasley. Charlie Weasley. Percy Weasley. Fred and George Weasley. Ron Weasley. Ginny Weasley. The Weasley family. While all connected by their Gryffindor house and flaming red hair, each member of the family was unique in their own sense. 

Arthur and Molly were the parents. Arthur’s fascination with Muggles as a Pureblood and Molly’s blunt but loving motherly nature were what set them apart. 

Bill was the oldest, the golden child. He was loved at Hogwarts and became a successful curse breaker. No one ever had problems with the wonder that was Bill Weasley. 

Charlie forged his own path. The great Hogwarts Quidditch star who likely could have gone professional, had he not found his passion in dragons and made a new life for himself in Romania.  

Percy. Perfect prefect Percy, the one who would grow up to be the Minister of Magic, at least that's what everyone thought. He had every aspect of his life perfectly planned out down to the last detail, and oh how Molly loved her rule-abiding son, never a troublemaker. 

Ron had a more difficult time making a name for himself. The youngest brother in the family and yet not quite the baby. However, his friendship with Harry Potter and their knack for getting themselves into trouble every year made Ronald Weasley a known name around Hogwarts. 

Ginny was the only girl, which made her unique already.  Not only that, but she was fantastic at Quidditch, had the heart of a true Gryffindor Lion, and was overall a kind, vivacious, adventurous soul. 

Each Weasley had one thing that set them apart. Everyone, that is, except the duo that could never be separated. 

Fred and George Weasley. Not Fred Weasley and George Weasley. Fred and George. As if they were one person, joined at the hip with the same ideas, the same personalities, and the same feelings. No matter how hard they tried when they were younger, everyone always came back to calling them Fred and George. Even their own mother often got them mixed up, and showed no care in doing so. As long as it was one of the twins she was alright

. 

Once their years at Hogwarts started, the two boys decided to stop fighting the inevitable, and thus began their reign as “Fred and George Weasley, Prank Master Extraordinaires.” They were always together. They were both Quidditch beaters. They pulled some of the finest pranks Hogwarts had ever seen together. They sat next to each other in all of their classes and would sometimes switch seats or call each other the wrong name to see if anyone else would notice. They never did. 

“Freddie, you coming?” you asked your boyfriend, jumping up onto his back. It was Hogsmeade weekend, which meant the tradition of you and your friends raiding Honeydukes, Zonkos, and finishing out at The Three Broomsticks was minutes away from happening once again. Fred laughed and spun around, quickly getting dizzy and pulling you both down into the Gryffindor couch. 

You rolled on top of him and pulled his chin in for a quick kiss, limbs awkwardly tangled in each other as you shared a sweet moment with the ginger you’d been dating for the last 3 months. 

“Ugh my eyes!” George stood behind the couch, hands covering his face in order to shield his view from the innocent scene in front of him. 

“Oh shut up George,” you said. “You’re just jealous.”

Fred smirked at his slightly younger brother and pulled you down into a deeper kiss. “Yeah, jealous,” he mumbled against your lips, which resulted in George physically separating your faces with his hands. 

“You two disgust me,” he scoffed. “Are you guys ready?”

Fred struggled against his brother’s hand for a second trying to recapture your lips once again, but he eventually gave up once you caved and pulled away. 

“I’m all set, has everyone else already left?” The rest of your small friend group consisted of Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet, who you had been close with since your first year. The three boys would run off and pull horrendous pranks while you, Angelina, and Alicia would roll your eyes, secretly coming up with new ideas for jokes to pull on Filch. 

George jumped over the couch and hoisted you up by your arms, his strength making you fly through the air for a few seconds before you landed shakily on the warm rugs decorating the floor. 

“Yep,” replied your friend. “They said they’d meet us in the Courtyard and we can go from there. If I remember correctly it’s your turn to buy butterbeers.” 

You groaned and threw your hands to your pocket, making sure you had the money. “I thought you would’ve forgotten about that.”

George wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a brotherly squeeze. “Never, love. Let’s get going.”

Giggling, you walked in step with your best friend and wrapped an arm around his waist. You turned your head and put out your other arm, gesturing for Fred to come join you. 

“C’mon, Fred, what’re you waiting for?”

Fred wasn’t waiting for anything. In fact, the longer he saw you interact with George, the less he wanted to spend the day watching it continue to happen. He didn’t look at you and instead just fiddled with his sweater, the one you had stolen from him so many times until he finally took it back to appreciate how it now smelled like you. 

“I’m not feeling too well today, you guys can just go.”

You pouted and fully turned to face your boyfriend. “You were fine just a second ago, do you want me to stay with you?”

He could tell you were about to walk back over and crawl into his lap, but he really needed to be alone. “I’m ok love, just not feeling it today. Bring me back something from Honeydukes though, will ya?”

You gave him a small smile and nodded, wondering if there was anything else you could do to help. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” said George, “I can take care of you. We’ll have a blast!”

“I can take care of myself, Georgie,” you said. Fred winced at the nickname. “But I thank you kindly for the offer.” You bowed sarcastically and began to howl with laughter as George tickled your sides and threw you over his shoulder. “See you later Fred, don’t have too much fun without me!”

He looked up at the last second, only catching a glimpse of your face contorted with giggles as his twin carried you through the halls of the castle. 

