#like you know the only reason that man is still alive is spite right

[rebelliousstories]

Magical Relationships

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader, Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader (Platonic)

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by @oh-prettylady

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst

Word Count: 1,466

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: He had spent so long looking for her, only to find that she was closer than ever suspected.

Consider Donating: Here

If there was one thing that Gambit always asked for whenever he could, it would forever be a relationship of his own. He had seen Jean and Scott fall in love, witnessed Beast try himself; hell, everyone he knew had tried. But for some reason, Jean and Scott were the only ones that made it work. But Remy wanted that. He wanted his own lady to call his, to love, and to spoil. When he came back from a mission one day, he got his wish.

A beautiful girl around his age had shown up with the Wolverine. She was shy, only sticking near the burly man, and not speaking to just about anyone. But she was gorgeous, sweet and kind. Her ability to transform into any animal she wished never ceased to amaze Remy when they were in the danger room.

Slowly but surely, she began warming up to the other, but not Gambit. She was still hesitant around him, refusing to say more than a few words to him. It threw the Cajun for a loop the first few times he tried to flirt with her.

“My, my, my, chere. Ya face would look so much prettier up close, ya know? Just close enough for a kiss perhaps.” This caused her to flush red.

“How’s about you and me go and paint the town red tonight, chere?” She turned to Logan for help who kindly told the man she was off limits.

“Oh, I’m feelin’ awfully weak, chere. I hear ya kisses are magic though. How’s about one for ya patient, yeah?” Turning to scamper off was her course of action for this.

Each time he tried to flirt with her, she refused. Maybe he was coming off too strong for her. He knew very little about her backstory when she came to the school. So, Remy decided to switch tactics. He tried to bond with her over something, anything. But they seemed to have very little in common. But he was desperate to have her talk to him in any way they could.

After a few weeks of this, Gambit made very little leeway in his attempt to talk with her. It was not until Logan decided to go off on his own again that he finally got a break. This was not how he wanted it to start, but it was how it happened. Remy had found her staring out of a window towards the road in the school on a day off for them.

“You miss da Wolverine, chere?” He asked quietly. She got a bit spooked, jumping in her seat, and went to leave.

“No, no. I didn’ mean t’ make ya scared. I can leave if ya want.” Holding his hands up, Gambit tried to make himself appear as non threatening as possible to the woman. But what she did next shocked him.

She shook her head, and patted the sot next to her in the window. Waiting, Remy tried to see what exactly she meant, which was met with her patting the spot once more. At her insistence, he made his way over, and slumped down into his seat.

“I just really miss him, you know?” She began, still staring. “He took care of me when I had no one around. It’s hard being without him, not knowing where he is or if he’s alive.”

“Oh, chere. Don’t worry ‘bout it. The Wolverine will come back soon. Besides, I’m pretty sure that man lives purely off of spite, so he be fine.” Remy tried to comfort the girl, but only felt like he was causing her more discomfort.

“You’re right,” she spoke after a brief silence, “Logan will be okay. He’ll come back.” Looking out the window, she looked towards the road once more before turning to the mutant to her right.

“I love your eyes, by the way.” This time, it was Gambit’s turn to be bashful. His face blushed something fierce as he turned away from her. He could only hope that she did not see what was happening to his face, or the smile that appeared on his face.

“You flatter Ol’ Gambit. Ain’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” He stammered out, hoping that she would let it go. But to his fortune, and mis. Fortune, she did not.

Her giggles rang out through the small nook that they were tucked away in, and Gambit turned to face her fully. Even he was not immune to her infectious laughter. Soon, he was joining her in his own deep chuckles that boomed out next to hers. After a few minutes, they began to wind down. And as he looked over at her from across the windowsill, Remy thought something to himself.

This might just work out.

After that night, it was like a flip had been switched. Instead of constantly being shy, and running away from the Cajun, she had begun to enjoy his company. She was enjoying a cup of tea with him in the morning while he made his coffee. In the evenings, she would make a bowl of ice cream for each of them to enjoy in front of the fire in the main study room.

And all through this, they grew closer. Remy’s flirting no longer made her anxious, it excited her. She still had yet to get over her blushing and shyness when he did so, but she was no longer running away which he considered a win in his books. Gambit so badly wanted to properly ask her out; it burned within him. But he had to contend with Logan coming after him.

Oh, he was well aware that the Wolverine would just give him the tough love act, but that did not make it any less intimidating to ask her pseudo-father for permission. It also did not help that the man was currently somewhere that they at the school could not reach him. So for the time being, Gambit was sticking to making her blush like a school girl at every chance he got.

Remy loved the challenge of getting her to blush harder and harder each time. Sometimes, it was the fact that it was in front of the other team members. Other times, it was because of what he had actually said. One particular instance stands out better than the rest.

“Chere, jus’ need t’ ask ya somethin’. Will you Brie mine?” Remy drawled out as he leaned against the counter. Storm, Beast, and Cyclops were sitting at the table nearby and actively listening to what was coming next.

“Don’t you ever get tired of thinking up different pickup lines to use on me?” She teased back, finishing her making of food at the stove.

“Ain’t no trouble to the Gambit if he has t’ think of you. So whatcha say?” There was quiet laughter coming from the table nearby.

“Can I at least have my breakfast first?” Her tone was teasing, even if her words were annoyed.

“Never too early to start the greatest love story ever.”

“Sometimes it is.” The laughing stopped. Gambit stopped in his tracks, and was afraid to turn and face the voice behind him.

“Logan, you’re back!” Her plate was quickly abandoned in favor for wrapping her arms around his neck. His own found a home wrapped around her back before they pulled away.

“Missed me, kid?” A smirk toyed at the edge of his lips.

“Maybe a little.” She admitted; a smile of her own forming on her lips.

“Now, what was this I hear about you wanting to ask the kid out, Cajun?” Logan near growled in his low-rumbling voice.

“Now, Mon Ami, jus’ remember is just Gambit.” He stammered out, holding his hands up defensively. The Wolverine placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop what he was saying immediately.

“Treat her right, or you’re turning into a kebab. I’m going to unpack and go to bed.” Passing the girl on his way back to his room, Logan gave her one last pat on the shoulder and left. There was a stunned silence that enveloped the entire room as everyone tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

“So, Remy,” she began with a teasing tone, “something you wanna ask me?”

He could not speak. The smooth talking Cajun was speechless after that interaction. But once he began to recover, a smirk overtook his rugged features. He walked up closer to the woman and placed a hand back on the counter.

“Will you go out with me, chere?” Remy finally asked her.

“Of course, Gambit. Besides, I have a man waiting to turn you into a kebab if you mess up.” She began to laugh, but the color started drawing from his face once more.

[carlsangel]

EMBARRASSMENT

carl grimes x fem!reader

(negan embarrasses you and carl during the lineup.)

tags: i have no idear but negans in this one and he’s a BITCH

masterlist here!

The Lineup was the worst day of your life. Not only were you practically sobbing for half of it but you were also angry. You were angry, scared, and frustrated.

Before the lineup, you were helping pack up the RV, you were in charge of packing all the medicine and food that Maggie would need for the ride. You’d had a large bag of anything she’d need and you approached the RV and walked up the steps, heading to the bed in the back. You put it on the shelf and turn to leave to be met with Carl.

“Hey.” He puts a jug of water on the floor by the door. “Nervous?” You ask, knowing he’d not gone to Hilltop before and with the risk of the Saviors after the death of Denise, losing tons of people, he was worried. But he refused to show that. “No. Why would I be?” He mumbles, making his way back out of the RV and his tone sort of throws you off.

Before you can think of an answer, Rick instructs Carl to collect guns from the armory, and you decide to follow. You catch up to him and look at his expression, he seems different which is explanatory but you wanted details. “I was just thinking…you’d be worried since…the Saviors? Everything that happened.” You explain. He walks with a blank expression.

“I’m not nervous, I’m not letting it happen again. That’s why you’re not going.” You stop in your tracks and he slows down, looking back at you as if your reaction was unreasonable. “Excuse me?” He turns back around and continues walking. “Don’t just walk away, you can’t just tell me I can’t go.” You try and reason with himself, but he simply doesn’t wanna hear it. He continues walking to the armory.

In spite of that, you went home and started packing. Anything you’d need or anything important for the trip, you didn’t know how long you’d be staying at Hilltop.

When you left the house, you hopped down the stairs, noticing Sasha grabbing from the house’s cabinets. She stops you before you continue out the house. “What was all that about?” She questioned, you assume she and some others had seen what’d gone on with Carl earlier. It sort of threw everyone off, he was never that closed off with you.

You pause before thinking, trying to figure out what’d happened yourself. “I…that’s a good question.” You sort of chuckle embarrassingly, you were thrown off by his demeanor. “I’m sure it’s nothing, I think he’s just…upset about everything.” You continue. Sasha nods. “You’re still going?” She zips up her bag and throws it over her shoulder.

“He’s not stopping me.”

Which he didn’t, he tried his hardest to persuade you but you wouldn’t budge. You wanted to be there in case anything happened, most importantly you wanted to be there for Maggie. It took an entire argument for you to be able to get on the damn RV. “You know they’re out there. I can’t let anything happen to you.” While you understood where he was coming from, it seemed relatively hypocritical.

“You’re being ridiculous, when have we not been able to handle something? If anything happens, we’re getting out alive. I don’t care. I’m going.”

─── ⋆⋅ ꩜ ⋅⋆ ───

Unfortunately, you were in for a rude awakening. Maybe he was right, but you still wanted to be there. Be beside him during everything. You had to be, you had to see it all happen. He believed that as well. Maybe not for you, but he knew he had to see it.

This man, Negan seemed to be a total asshole, the way he had you all lined up for him, his cruel jokes. You had to admit he was a little funny, but now was definitely not the time. He’d been taunting you and the people you called your family for what felt like hours. He threatened you to no end, explaining how your life basically revolved around him now.

Negan paced back and forth, looking between you all. You were angry, you hadn’t cried yet but you were pissed, reasonably so. He was at the other end of the line when he looked in your direction. His sharp gaze made your stomach drop, you knew it was your turn. You look down for a moment as he walked over to you, swallowing hard before looking up at him like his presence was irritating, not terrifying.

He smiles as he approaches, immediately noticing the look in your eye. “Someone’s mad.” He chuckles, looking to the others while gesturing to you with Lucille. Despite your nerves, you were fairly irritated. Your knees felt like they were nailed to the ground, they hurt terribly and it only rubbed off on your attitude towards Negan. “How does a girl like you, get wrapped up with these kinds of people?” You tilt your head at him with a disgusted look. “You’re one to talk. This is my family.” You retort. He jokingly acts shocked at your rebuttal. “Well excuse me! The last time I checked, your people,” he puts Lucille in your face, “…killed a whole lot of my people, completely unwarranted.”

You knew it was bullshit. You knew about their agreement with Hilltop, the sixteen year old boy they killed. But you couldn’t say anything, not now. While Negan spewed bullshit, you looked to Carl for the first time since Negan had noticed you.

He was glaring at him. Something told you this wouldn’t go well, especially for Carl. He was going to say something but you didn’t know what. Negan noticed your attention strayed away from him, god knows he had to be the center of attention all of the time. This prompted him to put Lucille under your chin, directing you to look back at himself. Doing so, the barbed wire sliced the bottom of your chin open, causing you to wince slightly.

“What the hell are you getting out of this?” Carl exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention. You wipe the blood off your chin with your sleeve, staining the shirt you were wearing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you all hot n bothered.” Negan sympathized sarcastically. “Just leave her alone. Harassing her won’t do you any good.” Carl grimaces at Negan and he can’t help but laugh.

