#like i feel that is powerful enough in itself

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Male violence towards women is not motivated by "hatred" towards women. That is an oversimplification.

On whose part?

Are you claiming that the feminists and anyone else who makes that claim is wrong, or are you saying I'm oversimplying what you think feminists really claim?

Because if it's the latter, it's not exactly rare for feminists to explicitly blame abuse on misogyny.

is motivated by toxic masculinity and men not being taught by society to express emotions in healthy and positive ways.

Domestic violence centers are regularly criticized by people who talk about men's issues for supposedly being biased in women's favor and against men.

And leaving that aside, the first link goes

The perception of men is then seen as dominating, aggressive, and unemotional.

A perception feminism itself strongly contributes to. It regularly and explicitly genders abuse.

When society puts so much pressure on men to behave in an unconnected way, sometimes men can begin to normalize power and control as perpetrators. They can also then ignore or not recognize when they are victimized by domestic violence because from an early age males are taught to believe they should be able to handle physical and emotional abuse. Not having recognition of their own victimization can lead to non representation of male domestic violence victims.

Okay. How about the part where society goes "it's not REAL abuse when a woman does it?"

I feel the need to emphasize this, and be clear. Men are generally permitted to defend themselves from assault by other men. But much less so for women.

Men are more likely to be arrested and go to jail, even if they did not lay a finger on a female abuser, and were the one to call the cops. In many places, it's almost explicit police policy to assume the woman was "defending herself".

I have been in and seen extended discussions where people refused to admit a woman could actually pose a serious physical threat to a man, ever, and said anyone who discussed it was clearly just a sexist man who wanted an excuse to harm women.

Note that there were several women disagreeing in these discussions.

Apparently the idea that a woman could grab a weapon was a "hyper-specific edge case", even though I provided an example of a woman who stabbed her larger partner to death with a nail file.

That article is really missing - or ignoring - the single most important part about male victim erasure.

Strangely enough, when I see people discuss this issue in terms of "toxic masculinity", they seldom discuss the female privilege that leads to male abuse victims being erased,

I'm not sure why you thought this was supporting your case about "male violence against women".

Even if it wasn't just an opinion column.

Your second link's strapline says "Young men who subscribe to traditional ideals of manhood are more likely to sexually harass women and bully others."

And then it says,

The researchers surveyed 1,000 young men on their attitudes toward seven pillars of traditional manhood: self-sufficiency, toughness, physical attractiveness, rigid gender roles, heterosexuality and homophobia, hypersexuality, and aggression and control over women.

Except traditional masculinity is strongly against men sexually harassing women, and bullying.

Or hurting women even in self defense.

Also, the fact that you're equating "toxic masculinity" to "traditional, mainstream masculinity" does not actually make feminists look less misandric.

I spent almost my entire post talking about female abusers, and you conveniently managed to find two "sources" that, um, don't actually mention female abusers.

Not once.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[whoreforsexymen]

Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭

Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.

And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.

But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.

Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎

(GIF cred: me <3)

Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader

Pronouns: No pronouns used.

Rating: Slight NSFW because Reader and Vander are presumably half naked in bed, so 18+!! MDNI !! You WILL be blocked

Word Count: 524

Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.

Tags: A little spicy, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance

Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍

“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.

You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.

“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.

His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.

“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.

You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.

“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.

“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.

You can’t help but laugh at his wit.

“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.

He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.

“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”

[sam-out-of-energy]

I'm back writing more fic for kefs mecha jazz AU but as texaid has taken over me as of currrent thats what im writin! Just some silly guys and some silly tings, vortex being a weird character yanno :D i went for a bit of a spooky vibe but lmk what ya'll think

Tw for gore i guess? Its not that detailed, but just in case

-------

First Aid- er, Felix, didn't even bother to ask how he'd gotten here. So much had happened since that faithful day he'd been assigned to clean the mecha- er- to clean Vortex.

Thats what this thing liked to call itself apparently. Felix had taken into habit to ignore the text on screens flashing in his face, but when he'd done that the thing had started speaking in his head instead.

So they communicated through screens.

"Dance with me First Aid" it asked, over and over and over again.

When they were deployed, Felix did his darndest to avoid touching the controls. And he didn't have to try too hard as this mecha would move and control itself just fine, slicing and dicing enemies left to right with it's blades.

Felix was a silent observer to the mechas insane violence, but something about it kept him watching. Maybe it was the numbness he already felt towards corpses, but his morbid curiosity peaked whenever he watched Vortex through Vortex's eyes.

Vortex would tease Felix to its hearts content (did it even have a heart? Something equivalent to that anyway), asking him if he was "enjoying the show", wiggling the controls in front of Felix like holding a bone up to a dog.

Felix knew better than to fall for tricks. He knew that every other pilot who had come before him had perished way earlier just by merely pressing one button. He was not about to face the same fate.

Not...until today.

He hadn't had time to think of another solution.

An enemy had caught them unarmed and for the first time ever, knocked Vortex down. No, not even knocked, slammed Vortex down. Hard enough for Felix to feel it.

Sytems fried, a loud buzzing in the back of his head and now, Felix staring up at an alien being, holding a sword over his- Vortex's- their head.

Felix had called for his mecha to wake, but when there wasn't a single stirr in Vortex's body, he'd been forced to grab the controls himself, catching the enemy by suprise and stabbing Vortex's blade through its chest.

The mecha rose at First Aids command. Felix felt his face lift to a grin, something stirring within himself he'd not felt before.

"Haha! Yes!" He squealed almost unintentionally before lifting the blade and pointing it up at the remaining enemies.

"Let's dance!!"

-

Felix sat at the controls. He'd driven the other all the way back to base before he'd shut down the power and just...sat for a while. He'd maybe felt a bit too connected to the mecha. The blood and gore in Vortex's hands had felt so real...too real for Felix's comfort.

He'd sat for long enough before realizing that Vortex stirred. He heard the buzz of systems coming online, the growl of an engine.

"Vortex?" He mumbled, catching himself out of his own daze of thoughts.

Then, the head shook, twisting violently enough to send Felix, unstrapped, falling and tumbling out of his seat.

He sat up quickly. He felt eyes watching him, coldness falling upon the cockpit and then...something dripped on him.

Felix looked up, before looking back to the maw of the beast (the entrance hatch). He saw blood, dripping and soon cascading down from under panels and cracks.

He felt his gut stirr as he quickly rose to his feet, stumbling when he saw blood cover the floor.

"What the fuck-"

He quickly became keenly aware of the space he was now trapped in. The dangerously sharp blades of the fans stirring on the walls, ones he'd picked plenty of fingers out of. The sharp edges of the panels on the roof, somehow able to catch guts, flesh and viscera hanging off the edges.

The floor of the cockpit, now seemingly flooding with blood, staining Felix's suit.

"I'm...sorry? Vortex. I'm sorry." He found himself suddenly speaking. Perhaps it was fright that had forced him to stand still, not sure if the visceral bits of skin and body parts he saw on the walls were real or not.

What the hell?! This thing itself had been begging him to use the controls! Now it was..punishing him for it?

Panic settled in Felix's mind without him even thinking too hard. He had to run, he had to escape.

And that he..tried. Bright red screens watched First Aid back further and further from the entrance, pressing against the wall of the cockpit. No way he could get out the right way, he'd be crushed before he could get through one hatch.

Felix suddenly felt a sharp pain. He twisted and jumped back from the wall, looking down to see what looked like some sort of hook that had sprung out and stabbed into his thigh. (A gap in between his armour).

He let out a painsoaked grunt, pressing a palm over the bleeding spot (He wasnt sure if it was his own blood or not).

A thought came to him. The only other route of escape. Felix limped to the control panel and almost found himself gagging at a pair of hands, torn from the wrists, hanging off of it, rigor mortis the only thing keeping them gripping to the edge of the panel. Everything stank of blood and rust.

He pressed the emergency exit button and turned when he saw a hatch open at the back.

Upon approaching, Felix found that it was just a...chute. An opening at the back of the head that slid down and then opened at the bottom to reveal a fall that was...god knows how long. Vortex was tall.

Felix bit the bullet, grabbing onto the small nooks and cracks inside the chute before starting to climb.

He'd managed to descend about halfway before realizing what kind of a situation he'd just put himself in. Like a prey animal running into a corner, driving itself into the worst possible situation out of sheer panic to escape. The predator had only needed to watch and wait.

Felix let out a stressed "No!" When he saw the hatch below slam shut. The slam of a hatch above made him lose his grip and fall down.

-

It was pitch black, the only illumination inside the escape chute being the small red LEDs lining its walls.

Felix's heart beat louder than the entire mecha. He felt his pulse rush, cold sweat coming down his back.

"Vortex, please"

He called out.

Ch-THUNK!

A hatch slammed shut above him.

Felix's eyes widened at the imminent danger approaching.

Ch-THUNK!

"Vortex" he choked up. He didn't want to die like this. God help the poor sap who would have to dig his crushed and dismantled corpse out of the mechas escape chute.

Ch-THUNK!

Ch-THUNK!

CH-THUNK!

"Vortex!!" He screamed one last time.

It was silent. Felix found himself screaming for a lot longer than he thought.

He

He wasn't dead?

His eyes opened. He was still in darkness, pressed back as down as he could be, against the emergency chute. One last hatch closed barely above his head, upon trying to lift himself, he'd bumped his helmet into it.

Felix then found that he was falling in the blink of an eye as the chute opened again. He couldn't muster out anymore screams, landing on something before he had time to process that he'd fallen in the first place.

A hand. A giant mechanical hand, slowly lifting and bringing him up to a terrifyingly familiar face and then to a dearly familiar scaffolding.

Felix took no hesitation to jump off the hand and land on the scaffolding, stumbling and turning to look back at the giant mecha infront of him.

He panted, falling to his knees when he caught solid ground, watching the bright red glow of the mechas visor.

He turned down to feel his body, his hands trembling from the afterburn of adrenaline. He took off his helmet to feel the cool air brushing over all his senses.

He was alive. His thigh was hurting, but he was alive.

Felix heard a thunk, lifting his head to see that the visor had dimmed. Inside, a bright red glow of a tv screen.

"Did you enjoy it"

it asked, the words read out by a voice inside Felix's head for him. Then the text changed and so did the voices tone, from a mechanical one to sounding more....amused.

"See you tomorrow, First Aid"

[starkeysmoon]

ink-stained distractions

pairing: mattheo riddle x gender neutral!reader

summary: a study date with mattheo riddle proves more distracting than productive.

warnings: just pure fluff, playful banter, mutual pining, mild teasing.

words: 1,042

you never expected to find mattheo riddle, the star player of the slytherin quidditch team, skipping practice for a study date.

yet, here he was, sprawled across the table with a devil-may-care grin, pretending to study while doing everything in his power to make sure you couldn’t focus for a second.

“you’ve written that same sentence three times,” he said, the teasing lilt in his voice breaking your focus.

he leaned back in his chair, spinning his quill with practiced ease. the soft lamplight caught the edges of his sharp features, his dark curls grazing his forehead, making him look entirely too distracting for someone you’d roped into a study date.

“because someone keeps talking,” you retorted, glaring at him.

“or maybe,” he countered, leaning forward, “you’re just looking for an excuse to stare at me.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, heating up under his gaze.

mattheo riddle was impossible—infuriating, smug, and entirely too handsome for his own good.

“you’re lucky you’re good at this,” you muttered, shoving your notes toward him.

“good at what?” he asked, his smirk widening.

“explaining,” you snapped, though your voice softened. “i don’t understand this part of conjuration. help me, or i’ll find someone else to study with.”

his grin faltered for a split second—just enough to make you wonder if the idea of you studying with someone else actually bothered him. then, as if to prove you wrong, he tilted his head, his expression smug as ever.

“you wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice low and playful.

“try me.”

with a dramatic sigh, he grabbed your textbook, flipping to the section you’d pointed out. “you’re lucky i’m feeling generous today.”

“you mean, lucky you skipped quidditch for this,” you said, raising a brow.

“i am sick, remember?” he said, miming a weak cough. “tragically bedridden.”

you snorted. “right. because spending the afternoon in the library with me is such a hardship.”

he didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting to the textbook in front of him. as he began explaining the theory behind conjuration, his tone shifted—calmer, steadier, his words precise and clear.

for someone who constantly got into trouble, mattheo riddle had an uncanny ability to simplify even the most complex topics.

and it was infuriating.

how was he so smart? how was his handwriting so neat, his diagrams so perfect, when half the time he wasn’t even in class?

you stared at him, trying to reconcile the boy who pulled pranks and skipped detention was the one in front of you now, his hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes for you.

“you’re staring again,” he said, not looking up from the parchment.

“am not,” you lied, snapping your attention back to your own notes.

he looked up then, a playful gleam in his dark eyes. “it’s okay,” he said softly. “i stare at you, too.”

the air between you shifted, your heart stumbling over itself as his words hung in the space. for once, mattheo didn’t grin or smirk; he just looked at you, his gaze steady, almost vulnerable.