Fred sighed and got up from the couch, sulking as he made his way to his now empty dorm room. He lied down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, imagination and worries running wild. What were you and George doing right now? Was he still holding onto you, laughing as he clutched your perfect body in his arms? Fred’s jaw clenched, thinking about his brother holding you, kissing you like he did. Because what was the difference between him and his brother? Why would you care if it was George that was touching you instead of Fred. They were the same. To everyone in the world, they were just the mirror images of each other. Just a stupid, unoriginal reflection. 

He felt a few hot tears well up, so he turned onto his side and curled up, letting sleep take over and wash his troubles away. 

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

“Alright George, put me down, you’ve had your fun.” The Weasley boy pretended to drop you, only making you clutch his shoulder harder. 

“Oh I see,” George said smirking, “now you don’t want me to put you down, huh?”

“Sod off, loser.” You wiggled out of his loosening grasp and elbowed his side. George had decided to carry you not only out of Hogwarts, but also almost the entire way to Hogsmeade itself. An act quite impressive, but the beater was known for his renowned upper body strength. 

Angelina came up and grabbed your arm, slowing you down so you would fall away from the rest of the group. “Not trying to steal my love, are you Y/N?” she asked, trying to glare at you but breaking quickly and smiling in the end. 

“I don’t know Angie,” you teased, “if you don’t make a move soon maybe I’ll have to take both twins. Paris does sound very nice this time of year.”

She rolled her eyes and gave you a soft shove. “The annoying part is that you could probably pull both of them too. I see the way George looks at you.”

Your best friend, usually so confident and collected, was now very shy and insecure about her love for the younger of the Weasley twins. You and George had no feelings for each other. Both of you knew that and she of course knew that. But sometimes dumb thoughts plagued people’s minds. 

“Angie, wanna know a secret?” you asked. 

She looked up and nodded slowly. 

“The reason George and I’ve been hanging out recently is because he keeps asking me about you. ‘What’s Angie’s favorite food?’ ‘What does she like to do when she’s not kicking ass on the Quidditch pitch?’ blah blah blah.” 

Angelina laughed at your horrible impersonation of George’s voice. “You know he’s like a brother to me. I mean, if things between me and Fred keep going how they are then maybe one day he’ll be my actual brother.”

She nodded gratefully and sighed a breath of relief. “I know, I know. It’s just a little weird for me that you two are so close. I feel like I’m third wheeling whenever you guys are there, and you aren’t even the ones dating!”

“That’s just how George is. He’s so sweet, so he’s always there to cheer me up. But you have to trust me, there is not and will not ever be something between me and him. No offence to George, but that’s gross.”

“You’re dating his twin brother! How is that gross?”

“You of all people know that they’re not the same. I prefer my men cocky, arrogant, and pretty,” you quipped, calling Fred out. 

“And I prefer mine sweet, compassionate, and handsome, but it looks like George has got a long way to go before he can earn that title.”

Angelina was referring to the scene in front of you, where the man in question was currently shoving Lee’s face into the snow-covered ground. 

“Maybe we both need better taste in men,” you said, running with Angelina to tackle George and save your dear friend. 

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

It was 2 weeks later, and Fred was once again missing out on a trip to Hogsmeade. Gryffindor had just played Slytherin in the game of the year, a close match that had the entire school screaming and on the edge of their seats. 

“And there Malfoy and Potter go, racing into the sky with their eyes on the snitch,” Lee Jordan shouted into the microphone. “The current score is Gryffindor with 130 points and Slytherin with 110. It all comes down to who can catch this flying bugger.”

A loud crack resounded across the pitch as George sent a bludger straight toward Malfoy, hitting his broom and almost knocking him off. 

“Amazing hit by Number 6, beater George Weasley. This could be the end of the game folks, this could be it. Oh! Malfoy’s back on his broom and racing to catch up to Potter. Weasley gave the young Gryffindor seeker a great head start, and it looks like he might have it!”

“Fred!” Angelina cried. Fred looked to where she was gesturing and saw the bludger coming straight toward him. This was his shot. He had a clear path to hit Malfoy, securing the win for Gryffindor. 

You were in the crowd, screaming at the top of your lungs. He didn’t want to disappoint you, or the team, or his house. He didn’t want to disappoint people anymore. 

“Number 5 Fred Weasley winds up to hit a bludger, he’s got a clean shot toward Malfoy! If he can get this hit it’s game over and victory for Gryffindor!”

With all of his strength he sent the bludger flying, but apparently his aim hadn’t improved with the extra practice he had been doing. 

Lee continued to comment on the disaster that was about to happen. “One strong hit to the bludger, but it looks like it’s going in the wrong direction. Oh no! Instead of hitting Malfoy the bludger just hit Potter, sending him and his broom spiraling out of control! Malfoy has taken this opportunity to catch up to the snitch and...and...he’s got it. Malfoy catches the snitch, making the final score 260 for Slytherin to 130 for Gryffindor. A well played match by everyone.”

Except it wasn’t a well played match for Fred. He had let everyone down, again. He was used to it from his parents and older siblings, even most of his teachers. But he had never let down his house before. He had never let down his team. 

Fred locked himself away in his room, refusing to talk to anyone. He pulled off his Quidditch robes and shirt and stared at his reflection in the wall length mirror hanging in his dorm room. 

He stared at his body, something many girls would comment on and swoon over. He was Fred Weasley, star Quidditch player and resident hottie at Hogwarts. Except he wasn’t anymore. 