“Wow…” Negan smiles at Carl’s efforts to stick up for you, realizing that he could use it to break him. “So, I’m assumin you two are..well you know.” He suggests. You both look up at him with peevish looks. “I see why. You both got somethin in common.”

You look to Carl and he looks to you. You both avert your eyes back to Negan. “You’re both very, very easy to piss off. I imagine you’ve got a healthy relationship.” He taunts.

“I guess I’m just shocked you got a girl with that eye of yours, I bet you haven’t shown her what’s underneath that bandage huh?” Your eyes go wide at his comment. Carl doesn’t seem to react to it in any way, he was too angry. “The game you’re playing, it’s not gonna work.” Carl remarks. “You’re not gonna win.”

Negan kneels to Carl’s level, boring his eyes into his intently. The rage Carl felt gave him the urge to just kill Negan right there. That’d only get everyone else killed. “I guess we’ll find out.” Negan smirks before returning back to towering over the lot of you.

God, the embarrassment.

a/n: hey guys currently writing this very hungry. anyway i have a final tmr for english and im praying it goes well muehehe IVE BEEN STRUGGLING TO FIND THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE but tomorrow is my last day of school so you guys will get me for about two months HAHAH you’re gonna be so sick of me. also, don’t be worried to send requests even if you think they’re bad, half the time they’re really good so keep sendin them!

taglist: @zomb-1-egutzz @evilnight07 @ilikestrawberriesandwomen

[calisources]

IN LOVE AND WAR, EVERYTHING GOES. a sentence meme based around the subject of allies, enemies, war and enemies to lovers and more of the same tropes we all love. change pronouns, names and locations as you see fit. these are all scrambled around.

“Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”

“You can live safe and be protected by people just like you, or you can stand up and be a leader for what is right.”

“Where do we find allies?"

“War created bizarre allies, while peace itself could be divisive.”

“I promise you, nothing will happen to you.”

“I choose my allies carefully and my enemies more carefully still.”

“People fight wars over ideas.” 

“Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please.”

“I was raised in hatred, Roma. I could never be your lover, only your killer.”

“We were enemies, no matter the truths. No matter that I loved him.”

“He’d set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her.”

“She's not the type to swoon for pretty lies.”

“The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn't stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.”

“These violent delights have violent ends."

“Men without morals are dangerous beasts.”

“The spiteful, little stars.”

“Death is real. Death is inevitable. Death comes when you're not ready for it. Be ready.”

“I was alive, but I wasn’t living. You took things from me. My soul―my heart.”

“You’re supposed to keep your enemies close. Therefore, it stands to reason that your sworn enemy should be kept closest.”

“When will you see I'm not your enemy, but your weapon. Wield me.”

“Can’t even get out of my grasp? Or is it because you secretly don’t want to?”

“Why are you confessing all of your crimes?”Are you trying to get hit?”

“You're a hero and I'm a monster. There's only one way that story ever ends.”

"Tell me you came to find me. That you changed your mind."

"How--how can you even say such things,on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?"

"My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned."

"I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”

“The road for hell for me is paved with everything I would do for you, and that list never ends.”

“You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you."

“You have no idea what I could give you."

“If you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly.”

“I see you truly for everything you are and everything you will be and I claim you as mine.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone as vexing as you."

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.”

“A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends.”

"We're on opposite sides, you know."

"You're the one claiming we're all villains. There's no black or white, only gray area. We can coexist somewhere in the middle, can't we?”

“A man with no enemies is a man with no character.”

“I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.”

“I like your savage brutality."

"That's a poetic observation, coming from such a savage creature.”

"And you are mine, Victor Nox. whether you agree is irrelevant.”

“Bitter people are not interested in what you say, but what you hide.”

“Enemies can't break your spirit, only friends can.”

“In order to know your enemy, you must become your enemy.”

“Such a pretty face, but so weak and emotional. Just a regular man, after all.”

[lilacxquartz]

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • mdni < previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: saved by someone who claims to want to help you, your life quickly takes a turn for the worse.

trigger warnings: uncomfortable scenes, dehumanising and objectifying language, violence

Chapter 2. Sinner

Willingly returning back to the temple felt strange for you, especially when facing the curious glance from the girl before again, with another pair of eyes cautiously leaning in from around a corner to look at you.

The girl with darker hair stepped forward towards the monk you kept firmly glued to the side of. Her voice sounded so soft and gentle despite the words that came out of her lips, “Are you going to eat the monster, Geto-sama?”

You paled for a moment.

What could that posstibly mean…?

The man before you stopped for a moment, as if considering the situation and how to calm the two young girls while keeping your presence on the down low. “Not this one,” he replied at last, sensing the girl’s fear towards seeing you, “this one will be working with me personally.”

You felt comfort settle as you didn’t seem to be headed down such a strange route, but at the same time, you still didn’t quite understand what exactly you were brought in for. So far, as you understood it, the two girls could not only see you but didn’t fear you within his company.

This little detail unsettled you.

You weren’t afraid of many things, but this predicament you had found yourself in didn’t sit quite right with you.

And as he led you further away from the outer section of the temple, you couldn’t help but wonder what this strange person truly had in store for you. Working together? You thought you were just helping him satisfy a curiosity. Unless he was being purposefully vague to keep you on the edge. Whatever it was, you didn’t fully trust his intentions.

“Come,” he spoke once again, opening a slotted wooden door, “you’re going to bathe.”

You cautiously padded towards the room, spotting a small square bathtub with no curtain to hide being. The floor was made from bamboo and the window, although concealed by wrapping leaves around the outside of the exterior, still looked outside.

“Can I do it privately?” you asked, settling into the idea. You didn’t need to wash yourself as a cursed spirit, there was very little point in doing so. You didn’t perspire like humans did, and dirt therefore didn’t cling to your skin the same way. The rain that fell washed anything resistant away and due to not being alive in the same way that mammals were, you didn’t smell.

However, you could entertain it to keep your life.

Something told you that he wasn’t going to let you get further than this if you didn’t bathe, at least.

The man, who you had by now determined was referred to as Geto, tilted his head to the side in what appeared to be confusion. His long, cascading black hair hung in the air as his brows furrowed. “You’re a cursed spirit, aren’t you? Why are you being shy?”

“I’m not being shy,” you replied, attempting to stand your ground. You weren’t totally oblivious, knowing exactly what sort of form you had. It was feminine and through your feedings in the past, you understood that the anatomy wasn’t too far off either. “I am wary though,” you admitted, “you should understand why.”

He nodded, although his gaze didn’t wander away. “Sure, you’re a pretty face,” he considered, “but you’re also just a cursed spirit, so anything that I might do to you or not doesn’t actually matter, does it?”

“Is that why you brought me here?” you attempted to call out, trying to find the reason behind his words.

He shrugged. “I’m not being rude. I’m laying out a fact. Cursed spirits can’t feel anything.”

You tried to challenge his claim however, your words carrying some spite as you spoke, “But I might. Not every single one is evil without cause.”

“They all taste the same to me regardless,” he said, leaning back against the wall, his eyes trained on the steaming tub, “like rancid gasoline.”

There he went again, reminding you that you weren’t the only one who had the capacity to feed. You didn’t like that he had reduced your life to just a flavour that he didn’t like in his mouth. It felt demoralising, bleak and hopeless. Perhaps not too unlike how humans felt right before meeting their end.

You couldn’t quite shake the unsettling thought that now coursed through your body, understanding that while he took you in for some sort of strange hidden purpose, that he was going to very likely treat you poorly because of what you were. In his eyes, you were likely disposable because your life didn’t hold the same sort of weight that a human life did, for example.

Yet he emitted some sort of aura that made him call to you—making you drop your guard around him.

Some sort of cursed technique, maybe?

In a resigned sigh, you didn’t prod at the subject for any longer, deciding to get this whole thing over with and despite the lingering discomfort you felt from his eyes settling over your now exposed body, you pressed on, washing yourself under his hungry gaze.

He stared at you with such devotion, almost. His eyes practically worshipping you the longer that he stared. This was shaken off quickly though, his thoughts reminding him of your true nature. How horrid you truly were.

A disgusting sight.

An even more bitter taste.

You weren’t anything special, maybe even below human in his eyes.

Even despite the looks he gave you and the things your body made him feel. The way your curves sloped, the way that water rolled off of your skin—no, this wasn’t right. You weren’t right.