“don’t say stuff like that,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“why not?” he asked, leaning closer.

“because—” you started, but your words faltered when he reached across the table, brushing a stray ink smudge from your cheek with his thumb.

his touch lingered for just a moment before he pulled back, his smirk returning, softer this time. “you’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“i hate you,” you muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

“no, you don’t,” he said, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken.

the next hour passed in a blur of explanations and stolen glances, the tension between you growing with every accidental brush of hands, every lingering look.

and then, just as you were starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, you could focus, mattheo leaned back in his chair and stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach.

“really?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

“what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“you’re doing it on purpose,” you accused.

“doing what?” he said, leaning forward again, his curls falling into his eyes.

“that!” you said, gesturing vaguely at him. “existing like... like that.”

he blinked, and then he laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made your chest ache in the best way.

“you’re ridiculous,” he said, his voice warm and soft.

“look who’s talking,” you shot back, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the library was quiet except for the faint rustle of pages and the distant hum of students talking. and in that stillness, mattheo’s gaze found yours again, softer this time, his smirk fading into something more sincere.

“you know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t mind skipping quidditch for this.”

“yeah?” you asked, your own voice quiet.

“yeah,” he said, his lips quirking into a small smile. “it’s worth it... if it’s with you.”

and just like that, you knew you were done for.

mattheo riddle masterlist

[shizunitis]

How do you think Shen Qingqiu would be affected if he had Xin Mo?

holy fuck i've been thinking about this for months and now that i've been asked i'm kind of lost. anon i love you prepare for a whole lotta yapping

the question is vague enough to both give me room to fuck around and to not know what to focus on. so i'll go with trying to figure out what the chain of events would be, mostly. i'm very sleepy though. that should be taken into consideration.

xin mo uses its masters' trauma and psychological issues against them. which means we just have to take shen qingqiu's issues and ramp them up enough to see what that would do to him. how that change would present itself is highly dependent on how he comes upon xin mo, as well.

first off, what does he want? shen qingqiu wants, in no particular order: to survive, to have luo binghe by his side and safe, and to protect his sect from a wrathful luo binghe.

he dislikes violence but doesn't shy away from it when it's expected of him to be unmoved by it. he's a deeply curious person and likes theorising, cultivation, and feeling powerful and respected. he thinks of himself as a "faker" but is proud of his moral stances, especially when they differ from the original goods'.

his biggest frustration throughout the novel is the fact that he cannot protect luo binghe from the plot and all the suffering that would bring him, and that he is under the control of something so opposed to his own goals as the system.

let's say shen qingqiu were to fall into the abyss and find xin mo himself, and therefore the system's control of him would be weakened, as it was when binghe was down there. this would mean he didn't betray binghe, maybe even took his place. this has to happen because he figures out the system is his biggest obstacle, before he gets to xin mo, or else my whole thing falls apart. maybe shang qinghua plays a part in this, maybe not.

it doesn't matter much how, but if he doesn't come to this realisation at some point, he would not place his target on the system, nor would he get the courage to try to change things according to his own wishes.

so. abyss -> revenge on the system -> find xin mo -> cultivate with it -> get out of the abyss.

first off, the sect wouldn't stand for him using a clearly harmful (to both himself and the world around him) demonic sword, or any sort of demonic cultivation at all, so he'd have to hide it if he were to make his way back. paranoia and fear would probably change him into an overprotective person, someone who slowly becomes less careful about what he has to do in order to protect his people, especially when we factor in how he'd had to, for years, live under the control and supervision of the system.

there is also the problem of getting close to the protagonist again. if he were to make contact, the system would re-activate, and his attempt to kill it would be useless.

he'd draw himself away from the people he cares about so he could watch over them. he would study and try to use the sword to change things in his favour, with the right incentive. the harm brought to his cultivation by the sword would probably force him to become more secretive so he isn't discovered.

he would probably seclude himself away from cang qiong, binghe and most of the world. whether he goes into the demon realm or not doesn't matter. he would rely on only himself, unless he can get shang qinghua involved in his plans. i imagine shang qinghua would be opposed to it, not only because the system would be against it, but because shen qingqiu's death or pain would spell his own destruction (by luo binghe's hand) if he didn't try to stop it.

the threat of huan hua palace and people discovering binghe's true nature would probably allow for the sword to take advantage of him more and more as he uses it to fight against them. i don't think the opm would not go after luo binghe, especially with shen qingqiu out of the picture, so i'm imagining the old fuck would offer luo binghe some sort of help just to get him close. shen qingqiu wouldn't stand for it, and we know that as he gets more desperate, shen qingqiu tends toward pragmatism. he would do what needs to get done, i guess.

"stuck between a rock and a hard place" pretty much describes shen qingqiu in svsss. having that not be the system's fault, for once, would probably push him to the edge enough that he does something extremely stupid and turns the entire cultivation world against him in an attempt to protect binghe from the opm's influence.

i don't think he would go too far, outwardly. he would probably bring more harm unto himself with xin mo than binghe had, and would probably suffer more than anyone else involved. him being so tight-lipped about his own motivations would get him scorned and named a traitor to the human realm. he'd have shen jiu's reputation post-trial, maybe. he would become colder, lifeless, honed-in on his goals.

this was an extremely long-winded way of saying that shen yuan, corrupted by xin mo, would become a husk of his former self. i imagine a moment where he tries to be warm again, that whole fond teacher shtick, and would find himself horrified at how much of an act that is now, rather than acting cold and heartless. i think he'd have turned his caring into caring too much to the point of leaving himself behind.

i had a wip of shen yuan transmigrating into luo binghe and having to lean into xin mo's influence so that he could get luo binghe reinstated into his own body that i put on the shelf at some point. he ended up baiting people into trying to assassinate him, and used their sacrifice as a way to power some sort of revival technique.

shen yuan needs plausible deniability for every action he does, especially ones he sees as morally reprehensible. so. add that to the whole thing above and that's the bulk of it, i think. maybe. god please tell me i make sense i need a shizun headpat

[aurumacadicus]

I just had a funny idea omg:

"Hey, so, do you have like. Any mutant powers or anything?" Steve asked carefully.

Sam did not turn from the water fountain. "No."

Bucky looked like it took all of his self control not to vibrate into orbit. "So this little friend that's been following us around the park--"

"It's a bird," Sam barked, finally turning around to glare at him. "We're being stalked by a pigeon, Barnes. This isn't funny. It could be controlled by a villain."

"You are being stalked by a pigeon," Bucky corrected gleefully.

"Stop fighting," Steve sighed, watching as the pigeon desperately flapped its wings at the spout to fill a dog bowl. He stepped on the button, and the pigeon greedily flapped under the stream of water. "I don't think it's being controlled by a villain. A villain would make it forget it was thirsty."

Sam and Bucky considered this, watching as the bird gulped a beakful of water one time out of five, as if it was not used to having a beak. "Well now I feel bad," Sam said. It has been following him since he left the VA last night.

Bucky groaned. "This means we have to ask Tony for help, doesn't it?"

Steve shot him a glare. "Why is that bad?"

"He's gonna hyper focus and make a means of communication for Lucky, Alpine, and Liho, I just know it," Bucky sighed miserably.

Sam took off his shirt and knelt down, carefully wrapping it around the panting, soaked pigeon. "Come on, buddy," he said as Steve and Bucky began bickering behind him. "Let's get you some help." Maybe, if he asked Tony without the bickering soldiers, Tony would be more concerned about their new pigeon friend.

--

Remarkably, Tony already had a nice bird setup. "Jarvis used to keep quail," he'd explained with a shrug as he showed them through the old Stark mansion.

The pigeon seemed to appreciate the heaters and bowls of bird seed, although it never seemed to quite get a knack for the water bowls.

Tony let Sam help when it came to putting the communication device together, which he appreciated, because the more he watched the pigeon, the less like a bird it seemed. Or at least, the less like a New York street pigeon, anyway. It didn't gorge itself while it had the chance, and it mostly hobbled around on the ground instead of trying to fly up to one of the perches. That could have been because it was still recovering from exhaustion, but Sam doubted it.

"Et voilá," Tony said as they finished it. "If it's a bird, it'll tell us about fries."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him even as he followed Tony to the bird pen. "You know what birds talk about?"

"I have had enough bags of fries stolen to know," Tony told him primly as he turned the communicator on. "Speak, pigeon."

"Sam my brother accidentally turned me into a bird after we left your office yesterday," the pigeon wailed. "He got scared and ran away and I couldn't keep up with him or open the door to go back into your office I AM A PIGEON WITH PTSD NOW SAM!!!!!"

"Oh my God Jessica," Sam gasped, and Tony clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away, shoulders shaking with the effort not to laugh. "We'll figure this out FUCKING STOP LAUGHING TONY."

"It is kind of funny," Jessica said reluctantly.

"It fucking isn't you're a BIRD, JESSICA!" Sam bellowed.

"Yeah, but it's also the first time I slept through the night without waking up screaming, so," Jessica continued.

"Animal therapy," Tony choked, and then screamed when Sam chased him out of the enclosure.

[angel---eater]

i truly have no tolerance for this fandom shittin on random fans personal trans headcanons. someone saw themselves and their experience in this character, isnt that beautiful? why dont you mind your business and focus on your own fan stuff? wouldnt that make you happier? someones headcanon doesnt negate yours. what the fuck is wrong with yall. its playing make believe x2. its just a headcanon. real life trans folks are in active danger right now and some of yall are wasting all your energy abusing others over which pronoun set figments of someone elses imagination 'should' be using

[soulofapatrick]

Lessons in Flight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian teaches you to fly 

Words: 4K

Warnings: none really 

Y/N’s POV

The wind roars around me, threatening to tear me off the cliff before I even have a chance to embarrass myself. My toes curl in my boots as I glance nervously at the abyss below. Why did I agree to this? Oh, right. Cassian.

He stands a few feet away, the picture of ease and confidence. His massive wings are spread just enough to keep the wind from knocking him over, their black membranes catching the light in a way that’s unfairly mesmerising.

Not that the wings are the only mesmerising thing about him. Cassian is all golden-brown skin and lean, powerful muscle, with black hair that brushes his shoulders in wild, wind-tangled waves. His hazel eyes, sharp and glittering, keep flicking to me, and his rugged, devastatingly handsome face is pulled into the smirk that always sends my heart stumbling over itself.

“Are you planning to sprout wings today, or should I get a chair?” he calls, his deep voice cutting through the wind.

“Should I not be panicking right now?” I snap back, crossing my arms to keep from flailing. “Because I feel like I should absolutely be panicking.”

His grin widens, and I hate how good it looks on him. “No panicking allowed. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns, Cassian!”

He strolls closer, every step radiating that stupid, effortless confidence, and stops a breath away. His wings shift slightly, framing him in a way that makes him look impossibly larger. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning down just enough to meet my gaze. “I’m not going to let you fall.”

The sincerity in his tone knocks some of the breath from my lungs, and I scowl to cover it. “You say that, but you also laughed when I tripped on flat ground yesterday.”

“That was funny,” he says, completely unapologetic.

I shove at his chest—not that he budges an inch—and take a step back, glaring up at him. “You’re the worst.”

“And the best teacher you’ve got,” he counters, his smirk returning full force. “Now, focus. The wings are in you—you just have to bring them out.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You didn’t have to grow yours in front of an audience.”

Cassian barks a laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Trust me, if I could’ve skipped my adolescent flying attempts, I would have. Ask Rhys or Az—‘crash landing’ was basically my middle name for a decade.”

I glance at him, caught off guard by the admission, and find his hazel eyes sparkling with humour. The warmth in his expression is infectious, and against all odds, I laugh.

“There’s the smile,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just enough to make my cheeks flush.

I groan, scrubbing at my face. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

“Atta girl.”

I close my eyes and reach for the power thrumming beneath my skin. It feels alive, like a heartbeat, and as I focus, I picture wings—strong, sleek, and powerful.

The change happens faster than I expect. My back burns, like fire racing down my spine, and then—whoosh. Something bursts out behind me, and suddenly, I’m a lot heavier.

“Oh no,” I gasp as the weight of the wings sends me stumbling. My knees buckle, and my feet slip on the edge of the cliff.

“Whoa, whoa!” Cassian’s hands are there in an instant, strong and steady, gripping my waist and pulling me forward before I can tumble into oblivion.

I slam into his chest, and my brain short-circuits.

His body is solid, impossibly warm, and the scent of leather, pine, and something distinctly Cassian wraps around me, making my heart pound. His hands don’t move, firm on my waist, and I can feel the callouses on his fingers through my clothes.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice close and rough.

I look up—and immediately wish I hadn’t. His hazel eyes are inches from mine, bright with concern and amusement, and his stupid, perfect mouth is curved in a small smile.

“I—uh—yeah,” I stammer, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck.

