#masked mysterious figures my beloved

[soullessseraphim]

Soooooo Liam's masquerade outfit because………… Because.

The fool

[egophiliac]

oh, uh, this...this isn't Silver's backstory after all.

[jaythes1mp]

This is my first official post, and idk how to feel about it. So any and all comments & reblogs are really appreciated. If it’s bad please comment so I know I have to delete it🙏

Your secrets are ours, Kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH1 -> CH2 -> CH3 -> CH4 -> CH5 -> CH6 -> CH7 -> CH8 -> CH9 -> CH10

Nightwing, who’s known for his impressive acrobatic skills and crime-fighting abilities, has become a prominent figure in the city of Blüdhaven. Renowned for his fearless approach to taking down criminals and has gained a notable reputation among the superhero community.

The guy's identity is a complete mystery, though. Nightwing works alone, leaving many of us to wonder who the man behind the mask really is. — Some say he has connections to Gotham City’s own famous vigilante, Batman.

When the young hero is seen in action, he can be often spotted leaping from rooftops and engaging in daring acts of superheroism, leaving criminals and citizens alike in awe of his skill and courage. Some question if he's a human or something more, while others simply look on in admiration. Despite the secrecy surrounding his identity, Nightwing's reputation seems to grow endlessly.

Then there’s Red Hood, the dark and brooding vigilante of Gotham City, a fearsome sight to behold. His red mask and signature pistols make him easily recognizable, and his actions leave criminals trembling in terror.

Some have speculated him being a former criminal reforming his ways while I believe that he too has ties to our one and only Batman. Despite his dark demeanor and ruthless tactics, it seems clear to me that there is a connection between the two. There has been a lot of evidence submitted for their collaboration, even if they choose to deny it publicly. Though, Batman, known for his strict code of ethics, would not typically associate himself with someone as morally ambiguous as Red Hood. But the circumstantial evidence is too compelling to ignore.

Regardless, Red Hood's impact on the criminal underworld is undeniable. He uses violence and intimidation to enforce his own brand of justice, which is rather admirable, yet causing many to question his brutal methods.

Next up is our one and only Batman himself, the dark knight of Gotham City. He’s a mystery in itself. His tall, imposing stature is enough to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, and his reputation as a master detective and fighter only enhances his mystique.

I have been trying to piece together the puzzle that is Batman's identity. Who is the man under the mask? What drives him to take on Gotham's criminals with such determination?

Though the billionaire Bruce Wayne has long been suspected as the man behind the mask, no concrete evidence has ever been presented. His true identity remains a puzzle, something that adds to his allure and intrigue. Every lead I follow seems to hit a dead end. The playboy is too obvious, too niche. What would motivate a Wayne, someone brought up into filthy wealth, who wastes his money on grand galas and prostitutes, into defending this city? The theory is too far reached.

Next are Red Robin and Robin. Batman’s sidekick-associates. Their partnership with Batman has been evident in their actions and fighting style. However, a rumour has been running around, theorising that the newer Robin was a young child when he had first joined Batman at his side.

Would our beloved hero really force a minor into sighting the dark dangerous streets of Gotham? Would he_

As you sat uncomfortably at the countertop of your kitchen, typing away on your laptop, you were suddenly interrupted by the unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up from the bright screen to see your roommate standing in the doorway, arms crossed. You raise an amused brow, a grin tugging at your lips at the sight of the other male in pyjamas rather than the usual broody black clothes and leather jacket. You click save and shut off the computer, turning fully to face him. “Yes, Jayson dear?”

Jason’s nose scrunches at the name, even as he stands in the doorway wearing nothing but a thin, well-worn shirt and pants. He looks like a child, which is somehow more than a little endearing. His eyes flickering up and down your frame as he appraises you. Despite the relaxed state his attire provides, his expression is as serious as ever. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of the worn flannel pants he’s sporting, but it does little to make him look anything other than intimidating.

He raises a brow, tilting his head as he looks at you, watching you save your work and then turn to face him. “Don’t ‘yes, Jayson dear’ me, smartass.”

You snort, moving off of the chair and stretching out, the cracks in your back loud enough for him to purse his lips at. “Well aren’t you sour this fine morning.”

Jason scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “It’s four am.” He mutters, crossing the kitchen to get to the coffee pot. He doesn’t really need the caffeine, but he likes the routine. He grabs a mug from one of the cabinets, filling it up with black coffee. He’d just snuck back in after his patrol, not expecting to see you up.

“And I’m not sour,” he says a bit petulantly, taking a sip of the coffee before setting it aside. “I’m concerned.”

Your brow raises higher, turning to the worn down clock practically glued to the wall from all the times you’ve both hit it to get the ticking sound to shut off. It’s a digital, why does it need to make such an annoying sound? “Huh. I guess it is.”

He rolls his eyes, not at all surprise that you would lose track of time so easily when you got lost in your writing. “Yeah, you do that sometimes,” he grumbles, taking another sip of coffee.

He looks you over, studying you intently as he crosses his arms. “How long have you been working?”

You hum, looking out the window into the polluted skies of Gotham. The sun had risen. “What answer will make you the least angry?”

“None of them,” Jason says, a scoff escaping his lips. His jaw twitches slightly as he watches you stare out the window, and he can’t help noticing how tired you look. He’s seen you like this before, pushing yourself to the brink just to finish a project, just to get everything perfect.

“How long?” he asks again, his voice a little softer this time.

“...” you sigh, looking away from the window to face him once more. “All night.” Before he can open his mouth to reprimand you, you cut in. “But! My project is due today. And Tim will decapitate me if I’m late on another assignment...” You rub the side of your face tiredly, displaying an uneven smile.

Jason’s annoyance melts away into concern as you speak. He can tell you’re exhausted, and the thought of you pushing yourself so hard for so long makes him want to wrap you up in a blanket and force you to take a nap.

But he can’t do that. Not when you’re an adult, not when you’re not actually his little sibling. Yet. He settles for crossing the kitchen and putting a hand on your shoulder. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says firmly. “You won’t be any good to your professor if you pass out from exhaustion.”

You grin softly and give a tired nod, fishing out your phone to check the university’s time table. “I only have to go in at nine forty.”

“And then you only have to endure a full day of classes,” Jason says dryly, narrowing his eyes. He gently takes your phone out of your hand and tucks it into his pocket. “No more work until then.”

Your eyes widen at the action, quickly scrambling to get the device back. “You– Jay!” You huff, leaning back against the hard counter. His gaze set sternly on you. You feel small under his gaze, as if he’s your father disappointed in you for stealing a tenner.

Jason crosses his arms once more, his eyes never leaving your face. Looking like the definition of a disapproving older brother. “No,” he says firmly, his voice stern. “You need to rest. I can’t have you passing out in the middle of class.”

He takes a step closer, looming over you as he stares you down. “You’re gonna take a nap, and then you’re gonna eat a proper breakfast. Got it?”

You can do nothing but glare. Cursing under your breath and walking past him. You’ll have to complain to Tim about this later.

He watches you stalk past him, a smirk on his face. He can practically hear you swearing at him in your head. He takes a moment to finish off his coffee before following you into the living room.

“What, no clever comeback? No witty remark?” he teases, leaning against the wall and watching you storm into the living room. “Are you actually listening to me for once?”

You make a show of laying down on his red beanbag, tugging the blanket off of the couch to drape over your form and throwing up the middle finger at him.

Jason can’t help but chuckle at your childish display. He moves towards you slowly, stopping when he’s close enough to look down at your face. He crouches down beside you, a smirk on his lips. He places your laptop on the table opposite you and your phone next to it.

“Real mature, kid.” He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He ruffles your hair then stands, descending back into the kitchen. “I’ll wake you up an hour before you gotta leave, don’t worry.”

You sigh, mimicking him in an exaggeratedly high pitched voice. “I’ll wake you up an hour before you have to leave, mehmeheh.”

No use of y/n, currently gn leaning towards male.

Things to note: reader is unaware that the Batfamily members are related yet, age is young adult (19-20), everyone is aged up.

Any questions or feedback is appreciated.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. Feat their children. A missing wife and a frantic family looking for her. Thanks!! :))

Missing

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

As the tranquil day at Aubrey Hall drew to an end, the golden rays of the setting sun cast an ethereal glow upon the Bridgerton estate. Benedict had planned a serene day alongside his beloved wife, Y/N, and their three dear children, basking in the contentment of family and the delicate exchange of glances that bespoke a love unbreakable.