You were simply below him.

~~~

The next morning, he led you someplace else, guiding you off to another location. You didn’t in particular like it there either, finding that the stares of the people he acquainted with were nothing short of hateful.

Pulling you off to an airy room with a small stage, he explained your divine purpose to you with concerning detail.

“My role is to… deceive people?” you asked, not quite understanding, “Most people can’t see me, though.”

Suguru tilted his head at you, his voice dripping with a sarcastic tone, “That’s the whole point,” he smiled, glancing at one of the attending members, “I would like to be perceived as a higher power to those unsuspecting and unaware. Maybe even a deity amongst simple monkeys.”

You frowned in response for two reasons in mind. First, you didn’t want to be around humans for an extended amount of time for obvious excuses and second, for his own stated desire. Just who was this man actually and why did he seem so much worse than you?

He had the audacity to call you disgusting and yet, he spoke of himself so highly.

…Why did he have to bring you here?

“You see,” he continued, “people’s beliefs can be fragile, but that’s why in religions, miracles must happen and also… punishments.”

Just before taking you here, he did brief you on earlier with a threat to ensure your compliance. You understood fully why you felt confused around this man now and it was likely due to his cursed technique. The same reason humans feel strangely at peace before death, was likely what you felt when it felt like he was close to using it. A false salvation, a doomed hope if not only a means to an untimely end.

“You have other cursed spirits for this sort of job, don’t you?” you pressed with that information still fresh in your mind, hoping he would give you a better answer than the meaningless ones he had been giving you so far.

“True, I have my… collection,” he mused, crossing his arms in consideration, “but they act more as tools rather than helpers. I can command them to fight, to feed, to… kill, but they can’t perform miracles. That’s where you come in.”

Holding onto a sceptical tone you continued to prod, “And how could I possibly accomplish that?”

Suguru smiled at your linear way of thinking. He supposed that you couldn’t help it. “Do something positive, no matter how small. Or do something terrible, no matter how evil. These fools will interpret even the smallest act as a sign from something greater.”

You exhaled deeply, continuing to feel trapped. He was revealing his intentions to you as though you were just another one of his tamed spirits, yet you were free. Being so often around humans wasn’t something you wanted to be doing, finding the situation almost agitating.

“For example,” Suguru continued, his eyes catching onto a random man that stood in a small crowd nearby. “What do you pray for?”

The man hesitated from the sudden question, but answered the question anyway, “Wealth…?”

Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, Suguru scoffed, “Such a selfish desire, but let’s see if it’s granted shall we?” he dramatically gestured, his sights pointed at you but you didn’t know what exactly this meant. He brought you here with very little context and zero guidance.

Returning to you, he quietly reminded you in a very flat tone that he could either exorcise you or you could, you know, feed, right on the man that he had just spoken to. That he didn’t deserve this wish anyway, because if you couldn’t understand—being what you are—that selfish wishes like that aren’t worthy of miracles but punishments instead.

“I know you’re barely holding back,” he whispered, trying to tempt you, “think of just how good it’ll finally feel to give in, to not worry about consequences.”

And just like a cornered animal with a desperate desire to carry on living, you gave into instinct once again.

You couldn’t even help it.

Acting out of desperation, you reluctantly moved forward as an opportunity to sate your burning hunger had been so freely presented to you. Oh, how tempting it was to give in, to bite into flesh, to drink such thick red blood as though it was red wine—you felt so drunk, intoxicated even—as you chewed against disfigured flesh, but then, you heard it.

Screams. A lot of them. Gasps and shudders and an atmosphere of boiling dread; a feeling that both continued to intoxicate you while sickening you at the same time.

Albeit reluctantly, you pulled away from your feral stupor while still grinding against bloodied flesh, licking the blood that dried quickly over your lips. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of disgust roll over you as you backed away, with wide eyes as you surrendered to a lapse of something you didn’t want to become just yet.

(As long as you remained aware, you could remain in control. As long as you didn’t give into your instincts, you could still be you. That’s all it took. Yet, he sought to take it away from you under the false impression of becoming a god.)

In your heavily heaving state, swallowing the last bit of meat, you watched on as the man who took you in, who stared hungrily at you the same way you did at flesh, that claimed to be disgusted by you all at the same time—approach and ask someone else, repeating the same sort of question to them and snorting, hearing a finally acceptable answer.

“Good, that’s a good answer,” he praised, even if his tone did carry a hint of disgust, his eyes blank when talking to what seemed to be just regular people. “Why, it even appears that there might just be a miracle in store for you later on, but first, let’s get this… mess cleaned up.”

Gesturing for someone to come and clean up the unfortunate aftermath, he finally led you away. It wasn’t like he was completely oblivious to what you could potentially become, but that’s why the punishments would be just as rare as the miracles.

After all, if such things were a little too frequent, then what meaning could they possibly have?

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[linkito]

👀 you know I HAVE to ask about that one incident now because nooooo he hurt Grian?? What happened??

Especially if there's sketches involved, because you two are apparently gods to be so good with both writing and art.

-🎀

pffffft hardly gods, ribbon anon, we're just very obsessed with our own au LOL<3

Now behold!! The Incident™!!! rambles and art below cut! (sorry it took so long :'3)

So somewhere down the line, though before any of the events of the mimic/Juni arc, Grian and Scar get attacked by a large group of hunters. It’s a coordinated effort, incredibly calculated.. 

They’ve prepared a thick, heavy net to throw over Grian that tangles into his wings if he tries to use them to escape. And though it takes multiple men to subdue Scar, they get him by stabbing him through the shoulder with a long pronged spear.

It locks in on the other side and makes it almost impossible to remove without worsening the wound or breaking the spear, and someone can keep holding onto the handle.

The hunters clearly want them both alive (for now). Their plan seems to be to sell them, or at least Grian (or at least Grian’s wings).

They can sort of force Scar to move by threatening to jostle the spear, and they tie his hands, too, so he can struggle all he wants, but all he can do is walk while he just continues to bleed. Grian is practically dragged along, twisted and tangled into the coarse net. They’re both scared out of their minds.

Eventually they arrive at a village of sorts, like an outpost for bounty hunters. The humans discuss keeping the vex for sparring purposes (more like target practice), and how they should go about turning a profit with the avian— whether they should sell him as a whole or in parts. One particular hunter removes the net from over Grian and steps his boot down onto one of his wings, knife in hand like he’s going to slice off a few feathers or even a whole damn chunk.

Now, Scar’s gone vex-brained before, but seeing this unfold before him? This time it’s different.

His eyes glow and his hair turns entirely white. Claws and fangs emerge and he sees nothing but pure rage.

With newfound strength, Scar easily breaks through the ropes, but he’s still got that wretched spear. It doesn’t matter to him in the slightest though. He lashes out, slashing and attacking wildly, blood spilling every which way.

Worried he needs to aid with controlling the vex, the hunter with the knife hesitates. And Grian takes that moment that he feels the weight of his boot shift to use his other wing to slam into the man’s body and knock him onto the ground. It’s his mistake for underestimating Grian.

Together, the two of them manage to scramble to flee, but there are hunters on their trail, both humans and bloodhound creatures. And Scar is still entirely feral. He’s not himself at all. He’s not seeing things right, it’s just rage and instinct and blood.

He tears through men and monsters alike, not even bothering to draw his sword. It’s all teeth and claws.

Grian thinks he ought to be afraid, but in spite of everything, Scar’s instinct to protect is just as strong, and his claws weave masterfully around Grian, only striking down their foes.

In the midst of the chaos, however, Grian notices something. While in whatever arcane form this may be, Scar is rapidly healing all his wounds. Blue wisps of magic weave his skin back together as it breaks, although it leaves behind awful, ragged scarring. (How interesting...)

But the spear is still there.

Scar can’t heal while that thing still pierces through him.

And that’s a serious wound. Scar may legitimately die from it if he comes out of this haze without dealing with it. And something tells Grian that Scar doesn’t have enough reason right now to realize that himself.

So as soon as he has a chance, Grian grabs the spear, and with great difficulty, manages to snap it so that it might be pulled out. 

But Scar doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. All he registers is pain and that someone else caused it. 

There’s confusion.

There’s lashing out. 

Grian can maybe manage to dodge out of the way, but he still has to remove the spear, and in the end, in order for Grian to succeed, Scar also lands a wild slash directly onto Grian’s wings. 

The spear gets yanked out, but now Grian is bleeding and in a nightmarish world of pain and Scar’s onslaught is far from over. He pounces onto Grian, pinning that injured wing onto the hard ground underneath them both.

Scar is confused and betrayed and hurting and no longer has any sense over his actions.

And Grian is terrified. Terrified out of his mind, but also—

It’s Scar.

And Grian’s wings have been nothing but a beacon, nothing but a source of danger to them both. And if Scar decides it’s better if they’re gone? ...maybe Grian would let him. 

And as blood trickles between his feathers, he thinks maybe it would be better after all.

So Grian goes limp beneath him, entirely giving in.

“Scar...” he mutters, and maybe it’s a plea. Maybe it’s a surrender.

Scar’s pointed ears twitch. He hears Grian call his name, clear as day, amidst the haze and adrenaline and fear. And Scar needs to protect him. He has to keep fighting. Grian is scared.

He’s scared.

He’s scared of—

“...oh god.” Scar’s voice comes out hoarse, eyes flickering weakly back to their normal green hue.

He sees his hands hovering near Grian’s throat, claws outstretched, and his hands are drenched in blood and he doesn’t know whose it is. Scar stumbles back, horrified. He thinks he’s going to be sick. Everything rapidly returns to normal and suddenly he feels so weak, absolutely drained, his hands are trembling now and—

They both hear shouting in the distance.

Unfortunately, there is no time to come to terms with any of this at all.

They have no choice but to keep running.

...

Now Scar already does everything he can not to touch Grian’s wings. Grian has so much trauma surrounding his wings already, and now? Now Scar feels no better than any of the other monsters after Grian’s feathers. He doesn’t deserve the right. He failed and he hurt Grian, and Grian can barely even bring himself to treat the wound because part of him truly believes he ought to leave them tarnished and broken. 

And later, when Grian inadvertently flinches at Scar’s touch? Scar vows to himself to never use that savage state ever again. 

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

svt reaction: the one who got away | part 1 hyung line version

this v angsty request is from @f4iryjjosh and IT HURT MY SOUL TO WRITE hahahaha thank you so much for the request angel <3 i hope it fulfills all ur desires! (part 2 coming soon :))

the idea is that SVT breaks up with y/n after meeting someone else and falling for them, and then realizing they made a huge mistake, but you've moved on and there's nothing they can really do about it. it is all angst and pain. there is no relief.

seungcheol. he hated hearing his full name from anyone's lips, and he should've hated it even more coming from the lips that he'd be dreaming about for ages. but for some reason, in your voice, it made him smile. even after all this time.

and that smile, the one where he looked at you with his big shining eyes like you'd saved his life or restored his family honor, was almost enough to make you forget everything that had happened between you.

almost.

as it was, you gave him a soft smile back. "hey," you said. "you okay?"

a thousand thoughts pass through his mind at once -- you in his arms, you sighing his name, you breaking down in tears in your best dress in the restaurant where he broke your heart, you you you. god knows all the ways he’s thought about you, in spite of himself, with an alcohol burn to the back of his throat or stone-cold sober. some mistakes stick around, and what he said to you that night is undoubtedly the clingiest one he’s ever made. he knew it then, and he knows it now — seeing your face, however hesitant or worried you might look, is enough for him to know he’s still dead gone over you.

he shakes himself back to reality. "yeah," he says. "i'm okay. you look...great. happy."

"i am," you reply, and he notices, like a knife to his chest, you playing with a glittering ring on your finger, a nervous habit.

"is that --" he says, pointing, "what i think it is?"

you look down at your hand. "oh, yeah!" you exclaim, and despite yourself you smile broadly. "yeah, it is. um, it's pretty new, though. just happened last week."

"does he treat you right?" seungcheol asks, his eyes serious, his tone sharper than he intended. he'll know if you're lying, he always does.

so when you nod, thinking about the man you'll marry, about how he's sweet and gentle and knows how to pull a smile out of you on your very worst days, seungcheol's heart breaks a little more. because he knows it’s true, which means it’s all really over. the fire that kept your relationship with him alive has burned out, and he's the only one with any ashes left to spare.

he musters a smile as well. "good. i'm happy for you. well, it was good seeing you again," he says, turning away. and he curses his eyes for stinging, because he knew if you saw him cry you'd feel guilty, but after everything he put you through, you deserve to just be happy -- happy and nothing else -- for once.

jeonghan it was gradual for him, but it could be traced back to a very specific moment: when he found that letter from you, the one you’d written in class before you’d ever decided to mean anything to each other:

“date me?” it read, with two checkboxes, yes or no. jeonghan remembers how he checked the box labeled “yes” with a crisp black pen to hand back to you, and the look in your eyes when you unfolded it, and the smiles on both of your faces after you’d made out in the boys’ bathroom on the second floor like a couple of love-drunk highschoolers.

that note had heralded feelings jeonghan was desperate to ignore. he had ended it with you. his life was a carefully orchestrated set of advantageous events. he was always the one in control, and he never, ever lost.

so why did he feel like the world’s most pathetic loser whenever he saw that stupid note?

in the end, he’d had to do some serious soul-searching to determine why he even cared so much. he’d been bored, he determined — bored because you were so easy to be around, bored because you never made him feel unsafe or unloved, bored because loving you wasn’t a game he could play to win.