The definition of his abs weren’t strong enough. He was gaining too much fat, eating too much food. He wasn’t working out enough, that was it. If he would've worked out more then he would’ve made the shot during the game. 

Fred wasn’t as ripped as George, he knew that for a fact. Living in the same room for their entire lives, Fred knew how strong his brother was, how defined his biceps were and how he could lift you with absolutely no problem. Fred knew that George was the better beater. It was just statistics. He made the most hits, had the best aim, and won the team the most points.  

The only thing Fred was better at was making jokes, but he knew no one liked them. His friends must’ve laughed out of pity. There was no way anyone could not find him annoying, especially with how cocky and overconfident he came across. They just tolerated him because of George. You just loved him because you saw him as another George. You should be with George. 

Fred stared into the reflection of himself in the mirror, the one that looked equal parts like him and his twin brother. He groaned as he bent down to the floor, quickly starting another repetition of countless pushups until he would pass out from exhaustion.

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

Fred had stuck to his cycle. Wake up, eat (but not much), go on a run across the castle grounds, go to class, work out for 2 hours, eat dinner (but once again, not much), work out again and then pass out from working so hard. Any time he had outside of class was spent on the Quidditch pitch or locked away in his dorm, overworking his body and secretly comparing it to his brother’s. No matter what he did, he never caught up. He was still the more annoying, weaker, less attractive reflection of his twin. 

“There’s something wrong with him,” George said to you, walking to the courtyard for one of your breaks. “He’s been so off lately and I can’t figure out why.”

“You’re telling me!” You had noticed Fred’s changes in behavior and tried to talk to him about it. He had become quieter and less outgoing, usually choosing to be alone and do God knows what while you went off with your friends. In fact, the two of you hadn’t had an evening to yourselves in over a month. Not ever seeing your boyfriend was beginning to take a toll on you too. 

“I’ve tried talking to him and asking if anything’s wrong, but he always blows me off,” you complained. “He just seems so sad and miserable, and the worst part is, I have no idea why!”

George just shook his head. “Me neither. He’s my bloody twin brother and we never even talk anymore. He’s always on his broom or locked himself in our room. Doesn’t ever let me in, so I don’t know what’s going on back there.”

Thoughts began to race through your head. “Do you,” you gulped. “Do you think he’s hiding something from us? Or...or someone?”

“Oh Godric no,” George said suddenly, wrapping you up in a hug. “Fred would never cheat on you darling, he loves you too much for that. He would go on and on about how bloody beautiful you are and how you’re the perfect person for him and it took everything I had not to strangle the git sometimes cuz he would never let me sleep.”

You squeezed him back tighter. “When...when did he say these things?”

George paused for a few seconds. “A little over a month ago. I...I haven’t really heard him talk much recently…”

You broke down sobbing in your friend’s arms, lowering yourself onto a bench and turning to cry into his chest. 

“Shh, shh darling, it’s not your fault. I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. Freddie loves you so much, he would never hurt you, ever.” He grabbed your chin so you were looking up at him. “Do you understand me?”

You nodded, eyes red and puffy before going back to his chest to cry. You spoke to him through broken sobs. “I...I’m gonna talk to him tonight. I need to f-find out what’s...wrong.”

George stroked your hair soothingly and rubbed your back. “Sounds like a plan, love. You’ve got this.”

You thanked him and continued to cry until you felt all of your sadness release. George helped you up and walked you to the bathroom to get your face cleaned up for the next class. Little did you or George know that Fred, from afar, had just witnessed the entire scene. 

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

In his usual place as of late, Fred was curled up on his bed, unable to move from the intensity he had just put his body through. He tried to shift to get into a more comfortable position but it only made him groan and his stomach growl. 

His arms, which were supposed to be getting stronger, were weak from malnutrition. He wasn’t even strong enough to sit up and do his Potions homework, which only made him feel worse about himself. 

All his life it had been Fred and George. It didn’t matter that his name was first, because there was always George to follow. They were the same person, and yet he still felt inferior to his brother. No matter what he did, how hard he worked, George was always going to be better. He was the stronger twin, the kinder one, the more compassionate one who knows when a prank has gone too far. He was everything that you deserve, and everything Fred wished he could be. 

Fred was startled by a knock on the door. “Freddie,” your muffled voice called through. He stayed quiet, hoping you would leave and look for him somewhere else, or better yet give up on him altogether. He couldn’t stand to look at you at the moment. 

“Freddie I’m coming in.” Before he could do anything you had cast alohomora and were standing next to his bed. 

Fred turned his head away from you, trying not to let you see how red his face was from crying. He pulled the covers up over his face, blatantly ignoring you. 

“We need to talk.” You sat down next to him and ripped the blanket off, revealing a mostly naked Fred aside from his pair of boxers. You grabbed his shoulders to roll him over to face you, but you jumped back as he let out a pained groan. 

“Get out, Y/N. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “You haven’t wanted to talk for the past month and I’m tired of it. I know there’s something wrong, and it’s killing me to see you like this. Please, Fred, you need to tell me what’s happening.”

The boy rolled his eyes and slowly moved to face you. “Why?” he asked. “So you can run off to George and have him comfort you? Why don’t you just save us both the trouble and go be with him.”