However, as the evening shadows lengthened, a strange unease settled over Benedict’s heart. Y/N had ventured into the meadows with their eldest daughter, intent on gathering wildflowers to grace the drawing room. Benedict had remained behind with their two sons, the image of his wife and daughter laughing amongst the flowers lingering in his mind. Yet, as time wore on, his heart grew troubled, each passing moment deepening his sense of dread.

He called her name as he paced through the fields, his sons clinging to his sides with fretful expressions. Each shout of “Y/N!” grew louder, more desperate, reverberating through the quiet countryside, unanswered and met only with the whisper of the evening breeze. By the time he returned to the house, his face was a portrait of worry, his hands trembling as he tried to mask his alarm.

Word of Y/N’s mysterious absence spread swiftly among the Bridgertons. Anthony, ever the steady and pragmatic elder brother, seized command, rallying the family into search parties. Lanterns were lit, their warm glow piercing the encroaching darkness as the family fanned out, each one calling Y/N’s name into the cool night air, a chorus of worry and love.

Yet Benedict himself could scarcely manage coherence. His steps were hurried and unsteady, his breaths shallow, as if the very fear of her loss had stolen his ability to think clearly. Dark, haunting thoughts flitted through his mind visions of what might befall her, each more terrifying than the last. What if she lay injured, beyond his reach? What if… he dared not finish the thought, for even the idea of a world devoid of her presence threatened to unravel him.

As he roamed the forest edge, his heart aching with worry, a soft whimper caught his ear. Turning swiftly, he found their eldest daughter, her small frame trembling as she clung to a tree, her cheeks stained with frightened tears.

“Papa,” she whimpered, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness, “I lost Mama. I tried to find her, but… but I couldn’t.”

In an instant, Benedict dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her brow. “Hush now, my darling,” he murmured, voice low and tender. “You did all you could. You are most brave, and I am here. We shall find her together.”

Hand in hand with his daughter, Benedict continued his search, his steps purposeful despite the persistent tremor in his heart. He would not could not give up, for the very thought was unthinkable. She was his heart, his soul, the very essence of his life.

Finally, as they entered a quiet glade shrouded in moonlight, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure, seated upon a fallen log, her ankle twisted, yet her countenance as serene as ever.

“Y/N!” he cried, voice choked with relief as he closed the distance between them. He fell to his knees beside her, enveloping her in his arms with a tenderness born of desperation. “My dearest, are you quite well? What befell you?”

“Oh, Benedict,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she clung to him. “I am unharmed save for a foolish misstep. I twisted my ankle, and could not find my way back. I am so terribly sorry to have caused you worry.”

“Never say such a thing,” he murmured, his voice thick as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You are safe, and that is all that matters. I cannot bear the thought of life without you. The very notion would undo me.”

A quiet sob escaped her, and she buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him as if he were her anchor. He held her close, his hand weaving into her hair, murmuring assurances as his heart began to calm, each beat syncing to the warmth of her embrace.

Gently, Benedict lifted her into his arms, ignoring her weak protests that she could manage to walk. “Tonight, I shall carry you,” he insisted, a rare softness in his voice. “I cannot bring myself to let you out of my sight.”

When they returned to the estate, the family erupted with joy and relief, their children bounding forward, their laughter mingling with tears as they embraced their mother. Benedict settled her upon the sofa in the drawing room, wrapping her in a blanket as she rested her head against his shoulder, their children snuggling in close as though they, too, needed the comfort of her presence.

“Mama, tell us a story,” their eldest daughter whispered, her wide eyes reflecting the flickering glow of the fireplace.

Y/N smiled gently, settling a storybook upon her lap as their children nestled close, and she began to read, her voice soft and soothing, carrying the words with a warmth that wrapped around them all.

Benedict watched her, captivated by her grace, the way she animated each tale, the gentle glint in her eyes as she held their children’s undivided attention. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

She paused, glancing at him with a playful sparkle. “Mr. Bridgerton, might you be so kind as to cease your staring?”

He chuckled, his cheeks tinged with a blush. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bridgerton. But it is quite impossible to look away from a sight so enchanting.”

Their children groaned, accustomed to their parents’ displays of affection, yet Benedict could see the small, contented smile tugging at Y/N’s lips.

Once the story concluded, the children trotted off to bed, each one pausing to press a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before retiring. Benedict took her hand, guiding her to their bedchamber with a gentle care, lifting her in his arms as they ascended the stairs despite her gentle protests.

“Must you always be so stubborn?” she teased, though she leaned into him, her fingers tracing the familiar curve of his shoulder as he carried her.

“My dear,” he replied, his tone soft yet unwavering, “you must know by now that my resolve is unyielding when it concerns your well-being.”

In their room, he settled her upon the bed, carefully propping her ankle as he tucked a blanket around her. Lying beside her, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they lay in contented silence.

At length, Y/N broke the stillness, her fingers tracing circles over his chest. “Benedict, I feared you might think me careless.”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Perish the thought, my love. I am simply grateful to have you here, safe and within my arms. I could not fathom a world devoid of your presence.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes soft with love. “And I, Benedict, could never be complete without you. You are my heart, my constant.”

He took her hand, lifting it to his lips as he murmured, “Then let us remain as one, my beloved. Come what may, I vow to cherish you for all my days.”

With her hand still in his, Y/N drifted to sleep, her breath soft and even against his shoulder. Benedict watched her, his heart swelling with gratitude for the love that bound them, a love so steadfast that no force could sever it.

As he held her close, he whispered his vow once more, knowing that his heart had found its home, and that no darkness could ever diminish the light they shared.

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part i: and while you were asleep, i was surely awake

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 2.8k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: hii y'all, sorry for not posting in a year :P my only excuse is that i didn't feel like taking the energy to actually write out my story ideas. also perfectionism. anyway i somehow wrote this in two hours while procrastinating my college app essays and have plans to make this a multi-chapter fic despite intending to write an angsty oneshot request for a completely different fandom (i see you, beloved anons, and i raise you this completely unrelated fic <3)… the brain of a writer works in mysterious ways.

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

You were in love with James Potter.

It was a fact of life, just like how the sky was blue, or that his favorite dessert was treacle tart, or that you were the only person he’d ever let see him cry besides his mother. You’d loved him from the moment you met him on the train to Hogwarts as a shy, anxious muggleborn unsure of the new world of magic and prejudice you’d been thrown into without so much as a warning. He hadn’t cared at all about your blood status- didn’t even think to ask about it. He had launched himself into your compartment and began talking at you a mile a minute, beaming with every tooth showing once he found out you were hoping to get into Gryffindor, his hazel eyes alight with the joy of making a new friend. And friends indeed you had become; you were proud to remember that you’d known him before Sirius or Remus or Peter did, though it took only an instant after the Sorting for him to become best mates with the rest of them, too.

You and James were inseparable from that moment on, giggling at Professor Binns’ failure to notice Sirius’ antics in the back of class and reassuring each other when home seemed too far away for comfort. He stole sweets from the Slytherin table for you at meals, and you covered for him when the teachers almost caught him pranking Snape– after all, who would believe that sweet, innocent Y/n would ever be involved in such shenanigans? The soft-spoken demeanor and love of everything pastel you’d thought would eventually oust you from the close-knit Gryffindor boys’ group proved to be quite the useful asset when affirming their ‘innocence’.

Not that they only wanted you around because you were helpful, of course. You had quite the talent for exaggerating stories until even Sirius fell off his seat laughing in disbelief, and your creative mind made for some glorious pranks and entertaining mistakes. Peter would blush for an hour straight if anyone mentioned The Great Plum Pudding Incident of Christmas 1974, all thanks to your clever meddling. And Remus– well, he was eternally grateful for your mother-henning during the worst of his moon cycles. You’d been the first to figure out his “furry little problem”, and upon learning that enjoying chocolate was his favorite method of escapism, showed up every month without fail with an armful of Honeydukes sweets. The little ways in which you loved each Marauder meant the world to them. They would do anything to protect you and make sure you were okay, James most of all. You often teased James that he was more bodyguard than friend, with his deep glares at too-forward Hufflepuff boys masking the big softie you knew he was underneath. You remembered fondly the summer days he spent chasing you around your house, scaring your mother half to death with his colander-and-pot ‘armor’ as he declared that as a chivalrous knight, he was meant to save Princess Y/n from the terrible Acromantula King. Privately, you thought James had a few too many Arthurian legends for bedtime stories as a child, but what could you do?