His grin deepens, his thumbs brushing against my sides in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Big wings for such a little thing. No wonder you almost toppled over.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, shoving weakly at him.

He doesn’t let go. Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, his wings curl slightly, blocking the wind and cocooning us in a way that feels too intimate.

“You’re doing great,” he says softly, his tone free of teasing for once. “They’re heavy, but you’ll get used to it. You’re stronger than you think.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something warm and stupid bloom in my chest, and I immediately squash it. I step back, forcing some distance between us, and flex my shoulders experimentally. My new wings twitch, the tips dragging against the ground, but they move.

“There you go,” Cassian says, his grin returning. “See? Not so hard.”

“Not hard?” I echo, glaring at him. “I almost died!”

“And I saved you,” he says, winking. “You’re welcome.”

I groan, dragging a hand over my face as he starts laughing. But even as I glare at him, my lips twitch upward. Cassian may be insufferable, but he’s my insufferable—and for now, I think I’ll keep him.

The weight of my wings feels too much to bear. Every muscle in my back trembles under the strain as I try, and fail, to lift them. No matter how hard I focus, how badly I want to prove myself, they remain heavy, limp at my sides like the dead weight of a curse. Cassian’s hands, warm and solid against my hips, ground me, steadying my shaky posture. I can feel the strength in him, the way his hands hold me just tight enough, the heat radiating off him like he’s some kind of furnace. He doesn’t even seem to struggle with his wings, his massive, black ones spread wide like an all-encompassing shield against the world, effortlessly cutting through the wind.

“Focus, sweetheart,” Cassian murmurs, voice low, the smirk pulling at his lips, his hazel eyes twinkling with that teasing glint that never fails to set my pulse racing. “You’ve got this. Just a little higher.”

The gentle teasing, the way his hands linger on my waist, have me stumbling, but I force my shoulders to relax and dig deep for the strength I know is buried inside me. With a mental push, I feel the wings twitch, straining, and then—boom. I manage to lift them halfway. The victory is short-lived.

The weight of them—massive and far heavier than I expected—slams down again. My knees buckle.

Before I can catch myself, before I even have the chance to fall, Cassian’s hands are at my waist, pulling me toward him, yanking me against his body. I almost lose my breath from the force of it, my chest pressing into his hard chest, my forehead colliding with the smooth leather of his shoulder.

The impact knocks the air out of me, but my heart starts hammering in my chest like I’ve just sprinted a mile. I feel like I'm drowning in the warmth of him, his scent wrapping around me—leather, wood, and that intoxicating smell that’s just him.

His hands stay firmly on my hips, strong, steady, as he mutters, “Careful there, sweetheart. You’re going to make me drop you if you keep stumbling like that.”

I groan, my face pressed against the heat of his chest, unable to hide how flustered I feel, how the proximity to him makes my skin burn. “I’m not the one dropping anyone,” I mutter, my voice muffled against the solid wall of his body.

He chuckles, and I can practically feel the smile on his lips, that devilish grin of his that never fails to make my insides flip. “Liar.”

I pull back slightly, enough to glare up at him, my face still flushed. His hazel eyes gleam down at me, the playful spark in them never once dimming, and I feel like I’m being swept up in his gaze. “You’re impossible,” I mumble.

“Impossible?” His lips twitch. “More like irresistible.”

I scowl at him, but before I can come up with a decent retort, his hands slide down my back, tracing a path along the edges of my wings. I freeze. The contact is light, but it's like fire—his fingers grazing the leather of my armour just above where my wings meet my back. The spot is sensitive, like he’s touching a nerve directly.

A breath catches in my throat. Gods. The way his fingers linger, caressing so delicately that it’s almost torturous, sends a pulse of warmth straight to my core. The soft pressure of his hand against the base of my wings has my pulse spiking.

I can’t help it. I let out a soft, embarrassingly breathy sound, a noise I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.

Cassian’s entire body goes still, as if he’s just felt that reaction, and I hear the smallest, most dangerous chuckle rumble from his chest.

“Oh?” His voice drops lower, sliding into something rich and teasing. “Sensitive, are we?”

My face burns hotter than I thought possible. I open my mouth, but no words come out. What was that noise? Why does he have to be so close?

His fingers stay there, tracing the spot where the wings meet my back, moving deliberately, caressing me in a way that feels too intimate for someone who’s supposed to be teaching me. I try to step back, but my body feels like it’s made of stone.

The heat floods my skin, and I feel my breath become shallow. I know exactly what Azriel meant when he spoke about the wings and their sensitivity, but hearing him say it felt like a joke at the time.

Now? Now, I get it. Azriel wasn’t talking about some innocent touch. He meant this—this electric, nerve-shattering sensation.

Cassian’s fingers linger for a moment longer before he finally pulls away, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You know, you make the best sounds when you’re flustered. Just a hint of pleasure mixed with frustration.”

I barely manage to keep my knees from buckling. “You—”

But my words fail me, and I’m left standing there like an idiot, heart racing, face flushed, my wings now feeling like they might break my back in half from the weight and sensitivity.

“You’re not mad at me for that, are you?” Cassian’s voice softens, the teasing edge slipping into something more serious, though still warm. “Because I’m not letting you go until I know you’re alright.”

The softness in his tone makes something inside me tighten, and I find myself leaning into him instinctively, my breath still unsteady. “I’m fine,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “Just... be careful next time.”

His eyes flicker with something darker now, a simmering heat that matches the one flaring inside me. His hands find their way back to my waist, holding me closer than I expect, and I let him, my body melting into his.

“Promise,” he says quietly, his voice full of that strange, unspoken something that makes my heart flutter and my stomach twist. “You’re safe with me.”

But as his fingers graze my back again, a sharp shudder runs through me, and I know that I’m not entirely safe—at least, not when he’s this close, this aware of every inch of me.

The moment Cassian’s fingers brush against the base of my wings again, it feels like everything inside me locks into place. My breath hitches in my throat, my entire body tightening, and I feel like I’m going to melt from the pressure. That spot, the one right where my wings meet my back—it burns with such a raw intensity that I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but focus on the heat spreading through me.

I try to pull away, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Instead, I find my hands gripping the back of his neck instinctively, my fingers threading through the soft, dark strands of his hair, anchoring myself to him. It’s like I need him to hold me up, to stop me from crumbling under the weight of this overwhelming sensation. His arm is solid beneath my fingers, and I clutch onto it for balance, my pulse hammering through me. I feel the way my body reacts to his proximity, the way every inch of me wants him closer, even as my mind screams to stop.

Cassian is quiet now, his breath shallow against my temple, but I know exactly what he’s doing. His fingers are so damn careful, moving deliberately over that spot again. It’s not an accident; he knows exactly what it’s doing to me.

A shudder wracks through me, and without thinking, I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to keep some semblance of control, to stop myself from doing something stupid.

The air between us thickens, heavy with something undeniable. The teasing, the flirtation—it’s all been leading to this moment. I can feel it. My heart races, but it’s not just from the physical sensations coursing through my veins. It’s the way Cassian’s hands linger, the heat radiating from him, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

“Cassian,” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His name feels like a prayer on my lips, and he responds by tilting my chin up with the lightest pressure of his fingers, his eyes locked onto mine with that wicked, smouldering gaze that makes my chest tighten. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, slow, deliberate, like he’s savouring the moment.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, full of heat and something more dangerous. “I think it’s time we stop pretending.”

I’m dizzy from the tension, from the way he’s holding me together with nothing more than his touch. His thumb presses into the soft skin beneath my ear, and I tilt my head slightly, giving him silent permission. And then, before I can even process what’s happening, his lips crash into mine.

The kiss is explosive. There’s nothing gentle about it—no soft buildup, no teasing. It’s hungry, desperate, as if we’ve both been waiting for this moment to snap, and now that it has, nothing in the world is going to stop it.

His hands slide up to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the muscles of his chest, the heat of his skin through the layers of armour, and it only makes me ache more, ache for something deeper, something more than this teasing, more than this fire burning between us.

My fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more of him. His mouth moves against mine with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs, and I give into it, give into the way his kiss tastes like a promise and a dare. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but respond to him. My body knows what it wants.

Cassian’s hands slip lower, grazing over the curve of my hips, and I gasp into his mouth, feeling the way my wings flare, trembling with need, with desire, with a desperation that matches his. Cassian’s hands slide down to the backs of my thighs, his fingers warm and firm as he lifts me with a fluid, effortless motion. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and I gasp at the shift in position, feeling his hard, solid body pressed fully against me. I can’t focus on anything but the heat of him—his chest against mine, his breath fanning across my neck, the way his hands mold my body to his, like I’m the most important thing in the world to him.

His lips leave mine only long enough to kiss a trail along my jaw, each press of his mouth sending a jolt of electricity through me. He moves to my neck, his mouth hot and insistent, as if he’s marking me, claiming me in ways that no one else could ever dare to. His teeth scrape my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

A deep, breathless gasp leaves my throat as his lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear, sucking hard enough that I know I’ll have a bruise there by morning. The thought does something to me—something primal, something hungry. I know the marks will be impossible to hide, but it doesn’t matter. The way he’s kissing me, the way his hands are holding me so securely, so possessively—it makes me want to lose myself in him, to let go of every last shred of control.

Cassian groans against my skin, and his hands slide up under the leather of my jacket, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of my back, sending shudders of pleasure racing through my body. His lips trail lower, sucking and nibbling at my neck, leaving dark, heated marks that make my pulse thunder in my ears. My back hits a tree, and the rough bark bites into my skin, but I don’t care—he’s here, his body pressed so tightly against mine that there’s nowhere for my thoughts to go except him.

“Cassian,” I breathe, my voice shaky and full of want. I tighten my grip on his neck, pulling him closer, needing more, needing to feel the weight of him against me in a way that I can’t deny anymore.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from our kiss. He grins, that devilish smirk of his spreading across his face. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long.”

His words send a shockwave through me, and before I can process it, he presses his lips back to mine in a kiss that’s even more desperate, more heated than before. His hands move with purpose now—one sliding up to cup the back of my head, tilting it just enough so he can deepen the kiss. The other moves lower again, running down the length of my spine, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin just above my waist, making me gasp into his mouth.

I feel like I’m drowning in him—his lips, his hands, his presence. The way his body moves against mine with such raw, unrestrained heat is enough to make my knees weak, to make my body burn in ways I didn’t know were possible. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

The kiss deepens, and I lose myself completely in the sensation of Cassian—his lips, his hands, his heat seeping into every part of me. It’s like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of us, the way our bodies move together in perfect sync, how each touch sends a jolt of pure desire through me. His hands are steady on my body, guiding me with a possessive tenderness that makes my head spin.

But just as the world seems to narrow to only Cassian, I feel it. A soft, almost imperceptible shift deep inside me. Like a pull, like something that’s always been there, quietly waiting for its moment to take shape. The bond. It slides into place like a key turning in a lock, a subtle, undeniable connection that clicks between us.

I can’t explain it—there’s no sudden rush of light, no grand revelation. Just a quiet understanding that settles deep in my chest. It’s like I’ve always known this was coming, like my body has been waiting for this moment, for him. A part of me—the part that’s been holding back, fighting this—finally surrenders.

Cassian feels it too, I’m sure of it. His lips soften on mine, just a fraction, as though he’s caught in the same storm of emotions. Then, just as I’m about to lose myself in the feeling of him, a voice breaks through the haze.

“Really?” Rhys's voice is loud enough to make the trees shudder, his tone dripping with amusement.

Cassian doesn’t break from me, though. His lips stay pressed against mine for a long beat before he pulls away just enough to flash his signature smirk.

“Get over it, Rhys,” Cassian calls over his shoulder, his hand still firmly cupping my waist, holding me flush against the tree like I’m his in ways words can’t even express. He doesn’t even look at Rhys, his attention entirely on me.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks at being caught in such a compromising position, and my heart races faster for entirely different reasons now. But even as I try to pull away, Cassian’s grip on me doesn’t loosen, his hand keeping me tethered to him, the strength in his touch unwavering.

Rhys steps into the clearing with his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. He eyes us both, clearly trying to suppress the laughter in his voice. “Didn’t realise you two were so... busy,” he drawls, the teasing edge to his words clear.

Cassian, unbothered, chuckles low in his throat, his hands tightening slightly on my body, but it’s not possessive, it’s playful. “Don’t be such a prude, Rhys.” His voice is laced with sarcasm as he turns his head to smirk back at the High Lord.

And despite the heat between us, the intensity of the moment still hanging in the air, I can’t help but chuckle under my breath, the absurdity of it all hitting me. But the truth is, my pulse is still erratic, my body still humming with Cassian’s touch, with the bond sliding smoothly into place between us, like we’ve both always known it was coming.

Rhys raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but there’s a hint of concern behind his gaze. “Don’t tell me I’m interrupting something... important.”

I can feel Cassian’s grin widen against my ear, his lips brushing against the side of my neck with a lingering touch. "No, just making sure she doesn't fall off a cliff while I teach her how to fly," he says with that devil-may-care attitude that always makes me weak in the knees. “But feel free to stay and watch.”