even now, as he stared at the note in his hands, crumpled with the years, jeonghan fought off the urge to call you. he lurked on social media and saw you traveling, eating, living like you’d always wanted to live. just a week prior he’d nearly cried at a picture of you in front of a castle somewhere in Germany, your arms outstretched like you were ready to hug the whole world. it was so you — the castle, the pose, the huge smile in the photo, even the windswept hair. and it hurt so much to see how beautiful you still were.

and a part of him knew that if he called, you would come back for him. because that was who you were.

so he never called, even as he burned with a thousand regrets for all the things he’d done wrong. selfish as he might be, he wasn’t monstrous enough to rob you of a life that was fuller without him in it.

joshua. you really never could be mad at joshua. not even when your relationship was staggering to its painful end, not even when you both knew that it wasn't working, not even when he broke up with you and started dating someone he'd told you not to worry about.

and not now, when you've run into him at a restaurant, right around the two-year mark of the breakup. you weren't in a great place when you'd started dating joshua, and the relationship had brought out the very worst in you, prompting a long period of self-improvement following the breakup.

now, you're in an amazing place, so much so that you're actually happy to see joshua here -- still with the girl he left you for, but looking preoccupied until you called his name and he met your eyes.

his eyes light up. "hi!" he says. "wow, it's you!"

"it is," you say, smiling. "how are things?"

he hesitates, and your heart sinks. you can tell that he hasn't done as well post-breakup as you have, and where the past you would've been a little smug about that, now you just feel compassionate. "things are crazy," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

because in truth, joshua's looking at you, and though his hand is on the knee of the woman he thought would be better for him than you were, he's wishing he could stand up and hug you. here you are, just like in his memories but better, because your eyes are bright with life and your brows aren't knit together in worry like they always seemed to be when you were together.

joshua knew the relationship you'd had with him had been really hard on you. and he understood the reasons why it didn't work. you had been so insecure you couldn't see your own appeal, and joshua had been burnt out trying to prove it to you. and he could see that he'd made the right choice -- for you, at least.

because for him, every time he looked into the eyes of the woman he was with now, he wished they were yours.

this was an admission he couldn't make to himself until you were there in front of him, in a way he'd only let himself imagine after his lover was asleep next to him and he was drifting off himself.

and oh, it burns.

he doesn't say anything about it now -- that's going to have to wait for later, at home, where things are going to need to be said. but for now, he greets you politely, watching you leave after a bout of small talk that taught him nothing at all about where you ended up after he broke your heart. and he wonders vaguely if he'll ever, ever, ever forgive himself.

the odds aren't good.

junhui. "hey stranger," he says, and even after all the time and everything that has passed between the two of you, it still makes you ache a little.

but you muster a smile, a little wave. "hey jun."

"you're here for work?" it's not really a question he's asking, because you know he already knows that that's why you're on this particular street.

"yeah," you say anyway. "and you? what brings you here?"

he smiles to himself. "just needed some fresh air."

he'll never tell you that it's because he's been religiously coming here since you blocked his number two years ago, hoping this very thing would happen.

"how have you been?" you ask him, and he fights back memories of the times he spent without you, with someone else, knowing that if he remembers them it'll show on his face.

"good," he lies. never mind that at the back of his closet is a hoodie he let you borrow, and it's hidden back there because it still smells like you. never mind that he's been spending day after day in this same stupid alley where you film those same videos for your job, hoping that you'll show up so he can see you. "and you?"

"i'm happier than ever," you tell him.

and you look it. you look happy. happier than you were with him.

with a funny feeling in his stomach, jun turns away from you with a little wave. "well, it was good to see you again. i'm glad you're happy."

he'll never come back to this street again.

soongyoung. "what are you doing here?" asks soonyoung with wide eyes.

you gesture to the man at your side. "i'm here on a date, actually," you say. and oh, thank goodness you look good, and your date (who is your longtime boyfriend, actually) looks good, because, well, soonyoung also looks good. and you're glad you've run into him at an opportune moment for you.

"oh," he says, looking at the man beside you. "uh, you must be..."

"my boyfriend," you finish for him. "this is soonyoung," you say to your boyfriend.

your boyfriend gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. he's heard all about the man who broke your heart into a thousand pieces, leaving him to pick up all the pieces and put them back together again. he doesn't mind doing it, but because of how badly you were hurt, he has spent more time than he'd like to admit wishing you'd never met the man in front of him right now. "hi," he says, shaking soonyoung's hand.

"hi," soonyoung says breathlessly. "wow, uh...nice to meet you. i'm, well..."

"my ex," you say with a smile. "it's okay. he knows."

of course he knows, soonyoung thinks to himself. of course you had to have had the discussion about how your previous boyfriend fell out of love with you.

or thought he had.

"how's ... um... i don't remember their name," you admit, trying to recall the person soonyoung had left you for.

"it didn't work out between us," he says quickly. "we broke up six months ago."

"oh," you say. "i'm sorry."

it's awkward now, the three of you standing there staring at each other, so you grab your boyfriend's hand. "well, it was good seeing you," you say as you pull him away.

you have a nice dinner with your boyfriend and even laugh over the encounter later. but soonyoung is haunted for months. because he noticed how safe and easy it was between you and your boyfriend, and it reminded him of how you used to act with him before he messed everything up.

wonwoo. as cautious and careful as wonwoo always was about everything, regret was not a common experience for him. so it was quite the shock when he found himself filled with it night after night following his split from the person he left you for.

when he'd broken up with you, you'd sincerely wished him well, and promised he'd never see you again if he didn't want to. and two years later, you'd kept that promise, never reaching out to him, never begging him for an explanation he didn't want to give, never worrying him with memories of the two of you when you'd been happy.

and this had been part of the reason why he'd broken up with his new girlfriend -- he kept remembering how unobtrusive you were. the way you fit into his life like a puzzle piece made for him. and even now, as he rereads all the passionately hateful texts his now-ex spams his phone with, he remembers you.

it's been forever since he unfollowed you on social media, but he looks you up all the same. he almost follows you again, almost likes your most recent post of you out with some friends, but thinks better of it.

you were so fair to him, so up-front and honest about everything. how unkind it would be, he thinks, to dredge up the past when you look so happy. how unpleasant for you, to be reminded of someone who hurt you so deeply.

so he shuts off his phone and sinks into bed, allowing the regret to wash over him like a wave.

jihoon. explaining that he'd fallen out of love with you was the second most exhausting task of jihoon's entire life. the most exhausting one, it turns out, was staying in a relationship with the person he'd left you for while pesky reminders of you kept flooding his brain.

after yet-another fight with his current partner, jihoon lies awake in bed, his jaw clenched, as he remembers how you'd make up with him after a fight, crawling into bed beside him and kissing his cheeks and whispering "i'm sorry", sometimes through tears, until he'd turn and embrace you back.

his current partner never apologizes or even admits any responsibility at all. as he lays there remembering how it felt to have your face buried in his neck, he comes to the shocking realization that he wishes it was you beside him still.

because with you, he knew he could always tap you on the shoulder and beat you to an apology, and it would be immediately forgiven. the guilt of having broken a heart like that is too overwhelming for him, and he suddenly needs to talk to you like he needs air in his lungs to live.

so he silently slides from bed, picks up his cell phone, and leaves the room. he dials your number from memory, having deleted it from his phone.

"your call cannot be completed as dialed," the voice says. he blinks and tries again. same response. it occurs to him that you may have blocked him for your own sanity, and the guilt intensifies, turning into tears he hates almost as much as he hates himself.

he spends the rest of the night with his phone in his hand, looking for any traces of you that may be left in the photos and memories there.

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

Do you have any predictions for s2? Will they completely destroy the greens as many fans think?

Hello, and thank you for the ask!

Truth be told, I gave up on trying to actually predict what will happen in season 2 a while ago - because HotD writers can pull literally every plot stunt imaginable (and whatever you can imagine, it usually turns out to be even worse).

So, I would like to mention some things that could happen in Season 2:

Team Green divided because of their views on the way the war should be fought: most likely, Alicent (team "mercy and caution") vs Aegon and Aemond (team "give them no quarter") with Otto and, later, Criston somewhere in between. This is definitely not what I would like to see; however, since it's quite likely to happen I am kind of interested about Criston's attitude and actions. On the one hand, he is utterly loyal to Alicent and practically bound to take her side (Fabien mentioned this during the promo campaign as well). On the other hand, Criston is a man of war and of action; plus, while he is sworn to Alicent and it's her will he is enforcing, Targtower boys are also close and dear to him. Also, he was once shown to hesitate in carrying her orders out before, at Driftmark (Viserys was still alive and ruling back then, and that made a huge difference, though).

Aemond consumed by his desire for power (because "he's worth it" *hair toss*). It looks like quite a sure thing at this point as well; what matters is how and when it will happen. If the writers make ambition and pride a reason enough for Aemond to stop caring about his family's best interests - I, for one, am not accepting that as canon. Specifically, if he decides to deliberately hurt/try to kill Aegon at Rook's Rest (don't even get me started on this one).

Aegon embracing his role as a King and taking action (it's been pretty much confirmed by TGC several times). Well, this is one of a few good things I can see happening. I think Aegon will still be presented as someone capable of acts of cruelty (and not hesitating to commit them) - in contrast with Rhaenyra and Alicent - but these acts will be justified (although not everyone will see them this way, that's for sure).

I don't even know what to think about Alicent's character at this point. She was given one of the most inconsistent and WTF-inducing arcs in season 1, literally going from "Rhaenyra is an enemy, she will kill my children, and I would die myself before seeing her bastard son marrying my daughter" to "You will be a fine Queen, oh why are you leaving already". From what we've seen, she is not eager to start the metaphorical blasting - but how far will Alicent's unwillingness to resort to violence go? If the show opts for making her defend Rhaenyra from Aegon and Aemond's wrath (which is not a given, but still), from where I stand, Alicent's character will be completely and utterly ruined. And it's not her I will stand with.

Alys Rivers presented as a character full of mystery and dangerous charm. Her playing mind tricks on Daemon and driving him nearly crazy (crazier than he already is, that is) will probably establish her as someone to be reckoned with. I don't think her character will be given much depth this season (if only for the lack of screen time) but the teasing of Alys having something deeper about her than just being "a weird witch woman" might be there.

And the Blacks? Well, in spite of Ryan Condal and Co droning about how "the writing is unbiased, and there is no right side in the Dance. and the story is full of grey characters", I think they (save for Daemon, most likely) will remain their the-true-Queen-Rhaenyra-supporting, righteous selves. Jace, Baela and Rhaena apparently will get some personal character development this season; but will it be enough to make them less of Rhaenyra's appendages and more of characters in their own right? I have my doubts but we`ll have to wait and see.

[w4nd3ring-gh0st]

I know right now things feel like they're going to shit, but right now is the most important time to not lose empathy. I'll admit I woke up thinking there was no reason to try a keep going, but after understanding that my end is what they want, I need to live. WE need to live, even if it's just out of pure spite. You deserve to feel angry, you deserve to feel sad, you deserve to feel all these things or nothing at all because you have been failed. Hatred and misogyny are one hell of a motivator but that flame can only burn for so long until it dies. Protect yourselves and those around you in anyway that you can. There is no shame in hiding your beliefs if it can cost you your safety. You are not any lesser, and we will still be here for you when the smoke clears. Do what you have to now to make sure you and those your care for are safe. This tragedy will end one day, we will make it through this nightmare the way we did before, we will overcome this awful situation and out live this moronic man. Just PLEASE stay alive to see it.

[lakesbian]

Re: this post https://www.tumblr.com/lakesbian/715722672922902528/i-think-the-best-society-would-not-be-happy-if

I would LOVE for you to elaborate on how Amy’s whole character concept ties into this!

amy is an absolutely terrifying example of the fact that powers are 1. randomized and 2. designed to be useful in combat.

you have the people who randomly trigger with something horrifically powerful and then immediately pull a nilbog and take over a small town. you have the people who hide or downplay aspects of their power to avoid demonstrating how much damage they could do, like crucible only using the "bubble forcefield" part of his power and not the "can cook the absolute shit out of anything, or anyone, he traps inside his bubble forcefield" part of his power.

and then, as chance would dictate, you have the amys. the people with horrifically powerful abilities desperately trying to keep the amount of harm they're capable of doing under lock and key. the people trying very, very hard not to use their powers in the worst way possible. and that's fucking difficult--as chevalier observes in his interlude, powers drive you back to your lows, back to the circumstances under which you triggered.

(and every time amy uses the full extent of her power on victoria, it is when she's been driven back to the circumstances of her trigger. she triggers because she was terrified victoria was going to die and leave her alone. she impulsively changes victoria's brain because she's terrified she's going to leave victoria and be alone. she makes victoria into icktoria the wretch because she is, again, terrified of letting victoria go and being alone.)