Even now, as sixth years, the bond between you and James never changed, your love for him ever-growing. Your heart melted every time you glanced over your shoulder in the hallway, only to find him chatting softly with a sniffling first-year and guiding them to Professor Sprout’s office for a hot cuppa and a biscuit. You cheered at his Quidditch victories and were euphorically lifted up onto his broad shoulders afterward, whooping as he galavanted through the common room in celebration. You were there when he needed a shoulder to cry on when his grandfather died, softly stroking his hair as he fell asleep in your lap with tear tracks still running down his face. And he adored you in return– braiding your hair while you worked on Herbology essays, racing you on his beloved broom when you stayed with him during the summer, distracting you from your rants about Slughorn’s unfair grading with a trip to the kitchens and a blissfully soft blanket.

James was your lifeline and you his– and nothing in the world could change that.

Except, perhaps, one tiny little complication. A complication with vibrant red hair, sparkling green eyes, and a natural affinity for Potions. A complication that had sparked your jealousy since the first time you noticed James glancing dreamily at Lily Evans in second year Transfiguration, jealousy that had only gotten worse with his grand declarations of love every week. He’d begun to announce his affection for the muggleborn to anyone who would listen in third year, and it didn’t stop there. No, when James Potter loved someone, he loved hard, and that meant that you had to watch as beautiful bouquets appeared on Lily’s nightstand nightly while the rest of the girls in your dorm whispered and swooned. You were a wallflower when he sighed about how lovely her skin was and how bloody talented she was at everything she did during one of your late-night chats in the common room, curling in on yourself with every word he spoke. When he asked her to Hogsmeade the first time (and the second, and the third, and the fiftieth), you observed as she rolled her eyes and shoved past him, despite the small smile on her face.

It wasn’t that Lily wasn’t smart or pretty or talented– far from it. She deserved every good Potions grade she got, and even the pureblood Slytherins begrudgingly noted how she was the darling of Hogwarts society. But you thought that the way she treated your best friend, refusing his advances quite harshly but sending him flirtatious glances and making a show of wearing his flowers in her hair, was rather unkind and misleading. She had James wrapped around her little finger and didn’t seem to want to let go of his attention anytime soon, despite Snape’s protests about how much time he was spending with her. You disliked Severus, but didn’t think he deserved Lily’s bad treatment either. Sometimes you’d see him staring at James and Lily deep in conversation, and shoot him a glance of communal disappointment– before realizing who you were sharing the moment with and resuming an expression of disgust, at least.

At first, you ignored your growing angst about his new obsession, chalking it up to sleep deprivation, stress over your upcoming exams, and even your monthly. But when you started to run out of excuses for the despair slowly overtaking your heart and flashes of his dark curls began to appear in your sweetest dreams, you were forced to admit that your feelings for James ran much deeper than a platonic friendship. From the way he spun you around in the snow to the way he snorted at Remus’ awful puns, you were head-over-heels smitten with your best friend.

The way he’d filled out since the end of fourth year hadn’t escaped your notice, either; you were pretty sure that his pecs should be considered a traffic hazard, with the way you’d fallen flat on your face after seeing him shirtless after a match. He’d rushed over to clean up every one of your injuries, of course, with a touch so gentle it released a whole menagerie of butterflies in your stomach. You’d barely managed to mumble a coherent thank-you before sprinting to take a very cold shower and scream into your pillow with embarrassment. How on earth did Lily Evans even think around him?!

Alas, you’d read your fair share of romance novels, and you knew how this story would end. Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.

That was the state Sirius found you in, broody and lost in thought in a quiet corner of the library. He grinned rakishly, planting a well-polished boot on a nearby chair and leaning over to tap your forehead. “Lots going on in there today, huh?”

You snapped out of your daze and smiled sheepishly up at him. “Sorry, Siri, didn’t mean to ignore you. Just, er, thinking about my Potions essay, do you know how many uses there are for mandelwort? Quite fascinating plants, hones–”

Sirius winced and slid back far across the table. “Oh, no, you are not discussing horrid Potions work with me today when there are so many other wonderful topics.” He gestured to a table of swooning fifth-years gazing dreamily at his backside. “For example, those lovely ladies,” he crooned, sending an exaggerated wink towards them and smirking when they sighed.

You wrinkled your nose and scoffed. “Oh, please, as if I haven’t heard enough about your conquests already. I’m already scarred for life from your stories about that Belgium Veela, let alone the muggle sailor you nearly broke the Statute of Secrecy for.”

He waved a hand, dismissing your allegations of the mental injury caused by his excruciating attention to sordid detail when slightly tipsy in the common room. You made a mental note to charm his shampoo to turn his hair bright lavender for the next week for that little snub. Although, being Sirius, he’d probably just use it as an excuse to sway the rest of the Hogwarts population into going to Hogsmeade with him. “Ah, but darling Y/n, that’s what I’m here for!” He furrowed his brow and stroked his chin in mock consideration. “However, I can’t seem to recall a time when you–” here he poked you in the cheek for emphasis– “confessed to a little tete-a-tete in the hallway. Ever. Which means we have a problem,” he grinned.

You felt rather like prey being hunted for sport. “That would be because I’m not interested in anyone, you dolt!” Crossing your arms, you turned your face back towards your homework. Maybe if you denied romantic interest for long enough, Sirius would leave you alone and go flounce off to flirt with the noisy table of fourth years. “Anyway, I heard Marlene’s been circling Dorcas like a lovesick pigeon lately, so perhaps you should be putting your matchmaking efforts to her benefit instead.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “C’mon doll, I know you weren’t actually thinking about Potions when I arrived. Who’s the lead actor in those fantasies, mm?” He snatched up your favorite pink gel pen, twirling around his fingers as he looked at you expectantly.

Drat. He wouldn’t be so easily distracted with the latest gossip. You opened your mouth to protest yet again when you caught a flash of red over Sirius’ artfully tousled locks. You watched as James strode up to the alcove where Lily and her friends were studying, transfigured a sheet of parchment into a butterfly clip and held it out to her with a grin. Her laughter pealed out through the library as she let him lean over her shoulder to place it in her hair. He seemed oblivious to the titters of the girls around him while he gazed at Lily adoringly. You felt your heart clench as you recognized the expression on his face; you’d seen it on your own in the mirror after spending time with James, after all. And it seemed like maybe Lily was finally starting to be swayed into accepting his starry-eyed proposals, if the pretty blush on her cheeks was anything to go by.

Sirius tracked your despairing gaze to the couple and immediately paled in realization. “Oh, shit.”

Shit, indeed. Your face turned bright red as you scrambled to pack your bag and leave the area as fast as you possibly could, not sure how you could face Sirius knowing your deepest secret now. The boy had no self-control, fueling the Hogwarts gossip mill with the wild stories he overheard, and he had even less discretion when confessing things to his friends around the common room fire. It’s no wonder he wound up in Gryffindor, you thought miserably. There’s no way he’d be able to keep a secret like the rest of the Slytherins, and definitely not from James. It would only be a matter of time before he let it slip about your feelings to the rest of the Marauders, and— well, you’d just have to face losing your best friend for good once he heard.

Sirius broke your train of thought by wrapping his hands around yours, looking up at you with concern. “Hey, doll, wait— I didn’t know—“

You sniffed and wiped the tears threatening to fall from your eyes away fiercely. “That’s exactly it, Sirius, you didn’t know because you won’t be able to keep it from James.”

He looked guiltily down at the table. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit of a git with keeping things private lately, yeah?”

You nodded, covering your face with your hands. Sirius reached out, placing them back down on the table, and softly said, “Listen, I shouldn’t have pried so hard. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” He broke off, pausing to scramble for a handkerchief from his bag to wipe off your rapidly disintegrating mascara. “And I promise not to breathe a word of this to James,” he finished.

You looked up at him, startled. “Are you serious?” At his answering grin, you groaned. “Don’t answer that. But really, are you sure that you’ll be able to resist telling him everything?” You fiddled with the now-soiled handkerchief and whispered, “You two are so close, I don’t want to drive you apart. If James thought you were hiding something important from him, it would destroy him,” you sniffed.