Rhys’s smirk falters for a moment, and his eyes narrow. "I'm not watching this." He motions dismissively, but I can see the way he’s fighting to hide his smile. He doesn’t say anything more but gives me a knowing look, a quick glance to Cassian, and then a faint nod.

"Behave yourselves," Rhys finally adds, turning to leave, his boots crunching against the forest floor as he retreats.

Cassian, still grinning like a damn cat that caught the canary, leans in to press his lips against my temple before I can even fully process what just happened. His voice is a low rumble, just for me, as his hands slide a little lower on my waist, pulling me even closer.

“We’ll pick up where we left off when he’s gone,” he whispers against my skin, and even though there’s a teasing quality to his words, there’s an undeniable heat there too. Something that tells me that this—us—is far from over.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222

[etherealeowyn]

"It's going to be okay" - Elrond (Rings of Power) x Fem Reader

When taking a walk in the woods surrounding Eregion, Elrond and Y/n come face to face with danger.

Angst + Fluff

Word Count: 863

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

As the sun regressed behind the dark, billowy clouds, the once-vibrant hues that decorated the lands appeared dull. Everything was still, unnaturally still. It was bizarre for a riparian environment, such as the one the elves were occupying, to be so devoid of life. The birds were not chirping, and Elrond noted there wasn’t a single fish that could be seen in the river as they had followed it to their destination.

“Something is off,” Elrond spoke, turning his head towards Y/n. “I’m sure of it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she responded uneasily while moving closer to him.

Just when those words had escaped her lips, the heavens decided to open and drops of rain began to fall upon Middle Earth. Briefly, they stopped in their tracks and gazed up at the overcast sky, feeling the sensation of the cold droplets hitting their faces. Elrond gently pulled Y/n’s cloak over her head, preventing her hair from getting soaked, before raising one of his hands and wiping the water off her face with the pad of his thumb.

Interrupting the moment, the cacophonous cawing of a crow cut through the silence, making Y/n tense up and stare at Elrond with worry prominent in her eyes. Similarly, he looked at her, both aware the crow was a sign that orcs would be there sooner than they would like.

Distorted voices began to sound from the tree line, and an arrow whistled past the couple, lodging itself in one of the oaks behind Elrond. He didn’t get the chance to say anything to Y/n, rather he just grabbed her hand and began to run with her through the forest. She didn’t hesitate to follow Elrond’s lead, for she trusted him with her entire being, and she knew he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. Y/n would certainly do the same for him, though her skills with the blade were considerably worse than his.

Suddenly they stopped, and Elrond pulled her underneath a fallen tree that he prayed would be completely and utterly invisible to the orc’s eyes. He grabbed his sword and tightly gripped it, desperately hoping that the orcs wouldn’t get close enough where he would be forced to use it. Elrond attempted to push away the guilt that was currently rising within him, when he had first embarked on this walk with Y/n, it didn’t even cross his mind that they would come face to face with danger.

Though she was filled to the brim with fear, she knew good and well that the more afraid she appeared to Elrond, the worse he would feel about the situation. The last thing that Y/n wanted was to be the reason why his mind was clouded and unable to function to the best of its ability in the case of an attack.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, reassuringly placing her hand on Elrond’s thigh.

“Yes, it will,” he responded, his voice sounding shakier than he had planned.

She grabbed his free hand and began to rub it with her thumb, and she could see the elf become visibly less tense. Y/n didn’t say anything else, fearful words would only worsen the situation. Plus, she didn’t want any orcs to hear them and find their location.

A mixture of harsh voices and footsteps could be heard semi-close to where the pair were hiding, and neither made a single sound. Even their breaths taken were hushed fearing that the orcs' ears would be attentive enough to find where they were even from that slight sound.

Elrond watched as Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, blocking the unfolding situation from reaching her. Instead of closing his eyes, he stared at her, tracing every inch of her face with his grey eyes, knowing that it was the best distraction in Middle Earth.

When the rustling of leaves and other things around them had stopped, Elrond figured that the orcs had left, but just in case they were still close, the pair sat under that fallen tree for about an hour. Verbally they didn’t say anything, but the way their bodies were pressed against each other said more than words could convey.

When the rain had lightened, Elrond felt as if the coast was clear to try and escape back to the city of Eregion.

“Y/n, it should be safe to head back now. I haven’t heard anything in a while,” he whispered, watching as she opened her eyes, relief replacing the fear that was once hidden within them.

She nodded in response, still nervous to speak, since they weren’t certain that all the orcs had retreated from the area.

Elrond got up and scanned the tree line around them, not seeing anything unusual. He let out a sigh of relief before stretching his hand towards Y/n, who immediately took it and let him pull her to her feet.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his body, nestling her head into the crook of his neck, deeply thankful for all he had done for her. He returned the hug, letting some guilt he carried dissipate now that they had made it through the worst of the situation.

[theheartcollecter]

Chapter 1: Revival

Fem Ghoul reader x Monster 141

Warnings for this chapter: torture, blood, cannibalism (lemme know if I missed any.)

You were turned into a ghoul about 2 months ago. Battling with urges to carnivore humans and fight rival ghouls. Your life had changed drastically since then, no more university or jobs, hell, you can’t even talk to friends or family the same.

You don’t remember how exactly you got here, in a secluded room. The walls and floors bare exactly for a single chair and the pool of blood forming around it. You eyes can barely stay open, when they do you star at the only light source in this huge room. The white light shows your life before, the people you met and human foods you ate.

Many people don’t know when exact the influx of ghouls started to appear in England, they just remember the stories. Mother and kids found dead after father cannibalizes them. Except they didn’t know it wasn’t cannibalism at the time, no, something much worse, a new form of monster. Ghouls in England began running rogue, eating anyone they pleased, and turning whoever the thought fit.

That’s how you ended up here. Wrists and feet tied to a chair, restraints beyond tight. You stopped making sounds of agony a while ago, the pain now numbing. Squelch! Another toe being cut off, forcing your body to replace it. Since you’re a fairly new ghoul, your body hasn’t gotten a hold of the whole immortal thing. Your new ghoul body takes longer than most to heal itself, which only makes it more agonizing.

You can hear a man laughing, or ghoul laughing, the one who brought you here. You forgot his name; useless information now. But you’ll never forget what he did or is doing to you. He’s cut all of your toes off by now, all forced to regrow. By the 15th one you stopped feeling it, which he was clearly amused by.

You feel something touch your hair lightly, “It’s white,” the man says, English accent cutting through your head. You open your eyes, cold sweat running down your face. “Your hair has turned white.” You glance down and, yes, he’s right. Your hair has indeed turned white, another thing added along with your freakish new powers.

You can’t find the words to complain so you just stare into his eyes, revenge now corrupting your mind. His eyes, a pale yellow, hair blonde, and brown suit. Must be 6ft or taller, typical muscular build, maybe late 40s.

You don’t know if you’ll survive this, not sure how long it will take, how many more things he can cut until your body stops regrowing them.

It’s like god hearing your prayers, a guardian angel coming to save you as you hear someone kick at the door. It only takes a few kicks to get it to collapse onto the floor. The male ghoul in front of you is blocking your view, you can’t see who’s come to, hopefully, save you.

“Hmm, who are you?” The male ghoul says, amusement lacing his voice. You try to say something, anything, you open your mouth but no sound comes out.

“Task Force 141, remember the name.” An English man says, before you see them, rushing towards the ghoul. Four men, two with, is that wings? A wolf hybrid, and a giant with a mask on. They all wear protective gear, guns and knives, and the wolf is wearing a …choker?

The ghoul tenses, amusement gone. He steps back before his kagune, a ghouls predatory organ that functions as their weapon, comes out. You think he’s about to fight them before he rushes towards the side of the building, crashing through the wall into the night.

You turn back to your saviors, getting a good look at them, but not for long. The loss of blood must’ve got to you, your eyes slowly close and before you know it you’ve passed out. The last thing you feel is being untied and picked up into big, warm arms.

A/n: AHHH, this is my first time ever writing something like this, so don’t bash me too hard.🙈 I wrote this with the anime Tokyo Ghoul in mind, but I think I explained enough to make it make sense without knowing the anime. But please know this whole series (if it gets that far) will be heavily based on the anime. If you have a suggestions to make my writing better, please let me know!

[mythalism]

I love everything that you write and I wanted to bring this up with you. I feel like if we had seen the actual moment (at least in one of the regrets) of Mythal’s death, it would have been so impactful. It’s something that Solas talks about constantly and that he feels responsible for and I feel like it would have been a huge moment for the player to see in the story. I dunno. Just ranting. Thoughts?

thank you anon 🥺 i would love to yap about this with you… i think you are totally right that seeing mythal’s death would have been really powerful. i COULD be amenable to an argument that keeping it off screen adds to the drama and tension and the way mythal haunts the narrative…. IF that was their intention… but i don’t think it was lol i think it was probably another victim of the messy development.

mythal so thoroughly haunts the narrative and the lighthouse itself… i think if they leaned into that and we ONLY saw her through solas’s pov in murals, keeping the mystery of her murder off-screen would make sense. but considering we literally get to talk to her, she has enough of an on-screen presence that maintaining that sense of separation is already a lost cause. we also know mythal on some level through flemeth, who has literally ranted about mythal’s death!!! “she was betrayed as i was betrayed”!!!! i think it would have been a nice climax of flemethyal’s arc to see that betrayal or at least hear about it.

i totally agree that it would have humanized solas further and i think that would’ve been nice to see, especially how his complicated grief for her was the catalyst/final straw against the evanuris of the veil going up. he also does actually talk about her murder several times, and we know it happens with THE DAGGER so it feels like it would’ve made sense to elaborate on how it happened more, and the fact that it’s his dagger, that she told him to make, that he used to tranquilize the titans, that he carries with him still, that he is so attached to and obsessed with, THAT DAGGER that did it!? it would have served as a really nice metaphor for his attachment to his grief and regret and the precious world, manifested physically in this dagger that also KILLED MYTHAL (and Varric now too!!)

he actually brings up what im assuming is her death when you ask him about blood magic (lol a lot to unpack here but that’s for another time) and honestly idk what to make of his convo because the way he speaks about it is very detached which i find interesting. obviously this might not be about Mythal but the implication that the dagger used was made via blood magic and sacrifice and “I suppose it depends upon the dagger" is suspicious to me….

anyway, i think who would’ve really benefitted most from us seeing mythal’s murder is ELGAR’NAN!!!!!! HELLO!?!?!? HE MURDERED HIS WIFE AND ITS ONLY MENTIONED ONCE WHEN HE AND SOLAS ARGUE!?!?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK????? the fact that mythal and elgar’nans relationship is nearly nonexistent is one of veilguard’s biggest sins to me. it should have been a huge part of the main story. they are literally THE SUN AND THE MOON. THEY ARE THE ALL MOTHER AND ALL FATHER OF ALL ELVES?????????? and he betrays and murders her and stabs her in the stomach. and literally no one talks about it ever it just doesn’t come up except for like 2 lines. elgarnan was such a one dimensional villain with no motivations (being a naturally evil spirit of tyranny doesn’t count and it’s boring) and no attachments and he feels completely inhuman as a result. like literally he’s just evil and that’s it and it’s so boring. we could have had such an interesting exploration of love and betrayal and how power corrupts and what it must’ve been like to be basically Elven Adam and Eve and a jealous man’s resentment culminating in violence and how mythal’s closeness to solas impacted her relationship with elgarnan like it could have been SO INTERESTING. and yeah. seeing her murder would’ve been a logical conclusion to a lot of build up. put it on the list of things we lost i guess 😔

[eerna]

One part that makes me really sad is that arcane used to explore and be centered around Zaun and Pilltover issues but then at the end of season 2 it's totally wiped out, okay everybody is fighting together but what will happen after ? The relationship between both parts of the city (as well as inside of them with the Concilors' deceptions, the rivality of the gangs, and different "eras of leaders" (Vander/Silco/after) etc) has been so complex and confrontational for decades, with pilltover system crushing the undercity without a care, it was really explored in season 1 and at the beggining of season 2 (even episode 7 showed us a different dynamics btwn the two) but then I feel like it was forgotten... like okay they had a common enemy and fought and had losses together but is this really enough to resolve the issues between the two?? Like in practice what will change so they can both be equal after decades of oppression ? Like pilltover system was flipped out by the killing of the council and the undercity at war with itself after Silco's death managed to rally by the imagery of Jinx and revolution, and now after the whole war/hextech thing they can reach a point of change but I need to see it in practice!! Don't we forget that a few episode ago, the "Main Concillor" and her tag team went on a rampage, gassing Zaun, reversing a system put in place by a councillor so they could breathe.... And then she became even more authoritarian, and is she going to face any repercussions for this ? No (I mean none of the characters really do but.. they were all up in arms trying to locate Jinx for what she has done, but for cait well absolutely nothing..)