amy is, in many ways, almost designed to piss people off. she's got one of the scariest, most useful, and most plot-important powers in the entire story. people can't hear about amy without having an opinion about what they would do with her power, and that applies to characters within the setting. there are a million different terrible-glorious things she could do with it, and yet she's...a generally pathetic, unlikable teenage girl, who has to be wheedled into giving taylor useful bugs during a slaughterhouse nine attack, who makes spiteful threats about what she could do while firmly restricting herself from healing brains. she fucking irritates people. she's got power most other people could only dream of, and all she does with it is stand around bleeding from her finger-stumps firmly rejecting anyone with an idea about how she should be using her power.

and everyone should actually be really grateful for that, because literally all of the alternatives for how she could be using it are worse.

no one would make fully good choices about having her powers or directing her in how to use them. imagine if someone like taylor or saint or rachel had amy's powers. imagine how very quickly that would all go to shit. amy's power-related decisionmaking skills are obviously awful, but they're still good enough to keep her alive and get her to the right spot to actually use her power to its full extent during gold morning. she's holding one of the most important cards in the game, and despite everything, she doesn't totally fumble it. i don't think many other characters could have done the same in her spot.

and the reason she doesn't totally fumble it is that for vast amounts of her life, she's keeping its actual intended usage under tight wraps. as far as society is concerned, she's panacea the healer. takes care of your physical injuries and neatly avoids doing anything that would make you think about how powerful she actually is, helpful or otherwise. (no viruses which make you immune to this year's flu being released into the air! we don't want people realizing that means she could release another black plague, too.) the random citizens she's healing don't know that she could turn them into something out of a junji ito comic or man after man*. they don't know that she could fine-tune their brain until they're ready to compulsively fight to the death for her. they're not thinking about how she could kill them with a touch of her pinky finger, they're thinking about how she's panacea, the healer, the cure-all girl.

they're not thinking about the fact that her power isn't supposed to be for healing. it's supposed to be for creating wretches. it's supposed to be for tapping people and making their hearts stop. it's supposed to be for hurting people in ways you did not know it was possible to hurt someone. it's supposed to be for conflict. every cape in worm is walking around with a loaded weapon sewn into their body and mind. amy is a horrifying and deeply compelling subversion of the healing-superpowers trope. worm's token healer cape, the cape with the white robe and the miracle touch, the panacea, is also one of the setting's scariest weapons.

and in worm's setting, every weapon, every power, can't help but be used. amy was carrying the weight of idolized, godlike power on her shoulders. everyone in the setting is lucky that she only faltered and never completely fell. society would not fucking be happy if they found out how much damage amy is capable of casually doing.

*the speculative evolution book seasons greasons is from. it is not good. but go look it up so you can visualize what i mean by 'turn them into something out of man after man.'

[lightandfellowship]

A Single Step

(A short Xehanort fic inspired by this ask @starlightwayfinder sent to me.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sometimes, Xehanort just...sits.

That strange (and frankly, highly suspicious) man he had met while preparing for his Mark of Mastery exam had been right, in the end: after some time, Xehanort didn't need to wear the black coat inside the dark corridors anymore.

Repeated exposure to the dense darkness within these corridors had strengthened Xehanort's heart and toughened it, much like how repeated exposure to the elements toughen the bottom of your feet after walking barefoot for miles and miles. Eventually, the skin hardens, and the sharp edge of spite, the biting chill of indifference, and the scorching heat of animosity become—for the most part—bearable. Nothing can stop you from making any trek, no matter how perilous the terrain may be.

He no longer required the protection of the coat, and sometimes, he just sits within the depths of the dark corridor. Waiting.

It doesn't usually take too long for "it" to appear.

The afterimage of his mentor.

He doesn't really know what the afterimage is, exactly. Oh, he has theories, sure, based on his own observations and what he was taught in school. But no true way to test those theories. And in any case, he doesn't particularly care about the specifics—not now, anyway.

The resemblance is striking, he thinks. No, not their appearance, for every time Xehanort has run into them in this place, their face has, without fail, been obscured by the hood of their favorite blue cloak. But their heart—their heart!—he can feel it: their emotions.

The emotions are different each time (he recalls them with ease, as if they were engraved upon his own heart: guilt, doubt, pity, grief), but he recognizes them as belonging to his mentor all the same. It's them, somehow. Were it not for the figure's ghostly translucence betraying their true nature, Xehanort could almost swear that his mentor was standing right next to him again, alive. Rhythmic waves of emotion imitating the heartbeat that he used to know so well, that used to lull him to sleep every night as a baby.

Used to.

Use—yes. He utilizes these dark corridors so frequently now. A journey of hundreds of thousands of miles, reduced to nothing more than a brief stroll. A method of travel that is quick, convenient, and covert. It would be foolish not to take advantage of all the benefits such travel provided, so of course that's why he's gotten into the habit of using the dark corridors whenever he can. For efficiency, and for proving the strength of his heart. No other reason, really.

But sometimes he doesn't pass through the corridors with the swift, purposeful pace that he ought to. Sometimes, he loiters, peering into the turbulent darkness as if looking for someone. He waits, in those halls that should not be traversed by the living.

And he just sits.

Finally, a figure coalesces several feet ahead of him. He's so used to it by now, and yet he can't help but draw in a sharp breath at the sight of it.

His mentor. Or something close to them.

Close enough.

Xehanort gets on his feet, and slowly inches his way towards the apparition. He's encountered it several times already, but has always kept a safe distance away. Today, however, will be different; today, he will indulge his curiosity.

The spirit remains perfectly still as Xehanort approaches. It doesn't react, doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't seem to notice him at all. He may as well not exist.

He's only a couple of feet away from the spirit when suddenly, something inside of him shatters. His knees buckle on their own from the shock, and he crumples to the floor without meaning to.

All at once, the pain he was so masterfully ignoring up until this point hits him in full force: the rapid, uncontrolled beating of his heart; the bone-deep ache in his legs; the soreness of his feet; the lightheadedness and stinging intakes of air that follow running out of breath.

The rough skin of his heart had finally fractured under the strain of the corridor, and the darkness that flows into the cracks feels like water rushing into his lungs.

He doesn't know what caused his heart to falter like this. Was this the spirit's doing, somehow? But the pain is so relentless, so overwhelming, that he can't focus long enough to consider the possibilities.

Endure it. Keep going.

His arm shaking, he desperately tries to grip the hand of the only parent he's ever known (known, but not the only parent he's ever loved) to steady himself, but his own hand passes right through.

He knows this will happen. He knew this would happen. But a pained sob escapes his throat regardless when he fails to make contact, soft and broken and child-like and utterly drowned out by the sea of unintelligible whispers surging all around him.

Trying to stand up in this state would be a futile effort, he realizes. Instead, he crawls the final few inches to his intended destination and collapses, curling up next to the memory of someone long gone.

And, for once on this seemingly never-ending journey of his,

he just

sits.

[qunaricatnip]

Hiiiii it's me the person who reblogged your post about the Cousland x Loghain marriage (this is my main blog but 99% of my tumblr activity is through my side blog queenmelisende sorry for the confusion lol). Lets talk about Ferelden nobility. Their marriage would be an insanely good political alliance -- the two teyrnirs of Ferelden uniting? Cailan should be quaking in his boots. You said she would eat him alive??? I am desperate for more elaboration.

hi!! this is a sideblog too so no worries! but yeah cailan absolutely should be worried but the best part is, at least in my little au, he’s like…. 12 when all this is happening so all he really knows is that uncle loghain is leaving him (and anora) and it’s gonna be a while before they can see each other again :( it’s really maric that should be worried (and is) because he had to make a lot of concessions to the couslands for bryce and eleanor to be okay letting their baby girl go clean up maric’s mess (even if she really wanted it for spite reasons).

Tl;dr siobhan cousland was planning a coup from jump because she was raised to be queen and got told no and then maric dropped the perfect opportunity in her lap with a bow and his blessing, loghain was both collateral and a prize

siobhan in this au was born before the occupation technically ended and so her parents, still in the rebellion mindset of “ferelden first” was sort of groomed to believe that she’d one day be queen of ferelden because she’s the only noble girl within marrying age of cailan right up until anora is born and maric and/or rowan lose their minds. the couslands are Important, second to only the royal family and that shows in siobhan’s upbringing- she’s very politically minded, everything is duty/responsibility/optics with her and that’s something that (imo) would and should drive loghain crazy.

Politically on paper, her and loghain are an amazing match after celia dies right up until we remember that a) the couslands have already married their son and heir to a well known/regarded antivan trading family creating ties to a foreign, unallied country without the crowns express permission right after a war and b) loghain for all his accomplishments is not a man made for politics in any capacity that man is a Follower, he’s the type of person that need to be wholly devoted to a person/cause and c) uniting the only two surviving teyrnir’s is actually a recipe for disaster because oh my god why would you even think that maric that’s giving your subjects too much power and influence even with ferelden’s weird political structure

and siobhan knows this!! she knows that the people of gwaren don’t feel safe or supported by their teyrn and abandoned by their king and she’s also been personally slighted by the crown twice now!! so she graciously concedes to step in and throw the weight of her name around to build gwaren back up to the prominence it once had before the occupation gutted the city all while subtly reminding people that it was the couslands that actually care about the people of ferelden, its cousland gold bolstering the economy, its cousland trading partners bringing ships back into port without even saying anything because she’s a mac tir now after all that would just be gauche to rely on her maiden family name. its siobhan that runs the show and every single person in gwaren knows it, loghain is just insurance in the beginning (before whoops they’re actually in love your honor)

[creative-frequency]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Bargain

Summary: Bloody and bruised from the nautiloid ship crash, forging a contract with a devil becomes your best and only option for survival. This is the first flashback oneshot for the main story of the series. The poem is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. Word count: 2197 Notes: Dealing with a devil, canon-typical blood and injury.

My writing masterlist

Bottles of Ithbank and mugs of red ale rose up to meet the bright stars embroidered into the velvety midnight sky. Comforting and familiar voices of laughter and cheer bubbled around you. It was a night to remember, reminisce and celebrate. In destroying the Absolute you had faced the impossible and lived on to tell the tale. You had gained allies and most importantly, you had met people, who you proudly called your friends.

Deep in thought, you fiddled with the ring on your left hand’s ring finger. A vexing lark from the gift giver, as the ring would fit no other digit. You had bet your soul on never removing the stupid piece of jewellery, at the same time dooming yourself to the eternity of answering delighted queries about a presumed marriage.

Every time you took a sigh to explain you were, in fact, not married, you heard the devil over your shoulder laugh somewhere deep in the Hells. Out of sheer spite, you wished you could hate him. But he had given you this life and this victory, so you endured.

Wyll, the freshly appointed Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate, sat next to you by the large table and noticed you twiddling with the ring.

“So. Do you know what became of Raphael?” he asked cautiously and nodded towards your hands.

You shrugged, not exactly keen on discussing the devil even though the wine had already spun your mind into a pleasant, relaxing buzz. You had been prepared to answer this particular question during the course of the evening and it was no shock Wyll was the one to voice it. You had met with Wyll from time to time after your travels together, but had always avoided the subject. Luckily the Grand Duke was a busy man. 

“I guess your pact still stands then. I’m sorry,” Wyll said and took a swig from his goblet.

“Don’t be,” you corrected him and opened your mouth to justify why, but Wyll just looked at you with compassion.

He was the only one of your companions who truly knew what you had been through since he had made the same choice – albeit your reasons were initially more selfish than his. The only difference was that he had found a way to outwit his devil patron to get out of his pact. The Duke Ravengard still had horns, but no longer even a tiny bit of the infernal power of a warlock was coursing through his veins.

Wyll changed the subject: “It feels like the whole thing happened in another life.” 

“It really does,” you sighed and raised the bottle to your lips again.

“I’m glad you decided to stay in Baldur’s Gate, though.”

“Don’t say anything about being a hero, please,” you exclaimed and Wyll grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back at him.

“I wasn’t going to,” he assured you.

“I’m done playing the hero for now. I need time to put my feet up” – you lifted your boots and planted them on the table – “and enjoy just being alive.”

Wyll shot you a humorous look, but decided against noting how the heroics usually had happened when you had tried to avoid those situations the most.

Six months earlier

Hidden behind wreckage, you dared to inhale a shallow breath and barely held back a cough. Unknown parts of the nautiloid ship and horrifying, giant flesh pods laid scattered and broken around you. Their colourful liquids were mixed on the ground into sickening pools. There was a reek of burning something you didn’t want to think about and it made breathing even harder.

A couple of your ribs were likely broken from being thrown around by the impact from  exploding tubes. It had not been one of your finest moments or the best aimed fire bolt, but at least you had lost the pursuers, for now.

You prayed to every known god and goddess under your breath. You had survived the nautiloid crash and found yourself alone again amidst the debris – only to be attacked by a group of pathetic, random looters. It was five against one and you didn’t even have a weapon on you. It would’ve been a tough fight on a good day, but you were seriously injured, bleeding and delirious from the environmental hazards affecting your senses. So you had attempted to cause as much chaos as you could to hide.