He frowned. “Doll, you know you’re just as important as James is to me, right?” At your answering slump, his jaw clenched and he continued on with more intensity. “You’re like my sister, Y/n, there’s nothing you could do to make me care for you less. Especially not asking for your privacy. Clearly, I haven’t been treating you as well as you deserve if you doubt that.”

He walked around and took a seat in the armchair next to you, pulling you in to lean on his shoulder. “And I can be discreet, you know. I might not show it often, but growing up in a family of the most intensely secretive purebloods ever to exist taught me a few things.” You glanced at him doubtfully, the tiny quirk of your mouth the only sign that you were joking. “Hey, I’m being serious!” He laughed, then quieted suddenly. “This thing with James— you really love him, don’t you?”

You gave him an exasperated look out of the corner of your eye. Sirius released a breath and gazed deeply into the space in front of him. “Hey, we’ll figure this out together, okay?” He poked you in the side. “If he’s too focused on the smell of Evans’ hair or whatever to see that he already has the perfect girl in front of him, he’s not as smart as you think he is.” You giggled slightly, his words warming you. Sirius smiled, happy to see you cheering up a bit.

“Why don’t we go raid the kitchens? The coolest person I know once told me that elf-crafted mint chocolate chip ice cream is the best way to heal a broken heart,” he teased. You groaned, remembering how you’d told him that as a last resort to get him to stop complaining about how he missed his sailor ex-boyfriend every time you two went to Hogsmeade. At least your random advice wound up benefiting you now, you thought as you collected the last of your stationery and exited the library.

Neither you nor Sirius saw how James watched you smile up at Sirius as you walked away, holding his arm and laughing loudly at something he muttered. Anna Dumotier, a Hufflepuff fifth-year and one of Lily’s friends, would remember later that night how he seemed to tune out Lily’s voice for a moment and stared at the doors to the library with a strange expression on his face. His brows were furrowed like he was trying to decipher the answer to an unfamiliar puzzle, his eyes widened with confusion and a glint of something she could only identify as jealousy before Lily brought him back to the conversation with a graceful flip of her hair. But no— she shook her head— that couldn’t be right. What could James possibly be jealous of when he finally had the girl of his dreams in his arms?

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii

[agent99galanzo]

Unmasking Chemistry

Setting: San Diego Comic-Con, where energy is high, and anticipation even higher. You’re on stage with the Marvel cast, ready for an evening of surprise reveals, interactive games, and secret announcements. The crowd is massive, buzzing with excitement for what they don’t know is going to be one of the biggest Comic-Con surprises ever.

---

You’ve played a beloved Marvel superhero for the past couple of years, and tonight’s panel is expected to reveal major spoilers for the next film. But what no one knows—not the fans, not the press, not even your fellow castmates—is that you've been roped into a very secret mission by the studio. Your co-star, the famously unpredictable Robert Downey Jr., is in on it with you, and he’s grinning like a cat who got the cream.

The Marvel cast is seated in a semi-circle, answering fan questions about plot points and character arcs when a huge announcement comes through the speakers:

Moderator: "We have a surprise guest who will join the MCU tonight... But you’ll have to guess who it is!"

The crowd goes wild, and the lights dim dramatically. A game begins, with the moderator reading out mysterious clues about the new Marvel character, but the audience isn’t getting it. Neither is your fellow cast, who are all shooting confused glances your way, sensing something is up.

The final clue is read:“He’s faster than a bullet, can charm the stars out of the sky, and might just be hiding in plain sight…

The lights flare back on, and suddenly, a character dressed in full costume appears on stage—a masked superhero in dark tactical gear, completely unrecognizable. The crowd erupts, assuming it’s a new Marvel villain or a hero they haven’t seen before.

Robert Downey Jr. the notorious troublemaker, grins widely at you, nudging you to stand up. You’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred times, but the nervous excitement is still real. You step toward the masked figure and start engaging in some light banter, but then, without warning, the figure grabs you by the hand and twirls you toward them, dipping you dramatically.

The crowd gasps, and you lean into the mic with a mischievous smirk.

You: "Want to know who’s under the mask?"

With a flourish, you reach up and pull off the mask to reveal—Henry Cavill, looking devilishly handsome and playful. The audience loses it. The deafening cheers drown out everything, and the Marvel cast collectively falls apart in shock and laughter, with a few of them openly gaping at the unexpected twist.

Henry still holding you in the dip, smirks at you before setting you upright. He takes the mic, obviously amused by the stunned crowd.

Henry "Sorry to crash the party, but when Marvel offered me a spot next to this talented crew—and especially next to you—I couldn’t say no."

The banter is fast and flirty as Henry takes a seat beside you. There’s a palpable chemistry, and it’s clear that you two have a shared secret—one that your fellow cast members are only beginning to catch onto.

The interview continues with Henry playfully introducing his character, a mysterious anti-hero who will both rival and work with your character in the next movie. The Marvel cast slowly recovers from the shock, and the chemistry between you and Henry becomes the unexpected highlight of the panel, leaving everyone guessing just how much of the playful banter is scripted and how much is real.

Halfway through the interview, the moderator brings out a *Truth or Dare* segment—a tradition for these Comic-Con panels—and you feel your heart skip a beat. When it’s your turn, the moderator puts you on the spot, asking you to choose.

You: "Truth, let’s keep it safe... for now."

Moderator: "Okay. Here's one: Who is the most charming co-star you've ever worked with?"

You hesitate, feeling all eyes on you, especially Henry's. The crowd goes silent as you weigh your answer, and with a playful shrug, you finally respond.

You "Well, there’s this one guy…who unexpectedly swept me off my feet—literally—right here on stage tonight. What can I say, he’s got some charm."

The crowd roars with approval, and Henry laughs, clearly enjoying every second of this.

Then it’s Henry’s turn. He grins devilishly, choosing "Dare."

Moderator: "We dare you to recreate your favorite on-screen kiss with any cast member of your choice…on stage, right now."

There’s an audible “ooooh” from the crowd, and Henry’s gaze turns immediately to you, eyes glinting with mischief. Before you can react, your co-stars are egging him on, laughing and chanting your name. With a dramatic flourish, he turns toward you, his expression more serious.

Henry: "Well, since I just joined the MCU, I think it’s only fair to make it memorable… if you’re up for it?"

You can feel the room’s energy tighten, everyone waiting to see if you’ll accept the challenge. With a playful smile, you take a step closer to Henry and nod, a boldness taking over you.

You: "Why not? We’ll give them something to talk about."

Without hesitation, Henry gently cups your face and leans in, and what was supposed to be a “movie moment” becomes something entirely electric. It’s meant to be a quick, playful kiss for the crowd, but the intensity catches you both off guard, lingering just a second longer than planned.

The entire room explodes in applause, your Marvel co-stars are mock-fainting, and you and Henry pull back, both of you grinning like school kids who just got away with something outrageous.

---

The kiss becomes the highlight of Comic-Con, trending across every social media platform. Fans speculate wildly, analyzing every frame of the interaction, convinced there's more going on between you and Henry than a scripted moment.

That night, after the adrenaline-filled panel, you and the cast head to an after-party in a private suite overlooking the San Diego skyline. Henry is by your side the entire evening, the chemistry between you unmistakable.

At one point, when the crowd thins out and it's just the two of you standing on the balcony, he turns to you, his eyes warm and sincere.

Henry: "You know, I’m really glad we did this. The MCU, Comic-Con, the surprise... and everything else."

He reaches for your hand, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos of the evening. You look out over the glittering city below, feeling that tonight was the start of something thrilling and entirely unexpected.

You: "Me too. But next time we plan a stunt like that, let’s make sure we don’t surprise ourselves."

He laughs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and you realize that whatever comes next—whether it’s on-screen or off—it’s going to be one wild, unforgettable adventure.

[mirroringdust]

For @hellghoulweek

"Who's that?" she asked her maid, who was sitting next to her on the wooden stand that overlooked the tournament grounds.

"Oh, that..." her maid paused for a moment, almost hesitant, and looked up at her. "That's the Black Knight."

"The black night?" Lady Galadriel turned her head towards her, as if she could hear better that way, "I can see that he wears black armour, but who is he... where is he from, where are his lands?"

"My lady," Mirdania said, stuttering, "that's all I know... I think that's all anyone knows. He's just the Black Knight."