Like even the hextech was created at first by Jayce and Viktor to improve lives but in the end was first used only by pilltover, and they lost their minds when the undercity got a hold of it (okay they were attacking but you see my point..), then weaponised against zaunites, and then we know what happened... and Viktor got sick in the first place because of this gas in the fissure and that what started the whole transmutation thing....

Anyway, sorry, I'm rambling and totally losing the plot... but what I'm trying to say is that Arcane really used to explore in details the dynamics inside and between the cities and now we don't get any sort of proper closure about it, it's only left to our imagination. Like it was a center storyline and underlying others... And even the end of season 1 left us on a cliffhanger about that, it was also the original dream of Vander, Silco and the sisters' mom... And even tho they gave us an inkling of what might happen, I think they could really explore this further, because it feels like loose ties...

PS: I'm so sorry, I'm so incoherent and my English is bad, I'm just tired so I can't properly explain what I mean but I hope you still got it...

I totally understood what you mean, no worries! One non-English tumblr user to another~

It was such a fairy tale solution. I don't think a few Zaunites joining Enforcers had the power to totally flip the way Piltover looks at them. Remember how they treated Vi at the beginning of the season? Well that doesn't matter anymore. They have a seat at the table now yay. System fixed. No one will be punished for the crimes against the people, because it isn't even established what the crimes are. All we know is that fighting Viktor and Ambessa convinced Zaunites to give up on their revolution. S1 set up the conflict so carefully and explained why it can't be solved easily SO WELL, only for s2 to go and say "skill issue"

[imagine-you]

I Will Avenge My Ghost [Bucky Barnes/Reader] (2/?)

Summary: Your sacrifice on Vormir was meant to be your end. You did it for love. You did it for family. And you had no regrets in your decision to be the one to jump instead of Steve. But you never expected to wake up in Wakanda and you certainly never thought that you would still lose Steve and your sister in the years since your death. While you can't get Steve back, you're determined to figure out what happened to your sister and you end up dragging Bucky along for the ride. Your questions lead you to Westview, a sleepy little town harboring a dark past, and a witch named Agatha Harkness. Will you find what you truly seek down, down, down the Witches' Road or will Death finally come to claim you?

Word Count: 3.8k

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who responded to the last chapter and showed this fic some love. Y'all kept me going. 💖

Chapter One //

Read on AO3

"She's dead," Stephen choked out once you loosened your grip enough to allow him to speak. 

"Bullshit," you snapped, watching the way the darkness around him swirled, attempting to curl around your magic.  

"Your sister was not the same person you remember,” he tried to claim, as if that would make any of it better for you. 

“Then tell me,” you snarled, keeping him pinned to the wall with your magic. “Tell me what kind of person she was.” 

Stephen seemed like he was hesitant to answer, but when you tightened your hold on him, he finally spoke. “She was consumed by her grief and she did terrible things because of it. She enslaved a town with her mind and created a whole reality for herself where she got to have a family with Vision and her children at the expense of innocent civilians. She let the Darkhold corrupt her, because she was looking for the children she created across the multiverse, and she nearly killed a girl just to steal her power. She was responsible for the deaths of countless others all while she was blinded by what the Darkhold had done to her. I tried to tell her that the children, well they never truly existed, but--" Stephen's words cut off with a croak when you lashed out again with your magic, preventing him from continuing.  

"Children? Wanda had children? She had a family? With Vis?"  

"They weren't real," Stephen gasped, his hands attempting to push away your magic and give himself enough space to protect himself, but you realized with a thrill that you were stronger. "She created them with her magic." 

"That's what every mother does," you muttered, not sure where the words had come from, but knowing that it was true. It had been a whisper at the back of your mind. A forgotten memory rushing up to greet you.  

Stephen looked haunted for a moment, his skin paling at the words. "What did you say?" 

"It doesn't matter how she made them, because they're real. She made them real," you refuted with a quick shake of your head, ignoring Stephen's question. "My sister deserved a family. She didn't deserve whatever happened to her. And I refuse to believe she's really gone." She couldn't be. Not after the second chance you had been given.  

"Wanda died at Wundagore when she destroyed all copies of the Darkhold," Stephen continued, watching you warily as you got closer to him.  

You were listening to Stephen, but keeping your focus on the darkness around him. It was still trying to twine itself to your magic and you likened it to a pest that would never go away unless you did something about it.  

"It was her penance for what she did while under its influence," Stephen managed to get out before you tightened your hold on him again, cutting off his words.  

"Should we be stopping her? I feel like we should do something," Sam whispered to the others.  

"Not yet," Shuri responded. "I'd like to see where this is going." 

"And what of your penance, Stephen?" You wondered, tilting your head to the side as you considered him.  

"What?" He asked, gasping in a deep breath when you finally let him go.  

You had seen enough and heard enough from Strange to know what you had to do.  

"You used the Darkhold, didn't you?" You accused, watching him for his reaction.  

His eyes widened just the slightest, finally showing just the briefest glimpse of true uneasiness. "How did you know that?" 

"Because it corrupted you," you hissed at him, leaning forward again and caging him in by placing a hand on either side of his head. You swept your arms down, letting them slide along his sides, feeling the way the darkness inside him tried to latch on to you. "It stained your soul," you realized, knowing that the auras you were seeing around the others was a glimmer of their souls. You wondered if it was a side effect of sacrificing yourself for the soul stone. 

The darkness was unnatural and didn't belong attached to Stephen. You were suddenly sure that it would be so easy to burn it out of him and what better way to show your good will than helping the man who had let your sister fall apart from grief?  

You offered Stephen a smirk, letting your magic flare up in your hands. You knew, somehow, that your plan would work. You were changed, reborn, and stronger for it.  

"Well, you're in luck, Stephen, because I've decided that I'm going to help you. Brace yourself, though, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." 

Stephen barely had a moment to react before you were letting your magic cover him. You let it seep into his skin, curling around the darkness inside him and burning it away. Stephen was screaming and Bucky was calling your name and Shuri was yelling something to Sam but all you could do was smile at Stephen and wonder if he felt even a fraction of the pain your sister must have experienced.  

The power of your magic felt intoxicating. You had never been so completely embraced by it and you didn’t know what to do with the feeling. It was still incredibly impulsive and hard to control, but you knew that with time, you would adapt to it. You would control it more than it controlled you.  

You let your magic sweep all the darkness inside Stephen away. You felt it trying to retreat, curl itself up and hide itself away, but you wouldn't let it. You burned the corruption of the Darkhold right out of Stephen and when you were done, he collapsed, no longer held up by your magic.  

You suddenly felt arms around you and before you could lash out, you felt a brief sting at the side of your neck. You caught sight of Shuri's apologetic expression as she injected you with something. An icy chill crept through your veins and your vision blurred. The person holding you tightened their grip around you before lifting you up.  

"Sorry about this, doll," Bucky muttered before you felt unconsciousness claim you.  

The next thing you were aware of was someone's hand in yours and the sound of someone's soft breaths filling up the silence. You forced yourself to open your eyes, the dragging pull of sleep still clawing at you, but you were stubborn enough to fight it off. You managed to glance down to see that it was Bucky holding onto your hand. His head was tipped back and eyes closed as he slept sprawled out in an armchair that had been pulled up to your bedside. 

You were in a room you didn't recognize and lying on a bed that definitely wasn't yours. The room was plain, bare, all except for the necessary furniture. You didn't know whether to panic about being in a strange place or be grateful that Bucky hadn't abandoned you for acting like a vengeful psycho with Stephen.  

"It's mine," Bucky told you, startling you enough that you tightened your grip on his hand. "This is my room while I'm here in Wakanda." 

You nodded your head, trying to think of something to say. You felt like Bucky had just witnessed you at your worst and you only hoped there was nowhere else to go but up from here.  

"It's nice?" You tried, a smile tugging at your lips at the sound of Bucky's amused laughter.  

"Yeah, well, haven't had time to hire the interior decorator yet," he joked before glancing down and realizing he was still holding onto your hand. He untangled his fingers from yours, the barest hint of a blush staining his cheeks. "How are you feeling?" 

"You mean after I decided to burn the Darkhold's corruption out of Stephen and then got knocked out for my troubles?"  

Bucky winced, but nodded his head.  

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling your lips pull down into a frown. "Not much I can feel after everything I've lost," you mused, fighting the urge to reach out and grab Bucky's hand again. You were on your way to accepting Steve's loss, because he had never really felt like yours at all. You had fallen for him hard and fast while helping him fight Tony Stark and the government all for the sake of Steve's best friend and your feelings had only intensified while you were on the run with him. You knew that Steve had loved you, but you always got the feeling there was something missing with every kiss he gave you. His 'I love you's were meant for someone else, you supposed, and you were only lucky they had graced your ears at all.  

But Wanda? That was a loss you would not accept. She wasn't dead. You wouldn't allow it. Which meant that you would have to find a way to uncover the full story of her demise and find a way to fix it.  

"I'm sorry," Bucky interrupted your thoughts, a remorseful look on his face.  

"For helping Shuri knock me out? It was the smart thing to do," you assured him, knowing that your magic was no longer fully under your control. You were still learning the way it burned, bright and potent, and entirely too destructive. You knew that if left unchecked, you could do an incredible amount of damage, and you would have to find a way to tame the wild impulse of it before it did something you truly didn't want. "I'm not saying I would have killed Stephen, but he's definitely on my shit list." 

"I'm not sorry about that," Bucky told you with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry because I know what it's like to wake up and find out that everything has changed. I know what it's like to feel like you're not really in control." 

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out and placing your hand over his wrist. "I'm sorry you had to experience that at all. It's a shitty, terrifying feeling." 

Bucky snorted, gifting you with another smile. "You're telling me." 

You had always liked Bucky. You hadn't spent a lot of time around him, but you could see why Steve was willing to risk everything to save him. He had a sneaky brand of sarcasm that never failed to make you smile and he had always been there to watch your back when you needed him. He was kind, if self-deprecating, and carried a weight on his shoulders that life and tragedy had unfairly heaped on him. Despite the guilt he carried, he still found the time to comfort you when you needed someone most. You supposed maybe that was part of his guilt, but he had no blame to feel for what happened with Steve or Wanda. You were grateful for his presence, though, and you knew you weren’t done clinging to him like a lifeline.  

You really didn't want him leaving you too.  

"Let's get out of here," you suggested.  

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at you. "And go where?" 

"I don't care," you told him, already moving to get out of the bed. "Just out of the building, out of Wakanda. Somewhere where I don't feel like I'm constantly being watched." 

Bucky studied you for a moment before he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I think I have just the place in mind," he told you before he stood up. "Just let me tell Sam we're heading out." 

Three minutes later, you were waiting for Bucky while he had a tense conversation with Sam just down the hall. There was a lot of disappointed sighs on Sam's part and a lot of eye-rolling from Bucky, but it wasn't until Sam's voice rose that you caught any of their argument.  

"Are you sure you want to go with her? She seems a bit unstable," Sam pointed out, gesturing towards you.  

"I heard that," you called, shooting Sam an unimpressed look.  

He arched a brow at you, challenging and somehow accusatory. "I hope you did. I said it loud enough so you would." 

Bucky groaned, before reaching out to sling an arm around Sam's shoulders and began to tow him in your direction. "Look," Bucky started, lowering his voice, but you could still hear him despite the effort. "She just woke up after being dead for years and she's found out that her whole world is gone. And maybe she's not exactly the same person she was before she fell. If there's anyone who might be able to help get her through this...," he trailed off, letting Sam fill in the rest for himself.  

Sam froze in his tracks and turned to look at Bucky. "Ah, hell, Bucky," he breathed before his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're sure about this?" 

"Yeah," Bucky answered, letting his gaze settle on you. "I'm sure." 

Shuri got you a flight out of Wakanda. You didn't see Stephen on your way out, but you didn't care all that much to see him again. You still didn't forgive him for his part in Wanda's suffering and while there would be hell to pay, you had other answers you needed to seek first.  

By the time the jet was landing somewhere in America, you were starting to feel exhausted. Bucky took care of finding a rental car and instructed you to get some rest once you were settled in the passenger seat. You didn't think you'd be able to sleep, but the second you let your head fall back against the headrest, your eyes closed and you drifted off.  

You woke to Bucky's hand on your shoulder. "We're here," he told you, keeping his tone gentle in an effort not to startle you.  

You opened your eyes to the sight of a graveyard.  

You felt yourself tense at the vision of the cemetery gates guarding the rows of graves beyond it. You were suddenly sure that Bucky had taken you to Steve's grave in an attempt to get you to make your peace with his death, but Bucky kept his grip firm on your shoulder and seemed to realize that you were beginning to freak out.  

"Just trust me, alright?"  

You glanced over at Bucky and met his eyes. You knew Bucky wasn't cruel, so your first assumption that you were here to pay your respects to Steve was way off. You nodded your eyes and got out of the car once Bucky did.  