If you had thought getting taken by mind flayers was bad enough, it had been pure downhill since then. The inevitability of this one becoming your last adventure started to settle in.

You sat on the broken floor, leaning into a crevice in the debris and listened to any voices. The looter group was not far, but unfortunately they were not foolish enough to make noise as they were tracking you down. You had maybe minutes to live and there was literally nothing you could have done about it.

So you prayed. Incoherent words tumbled from your mouth under your broken breaths.

You would give anything for the power to smite those pathetic thiefs.

Anything for the power and means to save yourself from the predicament.

You closed your eyes and focused on listening to the approaching final moments of your existence.

Anything to live and die on another day.

A soft step. Then another. Your pulse surged. Someone was coming, but nothing about him was what you had expected.

A man you would have eagerly described as mysterious and handsome walked towards you. His steps were leisurely, his pace unhurried and his expression tinged with curiosity.

Maybe some poison gas had finally addled your mind and you were seeing things.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—” he recited carefully with graceful cadence, pacing closer.

A poem? So you were either dead or poisoned. Your head lolled to the side, trying to see his face clearly in the midst of the smoke and floating embers.

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” His voice was smooth, almost drawling. It sent a warm shiver down your back. His hands motioned in rhythm with the words.

The stranger paused right in front of you and continued: “’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door—”

He leaned down to have a closer look at you and his expression turned unreadable. His eyes were chestnut brown, cunning and framed by dark lashes. The high cheekbones were tinged with healthy red.

“Only this and nothing more,” he ended the verse with a contemplative note.

You blinked in confusion, openly staring and wondering could he have been one of the looters, because he certainly didn’t look like one. His clothes were fancy: a blue doublet, ornamented with gold trimmings and a frilly collar. His brown hair was combed back and waves of light curls gathered behind his ears.

Maybe you had gone mad or lost consciousness already.

“Are you really here?” you asked in a shaky voice.

“Is that not why you were rapping at my door?” he returned the question.

Delirious from the smoke and blood loss, you couldn’t understand what he meant.

“Please, you have to help me…” you pleaded, still unsure if the man really even existed.

“Wouldn’t you rather help yourself?” he remarked, tapping his chin in calculating thought. His gaze was evaluating you.

“What? I don’t…” you spluttered with desperation.

“Come.”

He took your hand and pulled you up from the floor. His touch was almost burning, or maybe your hands were just that cold from the loss of blood. A consuming inferno of bright flames swallowed you both and instantly you reappeared in an entirely different place.

The warm air and the general, faint smell of fire and sulphur ravaged your senses. Avernus.

“The House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed,” the stranger presented dramatically with a flourish motion of his arms – an invitation for you to look around at all the lavish glamour. Paintings of devils hung on the walls and the large fireplace was lit with the most mesmerising, hungry fire you had ever seen. A massive table right next to you was loaded with mouth-watering delicacies and you were overwhelmingly reminded how hungry and weak you were.

Your legs were shaking and every muscle in your body ached, resisting the notion of staying up on your feet. Every breath now made your lungs sizzle, the air burning on its way inside.

“So you’re a devil?” you asked feebly.

The stranger crooked a smile at your quick wit and answered: “Raphael. Very much at your service.”

A devil – out of all the names of the gods you had taken in vain, this was the one to save you. The irony stung deep.

“Forgive me that I don’t drop a curtsy. I’m feeling so…” you fumbled to find the proper word and focused your energy on staying on your feet. You glanced down and realised that you had already smudged the floor with blood and dirt.

Raphael noticed the stains too and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, you felt better and stopped gripping the table edge, knuckles white. Air poured effortlessly into your lungs without any pain and although shaky, you felt that you could stand properly. Your posture eased.

“Oh, thank you,” you murmured in surprise, but at the same time your pulse started quickening. As little as you knew of devils, you knew for a fact that they didn’t give anything for free.

“You’re welcome.” Raphael bowed lightly and pulled a chair for you.

“Please, sit, partake. You and I have much to discuss,” he mused and when you were comfortably seated, he circled around to the other side of the table.

Now healed, you were positively ravenous. You hesitated only a second before starting to fill your plate with pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables. Raphael’s crooked smile deepened, but he only watched, evaluating.

“How did you find me?” you asked, when the silence began feeling too oppressive.

Raphael tilted his head to the side, gauging your refreshingly lame reaction to the revelation of his nature. He replied: “That delicious life or death predicament you were in did the knocking, but you, my dear, were the one to push the door open.”

You swallowed a mouthful of food. “I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”

Raphael hid his smile, which felt even worse than seeing it widen. He leaned over the table on his elbows, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

“Oh, but you did. You wanted to survive. You craved the power to burn those insignificant worms,” he explained with an intensive look in his eyes. Then he leaned back in his seat and continued: “Unless, you’re saying there has been a mistake? I can send you back with an apology.”

“No!” you interjected.

The devil’s eyes glinted. With a nonchalant wave of his hand, a piece of parchment manifested into the air. Red letters in the language of the Hells were seared on the surface. A quill hovered next to it.

Your pulse quickened again as comprehension snaked its tendrils around you: You had prayed to give anything to save yourself. Anything, including your very soul as if it were a mere trinket to be traded off. But, what else was it in this transaction between life and death? You would lose both your life and soul, if you didn’t take the deal. A soul didn’t do much good for you if you were dead already.

“Tell me, what is your name, mortal?” Raphael asked.

“Tav.”

“Well then, Tav. Let’s bargain,” said the devil in the most complacent tone you had ever heard. “I can grant you the ability to manifest my power. The power to tear through your enemies, to guile the unworthy and cull the weak – the power to survive.”

You set the utensils down and drew in a shaky breath. “You want my soul?”

Raphael cocked a brow, entertained, and leaned over the table, closer to you. He said: “Lest you have something else to offer for your salvation, but I promise you this: I take good care of my clients.”

You stared right into the chestnut brown eyes of the human facade of the devil, who was after your very soul.

And nodded slowly.

“I accept,” you said simply, forcing your tone even. “We can go over the details after I’ve killed the fuckers.”

The devil barked a laugh.

“Excellent.”

You signed off the contract for your soul. It would take a long time until the gravity of what you had just done would settle in. In the meanwhile, you would enjoy the patronage of Raphael and the benefits of the warlock pact.

In a swirl of flames, you were returned to the wreck of the nautiloid ship, right at the feet of the looting mob.

“She’s here!”

“Indeed I am,” you snarled as infernal energy crackled and surged on your palm.

There would be only cinders left when you were through with them.

[doueverwonder]

The Visit

Y'all guess who's back to writing (finally); everyone say thank you to @hetagrammy for talking to me about IreNor which made me want to write again and for beta reading; she is a person of many talents.

Welcome back to world building the fics, couple of notes + human names;

Because I can I hc Faroe and Iceland as Norway & Ireland's kids; Alisdair has right to be worried he's not just an asshole.

Alisdair = Scotland Molly (or Máire) = Ireland Sigurd = Norway Ida = Faroe Islands

TW: for references to domestic/sexual abuse (character accusing another of it, nothing is actually happening)

ao3 link here

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been too long since Alisdair had seen his sister, a couple decades at least. He didn’t even know where she was living, what she was up to, if she were even alive. When you knew as many people as centuries of life could afford you it was easier to find someone though, he assumed she was living in an abbey still; which one he wasn’t sure but that was his first guess to start looking. That was the clue he had given: his sister Máire, she lived in an abbey, made her living writing manuscripts. Even threw in her goldsmithing hobby, and a rough description based off the last time he had seen her. As he was sure there were a thousand Máire’s who helped write manuscripts in Ireland alone.

This wasn’t what he expected, out of all the places in Ireland, Dublin, a viking settlement, was the last place he expected to find her. He had heard of the city, which seemed to be a rather large hub for the Scandinavians now. He couldn’t believe how many boats were in the harbor, they lined up endlessly. He remembered one of the last conversations he had with her, he had half begged her to stay away from the coasts; convinced himself the farther inland she was the safer she would be. As usual anything he, or Dylan, asked of her spurred her to do the absolute opposite. Considering this is where she was living maybe Arthur had asked her to stay away from the coasts as well, she would happily let herself get captured if it meant spiting Arthur. 

He kept his head down, not wanting to draw attention with all of them around here. Reasonably he didn’t trust these people, he had already lost Shetland, Orkney, Caithness, and Sutherland; not to mention the Isle of Mann. Four girls and a boy, all fathered by the Norse personification and promptly left behind. It wasn’t uncommon for nations to leave their children in their own land until they were older; didn’t mean he had to like how recklessly he had them; nor did it mean he couldn’t feel bad for the bairns.

He came to the house he had been told; it took far longer than he expected, and had to go through what seemed half the clergy in the country before someone knew where she was. Only finally finding out from a priest that seemed ten years too old to be alive, but here he was. It was on the outside of the city, a small house looking like it wasn’t made to be a long term shelter, there was a small area of farmland around it. He opened the gate making sure to close it behind him so the chickens that milled about wouldn’t get out. A cat sat on top of an overturned crate, gazing over him lazily. That surprised him, Molly had never been much of a cat person preferring dogs, said they were more useful. 

He dusted himself off as he stood at the door, he didn’t need Molly immediately scolding him over his appearance. He knocked heavily, she tended to daydream and not hear things too lost in whatever she was doing. He didn’t want to just walk in either lest he scare her, or he had the wrong house. The wrong Máire. He hoped not. 

The door opened, he smiled expecting his sister. Expecting for her to throw herself into his arms for a hug, they had never been apart for so long he was so excited to see her. His face fell, instead of his sister stood a man, just barely taller than him, blond with blue eyes, dressed as a northmen. The Northman, Sigurd, the source of all his troubles stood in front of him. Molly must have been here, it was too much of a coincidence there is no way he was here and she was not at some point. 

“Where is she” 

“No hello?” it infuriated him how calm the other was, Sigurd was always infuriatingly calm, even when facing Alisdair. 

“Where is my sister?” Alisdair started again, his voice firm but loud, “Where is Molly? What have you done with her, you heathen?!” he spat the word in his face. 

Sigurd looked upset, but was nowhere near losing his temper as Alisdair was, “She is fine, and I do not–” 

“She can not be fine if you are in her house I–” Alisdair stopped, a small voice, clearly inquisitive, asking something. He looked down, a child no older than four, maybe five clung to Sigurd’s leg. He was going to brush her presence off, Sigurd had plenty of bastards, all of which deserved to hear the truth about their father regardless of age. His gaze lingered on her just long enough for her to look up at him. He froze suddenly, the girl was blonde and blue eyed, just as her father was; but the shape of her face, the way the frizzy curls framed her face… that was Molly. Sigurd must have noted his new interest and he shooed her away. Alisdair’s trance broke as he watched her go. 

“Where is my sister?” he demanded again, this time peering over Sigurd’s shoulder trying to see into the house. He wanted to see the girl again, he wanted to see her closer, that had to be his sister's child. 

“I already told you” He stepped to the side to block Alisdair’s view, “She is fine, why are you looking for her?” 

“I’m not allowed to see her?” 

“I didn’t say that” 

“Then where is-” 

“Sigurd? Who’s at the door?” He froze, moments away from pushing the other man out of the doorway to get into the house. The voice was Molly's. He needed to see her, he needed to know she was okay, he needed her alone, he needed to know she wasn’t being kept with him against her will. 

Sigurd stepped to the side so Alisdair could see in the house, Molly came into view and seeing her face took some of his anxiety away knowing she was okay. Knowing she seemed unhurt. The relief was short-lived, his eyes fell on the small girl he had just seen now rested on her hip, he froze seeing her swollen stomach. 

Molly froze, she just stared at him for a moment, he tried to decide if that was a good thing or not.  “Alisdair!” the hesitation morphed into an almost forced looking smile, there was a panic in her eyes that he knew shouldn’t be there. “I thought I heard your voice, but I didn’t want to hope too much!” 

She moved as quickly as she could over to him, she handed the child to Sigurd and hugged Alisdair tightly, his eyes didn’t move from Sigurd, he put his arm around Molly not in a hug, but as if he were trying to protect her. It was impossible to not assume what he was, the stories he heard, the things he had seen, he wanted him dead. Everything played out in his head, he couldn’t touch him while he was holding her; the girl was at no fault for her fathers actions. 

Molly let go of him, though she stayed close, smiling up at him. “I swear it seems you’ve gotten older since we last saw each other, you have to tell me everything, how are you? How are Arthur and Dylan?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but every thing that came to mind had to do with what was in front of him. Her smile wavered, she was always good at knowing what he was thinking, “Silly me, you’re probably exhausted, come in, come in, we can talk later” she hugged him again quickly, this time taking the chance to whisper “wait til Ida goes to bed” 

He tensed once she let go, swallowing heavily, he assumed Ida was the girl. He nodded, but put his gaze back on Sigurd. He couldn’t help but take note of how heavily Molly kept her grip on him as she pulled him into the house, how she kept her distance from Sigurd, how she had whispered instead of asking aloud. Every instinct screaming to get Molly and Ida away from him. But he stayed quiet as Molly took her daughter back from Sigurd. 

“Mo réaltín,” Molly held the girl up a bit to be closer to eye level with him, “meet your uncle Alisdair.” 