You were shocked by his words. Fred had never been the jealous type. Whenever you would talk casually with your exes or other boys would flirt with you, Fred was understanding and calm, always saying that you were his and he knew he didn’t have to worry about anything. But now for some reason he was seething with jealousy, and over his brother no less. It didn’t make any sense. 

“What in the world are you talking about?” you asked indignantly. “You know that George is just my friend, my best friend. He’s in love with Angelina and I’m in love with you.”

Fred scoffed. “Yeah, alright then. What did you and Angelina do, draw straws and decide who gets who? It’s not like it would matter, as long as you got one of the twins.”

You sat down on the bed, fuming with anger. “Where is this coming from? You know I love you. I don’t love George, at least not more than a friend or a brother. I don’t love anyone else and I don’t want to be with anyone else, just you.”

Your hand traveled to his shoulder but he jerked up so that he was inches away from you. “Don’t lie to me. You’re just like everyone else. You got one of the twins, and then you realized that you got the worse one, so off you are to go seduce George, because he’s just my reflection but better. I know exactly how you think you worthless bitch!”

Both of you went silent. Fred had never spoken those things to you before. Never once had he raised his voice in anger, and he had never even thought about calling you a bitch or anything of the sort. 

You brought your hand back to slap him, but you hesitated when he just gave up and sighed, awaiting the hit and not even trying to do anything about it. He was weak and exhausted and had completely given up on everything. 

Lowering your hand, you moved it to caress his cheek. He leaned into the touch, letting small tears fall from his eyes and drop onto your fingers. You pulled him into your shoulder slowly, where he sniffled and cuddled up next to you. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean that. You’re perfect.”

After a few seconds you finally spoke up. “I love you so much. You cheer me up when I’ve had a bad day with your jokes.” Fred hummed into your shoulder. “You’re always helping me relax when things get too stressful, and you take me on the best adventures I could ever imagine.” He turned his head to meet your eyes. “You and George, while you might look the same, are completely different. I could never love him the way I love you, because he’s not you. He’s sweet, compassionate Georgie, and you’re fierce, loyal, loving, optimistic, beautiful Freddie.”

Fred nuzzled into your shoulder and pulled you down so you were both laying down on his bed. He mumbled something that you couldn’t make out. 

“What was that love?”

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” He spoke so shyly, pieces of his insecurities finally becoming apparent. 

You held his face in your hands and stared into his mesmerizing brown eyes. “I think you’re beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, pretty, and absolutely perfect the way you are.” You ran your hands down his toned abs, starting to understand what he had been doing those many hours each day. “No matter how much muscle you have or how big or small you are, I’ll always love you. You look perfect to me.”

To show Fred exactly how you felt you kissed him all over his body, starting at his neck and moving to his chest all the way down to his thighs and calves. “Just because you’re a guy doesn’t mean you have to be super buff and toned. All bodies are beautiful, and that goes for men too. And you are the most beautiful of them all.”

Fred squeezed you tight, mentally hitting himself for not talking to you earlier. You loved him and he knew that. You didn’t love George and you didn’t love him because he was one of the Weasley twins. You loved him because he was simply Fred. Fred Weasley. 

You shifted out of his hold and started to leave the room. “Where are you going love, please stay,” he asked, giving you his biggest puppy dog eyes. 

“I’m gonna sneak into the kitchens and get you some food. You need to eat, Freddie. I’ve seen you skip meals and it’s not healthy.” He nodded reluctantly, still self conscious about the weight he thought he gained. 

“Speaking of not being healthy, I think you should slow down with the workouts. There’s nothing wrong with getting a better body, but you’re destroying yourself in the process. Can you take a break for a few days and rest up before reevaluating your workouts?”

It took Fred a second to think over. He still wanted a body like his brother’s, but you were right. He wouldn’t get it from not eating and constantly hurting himself. “Yeah, alright.”

“I think there’s leftover ham and potatoes from dinner, does that sound good?” Fred agreed, cozying himself back up under the covers. 

“Perfect,” you said. “I’ll get food and we can eat and catch up, and maybe read that book I was telling you about? You said you wanted to read it with me.”

“Sounds perfect, love. Thank you so much.”

You nodded and walked out the door, closing it softly. Fred looked around the room he had spent so much time in recently until his eyes landed on the mirror hanging on his wall. With what was left of his strength he got up and stood in front of it. 

It wasn’t going to be easy. He had so many deep seated insecurities that he would need to work out, and it would take time. But for the first time in a while, Fred could finally look at his reflection and smile. 

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART XI - Ok, so Eris finds out about Jesminda and confronts Lucien about it. He says some pretty not nice things to his younger brother (he gets pretty mean), things couldn’t stay great between them forever. Thanks for reading!!!

oooooh boy we’re getting into it now

Prince of Ashes. Part XI.

masterlist.

Eris stumbled when someone slammed a large hand onto his shoulder, reaching for the knife at his side as he whirled on whoever it was. 

“Easy, brother,” rumbled Owain, his red hair a mess and his brown eyes on the snake-head knife hilt in Eris’s hand. Eris had to admit that he’d gotten very used to no one approaching him, let alone having someone lay a hand on him, especially if he wasn't expecting it.