"Is he?" Galadriel raised her eyebrows and turned her head back to the tournament. She would have to ask the king later how he could allow someone who did not reveal his true identity to take part in such a joyous occasion. It was her birthday, after all. But before she could think about it, or even anticipate it, her eyes remained on him for a while longer. The armour made it almost impossible to recognise any of his features, but his demeanour was enough to make the people around him cheer whenever he mounted his horse, and his habit of always winning did the rest to give him a lasting impression. Galadriel felt a slight smile escape her lips, for she did understand it, in a way. His stature seemed to tower over the others by just a little, but enough to make him stand out, and his dark armour made him seem even more striking.

For a moment she thought he was looking at her. She quickly looked away but immediately returned her gaze towards him as soon as he left the tournament place. She followed every step of his tall, sheltered figure flashed between the colourful tents, clinging to the sight, unable to look away from the shadows until they grew longer, for the sun slowly began to set. It was like a blemish on an otherwise unspoiled, solemn scene. A disturbance, yes, but also a pull, like a dark cave drawing her in. What was it that kept her eyes to his movements? There was a mystery that dared to be discovered, something like a secret hidden underneath the all embracing mask.

Yet after the tournament, she occupied herself with other things for a while, and when she sat next to Gil-galad in the great hall to greet the winners, she did not ask him who he was.

The great hall was the most festive room in the entire castle of Lindon, and it was now being used to celebrate her birthday, to welcome their guest, to honour the beloved daughter the King never had and who was most dear to him. Galadriel smiled all day, not necessarily because she was happy, but because she knew the occasion demanded it. She did enjoy the celebration, of course, but after a while it became repetitive and tiring.

The procedure was always the same. One of the knights who had taken part in the tournament stepped forward, bowed to the king, knelt to pay his respects and pledge his allegiance, before turning to her, still on his knees. She sat on a slightly smaller throne to the king's left, wearing a gleaming white dress and a shimmering coronet on her brow. Most of the time, the knights bowed their heads before looking up at her in awe, extolling her beauty, perhaps praising the glow of her golden hair, the fact that her grace was sung of by troubadours, and then, of course, congratulating her and giving her a gift. It was usually the same. Jewellery, dresses, those kinds of blinding things.

(continue on AO3)

[deuxcherise]

Brother vs Sister

C/w: Unhealthy behavior, probably OOC Ayato Kamisato, yandere Ayato Kamisato, some Ayaka takes over in the meantime, fem reader A/n: So this part technically happens before Fear of Cucumbers, as evident by how you address your blue-haired husbando in this series :3 Basically, you have been wanting to meet your sister-in-law for a while now, and unbeknownst to you, she has been wanting to meet you as well~ Masterlist

It is often noted that the daily affairs of the Kamisato clan are usually kept under wraps for privacy reasons, and not to mention, for safety reasons. However, there are rumors among the servants that even the internal affairs are privy but to a select few.

“It is said that in marriage, one is not only married to their spouse but to their family as well,” you eloquently say as you place pieces of the various entrees on the table onto your bowl of rice. “When should I expect to be meeting your sister, Husband?”

“All in due time, my dear,” your husband answers, copying your actions. “And please, do address me as Ayato when we are in private at least.

And for the few months into your marriage now, that is how your conversation would go whenever the topic of siblings came up over your breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Nowhere.

You, who have been born and raised as a single child, have never desired a sibling since you’ve the luxury of getting along with your many cousins from the other branches. Nevertheless, you possessed the knowledge of the existence of a sibling of your husband (who you’ve only had a glimpse of at your wedding ceremony), and considering she is the only family he has left in the Kamisato clan, wouldn’t it make sense for the wife to at least be acquainted? Especially since you and her are both the only women of the Kamisato clan now, after all.

“Is that so, Husband?”

“It is so, Wife. My apologies, I will let you know when the time is right.”

As much as you want to prod and provoke your husband until he gives up the details, you have kept your place in fear of accidentally breaking the role of playing the obedient and quiet wife. You could go see her yourself, since she does just live on the premises on the other side of the Kamisato Estate, but first impressions are extremely important and you would not like to embarrass yourself in front of the esteemed Lady Kamisato.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, keeping in mind not to click your tongue in annoyance.

-----🐈-----

The Yashiro commissioner and young lord of the Kamisato clan remains a mysterious figure to the public, unlike his sister, known as the beloved Shirasagi Himegimi, who maintains both the internal and external affairs. Her public image is the model of perfection, one who trains well both in the matters concerning the blade and the brush with the elegance of an egret.

Ching! Clash! Swoop! Clang!

A sword goes flying backwards and lands on the dirt.

“It seems the white heron is distracted,” Ayato teases, pointing his sword at his defeated opponent. There is not a drop of sweat on him to be seen.

Ayaka reaches down and grabs her fallen sword, brandishing towards him with vigor and determination. Beads of sweat lay on her forehead, though it only adds a dewy essence to her dignified appearance. “It seems I am, would you like to know why?”

His eyes widen as he tilts his head in curiosity, his sword lowering. “I do. What is the matter?”

Ayaka follows his lead by lowering her own sword before clearing her throat. “Brother. When, oh when, will I finally get to meet my dear sister-in-law?”

Crack.

There it is again, Ayaka notes as she watches her brother. The calm mask of her brother cracks whenever anyone mentions his wife, no matter who it is. Isn’t it strange how he seems to hide her away from the outside world by utilizing every method in the book?

Ayaka thinks so, and thus this mysterious lady in her brother’s personal life has led her to come up with a couple of theories.

The first one requires you to be one of those shy wives who is scared of everyone, but then that sort of person would be too soft for Ayato and also unbefitting of a daughter of the Holy Dogs. Theory debunked.

The second one entails that you must be a wicked vixen who has somehow charmed your way into Ayato’s heart and is simply manipulating him into having the west wing all to yourself before taking over the entire estate eventually! This also goes with the odd fact that he’s personally reduced the staff— which means you can play behind his back as you please!

There are two things wrong with this theory. If you were playing behind his back, since you’re not allowed out of the estate, it would make more sense for you to have an all-male staff at your fingertips instead of a small all-female entourage. Unless you liked girls… but if you could charm Ayato then Ayaka was sure there would be rumors.

Secondly, if not men then perhaps she would have caught wind of some ridiculously high purchases you’ve made without permission or perhaps some complaints from the staff themselves, or Thoma! But no, everything is running smoothly as per usual. And above all, Ayaka knows better than anyone that Ayato completely dislikes someone with a manipulative personality (like him). So you couldn’t be like that…

What the young miss of the Kamisato clan wants to know above all else is what kind of qualities led to this mischievous brother of hers to hand-picked you himself out of the hundreds of viable brides that many branches had thrown at them? You both live in the same estate, after all! How is it possible that she hasn’t been able to encounter you at least once??? It has been months since you’ve been married to Ayato!

“As I have said before, (Y/n) is still getting used to living with us. I fear a one-on-one meeting may be too much for her at the moment,” Ayato explained calmly. “That is why I have secluded the west wing for her.”

She pouts before an idea pops into her head. “Oh! Then, you should join us during our meeting, Brother! That way, she’ll feel comfortable with me, won't she?”

He shakes his head. “She is still getting used to my presence. Do understand. I will let you know when she is ready.”

“Oh… alright,” Ayaka said.

Little did Ayato know, the young miss would not take this answer lying down.

-----🐈-----

The soft bristles of your hairbrush glides down each and every strand of your hair, like a calm waterfall flowing over a cliff. You take a breath every time you lift the brush and release upon the end of your hair, allowing only tranquil thoughts to fill your mind.

The best locations for finding the best onikabuto are in Inazume City, Kujou Encampment, the Sacred Sakura Shrine, the Serpent’s Head and High Village, Seirai Village, and Tatarsuna. Hm, those places are too far from here. Should I start a beetle farm on the estate…?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Lady Kamisato, may we come in?”

You place down the brush and turn towards the sliding doors of your personal room. “Who are ‘we’?”

“A maid and your new lady-in-waiting.”

Oh. Your lady-in-waiting. You pat your heated cheeks as you remember the bridge incident from several days ago. Ever since the day you suddenly found your husband’s hands to be… scandalous, you’ve avoided his presence, even during the times you’d join for eating. Of course, your husband has found this predicament to be less than satisfactory (oh, if only you knew how much). Unfortunately for him, he’s been swamped with governmental duties regarding the upcoming festivals and other events. And thus, through blackmailing as per usual, he has assigned a personal attendant to watch over you in his stead.