Bucky led you past one row of graves and another, seeking a specific one. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and you began to suspect it was a grave he visited often. He finally stopped in front of a headstone, standing just at the foot of the grave before shooting you an expectant look.  

You offered him a nervous one in return before finally reading the name on the tombstone.  

You couldn't stop the surprised laugh that escaped you once you realized whose grave you were visiting.  

"It's mine," you marveled, moving forward to brush your hand over the headstone. There were fresh flowers left all around it, ringing it like a boundary of protection. There was a wreath displayed beside the headstone that looked like it had been left recently enough that it hadn't been destroyed by the elements just yet. The sash across the wreath proclaimed ‘gone but not forgotten,’ and once you read the words you had to look away, choked up at the sentiment. Your gaze fell on the stuffed animals resting against the base of the tombstone, lined up like they were keeping vigil over your grave. 

"I thought you might find it funny," Bucky offered with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "I've got one too. An empty grave," he clarified, shifting on his feet when you glanced at him over your shoulder. "But no one ever leaves me teddy bears," he added with an amused grin.  

"Who left them?" You couldn't help but wonder, reaching out to pick up the teddy bear that Bucky had mentioned. It was blue and had white button eyes with a red heart stitched onto the stomach.  

"People who are thankful," Bucky answered, his voice growing solemn. "People who know you saved them. Their loved ones. The world." 

"Huh," you breathed, placing the teddy bear back down before thinking better of it and grabbing it again. "How often do people leave stuff?" 

"Daily," Bucky responded, clearing his throat when he started to say something else. "I, uh, I try to maintain it. Me and Nat and even Sam. Sometimes Clint, but he's been trying to spend as much time as he can with his family and doesn't come out this way that often. But it's mostly me. We'll throw out the flowers once they've wilted or donate the stuffed animals. Sometimes, they even leave balloons and cards," he said, studying you as you brushed your fingers gently over the roses left in one of the vases.  

You had been right all along. Bucky had easily navigated the way to your grave because he visited it often enough to have memorized where to go. The thought set off a funny little flip in your stomach and you decided to change the subject before you could embarrass yourself.  

You stared down at your own grave for a few moments before finally speaking.  

"What was the funeral like?" 

"Weird," Bucky huffed, sounding oddly relieved at the change in subject. You glanced at him, noticing he was blushing yet again. You never thought the Winter Soldier would be so easily flustered, but here you were with the evidence staring you in the face. "Silent," he added after another thoughtful moment. "No one really wanted to believe you were gone. Steve gave a beautiful eulogy and your sister didn't really say much of anything. We never saw her again after that. I think she had just lost too much to want to stick around." 

"Strange mentioned that Wanda took over a whole town," you started, finally turning to give Bucky your full attention. “Which town?” 

"Westview," Bucky supplied with a grimace. “It’s in Jersey.” 

"What happened?" You couldn't help but wonder. "What happened in Westview?" 

"I don't know much more about it than Strange did," Bucky confessed, offering you an apologetic wince. "The people who live there didn't seem like they really wanted to talk about it all that much. Like they just wanted to move on. Far as I can tell, though, what you heard was correct. Wanda took over a town and kind of used the people who lived there as her puppets. She created the life she was never actually going to get with Vision." 

"And she had kids," you mused, feeling your heart ache for your sister. Growing up, Wanda had only ever wanted a family and a life free of war. Losing your parents at such a young age and then being used as Hydra's lab rats had only made Wanda crave the kind of life she witnessed in the sitcoms she adored as a kid. The kind of life where nothing bad ever happened and the most harrowing choice the characters had to make was what to have for dinner. She wanted the white picket fence and dreamed of having a loving relationship with a partner who loved her unconditionally and kids of her own to mother. The fact that she had been so stricken with grief that she had been forced to create all of that with her magic left you feeling guilty.  

Maybe if you had been there for her, you could have helped her channel her grief in a healthier way. Instead, Wanda had to gain it all just to lose it all again.  

"Stephen talked about my sister like she was some sort of delusional villain," you finally continued, breaking free of your thoughts. "Wanda's not a bad person, Bucky. Just, sometimes, loss can make us do funny things."  

You thought of Steve using the time stone to get his own version of the white picket fence life with Peggy. Steve had broken the rules to find his own happiness. What happened to the timeline he disrupted? Maybe you would never know, but if everyone was okay with Steve breaking one of the cardinal rules of time travel, then why couldn't they understand that Wanda had only been chasing her own dream?  

She wasn’t a villain. She was just in pain.  

You were biased, sure, but you couldn't stomach the idea of people turning your sister into someone to be hated. Someone to be feared.  

You knew you would have to learn more about the deaths she caused, but you weren’t ready to unfold that part of Wanda’s story yet. The Darkhold had twisted your sister and you knew, deep down, even if you were loathe to admit it, that Stephen had likely been right. The Wanda that let herself fall to the temptation of the Darkhold wasn’t the same sister you had sacrificed yourself for, but you sure as hell weren’t going to stop until you found her again.  

"When she realized what she was doing to the town, she did release them," Bucky assured you, swaying forward like he wanted to reach out and console you. "I heard there was another witch there stirring up trouble and the only way to save everyone was for Wanda to destroy the illusion. I don't know what happened after that or to that other witch, but your sister went off the grid for a while. And then, well, maybe it's best we not get into that part of the story now. You've been through a lot lately." 

You wanted to argue, but you had a feeling that Bucky's next part of the story entailed whatever had happened to Wanda to make Stephen believe she was dead. You wanted more answers and you had a feeling that you were going to have to follow in your sister's footsteps to get them. You refused to accept that you had lost her like you lost Steve, which meant that you needed to try to get a feel for what happened to her.  

Maybe you needed to start at the place where it all began.  

"Do you know the way to Westview?" You asked Bucky, noticing the way his eyes widened just the slightest at your words. "I could try to go there by myself, but it's not like I've got my phone or a car, since I just recently stopped being dead." 

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Bucky started, his tone careful and unsure.  

"Buck," you started, finally crossing the distance between you. "I have to know. Please," you practically begged, suddenly sure that you couldn't do it without him.  

Bucky considered you for a moment before he heaved a defeated sigh. "Yeah, alright," he conceded, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to lead the way. “Let’s go to Westview.” He didn’t sound thrilled at the idea, but you knew he also didn’t want to let you wander off by yourself.  

"Great," you told him, pushing the teddy bear into his chest as you passed him. "There's more where that came from," you promised before you took off towards the cemetery gates, delighting in Bucky's pleased laugh. 

Author's Note: If you would like to be tagged in this series or be added to my all Bucky taglist, just let me know!

Taglist: @sunshinepeachx @bethexo07 @kisnini @greatmistakes @jvanilly

@circe143

[goest-and-fuckest-thyself]

✨Not Without You✨ No.4

🔥warnings🔥

All my works are 18+ I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR FAKE PAGES AND/OR RESPONSIBLE FOR ANYONE WHO READS MY CONTENT!!! LEGAL USERS BE ADVISED, I SHALL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR FALSIFICATIONS OF AGE ON THIS SIGHT! PLEASE DO NOT REPOST I DO NOT GIVE MY PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED ON OTHER SITES. SHARE ALL YOU WANT ON TUMBLR

CW: General adult themes, strong language, cursing, sexual themes and innuendo, mental health struggles, characters going through pain (a lil fluff for you guys this time🥰)

WC: 3,904

As much as Butcher refused to admit it, until we could figure out Birdie’s new mind control shit, we were on lockdown. We had barely made it back to the building before Hughie was skirting around us, keeping his distance like we were lions looking to eat his dumb, twink-ish ass.

Carrying Bird up the stairs and to the couch was easy enough, but as soon as I set her down, I heard the clicking. I sighed, making sure Bird would stay put on the cushions before turning to see Hughie with the Geiger counter pointed right at me.

The clicking hastened itself as my jaw clicked with tension and my fists balled themselves up. I could feel the flush of my face, turning pink with my rising anger. The fuck was wrong with this kid? Was me going off the rails all he could think about?

“Quit that shit,” I stalked forward, snatching the device out of Hughie’s hands and smashing it to the ground. The boy gave the broken pieces a wide eyed stare before his eyes shot a glare back at me. “We have bigger things to worry about besides my chest nuke.”

“That’s the problem, mate,” Butcher grumbled, coming to stand at Hughie’s side, “we weren’t supposed to have bigger issues.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a moment to turn in a small circle. Before I faced the men again, my eyes lingered on Birdie, her chest rising and falling steadily from her place on the couch. He had a point, we were supposed to help these assholes, and they’d let us live our lives. But now? With Butcher’s attitude toward us supes, I was sure he just added her name to his list. I rubbed my temples and turned back to give him a knowing look.

“She’s not on the list, Butcher,” I snapped, pointing an authoritative finger at him.

“Then you gotta get your girl under control, cause if she does that around a bunch of civilians and can’t control it,” his eyes flashed to Bird behind me, a glance so short if I blinked I would’ve missed it. “We don’t have a choice.”

I suppressed the growl that formed in my throat, unable to do anything about the sneer that formed on my lips. I jerked around, stomping away from him so I didn’t break his ass in half. I could smell the Temp V in his system, so maybe it would take some effort, but I needed him and his team to get my revenge. Our revenge.

I slumped down onto the coffee table, gently running my knuckles over Bird’s cheek. I heard Butcher climb the stairs before I studied her sleeping form. Her face had reappeared after she’d destroyed the sanctuary compound, back to that snowy skin dotted with a few beauty marks here and there. Birdie’s powers were telekinetic, not whatever psycho bullshit that was; it made me worry. If the Ivans could put a nuclear reactor in my chest, what could Vought have done to her? She said she didn’t remember, though now I suspected that was a blatant lie.

“You think she’s gonna be okay? She seemed really rattled earlier,” Hughie asked, looking down at Bird from behind the couch. I looked up momentarily to see his eyes holding a genuine concern before continuing my petting.

“I don’t know what the fuck they did to her, and I don’t think I will unless she tells me. I’ve never seen her like that…”

I could feel the boy’s eyes on me before he let out a small sigh and earned my attention again. He leaned with both arms lazily on the back of the couch, giving me that ‘gotta be honest’ look. “I know this is gonna sound rude at first, but you gotta hear it, man. You’re both a mess.” I rolled my eyes, leaning away from Bird and crossing my arms over my chest as he continued.

“But you’ve been more calm since she got here, I haven’t had to use the counter since the motel. I only did it tonight because I see how worried you are over Liz. The only time she wasn’t antsy and bitchy yesterday was when you showed up. You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

I scoffed at the kid, standing to round the living area and pour myself a drink from the bar cart in the corner. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about kid, but if you don’t shut it, you won’t be going on about much else.” He let out a sigh before coming to stand in front of me again.

“You think we can’t see it? We ALL see it, Ben, you love her. It’s been, what, 94 years of knowing her, and you still haven’t said it?” He chased me with his argument as I walked back toward the coffee table, rolling my eyes as I sucked down my whiskey.

“Why’s that any of your business, asshole?” I finally shot back at Hughie, “I’m here to take out the team, and fuck off back to Philly where she and I can be at peace. Whether that’s together or not.”

The boys eyes widened slightly at me before softening and giving a thoughtfully amused smirk. “You don’t know if she feels the same!”

My jaw clenched, and I rose my glass to point a finger at him, “Shut it,” I growled through grit teeth. As Hughie was about to counter, his words were left in his throat as Birdie let out a soft groan from her place below us.

I instantly crouched down, depositing my whiskey glass on the table behind me. Birdie’s eyes fluttered open, only to clamp them closed again with a wince as the light hit her eyes.

“You okay, sweetheart?” I asked lowly, barely above a whisper. She shook her head.

“Everyone needs to stop thinking so loud,” she mumbled, swiping a hand down her face before she squinted back up at me. “I can hear you all in my head.”

“Vought must’ve screwed with your DNA, mutated your genes to allow the brain to-“ my eyes shot to Hughie, cutting him off with a glare as he started to explain science-y shit for the millionth time this week. “Sorry. I’m gonna head to bed, hope you feel better Liz.”

The boy took his leave, also climbing the iron stairs to the bedrooms. As soon as I heard the door click shut, my hand was grasping for Bird’s.

“The fuck happened back there, Birdie? I’ve never seen you be so… cruel,” I asked gently, searching her blue eyes for any sign of that green energy I saw before.

“I-I don’t know. It’s been happening all week, since I met the team. I thought it was just the migraine, some whispers here and there. But yesterday, I heard full sentences come out of Hughie without him even opening his mouth. It all just compounded when we got to countess’ place,” she explained, just as lost as I was. “I blacked out as soon as her right wrist snapped.”

I sighed, hanging my head and squeezing her hand in my own. We had to figure this shit out before Butcher did it for us. What was I gonna do with her? I was always the fuck up, the gigantic mess that she had to follow after and clean up. I was the one that got us into trouble as kids, Birdie always coming up with clever lies and excuses to get us out of it. I couldn’t even make an excuse for her with this; I didn’t even know how.