Eris also figured it wouldn’t be good for anyone if he accidentally killed a new servant, and that perhaps his first instinct shouldn’t be to reach for his weapon. Eris returned the dagger to its place on the sheath at his side. “I didn't know it was you.” Owain looked troubled as he opened his mouth to speak, closing it and opening it once more as his eyes looked at anything but his oldest brother.

This sort of behaviour from Owain was unexpected, and Eris’s first thought was that something had happened to their mother. “What’s happened,” Eris demanded. The dominance in his tone suggesting it was best to just spit it out.

“Lucien,” was Owain’s response.

That one word had Eris freezing. “What’s happened,” he repeated, voice low.

“I would have just said — I would have spoken to him, but… He doesn’t,” Owain ran a hand through his hair, “He might listen to you.” Owain was usually stoic, composed. Eris was panicking slightly to see that he looked worried.

“Owain,” Eris snapped, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, yes, alright, sorry,” Owain lifted his chin just slightly, he was taller than Eris by a lot, but he was looking Eris straight in the eyes. “I saw Lucien in Calchas with a female.”

Eris paused, blinking once before he grinned. “I don’t really see the problem.”

Owain licked his lips, “Right, no, it wouldn’t be, not normally.” 

Eris’s grin shifted, turned more into a bare of teeth, “Then why are you bothering me with this.” Eris had countless things to do, a territory to run, prisoners to deal with. He didn’t have time for whatever this was.

“The female is a lesser faerie, Eris,” there was a hint of desperation in his usually calm tone. “And he’s with her … constantly. You know how father feels about this sort of thing. If it was one time, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to you,” he awkwardly waved one of his large hands, “If someone loyal to father had seen him…” Owain trailed off. Owain hadn’t needed to finish his sentence, Eris knew very well what Beron would do if his youngest son was with a lesser faerie.

Cato’s warning from nearly two decades ago rang clear in his head — Beron wanted to make Lucien’s life as miserable as possible. Eris moved closer to Owain, his hand gripping his younger brother’s thick arm, “What do you know?”

Owain shook his head, “Not much.”

“Tell me everything.” Eris would rather know what little Owain had discovered than nothing at all. 

“She’s a farm girl, works in the orchards with her family, can’t be older than three decades.”

Owain sounded like he was giving Eris a report, “Priam and Maddox have seen them as well, usually out in the fields, by the rivers, they don’t go to the city often, but knowing this court, they go enough that commoners have noticed.”

“What are the rumours?”

“Amongst the High Fae? Just gossip. No different than what they say about the rest of us.” There were always rumours surrounding the Vanserras. “I’m just,” Owain’s cheeks turned red as he mumbled, “Worried, I suppose.”

Eris scanned Owain’s face for any signs of deception. He seemed sincere, but Eris wasn’t entirely shocked, Owain wasn’t horrible. “I’ll talk to him,” Eris assured his younger brother, “But this stays between us.”

Owain nodded once, embers in his brown eyes, “Of course.” Eris gave Owain what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Owain’s hand snapped up, grabbing Eris by the wrist.

“You can… You can trust me, Eris,” he said, voice low, auburn brows furrowed. “I don’t want Lucien dead anymore than you do.” Eris didn’t get a chance to respond as Owain let go of him, winnowing away with a loud crack, leaving Eris alone in the otherwise empty hallway. Eris would think on this later, about possibly trusting Owain. Owain had always been closer to Cato, closer to Maddox, but he knew they’d all be stronger together if they could all stop fighting amongst themselves.

With a shake of his head, throwing his shoulders back, Eris walked down the hall, making his way to Lucien’s room. Eris couldn’t understand where in the hells he went wrong. He’d spent decades telling Lucien not to make any attachments, not to do anything that would draw any unwanted attention, not to do anything that would anger their father. Not their father. Eris was certain if Lucien knew the truth he wouldn’t refer to Beron as such.

Eris growled just thinking about the vow he’d made to his mother nearly thirty years ago. He bounded up a flight of stairs, flames flaring in the sconces on the walls. He’d been in such a rush that he almost ran past Lucien’s bedroom door, backtracking with an annoyed snarl. He still hadn’t decided what exactly he was going to tell his youngest brother, but he lifted his fist, banging a little too loudly on the dark wood. Once Eris heard the muffled “come in,” he shoved open the door.

Lucien was lounging on his bed, shoes off, the laces of his shirt loose. He was holding a book, one that Eris had read before. “Fallon’s Fables” was painted in an elegant, gold script on the cover. It was more of a story book than an actual tome for educating oneself. It had been Eris’s favourite when he’d been young, he’d gifted his to Rufus decades ago and he wondered whether the book Lucien had in his hands was the same one.

Lucien grinned up at him, his eyes bright. “I thought you were Rufus.”

Eris slammed the door shut, locking it, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hello to you as well,” Lucien’s grin faltered just slightly, and Eris briefly thought that he should have greeted his youngest brother, but he’d already started speaking.

“Lucien, tell me right now it’s not true.” Eris was trying to keep calm, he was trying not to yell, he was trying not to get angry. He would give Lucien a chance to explain himself.

Lucien closed his book, laughed a little nervously. “Tell you what?” He questioned.

Eris’s nostrils flared. The unmistakable scent of his little brother was obvious. But among the familiar citrus, weaving in and out of that scent, was apple blossoms. Eris groaned, “Lucien, what the fuck are you thinking?”

“You’re starting to worry me a bit, you know?”