“Come in.”

The two ladies come in, closing the door behind them. One of them you recognize by face, with brown hair neatly tucked into a bun underneath the maid headdress and overall, ordinary features. The other a complete stranger, with grey-blue eyes and loose strands of light blue hair poking out of her maid headdress. While the former is holding her head up with confidence as a Lady’s maid should, the latter is holding her head down like she has something to hide.

“Permission for introductions, Lady Kamisato,” asks the maid you recognize.

Your eyes slightly narrow. “Yes, you may.”

The speaking maid presents the shy maid with a slight push from the back, forcing the shy maid to take a step forward. She finally lifts her head and your eyes widen.

She’s… very cute. Clear skin, round silver-blue eyes, delicate features— if you weren’t the wife of Ayato Kamisato, you would have immediately bowed before the princess-like woman and begged her to let you take a picture of her for you to keep. Except that you are, and such behavior would be frowned upon, so you simply cover the bottom half of your face with a fan.

Ayaka, disguised in a maid’s uniform she snatched from one of the laundry baskets, examines you fully. Hiding behind a fan… must be a sign of possessing hidden intentions, she thinks. She purses her lips and curtsies before you. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Kamisato. Br- Your husband has assigned me to be your Lady-in-Waiting.”

You nod. “Pleased to meet you. And what is your name?”

“Aya- mi. Ayami!” Ayaka stutters, hoping you didn’t notice.

You don’t notice, even with the sight of her light-blue hair peeking out of the maid’s hat. “Ayami,” you repeat, politely smiling. “Call me, (Y/n).”

-----

Crash!

“Oh no! I-I’m so sorry!”

You turn from the window and look in surprise at the cracked bowl. “Are you alright, Ayami?”

“Yes, Lady Kamisato…” Ayaka nods, choking back her tears as she kneels down and carefully cleans up the mess she’s made.

Being a lady and being a maid are two opposing roles one does not usually find oneself playing in this society. Being the elegant and socially-adroited young miss of the Kamisato clan, she has had no problems negotiating with potential partners or dealing with difficult nobles. Helping a lady dress, balancing a tray with a bowl of rice and miso soup, maintaining silent footsteps at a consistent pace from the door towards your personal dining table, are more difficult and frustrating tasks than any target she has ever swung a sword at.

“Ouch!”

Noticing the young maid accidentally knick herself with a piece of porcelain, you quickly rush over from the window and kneel nearby, careful of the cracked mess, and hold her hand. “Don’t mind the mess, come here.”

You take her to your makeup table, pull open a drawer, and take out a bandage roll small enough to wrap around her injured thumb.

“Thank you, Lady Kamisato…” Ayaka says, looking between her thumb and you bashfully.

“You’re welcome,” you politely smile, patting her hand. “Take your time, okay? There’s no rush.”

How can a maid be so clumsy? Is she really just a maid? you think.

Ayaka nods. “Mm.”

Is she just pretending to be nice or is she saving face because she knows Brother is watching her? she thinks.

You go back to looking out towards the window, which prompts Ayaka to offer to go outside, which makes you perk up.

-----

Dressed in your outgoing attire, you click your tongue and cross your arms.

“Lady Kamisato? Is something the matter? What are we looking at, if I may ask?”

“Indeed,” you confirm under your breath, glaring at the wall. “It seems my husband is far more evil than expected.”

Evil? Brother? “Whatever do you mean, Lady Kamisato?” Ayaka probes.

You had accidentally spoken aloud but considering she’s your lady-in-waiting under Ayato’s command, then you might as well pass along the message. You look towards her with a pout and point at the wall. “That’s right! See this! This wall used to be covered in vines! And now he’s burned it all away. For no good reason! Ayato is a bad man! A bad man!”

Childish? Yes. Warranted? Oh, absolutely.

According to Ayato, the main reason the vines on the furthest wall of the Kamisato Estate’s garden was burned and cut down was because it proved far too dangerous. Assassins and other hired attackers could easily access the gardens through this area. And Ayaka makes a point to explain this to you.

To which you politely reply, “That is some dog poop.”

“Eh?”

“You must’ve heard from him, right?” you accuse. “How I keep trying to escape this place? That’s why he sent you to keep a watch over me.”

Eh, really? “Why- I mean, isn’t that a good thing? Br- Lord Kamisato making sure you’re safe?”

You place your hands on your hips. “In a way, yes. But also no. Truth be told, Ayami. Your boss, my husband, is keeping me trapped here.”

“Trapped?”

“That’s right! I don’t know what is wrong with that man. He won’t leave me alone, he- he-” The memory of how his arms felt while carrying you in a princess hold floats into your mind. You immediately shake your head and rid yourself by bringing up another related topic. “And he won’t let me meet his sister at all for some reason! I’ve asked every single maid on my staff and none of them can give me a straight answer! Is she so scary that no one wants to talk about her? Am I too inadequate to meet her?”

Ehhhh??? You’ve been wanting to meet me? Ayaka thinks. She clasps both of your hands together in her hands and beams. “Not at all, not at all, Lady Kamisato! In fact, I- she has been wanting to meet you as well. However, Lord Kamisato has been telling her that you were not ready.”

You grit your teeth. “Damn bastard. I’VE BEEN READY! When, oh when, will I finally get to meet her…?”

After that exchange, in which the two of you parted ways at your personal room, Ayaka walks through the house while contemplating your words versus her brother’s when she accidentally bumps into someone.

“Oh!” “Huh?”

Taking a step back, Ayaka starts to quiver.

“Ayaka…?”

[rj-drive-in]

Ye Olde American Pulp Department:

Independence Day draws near! Let's celebrate with a tale of America's first masked hero.

THE DEADLY PLAN OF DOCTOR POX! © by Rick Hutchins

“Call me Doctor Pox, my dear,” said the man in the scarlet cloak and theatrical tragedy mask, as he finished binding her wrists behind her back. Beneath the cloak, his proper British attire was spattered with mud from hard-riding the buckboard through the night.

“How dare you?!” she cried for the millionth time. “My father is Colonel….”

“I know your father!” screamed Doctor Pox, silencing her. He quickly regained his composure. “My dear Sybil.”

Turning on his heel, the madman marched off to a dark corner of the barn, out of the small circle of light cast by the single kerosene lamp.

Sybil struggled against the leather straps that bound her to the wooden beam, but to no avail. Her light blue Polonaise gown had been torn to shreds in the struggle and her low-cut bodice had been ripped, exposing an unseemly amount of decolletage. Strands of brown hair fell in her face, her bonnet having been lost in the kidnapping.

Doctor Pox reappeared from the shadows, dragging something heavy through the dirt and straw. “Yes, my dear,” he said, “I met the esteemed Colonel Willing during the Siege of Boston. He was so proud of his cannon upon Dorchester Heights. So proud of his ruffian irregulars who guarded the roads.”

He was dragging a large wooden coach trunk with iron braces; huffing and puffing, he positioned it three feet in front of Sybil. Leaning in close to her, his theatrical tragedy mask, which seemed wrought of copper, hovering near her face, he said, “It is my tender sentiment for your father which has brought you here.”

With a flourish of his scarlet cloak, the doctor turned and flung open the top of the trunk.

When Sybil saw what was inside, she screamed.

And with that, the barn doors burst open and in strode a tall and stately figure.

“Goodman America!” gasped Sybil.

His face entirely masked by white cloth, the famed mystery man was dressed in a waistcoat and tricorn hat of brightest blue; his vest bore thirteen red and white stripes. His breeches were midnight black, as were his rugged highwayman boots. The knob of his walking stick and the rattlesnake insignia on his hat were rumored to be of pure silver, smithed by Paul Revere himself.

“Surrender, Doctor Pox!” he commanded.

“Never!” replied the madman, drawing a flintlock pistol from beneath his scarlet cloak.

But Goodman America was upon him in an instant and knocked the weapon from his hand before he could fire. The two masked men faced off, circling each other warily, preparing for hand-to-hand combat.

Grimacing with disgust, Sybil reached out with her foot– she had lost her shoes in the scuffle as well– and knocked the coach trunk shut with her stockinged toe.

The noise distracted Doctor Pox for but a moment, but it was enough for Goodman America to throw a punch. The mighty blow knocked the theatrical tragedy mask from the madman’s face.