I finally looked back up to see her eyes were welled with tears, a whimper being held back in her throat. “It hurts,” she finally whined, eyes clamping shut as the tears finally rolled down her cheeks. My heart squeezed as I watched her curl in on herself, gripping my hand like a lifeline she was afraid to let go of.

“I know, I’m sorrry,” I moved to sit next to her on the couch, pulling her into my lap. She finally let out a sigh, turning into my chest as I slightly rocked us back and forth. “I’m here, ya know. I’ll be here forever if you want.”

I didn’t have to look down to feel her nod against me, her small hands now clinging to my chest plate as she let her tears come in waves, sucking in shallow breaths and whimpering into my shoulder. I squeezed her just a bit tighter and leaned back into the cushions. We stayed there quietly, sniffles coming from Bird every once in a while before her breathing finally steadied. She closed her eyes and rested against me, letting me close my eyes and rest as well.

My body relaxed into hers, yet my mind raced with ten million questions, plans, and scenarios. How was I gonna help her? I could barely control myself. What happens if Butcher doesn’t hold up his end of our deal, and she gets fucked over because of it? What if-

“Ben,” Birdie’s tired British lilt snapped me from my heavy thoughts. Without opening her eyes, she reached up to my temple with her right hand, “Stop worrying. It’s really loud.”

As she said the words, I felt my mind quiet. All feeling of doubt and worry suddenly vanished with her touch, a sense of complete calm washing over me for the first time since I’d woken up. I turned to look down on her, jaw slightly slacked and eyes a tad wide. Bird finally opened her eyes to look up at me when she let her fingers fall away from my face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” she mumbled sheepishly, looking away from me to fiddle with her fingers and hide her gaze. I shook my head, my left forefinger and thumb coming to lift her chin to face me once more.

“No, it’s nice. Thank you,” I breathed, gazing down into those beautiful ocean blue eyes. I couldn’t help the turning of my head as Birdie stared back up with that confused expression I adored so much. It was innocent, one of quiet shock that made her eyes widen and her chest inflate with a deep breath. She looked almost concerned as I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing in her breath.

There was now only one thought in my head, the singular thought I was never able to control, not since my 21st birthday in nineteen forty. Not since Birdie raised a toast to me, praising all I’d done and how our friendship meant the world to her. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking that thought from the time she pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, bidding me goodnight when I walked her to her apartment door. Since that night, I’d had one perpetual thought in my mind, and now, I knew she’d heard it.

“Ben-“

“You don’t have to say anything,” I practically pleaded with Bird, never leaving my place pressed against her. “You don’t have to…”

I couldn’t help myself, bringing my lips forward and taking hers in a gentle kiss. Instantly, my head filled with voices, hers, mine, others I didn’t recognise. A fire lit within my chest as I felt her press into me further, her delicate hand coming to clasp around my neck softly. I felt like I would melt in that moment, my whole body catching on fire and being doused in ice all at the same time. Finally, as Bird pulled away, taking a breath, the voices quieted, all except the ringing of my own. She then gazed back up to me.

“I love you too,” her unspoken words reverberated through my mind, quieting everything else once again.

My lips twitched upward in a wide smile, placing my forehead to hers once again with a contented sigh. I hadn’t felt this calm since before I got the V, a feeling I missed terribly. Now, my mind was quiet, nothing bustling around or causing a ruckus in my skull. Even some of my pain had subsided.

“I’ve wanted to say that since-“

“Your birthday at the Waldorf,” she giggled, gently brushing her nose against mine, arms now slung over my shoulders. “I heard you, just now.”

I leaned back, just to take her cheeks in my hands and stare into her eyes. “You’re my girl, always have been. No matter what or who I’ve done in the past, you’ve always been my number one.” She gave a small nod and leaned up to kiss me again. This one was languid and long, full of passion I’d only seen from her when she was writing.

“It’s quieter when I’m focused on you,” she whispered as she pulled away, laying herself back into my hold against my shoulder, sighing once again.

“Then focus on me,” I offered, rising from the couch with her draped over my arms. “You can focus on me as long as you need.”

I didn’t have to hear her answer to know she would agree, letting her lean into me fully as I opened my bedroom door. Bird giggled as I plopped her on the bed, earning a smile from me before I closed the door and locked it. She watched intently as I worked my armour and uniform off of myself, keeping only my black boxer briefs intact on my form. Her eyes went a little wider as I neared the bed, scanning up and down my abdomen and back to my face.

“What?” I asked, slipping into the covers before reaching for her shoulder and unclipping her fibulae.

A rose hue springs to her cheeks, hiding her gaze as I began taking her dash from her body, placing it on the beside table behind me. “I’ve never gotten used to how good you look without a shirt on,” she admitted abashedly. I chuckled and let a smirk form on my lips as I reached for the French zip at the base of her skull.

“I look better in nothing, I assure you,” I mused, noticing her heartbeat increase as she let me slide the zip down, down her spine, all the way to her tailbone.

My own breathing became heavier as I longing stared at the bare skin below her black suit. My fingers moved before I’d even given them permission, ghosting from her pelvis all the way back to the nape of her neck. Bird let out a shutter, her eyes fluttering closed as her spine curved into my touch. I could practically feel her pulse beneath my fingers as I slid them under the suit, pulling it off of her right shoulder.

“Wait,” her own hand came up to stop me before I could lower it any farther than her right collarbone. “Not tonight, please. I’m not in the best form to be-“

“Okay,” I cut her off, giving a small smile before giving a small peck to her shoulder blade and moving from the bed. “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel too well.”

I plucked another black shirt from my dresser and rounded the bed to hand it to her, taking her face in my left hand and gazing down on her seriously. “I’ve waited 83 years, two months, twelve days, and sixteen consecutive hours, baby. I can wait some more.” That furious blush once again flushed to her face and she turned away with a giddy smile, fidgeting with the shirt in her hands. “The bathroom is just across the hall.”

I placed a chaste peck to the crown of her head like I always did, letting her nod and rise from the bed to change. I could hear the water from across the hall as I laid back into the bed, lighting up a joint as I rested against the headboard. Finally, I heard the door and lights of the bathroom click shut as Bird made her way back to my room. I winked at her as she closed the door, exhaling a puff of smoke. I couldn’t help but stare as she rounded the bed to crawl in at my right, her plush thighs barely covered by the too long for her black shirt. I licked my lips as she crawled into the bed beside me.

“You keep thinking about fucking them and I’m gonna have to do the quiet thing to your brain again,” she pointedly told me, reaching for the joint between my fingers. I let her take it and exhaled once again.

“You’ve got the best pair of legs I’ve ever seen on a broad. Especially those skinny models they have nowadays. Ever since Twiggy the girls have been too thin,” I told her in earnestness. I only earned an eye roll from her as she inhaled the smoke from the spliff.

“You just like something to grab and you know it. You’ve always been handsy, you know,” she exhaled as she spoke.

I shrugged and took the joint as she passed it back, ashing it in the tray on my lap. We stayed quiet for a moment, the silence comfortable before Birdie sighed a deep, heavy sigh, shuffling to lay facing me beneath the covers.

“I do want to go back to Philadelphia with you, Ben. If you’ll have me,” her eyes practically pleaded up at me as she said the words. So, she could hear me while she slept. Not that I minded.

I ashed my joint completely, setting the ashtray down on the table to my left before I snuggled down into the bed just as Birdie had.

“I’ve always wanted to take you back home one day, retire,” I told her my old plans I’d made almost a lifetime ago, caressing her soft cheek. “Go back to that summer house my parents had at the lake. Make it ours.”

Birdie’s full lips pressed together in a thoughtful smile, the apple of her cheek swelling beneath my fingers as they did. “Then let’s go; when we’ve done our part, I want us to leave, get out of the business and just live. Finally get to be ourselves again.”

I nodded, knowing she was right. All she had to do was say the word, and I’d give her anything with in my power that I could. I’d burn the whole world for her, fuck everyone else. Birdie was my girl, now officially. I’d never let her slip from my grasp ever again.

@ladykitana90 @weaponxgames @tmb510 @criminalyetminimal @lamentationsofalonelypotato

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 26/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3 (current chapter)

Read on AO3 (from beginning)

“Now,” Evan barked, leaping to his feet and closing the ledger with a resounding snap. “Now, we have to go. Now!” He rushed over and grabbed Tommy’s hand, as though he was going to physically drag him to the motel room door.

Tommy knew better than to argue with anyone who had that tone in their voice. “What’s going on?” he asked, yanking the door open and quickly glancing around to confirm they were alone before leading Evan outside.

“There’s a locator on this,” Evan hissed, glaring at the ledger like it had done him some personal injury. “I couldn’t tell before—it must’ve activated when I took it out of Greenway’s house. Maybe when I broke the locking hex. But someone’s using it; I can feel it now.”

Tommy jerked the keys out of his pocket, bracing himself for the short run to where the car was parked in the last, fading shreds of sunlight. “Can you block it?”

“Yeah, I can shut it down, but we need to get moving. They can scry our location or—”

Evan broke off with a startled cry, nearly dropping the ledger. The concrete walkway underneath them started to glow with the white light of witch magic. It traced itself in glowing lines around them, forming some kind of sigil about four feet in diameter. The air all around Tommy seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on him and his witch, heavy with the staticky charge of powerful magic. Tommy tried to pull Evan out of the circumference, and found to his shock that it was like running against a concrete wall. He snarled, his fangs dropping…

Only to realize that no sound came out of his mouth.

Evan’s hand tightened on his, and he whirled to see his witch’s mouth working like he was shouting something…but Tommy couldn’t hear him. They were silenced.

Trapped in the boundaries of the spell, and silenced so Evan couldn’t cast. Tommy whirled around, and threw himself at the invisible wall that seemed to have sprung up around. He struck out as hard as he could, gritting his teeth when his fist slammed into what felt like solid rock. Sparks of white exploded outwards where his knuckles struck, and a shock of electricity raced up his arm. He narrowed his eyes and struck again, throwing all his strength behind it, trying to generate more force than the spell could handle.

He was only able to throw himself against the barrier holding them a couple of times before Evan grabbed his shoulder, pulling him forcefully back. At the same moment, the scent of fresh blood—witch blood, Evan’s blood hit his nose. He whipped around to find Evan staring at him with a determined look, his blue eyes hard as flint. He’d ripped the makeshift bandage off his wrist and dug his blunt nails into the still-fresh bite marks Tommy had left, tearing the wounds open enough that they were bleeding freely again. His fingers were covered with blood.

“Trust. Me,” Evan mouthed, exaggerating the words.

Then he dropped to his knees and started smearing his bloodied fingers on the concrete, painting a curved sigil that Tommy thought looked vaguely familiar. He was almost certain he’d seen it somewhere before. When he was done, he pressed his palm down over it, a look of fierce concentration on his face. Tommy felt his eyes go wide, shock racing through him as white light exploded outwards from Evan’s palm, the sigil he’d sketched in his own blood glowing with it as well. The magic raced out and upwards, sparking out in jagged, lightning bolt-like patterns all around them, as though the barrier was cracking. Evan nodded at him gravely.

Tommy did trust his witch. Implicitly. He whirled around and drove his fist into the invisible wall around them one more time, throwing his whole weight, all of his strength, behind the blow. The glowing cracks formed by Evan’s magic spread, multiplied, and then Tommy felt the spell holding them shatter. The sigil that had sprung up underneath them sputtered like a candleflame in a strong wind, before blinking out of existence.

Tommy wasted no time, reaching back to grab Evan’s hand and drag him towards the car. He’d barely made it two steps before he heard a shouted spellword that had become entirely too familiar in the last few days. Evan suddenly yanked hard on his arm, swinging them around so that he was now in front of Tommy, one hand thrown forward, a spell already falling from his lips.

The bolt of fire that had been aimed with deadly accuracy at Tommy’s head broke harmlessly over Evan’s closed fist, the same way the burst of power Athena Grant’s familiar had hurled at Evan did. Tommy’s gaze snapped to the direction it had come from, a low growl rumbling in his chest when three figures seemed to melt out of the deepening shadows directly across the parking lot from them. He was certain they hadn’t been there a moment before.

Or at least, they had not been visible.

His eyes darted around, searching for the witches’ familiars. There were no obvious animals present—but he couldn’t rule out that they were simply small or hiding. Evan took a step back towards Tommy, exhaling shakily as he made a sharp gesture—almost like he was pulling something up from the ground—and chanted another short phrase. Another barrier shimmered into place around them…but this time there was no oppressive weight, no suffocating silence. Evan’s magic swirled around him, warm and protective, his power settling over them with the solid surety of a shield wall. He could feel the power of the spell, the crackling electricity of it making his teeth ache, prickling over the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.

“Evan,” he said, squeezing his witch’s hand in warning.