Eris could have set the room on fire. “You don’t worry about me,” Eris shook his head, “Stick to worrying about yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucien was wary now, but his eyes were still bright. “Is this one of your riddles?”

“Yes,” Eris stepped closer to the bed, a mocking smile on his face. “I’m an idiot who chooses to ignore my older brother’s good advice.”

“Easy,” Lucien smiled, just like he’d done when he was younger and he’d found the answer to any of Eris’s riddles, “Rufus Vanserra.”

“Rufus isn't the one parading around Calchas with a lesser faerie,” Eris crooned.

Lucien’s face dropped, his smile gone, Eris could practically see Lucien trying to come up with some lie. He noticed when Lucien decided to just tell the truth, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest, jaw set. “So?”

“So?” Eris wanted to laugh, “That’s all you have to say?” Eris was going to light the whole room on fire if he didn’t get a handle on his anger.

Lucien looked up at Eris, flames in his eyes, “I don’t know why it matters, most of what I do doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it does,” Eris spat. He had to remind himself to take deep, calming breaths. “Find another female to fuck.” Eris found he was absolutely horrendous at this. Even Eris thought that was crue, too cruel. He should have gone straight to their mother and asked her to deal with whatever the hells this was.

Lucien’s face unexpectedly softened, “I love her, Eris.”

Eris threw his hands in the air in defeat, “You’re not supposed to love things in this cauldron-forsaken court,” Eris was getting angrier by the second. “This court is cruel and brutal, there is no place for love in it.” It was a lesson all of them had learned, a lesson that Beron had taught them, a rule each of them tried to follow. In Autumn, a rule like that kept you alive. 

“You sound just like father.”

Eris flinched, just slightly, Lucien probably hadn’t even noticed. Eris would have rather Lucien stabbed him then tell him something like that. But he would stand his ground, “End it.”

“I’m not going to,” Lucien lifted his chin, his jaw set. Had Lucien always been this stubborn?

“And I’m not going to say it again,” Eris growled, “End it.”

“What about you, then?” Lucien snarled, eyes flaring. “You and all your lovers? Everyone knows you’ve had countless.”

Eris felt his rage mounting as he waved a hand dismissively, trying to act as unbothered as possible. “They meant nothing.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as Lucien asked, “What about Micah?”

“I didn’t tell you that so you could throw it in my face.” Eris snarled back, his voice low. Eris was regretting having trusted Lucien and Rufus with it now, even if they both hadn’t seemed to care when he’d mentioned that Micah had been his lover.

“I’m not throwing it in your face,” Lucien shook his head, he looked hurt that Eris would consider it. “I just don’t think you have any right to sit there and lecture me about forbidden love.”

“I didn’t love him.”

Lucien didn’t look like he believed him for a moment. “Honestly?” 

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, “Honestly.”

“Cauldron, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Lucien raised his brows.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, Lucien, I was young and reckless once, too,” Eris started, probably as close to an admission of the love he’d had for Micah as anyone would get, “But I know better now.” Eris’s relationships never lasted, either because of him or because he ended them before they got too serious, before he got too invested. Micah had been one of his only exceptions, and even that had ended. Eris shook his head, “End it and court a female father will approve of.”

“Yes, because all you do is court lovely females father would approve of?” Eris knew he was being a ridiculous hypocrite, but this was different. Eris was the heir, and his father didn’t pay much attention to anyone he took to bed, and Eris had had a whole lot of practice making sure his father only knew about the females he’d wanted Beron to know about. No matter how often Eris messed up, Eris figured his father probably wasn’t going to kill him - he couldn’t afford to, not anymore.

Eris was a damn good courtier and a fantatsic fucking commander, his father would have to be an imbecile to kill him off. But Lucien wasn’t important, not to Beron. He was young and worthless. Lucien was the runt of the litter. “This isn’t about me,” Eris snapped, finally having reached the end of his rope. “This is about you.”

Lucien jumped to his feet, throwing the book from his hands onto his bed, “You don’t get to do that,” he shouted.

Eris growled, opening his mouth to speak, but Lucien wasn’t finished. “You’ve been gone for over a year, you don’t get to come back when it suits you and tell me how to live my life!” Eris stiffened, watching as Lucien waved a hand in his direction. Embers fell to the floor from Lucien’s fingers. “Don’t act like you care, Eris, when it’s obviously not the case.”

It was true that Eris hadn’t been to The Forest House in quite some time, but he hadn’t thought Lucien would be so angry at him for it, that Lucien would accuse him of not caring. Eris wanted to stomp his foot like some spoiled child, say Lucien was being unfair, that he was acting like a youngling. “Just think of the mess I’ll have to clean up when this goes wrong,” Eris snarled. “Think for one moment and you’ll see nothing good can come of this ridiculous dalliance.”

Eris knew he’d been too harsh when Lucien’s face hardened.“Get out,” Lucien spat, a strange golden glow to his eyes.

Eris scowled. “Fine then, don’t fucking listen,” he moved to the door. “See if I’ll fucking help if you get caught.”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Lucien sneered. “I’ve lived my whole life without your help.” Eris had his hand on the doorknob, frozen on the spot, as he gasped out a choked laugh.

Turning to face Lucien, brows raised, lip curled, Eris cocked his head to the side — the words he spoke quiet. “Have you?”

Lucien’s expression changed, almost imperceptibly, almost like he regretted having said that, but he stood his ground. “Get out, Eris.”