~~~~~~~~~

The sun had set long ago, Alisdair sat watching his sister, Molly looked exhausted, her head rested on Sigurd’s shoulder, his arm around her. It infuriated Alisdair, he hadn’t gotten an answer yet, he hadn’t been given reasons to not kill Sigurd where he stood. If he threw him in the sea, it would take him longer to come back. The only punishment Alisdair could see fit for what he had done to her. 

“She’s long asleep” Alisdair commented, hoping to spur the conversation. He had spent all day with the small girl going on about all the things she liked (playing tag with the children down the road, the pictures in the windows at church, when her father told her stories about the gods); her favorite foods (pickled fish among them); the names of all the chickens (though she noted she preferred the sheep). It was easier to talk to the niece he didn’t know existed, ignore how she had her fathers nose, and her smile was too much like the Danes’. Ignore how she spoke Norse, and stumbled over the bit of Irish she proudly tried to speak to him in. 

Molly sat up a bit, she looked over at Alisdair, “what do we need to talk about?” 

He hesitated, he knew she knew, “can we go somewhere else?” 

“I’ll leave” Sigurd said instead, “I’m not making my pregnant wife go outside at this hour” 

“Wife?” It pissed him off hearing him refer to her that way, he spoke as if Molly weren’t in the room “My sister wouldn’t marry a pagan, much less willingly carry his children.” 

“But she did, and she is, so apparently you don’t know her that well.” Sigurd didn’t move from Molly’s side, he felt he held more power over Alisdair with her in his arms. “And I don’t like what you're implying about me” 

“I’ll say whatever I want about you because I know the truth.” 

“And what is the truth?” 

“I know what you viking are like.” Alisdair stated it plainly, “You show up, and take what you want without asking. That’s what you did with her; you were tired of just trinkets, jealous of your men getting to take whoever they wanted.” 

“Alisdair, sto-” she started but before being able to get anything beyond his name out was cut off. 

“And you knew the best way to make her stay with you was to have something to hang over her head,” he threw one of his hands towards the other half of the house where Ida was asleep, before gesturing to Molly, clearly trying to accentuate her current state. “You would have a dozen children just to keep her with you” 

Sigurd’s face barely changed, but Molly could feel him tense. He sat up straighter, his jaw clenched tight enough she could hear him grinding his teeth to keep himself from saying anything, 

Molly knew Sigurd wouldn’t say anything, he wasn’t a pushover but he wouldn’t want to distress her or wake up Ida either. He would hold his tongue until morning. She stood suddenly, “Alisdair, outside. Now.” She turned to Sigurd, assuring him a small walk wouldn’t kill her. To spite her brother she took his fur with her, pulling the oversized garment over her shoulders as she followed Alisdair outside.

As soon as the door closed behind her she faced him fury in her eyes “What the fuck was that” 

“Molly you don’t have to pretend to—“ 

“I’m not pretending anything!” She huffed loudly, “He is my husband, I love him, he hasn’t done anything I didn’t give him permission to.”

Alisdair was desperate to get her to admit something, anything to prove Sigurd had done something to her, that he wasn’t just being rash. “How do I know you're not saying that because he’s still right there?” 

She huffed stalking off expecting him to follow her, he did right at her heels. Admittedly he was having a hard time keeping up with her, which was embarrassing to admit considering she was at least six months along already. 

They were well out of hearing distance when she started talking again, repeating her earlier statement: “Sigurd is my husband, I love him, he hasn’t done anything without my permission. We didn’t plan Ida, or this baby, but I love being a mother and he’s a wonderful father.” 

A silence fell over them, as they kept walking. Alisdair knew Molly had no reason to lie to him, not when he wasn’t around to hear her. But he couldn’t believe she would fall for him, he couldn’t rationalize with everything that had happened that she would be okay being with him. 

“We can wait a few weeks so he doesn’t suspect, we’ll leave in the middle of the night, I’ll carry Ida so she doesn’t wake up. He won’t know we’re gone until–” he ignored everything she said. He didn’t think she was genuine, something must be wrong. 

“Alisdair.” She stopped suddenly, turning to face him, “I’m in no condition to travel, and even if I was I wouldn’t go with you” 

“I’ll come back for you in a few months then.” 

Molly went quiet looking up at her brother, she didn’t know how to tell him what she needed to. “I’m not going to be here in a few months.” 

“You’re going back to Norway with him?” 

“No. Once summer comes, and once he’s able to go get the rest of his children we’re all leaving for Iceland.” 

“No.” he didn’t even need to think about it, he wasn’t going that far away, he wasn’t letting her go that far from home. He wouldn’t be able to check on her, he wouldn’t be able to come get her if something happened. 

She sighed, “You know that means nothing,” she turned around going back to the house, “I’m going with him, I’m sorry you don’t trust him, but you can’t throw accusations around, especially after he’s been nothing but kind to me” 

“Nothing but kind?” if Alisdair wasn’t so angry he would have laughed. “You call what his people do to you, to me, kindness?” 

Molly stopped, she looked at the ground sighing. She faced him, but didn’t move any closer, “Seventy years ago now there was a raid on the Abbey I was living in. For some reason or another they decided I wasn’t to die with everyone else and brought me here…” 

Alisdair thought he had it, he thought he had his gotcha. That Molly was finally admitting the horrible things he had done to her. 

“Sigurd paid them off and let me go back about my business, not asking anything in return. That is what I call kindness, Alisdair.” Molly sighed, “It’s been too long, because you think I’m stupid now, enough so to let a man manipulate me into things, even if he had forced Ida on me I would have found a way out for both of us. You should know that.” 

Alisdair was taken aback, he hadn’t been trying to imply Molly to not know what she was doing. His assumptions had nothing to do with her, everything to do with him. He just got here, he had only seen her for a day. He thought he would show up and Molly would still be the same as the last time he had seen her, he thought she would still be his little sister and nothing more; he supposes he wasn’t always right though. 

“I know I won’t be able to stop you; but I can’t stay around if you’re going with him.” 

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” They stopped in front of the house, “But I was hoping you would be around when the baby came.” She opened the front gate not looking at him, “you are welcome to stay for a few days, but I expect you to apologize to Sigurd if you do” 

“I’ll find somewhere else then.” 

Molly nodded, “I’ll get your things then, he may not want you in his house if you don’t plan on taking anything back.” 

“Wait.” Molly stopped looking at him, he came here to check on her. She might be insisting she was fine, but he didn’t trust Sigurd, he couldn’t start trusting him just on Molly’s word either. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was admitting defeat, but… “If I apologize you’ll let me stay?” 

“I will,” she shrugged, “But you’ll have to see what he says” 

“I’ll stay, if I’m allowed.”

[lollytea]

well lolly , since theres only six days left can we get some super wrong or super right predictions from you?

I'm a little late (4 days now!!) Anyways I'm not good at predictions. Here's some silly little wishes instead. I know I'm not getting any of this but I can dream. (Most of these copy n pasted directly from discord.)

- Gus casting a huge terrifying illusion around everything as he gives Belos one long "reason you need to repent for your sins" speech. He walks towards him, shifting into all the people he's hurt over the centuries. Then he turns into Evelyn, then Caleb. I want Gus to be Belos' worst nightmare basically.

- I've seen takes that Gus being the key against Belos and all the grimwalker lore wouldn't fit and has nothing to do with his arc and it shouldn't be his responsibility. But like

Gus has spent his whole life being deceived for being trusting and gullible. Gus going up against a man who has built his life on lies and deception. Oh it would fuck. And all the similarities between Gus and the Collector. Like this part of the story is practically tailored for Gus to slip into. If you know how to write it. And I just hope they know how to write it

Ohhhhh I know Gus already loathes Belos as much as anybody but ohhhhh. He learns the Collector lore and then turns to Belos, eyes glowing like "You lied to him. You said you were his friend but you lied to him."

- I'm not an Amity Blight expert so I'm probably far off. But I've been thinking about it. I'm wondering if maybe her puppetification is JUST her, rather than it being all of the kids. And maybe Odalia is directly responsible.

And considering Amity is overdue for her ✨️Moment✨️ I'm wondering if this might be it. There's a running theme in the owl house when it comes to puppets and puppet masters, and this is directly linked to the characters who suffered abuse and manipulation at the hands of their parental figures.

Hunter got his puppet moment in TTT. Maybe Amity gets something similar in WAD. I know she's HAD her big important moment of establishing her autonomy in EE and then again in COTH. But maybe its one final nod to it. I also find it interesting that in spite of being puppetfied her hand is moving. Like to symbolise this defiance and stubbornness to comply with what Odalia has demanded of her ever since EE

- I've been mostly thinking about the potential scenario of Belos!Luz and GG!Hunter from Luz's POV. Cuz idek if we're getting the actual Hunter or a dream version of Hunter.

But like. It's FUCKED. Because Belos was Hunter's blood relation. He was his family. A terrible twisted version of a family but the only kind Hunter knew.