Both Sybil and Goodman America recoiled in horror, for that face was so hideously scarred and twisted that it was barely human.

“Look then!” shrieked the doctor. “Look upon the face of Doctor Silas Conduct! See what the smallpox epidemic of the Siege of Boston did to me! If Colonel Josiah Willing had let us pass that night, I would not be thus disfigured– and my beloved wife would not be DEAD!”

He pointed savagely at the coach trunk.

“But when the bits and pieces of the rotting human remains in that trunk, raging with smallpox, are added to the food and water of the Continental Army, then so too will the American rabble die! And the daughter of my most hated enemy will be the first to….”

The silver knob of Goodman America’s walking stick struck the doctor’s temple sharply, and he fell unconscious to the ground.

“Don’t tread on us,” said Goodman America.

Drawing an officer’s saber from a scabbard hidden beneath his blue waistcoat, he quickly went to work cutting the leather straps that bound Sybil Willing.

“Hurry!” she cried. “We must get away from that horrid trunk!”

As Sybil ran ahead through the open barn doors in her stockinged feet, the masked Patriot grabbed Doctor Pox by the cloak and dragged him out into the night.

“Wait here,” he told Sybil, as he dropped the doctor’s body in the dirt and ran back into the barn.

Taking the kerosene lamp from its hook by the door, Goodman America smashed it upon the coach trunk. Within seconds, flames had engulfed the trunk and begun to spread to the straw and wooden beams.

Returning to the barnyard, as the flames rose into the night sky behind him, the Revolutionary Hero looked around.

“Where has Doctor Pox gone?” he asked.

“He ran off across the fields,” answered Sybil. “But no matter! When that madman kidnapped me, my gentleman friend, Mister Nathan Hand, was knocked to the street and hurt. He is a man of learning, not combat, and I fear for him!”

“Then rest your fears,” said Goodman America. “I have already seen to Mister Hand and he is even now being tended to by the Sons of Liberty in their meeting place.”

“Thank God!” cried Sybil.

And beneath his white mask, Nathan Hand smiled.

[casterintherye]

Descendants 4 is Insane

The politics and themes of new Descendants movie is so bizarre and I just fucking need to rant into the void about it so bear with me. This will be long

-We're introduced to Red as "the only one standing up against the Queen of hearts", in a vigilante outfit that is so obviously in her exact style and doing various acts minor vandalism over a catchy pop song. Like she breaks some stuff and splashes paint on her mom's portrait and that's it. Lyrics like "appetite for destruction" are sung as she cuts flowers and breaks vases. It doesn't come across like she's in any way a liberator or fighting for justice, she is literally just having a rebellious phase.

-The Queen of Hearts is so obviously an Authoritarian dictator and this treated with such levity by the movie compared to the actual actions she takes. She stages a fucking coup (very easily I might add?) against Uma and nearly gets Cinderella, one of their most beloved public figures, executed, and yet Red spends most of the movie complaining about how her mom doesn't like her clothes. She's mad she can't leave Wonderland and can't go to the fancy boarding school and not that innocents are regularly being executed and freedoms are restricted

-FURTHERMORE, when Red goes back in time and meets her mother, Bridget, she is shown to be extremely caring and empathetic, completely opposite to her characterization in the first act to the point I still don't fully believe they were the same character. From vague lines said before they travelled, Red and Chloe deduce that a prank pulled on her mother during a school dance was the reason for her sudden shift in personality. Obviosly, the idea that one act of high school bullying can make a very normal, nice girl into a facist dictator is absurd, so I thought this was a very obvious bait and switch, and that throughout the movie we would see that Bridget's persona was some sort of mask hiding her evil nature. NOPE. They stop the prank being pulled on Bridget, and when they travel back to the future, she is nice and normal and not a dictator. HUH. In the canon of this movie a couple of school bullies pulled a prank so bad that it turned an empathetic caring young girl into an oppressive authoritarian presumably responsible for the death of thousands

-Also, about this prank: Red and Chloe spend a bit of the movie trying to figure out who pulled it in the first place. They witness an altercation with Bridget and Uliana (Ursula's little sister?) and her gang of villains, and are led to the very obvious conclusion that it is Uliana who will prank Bridget. She is oppenly saying she willb take revenge and everything. This would be a very logical conclusion if this wasn't a movie, in real life this is how these things work, but the thing is THIS IS A MOVIE. First rule of mystery in movies is the most obvious answer is never the real answer, there always has to be a twist.

My next thought was Cinderella. In the present, there are lines that suggest tension between The Queen of Hearts and Cinderella, and they are shown to be close friends in the past. If it was Cinderella who pulled the prank, it would give a reason for the sudden break in a seemingly very close relationship and also tie into Chloe Charming's arc about how not everything is black and white, and that good people can still do bad things. This was such and obvious and easy way for this movie to go, there is even a scene where Ella gets mad at Chloe for breaking something on accident, and is shown to hold grudges, and there are regular comments made by Chloe about how her mom isn't as "queenly" in the past as she is in the present. This would be so easy, it was literally my first thought. But no. The easy answer is the answer. In the movie whose message is morality is complicated and the heros and villains aren't always clear, the obvious villains are the obvious villains.

-AND ALSO, can we talk about how there is a school where heros and villains are both attending? Like, Maleficent is classmates with Cinderella. There is a character who is the son of Morgan le fay, going to a school where Merlin is the principle. This to me could mean two things

These are the villains before they committed their crimes. Maleficent isn't Maleficent, she's just a bitchy fairy mean girl

There is no system of accountability for these kids. Hades regularly tries to steal people's souls and the school can't/won't do shit about it besides give out detentions

Both situations are utterly insane to me, number two for obvious reasons, but also becaus there are already obvious clicks of kids whose main goal is to cause trouble for the school just vibing. Morgie, Morgan le fay's kid, introduces himself as such. This means Morgan is already well known, and I don't know what other reason there could be for that other than her villainy. Villains exist in this universe, these kids are clearly just diet villains, and the school doesn't seem to give af it's raising the next generation of evil muderers right alongside the realms most precious royalty

-and lets go back to that morality thing. There's a point in the movie where it becomes clear the most reliable way to fix the future is breaking into the principles office. Chloe is opposed to this, but later comes around, and breaking the rules directly results in the redempotion of Red's mom. Cool. Combined with Red's vigilante shit it the beginning, it's a clear message for the movie to have. Except it isn't. Because while Descendants is very liberal in painting itself in an aura of "coolness" by making its main characters the children of villains, and having all these themes of moral complexity, all change is made, in univers, by working within the system and rooting out the few bad apples in an otherwise perfectly functioning liberal democracy.

The VK's coming to Auradon is, from a real world perspective, an obvious PR stunt to make Ben look good for supporting the underprivileged villains. Auradon was a world where children paid for the crimes of their parents by being forced to live in poverty and squalor, being raised by parents who have literally killed people. They are very obviously shown to be horrible parents, and yet this rampant child abuse epidemic on The Isle goes completely unexamined by the text aside from that one cookie scene in the firsts movie. This would be cool to examine becuase it literally works perfectly with the stories themes, but it just doesn't. The King and Queen who made this system are never painted as anything other then a bit misguided, and not like, literal war criminals. All violence before this point has been shown to be evil, even if it was being done in the name of fixing this fucked system (Uma for example). It wants to endorse vigalante justice as an aesthetic and not in a way that would in any way challenge the real world systems of oppression it's pulling its aesthetics from. So no, this theme doesn't work. Auradon is the bad guy, full stop, and the movies can't see that.

It tries to advocate for restorative justice by giving all the Villains a "second chance", but doesn't examine any of the ways that would logically work, or the consequence of unleashing convicted killers who have a pattern for holding grudges on a society that hates them on some random Tuesday. Villains are villains because someone was mean to them in high school, authoritarianism pales in comparison to telling you daughter you don't like her outfit, and murder does not exist because it's not happening to our main characters.

Anyways Descendants is neoliberal propaganda which shouldn't be surprising because it was made by Disney.