Eris should have stayed, should have apologized, but he had never been very good at admitting when he’d been wrong. With one last shake of his head, Eris threw open the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Eris heard something shatter in Lucien’s room, he heard Lucien’s muffled shout, but he kept walking. Eris knew there were flames in his eyes, flames trailing behind him as he walked towards his study with fast steps. He could practically hear his mother’s voice from when he’d been young, urging him to tame his magic. The flames should not control you, she’d tell him, you must be the one to control them.

Eris had struggled with his magic as a child, tutors thought him too dangerous to teach, and his mother had taught him to control it when even Beron hadn’t been able to. Eris was having trouble keeping his magic controlled now, though. The temperature around him raised, the air holding some of that choking feel that his father’s magic so often had. Eris really was becoming just like Beron.

Eris slammed the door to his study open with his shoulder. The fireplace flared to life as he entered, flames wild. Eris needed to be careful, or he’d set all his books on fire. Eris took a deep breath, “I’m in control,” he muttered. “I’m in control.” He clenched his fists, the flames disappearing, “I’m in control.” Eris took another deep breath, picturing dying embers in his mind. He was going to speak to his mother, she would be able to help him.

Lucien had always listened to him and Eris didn’t know what he was going to do now that he hadn’t. Perhaps Eris would damn the consequences and drain his father’s stash of good cognac. Perhaps Eris would go to the streets of Calchas in search of some company. Or, Perhaps Eris would simply stay at the Forest House and pray this did not end badly.

[popatochisssp]

This one’s a long one, sorry for all the backstory!

Potential tw for those who need it: body horror, loss of function, referenced violence and death

Horrorswap

A Fallen Human’s rampage has left the Underground in shambles. The monarchs and all of the collected souls are gone, many monsters are dust, the Royal Scientist has vanished, and the food supply is running out.

Alphys, the Captain of the Royal Guard, ascends to the throne. In spite of her grief over loved ones lost, she takes her new mantle with grim stoicism and makes a plan for the hope and safety of all monsterkind. They only need one more human to fall and then... she’ll take their soul and absorb it to cross the Barrier, the plan Queen Toriel had wanted to follow all along, but had been too afraid to; afraid of leaving her people without a leader in case she never came back.

Being left without a leader again is no longer the worst potential outcome for monsterkind and Alphys is willing to take the risk.

The waiting for that one last catalyst-human is...hard. On everybody, but especially the new Queen, thrust under so much responsibility with such high stakes, after so much loss.

Sans, one of the only best friends she has left, does his best to talk to her and to get her to open up instead of internalizing her feelings, but she’s in no way ready to talk and when he keeps pushing...

Well.

Even a little angry shove with Intent can do damage to a monster. Only half an HP in this case, but when the monster only has 1 HP to begin with, it’s still nothing to sneeze at.

Alphys is horrified, no matter that Sans is ready and willing to brush it off--his fault for pushing, he understands it was an accident, he’s usually a much quicker dodge--and however brief, the Incident just makes her shut down even more.

It also sets the stage for Sans to return home with half his HP gone to horrify his brother in equal measure.

Papyrus hadn’t liked the talk of killing humans when Toriel was alive Queen, but now it’s worse and everything else is getting worse by the day, sometimes by the hour. The Fallen Human betrayed them, Undyne is just gone, everyone is starting to go hungry, and now his brother’s at risk too?

Papyrus is scared and he’s not used to the feeling. He never thought about Sans’ 1HP before; he never had to. Sans was always just his tough and energetic big brother, and in their peaceful world it  had never even occurred to him that something could... happen.

He can’t lose Sans too... Sans, expectedly, gives Papyrus the same ‘IT’S FINE’ speech he gave Alphys, to similarly dubious effect, but his pep talks just aren’t in top form these days--he’s got a lot on his mind too. In this plan of the Queen’s, for the Next Human, he’ll be the one with the responsibility of escorting them straight to the Capital to meet her axe. His sentry station is the first out of the Ruins, no one in the Underground can travel quicker than he can...and he was the Judge who let the Fallen Human pass, he didn’t stop them when he could have, it’s only right that this responsibility now should fall on him no matter how guilty the thought of leading a probably innocent human to their death makes him feel. Eventually, the Next Human falls. Sans does his duty and escorts them to the Capital, promising them a way out… And in the split second before Alphys pulls them into their final Encounter, after they realize the friendly skeleton has betrayed them, they swing on him.

Sans dodges it, just as he promised Alphys he could, and as he promised Papyrus he would...

But it’s close, and it digs the thorn of doubt just a little bit deeper. Alphys kills the human and absorbs their soul, subduing it beneath her will to save what’s left of her people. She crosses through the Barrier to retrieve more souls, promising to return in a few weeks, a month at most. If she’s not back by then...

.........

In the meantime…Sans stews.

He’s in charge while Alphys is gone. Another human could fall. They could fall at any time and it would be on him to...well he wouldn’t want to kill them but he’d surely have to contain them somehow, so they didn’t wreak the same kind of destruction that the Fallen Human did… And now, with everyone’s doubts in his head, layered on top of his own...

What if he can’t?

What if he needs...help?

Sans used to be a scientist, back in the day. He knows where the Royal Labs kept their DT, extracted but never used--deemed too dangerous to experiment with, even on monsters who were already Fallen Down.