“I’m all right,” Evan said through gritted teeth. “I can’t—I don’t think I can just teleport us out this time, though. Tommy, we can’t hurt them.”

Tommy clenched his fist by his side. Yeah. Yeah, just straight up killing representatives of the SoCal high coven would have much worse consequences for him and Evan than killing the vampires who had attacked them. He had no doubt that Ortiz would want revenge for her coven members, to not appear weak if nothing else. But the life of an enforcer in a vampire coven was expected to end violently. Ortiz would have thought he and Evan were weak if they hadn’t responded to being attacked with deadly force. The high coven, though, would take it personally if they took out these witches. It could even come back on Howie and his coven if Grant admitted that Tommy and Evan were helping them.

Fuck.

“I know,” Tommy said, squaring his shoulders as he reluctantly let go of Evan’s hand. “We don’t have to do this! Whatever you think you’re here for, you’ve been misinformed!” Tommy called, his voice echoing through the empty parking lot. Theirs was the only vehicle parked on this end of the motel…and even if there were people in a lot of the other rooms, he doubted anyone in this neighborhood would investigate the sounds of a fight or get the cops involved unless there were gunshots. Let the high coven worry about maintaining secrecy.

He didn’t think it would work. Nothing in his life was ever that easy…but he had to try. Evan seemed stronger than he’d been during their confrontation at the office building, but his witch had to be reaching the end of his limits. As he expected, the lead witch, a severe-looking Hispanic woman, barely flicked her eyes towards him before zeroing in on Evan.

“You know how to cast with runes,” she said, a faint hint of surprise in her voice. Tommy tensed, not liking the consideration in her tone. The interest.

It wasn’t surprising, really. Witches could not cast without the structure of a spell—the easiest way to neutralize them was to silence them. With a spell or a gag or—vampires like Gerrard’s preferred method—by simply ripping their tongue out. But there were ways to cast without a voice. After all, it wasn’t like no witch had ever been born deaf, or mute, or lost their voice through injury or sickness. Tommy knew even less about casting with runes than he did about typical spellcasting…he just knew it was possible. And extremely unusual for a witch to be able to do both; runes were an entirely separate spellcasting language to learn.

Though if Evan’s familiar really had lived through the Annihilation, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that he knew it.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. “You’re banished; I could feel that the moment we saw you. Yet, you accomplished a teleportation spell. You know runecasting. That shield won’t hold for long…but I’ll admit it’ll hold longer than most. The only registered banishments in the last three years are all either women or much older than you. Who. Are. You?”

He felt Evan stiffen behind him, his witch’s hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades and clenching in the fabric of his torn shirt. “It doesn’t matter who I am. We’re all getting played, and we’re running out of time to stop a coven war from blowing up.”

The woman raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and the other two witches spread out slightly, their hands glowing with the white light of magic. “Ah, yes, the word of a couple of murderers—a banished witch and a vampire, no less. Very trustworthy.”

Evan bristled. “We didn’t kill Jonah Greenway. He tried to kill me. He’s responsible for over a dozen witches’ deaths! I can prove it!”

The woman pulled up short at that. “Proof? What proof do you think we could possibly take from you?”

Evan stepped out from around Tommy, the shield shifting with him. Tommy barely resisted the urge to pull his witch back, his fangs aching in his mouth, his eyes burning with scarlet light now. Still, he’d back Evan’s play…if there was a way to get out of this without bloodshed, they had to take it. His witch held the ledger up.

“You tracked this here, right? I tripped some kind of alarm on it. You know the spell originated at Greenway’s house. You saw what we did to those vampires. Why do you think they were there, if we killed Greenway? Wouldn’t they be on our side? There’s mimic bursts recorded on the pages—witches have been going missing for months here, haven’t they? Let any of their covens listen to the mimics, and I guarantee they’ll identify them. Greenway was selling us out to vampires.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and one of her companions, a tall, dark-haired man with pale skin and a linebacker’s build, shifted from foot to foot, clearly agitated. “Catherine,” he snapped. “He’s working with a fucking vampire.”

“Doesn’t mean what he’s saying isn’t true,” Tommy called out, giving in to his instincts and stepping closer to Evan. “I’ve seen too damn many coven wars in my time—I don’t want one here anymore than you do.”

“Thomas Kinard,” the woman, Catherine apparently, said. “I heard an interesting rumor that you’ve been disavowed by your coven. Gabriel Alonzo’s at least reasonable, for a vampire. Why would he kick his best asset out of his coven, if you’re not helping to drive up tensions in the city?”

Tommy lifted his chin. “If you know who I am, surely you know how I operate. I’m not interested in a coven war. Neither is he.” He jerked his head towards Evan, a spike of worry unfurling in his belly when he noted the beads of sweat that were starting to stand out on his witch’s forehead. “Neither are you, I’d hope.”

“Take the ledger to the high coven,” Evan added earnestly. “Greenway’s coven leader can confirm the magic in it is his.”

“Olivia Ortiz is behind everything,” Tommy said. “Someone was making payments to Greenway regularly. There are people trying to decipher Greenway’s records, but I think when they do you’re going to be able to trace the money back to Ortiz. And I’ll bet anything the dates line up pretty closely to when each of your missing witches disappeared. She’s been pumping up her ranks with witch blood.”

The woman was considering their words, he could tell. Doubt was creeping into the edges of her icy expression. Her two companions—the linebacker and a delicate-looking Black woman with dozens of long, thin braids—were growing more agitated by the second, exchanging loaded looks the longer he and Evan talked.

“Just listen,” Evan pleaded. “We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The woman sighed heavily, seeming to come to a decision. She held out one hand. “Throw the book,” she ordered imperiously.

“Del Marco!” the other woman cried.

“This whole situation stinks, Peterson,” the lead witch said with cold determination. “Something’s wrong. You know that.”

Evan relaxed ever so slightly, glancing at Tommy out of the corner of his eye. “Stay behind me,” his witch said softly. “I don’t like how twitchy the big guy looks.” He held the book up higher, winding up to throw it over to the high coven representative.

The linebacker grimaced, and Tommy heard him swear softly under his breath. He shot another significant look at his companion. Tommy realized what was going to happen a fraction of a second too late.

“Sorry Del Marco,” the linebacker said, with what sounded like genuine regret. Then he gestured sharply with one hand, chanting a spellword as he did so, and a bolt of power shot towards her. The lead witch went flying, a cry of pain and surprise echoing in the lot.

* * *

Evan watched in shocked horror as one of the witches—an enforcer for the fucking Southern California high coven—turned on his superior and could only think: they might be in real trouble, here.

The thought skipped through Evan’s head, frantic as a moth fluttering against a light bulb, there and gone as he poured more power into the shield spell surrounding him and Tommy. His vampire’s solid presence at his back helped him ground himself, ignore the way his grip on his magic was starting to feel a little bit shaky, the way his head was starting to ache and his breath was starting to come a bit faster.

Even on his best day, with a fully functional coven bond and all the time in the world to rest and prepare, he would not have been a match for three high coven enforcers for very long. Longer than most, sure, but he’d eventually be forced to retreat. Now? With the only places he could even conceive of as a safe destination miles and miles away, already having cast multiple powerful spells, having used rune magic for the first time in what had to be two years…he wasn’t entirely sure that attempting to teleport himself and his vampire to safety wouldn’t kill him.

It would at least hurt him very, very much.

His concentration flickered, his barrier shimmering weaker for a bare instant before instincts Sally had drilled into him snapped him back to the present. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted, shoving the ledger back in his pocket and starting forward.

The other woman, the one the lead witch had called Peterson, snapped towards him, her hands raised defensively. Evan planted himself squarely in front of Tommy, bracing himself as she shouted her own spell and arcs of white lightning shot across the parking lot at them. He grunted as they struck his barrier, the force of it like a physical blow, and stumbled back a half step before he regained his footing, calling up more power for the barrier.

“Can you keep most of their spells off me?” Tommy suddenly hissed, close to his ear. He spared a glance over his shoulder to find his vampire glaring at the linebacker, his fangs glistening in the light cast by the few broken streetlights in the parking lot, and his eyes gleaming solidly crimson.

Too far away. Tommy was fucking fast, but they were on the other side of the parking lot from the witches, and Evan didn’t think even his vampire would be able to dodge everything they could throw at him. At least behind the barrier they were safe for the moment. But they were also sitting ducks, and the barrier wouldn’t hold forever. Evan took a deep breath, shoving the pain and the weakness starting to steal through his limbs down deep. “A little longer,” he prayed. “Just a little longer, please.”

“Nothing will touch you,” he swore grimly. Despite the dire situation, a fierce, proud grin twisted his vampire’s lips.

“I’m going for him first,” Tommy said, all the warning Evan got before his vampire bounded away from him, bolting across the cracked asphalt almost faster than Evan’s eye could follow.

He saw when the two witches realized Tommy was on the move. The linebacker had been stalking toward where Del Marco was sprawled across the concrete in a groaning heap, his hands glowing with power. With a snarl, he wheeled toward Tommy, and Evan forced himself to concentrate on the one called Peterson, summoned a volley of fire which aimed more to distract than harm. She stumbled backward in surprise when flames erupted at her feet, her own barrier shimmering into place around her body.

Almost at the same moment, Tommy crashed into the other one with a growl that Evan heard even from yards away. They went rolling, and he saw a burst of white light between them before Tommy flew back. His vampire hit the ground hard, but rolled with the momentum, coming up in a predatory crouch he held for a bare second before launching himself at the man again.

Del Marco was trying to get to her knees, blood streaming down the side of her face as she shook her head dizzily. Peterson whirled on her and Evan groaned out loud before doing the only thing he could think to. He split his focus, throwing his hand out towards Del Marco and calling up a shield that would have had Sally making him run laps around the coven to repent. The shaky, flickering barrier held against another of Peterson’s lightning onslaughts, though, even though it made Evan’s head swim to hold the two shields in place.

“Get up!” he screamed at Del Marco, taking a few hurried steps towards the witch even as Tommy threw himself at the linebacker again. Just a heartbeat too slow as another flare of magic erupted around the man, a whirl of wind whipping up around him that threw Tommy back yet again. “Get up, you have to get up!”

“Maddox…wha—” Del Marco started, shaking her head dizzily.

There was a sudden commotion to Evan’s left, a scuffle of bodies and a loud snarl. When Evan looked, he was horrified to see a familiar who had taken the shape of a large German Shepard running down one that had the form of a gray and white cat. Above them, Evan could barely make out a small sparrow, flitting back and forth and shrieking angrily. The dog pounced on the cat right in front of Evan, its teeth tearing into the cat’s sides with a savagery that was sickening to watch.

Across the parking lot, Del Marco screamed, collapsing back to her hands and knees as the bond she had with her familiar flooded with the cat’s pain.

Peterson started chanting, her face twisted in anger as she raised her hands above her head. A cold chill raced up Evan’s spine when he recognized the spell.

Tommy was thrown back from the linebacker again, this time with so much force that his head cracked against the asphalt loud enough that Evan heard it above the cries of pain coming from Del Marco’s familiar.

Linebacker advanced on Del Marco again, a crazed sort of determination settling on his face. Tommy rolled dizzily to his knees. Above Peterson’s head a cloud of mist began to form, the white glow of her magic swirling in the center and growing brighter, brighter, brighter…bright as daylight. Bright as sunlight.

Evan could fire off a spell at her, but Del Marco and her familiar would be dead before he and Tommy could recover. He could attack the linebacker, but his vampire would be left defenseless under a beam of false sunlight and fire. His magic was a sputtering force within him, coming to the end of his reserves, his body starting to betray him as his hands shook and his breath came in short, sharp pants. He couldn’t teleport. Even if he wanted to let Del Marco die to save his vampire, he was too far away. There was…there was…

There was only one choice.

Trust your magic, little love. You must always have perfect trust in your magic, or you are lost.

Sally’s remembered words echoed in his head, her most important lesson when she taught him the only spell that could save them all. Evan breathed once, twice. He closed his eyes. And chanted his spell as he stepped forward in perfect trust. He turned once and pulled. Turned twice and pulled. Turned three times and pulled.

When he opened his eyes, Del Marco and her familiar were crumpled on the ground in front of him. Tommy stood beside him, looking around in shock and confusion. Peterson and the linebacker were whipping this way and that, searching the parking lot with frantic eyes. Their voices echoed weirdly, as though coming from very far underwater. Everything felt like it was very far underwater, a strange, bluish haze enveloping the parking lot where they were standing. The air was cold as a winter morning, and Evan shivered at the familiar feeling.

“Evan,” Tommy said, and then let out a startled cry when Peterson walked right through him, her body rippling through Tommy’s like a ghost. “Evan, where are we? What’d you do?”

Evan swallowed, trying to breathe through the way his head was spinning. He wiped his nose with one hand and was unsurprised when his fingers came away with a small smear of blood. He looked over at his vampire and shrugged apologetically.

“Only thing I could think of,” he said quietly. “Welcome to the between.”