And then came Luz, who reinvented the meaning of family for him. She confided in him, she trusted him, she loved him. She made that boy her family because she adored him.

So THIS is deranged. Its warping the relationship they've built together into this depraved disturbing thing. The merger of these two family dynamics into one sickening thing. Like Luz was his shelter. But now she's become the exact thing he was running from.

Having Hunter look at her with blatant fear, shrinking himself so he stands beneath her, the horrible emotions that must make her feel. Oh I HATE THIS!!!

And even getting this miniscule comfort of Hunter ripped away from her. Like he was her PERSON. The only one who was aware of the horrible things she's done and she doesn't feel judged by, for several months. Like if all else failed, at least Hunter didn't hate her.

And now THIS scenario which is like "maybe....maybe he should be the one to hate you the most."

- Want a scene where Willow and Hunter gotta split up and there's some kind of antagonist pursuing them. They've only got a moment of peace before it reaches them. And Willow's like "You go ahead. I'll hold them off." (Like she did in LR) and Hunter doesn't want to leave her. But the circumstances are dire and he knows he has to and he KNOWS she'll keep herself alive. But he still worries. So they promise each other that they'll stay safe and Willow turns her back to him after that, preparing herself for a fight and expecting him to hurry off now. But he doesn't. He lingers there for an extra moment, wanting to tell her something but unable to put it into words. Then he zaps himself to her side, hastily smooches her cheek and zaps away before she can recover from her shock.

And then Willow is just. Left there. Stunned. Staring blankly at the space where he once was. And then a smile cracks her mouth wide open. Whatever she's fighting catches up to her and Willow can only cackle giddily, her engine all revved up, and she's all like LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO

Willow gets one teeny tiny little smooch by Hunter and it makes her go all "I AM POWERFUL AND I WILL NEVER DIE!!!!!!!"

- Actually overall I believe in a Willow and Hunter comic relief. I think Gus and Amity are both having special spotlight in this episode. And Luz will finally reunite with Eda and King. And idk WHERE the fuck Camila is (smooching puppet Darius or smth). But ya Willow and Hunter are gonn be so cringe.

- Evelyn Clawthorne voice reveal and Irish accent.

- Belos dies an excruciatingly painful death

- Hunter Noceda

- If there is not a big dramatic scene dedicated to Willow and Gus reuniting with their dads I am fucking killing somebody.

[friendly-books]

Dresden files Fool's Moon live blog

Fool’s Moon 

Ugh male gaze already

You’ve never mentioned Kim Delaney in your fic so I don’t have high hopes in her survival especially when she’s looking into summoning or binding circle

Sometime apprentice? Eh? How does one become a sometime apprentice

Harry drives a Beetle but he’s so tall and a beetle is so small ha

I’m absolutely blaming you for my love of Marcone and how unreasonably happy I got at the mere mention of his name in chapter two I might have a problem 

“He was one of Johnny Marcone bodyguards” pg. 18 Geez Marcone’s men can’t catch a break. First Tommy Tomm, then “Gimpy” Lawrence, and now “Spike” 

Ahh!! What was that agent Benn thinking? Pulling out her gun?!? I know Harry and Murph were going to live but still. I’m horrified by this lack of gun control 

Murph and Harry are fighting:(

I like Harry being a detective 

Who’s Justin? Why did Harry burn him to death? I’m reserving my decision if Justin is good or bad because while Harry is a good guy Bob doesn't have a moral compass.

Who’s Elaine? What happened to her?

Alphas really that’s the name they chose?

Susan you’re back!

Harry’s talking to himself again 

“What could possibly go wrong?” pg. 102 Harry sweetie you didn’t just say that. I can’t believe what I just read. Harry, you should know better than to say that. Every time someone says that things will always go wrong you’re supposed to be genre savvy. 

How is Harry still alive? He went to a hideout of possible murder happy werewolves with minimal tools and or weapons and no backup?

Marcone has arrived yay! It only took 10 chapters 

“Ah Mr. Dresden” pg. 114 Why did I think of Verinari when Marcone said Ah Mr. Dresden? Maybe because Verinari says Ah Vimes 

I love chapter 10 it’s all Marcone and Harry

Why does a demon know Harry’s mom?

“What was left of Kim Delaney lay naked and sublime on the bloodstained floor a few feet from the circle” pg. 143 I didn’t want to be right :(

“Middle-aged, starkly handsome man” pg. 145 Bi Harry counter 3

Why does a demon know Harry’s mother?

“Good-looking detective” pg. 231 Bi Harry 4 counter 

Wait did Harry call Rudolph the person who kills Murph good-looking??? What did I just read?? WHAT?!? 

It’s cool that Harry fights a werewolf 

I’ve now met ID Harry weird that whole bit was weird 

The FBI was in on it?!? 

Marcone to the rescue! 

“A man in his mature prime, his hair immaculately graying at the temples, his custom-made suit displaying a body kept fit in spite of the advancing years” pg. 293 Bi Harry 5

Really Marcone, you're really trying to get Harry to sign a contract now? 

“Marcone looked good in his gray suit and perfect hair and his manicured hands, but he wasn’t” pg. 295 Bi Harry 6

I find it amusing that Marcone and Parker are fighting over Harry for different reasons but fighting over him nonetheless :)

“He won’t accept my offer. He’d rather die.” pg. 297 Marcone knows Harry

“Marcone’s mouth dropped open, and it was an intense pleasure to see the surprise on his face” pg. 297 I love that Harry can get a reaction out of Marcone 

Loving chapter 23 with all its Marconeness 

How old are the characters? Harry calls the alphas kids, Billy calls Harry Mr. Dresden, and Harry talks about Marcone’s gray hair. I’m picturing Harry and Marcone as a mesh of @drawsdenfiles and @kaphkas fanart.

We got a title drop 

Awww Susan got Harry his duster

Why is Marcone’s house so big? Why does he need a big house? 

“If he truly offered you a challenge, he’s here,” Marcone said, his tone completely confident, “I’m certain of it.” pg. 365 Marcone really knows Harry huh 

I like that Marcone’s never underestimated Harry 

“Please remember that I want Dresden, alive if possible.” pg. 375 Wow Marcone really wants to hire Harry. 

Nooo the FBI kidnapped Murph :(

What did Denton see in Harry’s soulgaze? 

Marcone to the rescue again or not, honestly Marcone you should listen to Harry more often

“I guess it could be worse” pg. 394 Why would you say that Murph? Why???

“Mr. Dresden, Marcone said crossly. I’ve asked you not to call me that.” pg. 398 You should let Harry call you John, Marcone 

I love Harry and Marcone’s banter

Marcone’s throwing knives bit was cool

Harry using the belt was interesting. Glad Susan calmed him down. 

“Dresden! The pit!” pg. 417 Nice of Marcone to warn Harry

Harry using his necklace is cool! 

No Murph trust Harry, why did you shoot him?

Yay Murph was shooting Denton 

“Of course,” Marcone said, with a note of disappointment in his voice “I’d just hoped you hadn’t realized it. Nonetheless, Harry-“ 

“Don’t call me Harry,” I said, and hung up on him” pg. 428 I love this entire bit. How come Harry gets to call Marcone John but when Marcone calls Harry by his first name he gets upset? You should just call each other by your first names 

I hope we see more of the Alphas 

Oh Harry’s making connections with the ongoing mystery yay! 

Final thoughts 

Loved all the Marcone we got. I like that we’re getting more on the ongoing mystery. I hope we see more of the Alphas. I liked the fights and Harry’s detective work. More Bi Harry the counter is going up! We’re up to 6. As with the previous book, I'm not a big fan of the male gaze but I think that’s more to do with the length and descriptions used. Harry (or Jim) will go on for a solid paragraph describing women using words I don’t think anyone would use while with Bi Harry it’s not as long and I can see people using words like good looking or handsome. I mostly glazed over the male gaze bits. I don’t know if my predisposition to Bi Harry and a Harry/Marcone shipper is making those parts stand out or if it’s because I’m actively looking for them to add to the counter. Speaking of Marcone I don’t recall if it’s said why Marcone wants Harry to work for him. Yeah having a wizard on staff is cool he can do magic but surely Marcone knows that there’s more magic people and some are more likely to work for him than Harry. So why does he specifically want Harry to work for him? He tried to get him to work for him three times in this book and once in the previous book. There’s trying to hire someone and then there’s whatever this is. I enjoyed this book. Good book for Harry/Marcone moments. Looking forward to the next book!

[the-belle-siblings]

(Ooc) btw S. V. Left a long message for Terra.

Ooc because this is actually serious stuff to talk about:

Pride wasn't the only thing involved in those situations. It was the will of the individual to act. It cannot all be attributed to something as simple as pride. I didn't even take the comment of being called gay as an insult I was simply explaining that it isn't quite a compliment either. Especially how it's typically used in a derogatory way most times. (It obviously wasn't in your situation but the ask I was given sorta made it out that I had taken it as insult. I did not, Terra was upset that she was told her plans all fail not that she was called gay. I thought it was a point that should be mentioned anyways.)

Being queer is tough, it's full of challenges. It's the power of the individual to realize "Hey, I am actually your equal and your not gonna treat me like crap." That's what gets things done, it's more spite and will then actual pride. That's my point.

Being queer is being beaten down and holding onto the most simple things because we are powerful and spiteful and alive, not prideful. We group around each other, spit on our wounds and stand up even though we're outnumbered, because we know that we don't deserve to be treated as lesser. Pride suggests that we deserve to be put onto a pedestal which isn't at all the case.

Everything we've accomplished is queer spite, queer sweat, queer tears, queer blood, queer love, queer community. We aren't prideful gods above all creation we are simple human beings raising banners with our blood for the sake of life. We are survivors of our every day existence. It is a constant battle and yet recently we have been deceived by our foes and told that the war is over.

It is not over. It has simply just begun.

We still continue to lose our rights because they aren't protected by our government. And we don't fight back! Why? Because "you already have pride month" or "it was worse back in my day." We are actively being gaslit! We hardly have any control over our lives and we're being told "grow up you liberal snowflake."

You can be proud of who you are and not change a damn thing about the world around you. However if you love who you and your community are, you will likely feel spiteful towards those who threaten you. Love is more powerful than pride.

If you love your people you're going to help them. That's where everything comes from. It comes from love and spite. "I hate that you hurt the thing I love so I'll take care of it and show it off!" That's us. It's all about the kindness in our hearts and the motivation for change. Love and Spite. In other words, passion.

Queer Passion > Gay Pride

Pride can only get you so far but with passion, you move forwards no matter what. Because you want that change. You need that change. This whole damn world needs to change.

Oppression is prideful. They view themselves as above others for the reasons they find in a delusional man's novel. They view themselves as above others as a desperate cling to power. They are prideful, selfish, idiotic, and greedy.

That's why I believe in passion over pride.

Though Pride month does sound a bit better than Passion month I must admit.

I'm saying this as queer person who struggles with their gender identity and sexuality. I've been called slurs and misgendered and deadnamed. When it comes to myself I get the adrenaline rush and I drop it. However if I hear it about my brother or one of my friends I'm legit ready to lay someone out.

I have legitimately almost fought someone for calling my brother a slur. That isn't pride! That's love for my family and friends and my community! That's spite and rage towards my oppressors! Me shouting as I'm shaking in anger and fear isn't my pride, it is my individual passion to help those I care about!

We are brave passionate individuals and we need to step up and do something about the way our world is. Boycott products run by homophobic people, spread awareness posts, start protests in the streets, give speeches, run for office, ANYTHING OTHER THAN SITTING AROUND DOING NOTHING!!!

Sorry for the very long rant though I'm just very passionate about this kind of topic.