It’s unfortunate that Undyne of Underswap never ran the DT experiments, because if she had, Sans might’ve used an even lower dose of the raw Determination he injected himself with in his anxiety-driven attempt to become stronger.

And Sans does get stronger. His HP increases significantly above the single-digit it’s been his whole life... but it’s... not without its drawbacks.

He doesn’t go home for several long days until he can get it all under control, and by then, Papyrus is suspicious, all too aware that Sans seems different somehow, more...muted and serious, intentionally calm... He doesn’t understand it, and he definitely doesn’t like it, but figures it’s stress getting to him or something… They’re all stressed these days, food growing scarcer and scarcer as they wait for the Queen to come back or not.

Papyrus doesn’t really understand what’s happened until another human falls, before Alphys has returned.

Sans sees the human too, and he’s frozen with indecision of what to do. He’s stuck between his pacifist code and the need to at least act, for the good of all monsterkind...! And right there, right in front of Papyrus, Sans starts to melt.

Papyrus, naturally, freaks out, launching himself into his first panic attack in literal years--and why wouldn’t he? This is obviously his brother dying, the last person he had to hold onto in all of this and Sans is dying, in a horrible, awful, messy way that he didn’t even know monsters could die, and…

Papyrus isn’t proud of it, but he runs away.

Beaten down by weeks and weeks of hunger, of worrying about his brother, of grieving for Undyne, of thinking about all the undeserving and probably innocent humans that were being hunted down and killed up on the Surface just to get them out, his body and soul are at their limit.

Papyrus Falls Down. By the time Sans, not as dead as previously suspected, finds his brother, Papyrus is already unconscious, his condition looking bad—already starting to disintegrate to dust—and there’s only one option that remains.

As much as Sans fears being wrong again; condemning his brother to his own semi-solid existence…

It’s Papyrus.

And he’d rather Papyrus be alive than not, so he gives Papyrus a dose of DT, too.

This time, it works.

Papyrus stops dusting and only remains comatose for another day before coming to and having a horrendously upsetting heart-to-heart with Sans, just a little too late to do either of them any good.

The hapless human who triggered the whole scene wanders straight through the Underground, all the way to the Barrier without ever encountering another monster—the survivors of the last human they remember too weak and afraid to even think of confronting the new one.

They arrive just in time to see Alphys’ only mildly overdue return through the now shattered Barrier…and quite naturally, panic and flee up to the Surface, never to be seen again.

Monsters are free.

Alphys turns herself in for the humans she killed as a gesture of goodwill and ensures that the rest of monsterkind can live peacefully amongst humans once and for all.

And everyone else just has to learn how to keep going with the scars of the experience.

Horrorswap Sans (Merc)

The DT injection destabilized his form, tied directly to his emotional state: relatively pleasant or middling emotions can make him drip a bit, while strong or negative ones can reduce him to a puddle making disturbing attempts to form limbs. He can still maintain structural stability, but only by staying in tight control of his emotions as much as possible

He’s researching ways to properly blend the DT into his magic to stop having to worry about melting at inconvenient moments, or at least to give himself control over when and how he liquidizes. It’s…a slow-going process…

Absolutely blames himself for his brother’s near-death experience and partial dusting (and the consequences therein), and for what he did to himself. If he’d just waited a few more days, if he hadn’t gotten so caught up in fears about the future and self-doubt, then… Well. It was senseless and there’s no changing it now, that’s what kills him the most

There’s a rift between him and his brother now and it’s jarring from how close they used to be. He doesn’t like it that he can’t get Papyrus to talk to him anymore, or spend time with him just…hanging out… but he figures it’s probably no less than what he deserves, for his own stupid hubris…

He gets into yoga at some point so he can still train his body in a lower stress way, and runs a small home cake-decorating business out of his kitchen, and between that and a deep, abiding love of all the science-fiction media there is on the Surface to engage with, he’s actually mostly hopeful about the future

Horrorswap Papyrus (Ell)

Not unscarred by his brush with Falling, low-energy and missing his legs above the knee, both turned to dust before he could properly stabilize. Wheelchair-bound and not too happy about it, but nowhere near ready to even have a discussion about prosthetics just yet

Definitely struggling with the loss, and the rest of the trauma of everything else that happened Underground, and doing himself a pretty huge disservice by figuring he should just ‘get over it.’ Grappling with a lot of bitterness and frustration over it all and trying to either blow it off or ignore it

Absolutely blames himself for his brother’s instability and the loss of his own legs—if he hadn’t psyched Sans out, if he hadn’t immediately freaked out and jumped to conclusions like an idiot when he saw… Well. It was senseless and there’s no changing it now, that’s what kills him the most

He hates the rift between him and his brother now too, they used to talk openly about whatever, they could just be brothers... but then The Human and the secrets and the lies… He wants to fix it all somehow but it’s so raw and he just doesn’t know what to say—he can’t read his brothers face like he used to anymore, and half the time it feels like he’s living with a stone-faced stranger…

He’s teaching himself some programming languages in his spare time around the house, thinking he might try to freelance someday. Still into writing and fiction, but his tastes have taken a turn for the darker fare, and horror/ghost stories are becoming a great outlet for him—he spends a lot of time with creepypastas from reddit playing in the background while he tries to figure out why his stupid code won’t work