[jeromeswife]

yandere namor x f!reader - one love, two mouths

Masterlist

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: A kingdom destroyed, a heart crushed, and a king full of immeasurable desire.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, kidnapping, mentions of stalking, death

Translations:

in pixamech - my angel

in amado - my beloved

I left my bedroom in the Wakanda palace. Shuri and Queen Romanda took me in after my home, the Alumid Kingdom was attacked in the middle of the night. I remember waking to the attacks and seeing a mysterious figure in the sky. It seemed that he was looking down at me, but I couldn’t see his face nor any distinguishing features in the darkness. Shuri let me know when she came that an attack came on the radar and when they came to investigate me, they found me passed out on the ground with a bracelet adorned with beautiful jewels around my wrist. I really had not many memories of that night besides the destruction of my kingdom and the deaths of my people around me. You see, I was the princess and future heir to the throne. It was something that shook me to my core, but I accepted my place and prepared daily for it, in case something were to happen to my father.

My bare feet walked along the hallways of the palace, stopping in at Shuri’s lab. She turned around and saw me, a smile painting her face, “(Y/N)! Did you sleep well?”

“Hmm.. I guess. Still not feeling great after seeing everything I loved lost to an attack.”

A sympathetic expression appeared on her face, seeing me down in the dumps mentally. The memories just couldn’t stop playing in my head. I still wondered what had occurred to make us targeted for such an attack. And I couldn’t ask my father because he died before I even could.

“I’m sorry (Y/N).. I understand that feeling of loss. The lost of my brother is something that still affects me, even after a year later. I miss him so much. I can still feel him all around me, yet I still blame myself for not being able to save him,” Shuri’s hand rubbed my back with comfort. “Don’t go down the path I did. Mourn your loss freely and build up a strong support system. You are welcome to stay here and recover till then.”

Her comforting words made me smile and I looked up at her, giving a soft smile. “Thank you for being there to rescue me.”

I inched my hand towards hers and held it. Shuri made me feel safe, like no one else could hurt me. I still can’t believe I’m still here, and alive today.

“(Y/N), if I may ask, did you see anything that night? Like who destroyed your kingdom?”

I thought back to that night. Since it was close to midnight, it was hard to tell. The only thing I could make out in the darkness was people with blue skin and a mask over their mouths. They speared my people. I couldn’t get the blood curdling screams out of my brain.

“Princess, run! Get out of here!”

The memories of their voices hurt my head. It was like a virus in my body that had no antibiotic. No way to get it out of there. It would be stuck inside there, slowly killing me.

“I only remember.. The blue people with masks over their mouths. They were speaking a language I couldn’t quite understand. And.. the figure in the sky. They looked human, but they couldn’t be. They were flying!”

I saw Shrui’s eyes widen at my words. Something she definitely knew but I had to ask. “Shuri? Do you know what I saw?”

Shuri hesitated. her words stuck in her throat. I didn’t know what was going on inside her head, but I was certain that it wasn’t anything good.

“I don’t know what you saw either..”

I knew she was lying, but I accepted her answer either way. If there was one thing I would never do, it was to force something out of someone. It would be too much..

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was later that night and I decided to leave my room once more, venturing down to a nearby beach on the shores of Wakanda. The only thing that could calm me down was the sound of the crashing waves and the chirps of the crickets that sang in the night.

Looking out at the sea reminded me of how free it was down there. No invasion. No destruction. Just pure peace and tranquility.

I couldn’t ignore that bracelet that adorned my wrist from the moment I awoke after the destruction. My fingers stroked over the jewels and the smooth gold. It was jewels I had never seen before from my kingdom. Rare green colors of emeralds and topaz. It amazed me that I even had it on my body in the first place.

My ears picked up some ripples from the water and I looked at it with curiosity. What emerged from the water was something I least expected. It was a man with brown skin, pointed ears, well trimmed facial hair, and angelic wings on his feet. I couldn’t tell if he was an angel or devil in my eyes.

I scooted back away from the water, my bottom brushing up against the cold sand. He had gotten close to me before placing both feet on the ground, “Up close to you finally, In pixamech “

His language didn’t translate much and my breath caught in my throat. The oxygen refused to come out because I had an odd feeling about him.

“And you are?”

My bracelet around my wrist seemed to grow much tighter as he got closer. A smirk appeared out of the corner of his mouth before he took a deep breath, “K’uk’ulkan, King of Talokan, but my enemies call me Namor. And you are Princess (Y/N) of Alumid.”

My heart sank to my stomach hearing him know who I was. That silhouette came to mind.. Everything about his physical outline matched the person who had looked down upon me as my kingdom was destroyed, left to ruins. It was him!

“..You.. Were you the one who brought destruction upon my kingdom!” The bracelet tightened around my wrist when my fury came out. The reaction came when I leapt towards him. But before I could, the sting of it stopped me.

I couldn’t help but look at Namor’s face. A dark chuckle was let out of his throat at the sight of me not being able to fight back nor take him down.

“And it was so easy to get you out of there.. If I had just came in there and taken you, my people would have been in danger, no? And it’s easier to capture you when you aren’t close to the earth elements, in amado.”

I struggled to even speak and I looked around, trying to find any way to fight him back. As much as I loved the sea, I couldn’t use its elements to defend me. I was useless the way I was now.

A few tears shed down my face as I fell onto my knees, hopeless, “Y-You’re a monster..” Before I knew it, I felt his knuckles wrap around my chin and pull my face towards his, him kneeling down as well.

“You call me a monster, but the real monsters are those you surround yourself with.”

Namor took out a mask and held it over my face while the bracelet began stinging and tightening me even more. Then it was dark.

[xiaosspear]

ᴀɴ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ || xiao x reader

Part II

As tension mounted, your mind raced, failing to conjure a convincing lie. Before you could respond, Zhongli interjected, shifting the conversation. "What are your thoughts on Osmanthus wine?" he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "To me, its fragrance is akin to the gentle embrace of a summer breeze, its taste a harmony of floral sweetness and subtle undertones of fruit," he described, painting a vivid picture of the beloved Liyuean beverage.

"Eh!?" I blurted out, startled by the intensity of my own reaction to Zhongli's seemingly innocent question. "I shouldn't be getting so worked up over a simple question," I chided myself internally, feeling the weight of my anxiety pressing down on me with each passing second.

Little did you know, Zhongli keenly observed your reaction to the question, swiftly discerning your unease. His demeanor shifted, his expression growing more serious as he turned to address Lumine and Paimon. "Dear friends, there is a matter I wish to discuss with Y/N in private," he began, his tone carrying a weight of importance. "If you would be so kind as to excuse us."

Paimon rolled her eyes. "Oh, Zhongli, you just had to ruin our night!" Lumine shot Paimon a brief side-eye before apologizing. "Sorry about that," Lumine said, dismissing Paimon's remark. "No worries, Zhongli. Until next time, Zhongli, Y/N," she added with a smile, trying to diffuse any tension.

Zhongli nodded in acknowledgment as a farewell gesture. I returned Lumine a smile and a wave before my expression shifted, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. Anxious anticipation gnawed at me as I turned my attention back to Zhongli, bracing myself for the conversation that was to come.

"So, what do you remember?" Zhongli asked, his tone returning to one of friendliness as he took a sip of his now cold tea. "According to my understanding, you should have lost all memories completely."

You're just a funeral parlor assistant," I challenged. "What could you possibly know about this?" My skepticism masked a growing unease, as I grappled with the implications of his words.

"I understand your skepticism," Zhongli began, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "But allow me to offer some perspective." He paused, as if contemplating how much to reveal. "In my line of work at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, I've encountered individuals who, like yourself, have faced extraordinary challenges, including memory loss."

His eyes briefly flickered with a distant intensity. "Some memories, however deeply buried, have a way of resurfacing in unexpected ways," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Bonds forged in battle can transcend even the deepest of forgotten memories." Zhongli's implication hung in the air, subtle yet undeniable, hinting at a shared past that extended far beyond the confines of our present understanding.

My eyes widened in sudden realization as a flood of memories surged forth. The man before me, Zhongli, the consultant from the funeral parlor, was none other than the Archon himself—the one who had saved me during the war. But if he was here, then who was the teal figure? Confusion gnawed at my thoughts, mingling with the sharp pang of disbelief. As the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place, my head throbbed with intensity, my vision clouded by vivid flashbacks of the war—a big whirlwind of chaos and sacrifice that threatened to overwhelm my senses.

-

As the headache eased, I began sharing with Zhongli the blunt memories that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Slowly but surely, recollections started to resurface, like pieces of a puzzle coming together. An hour passed as we talked, until at last, the mysterious name I had been trying to remember finally came back to me.

"Zhongli, can you tell me... who is Alatus?" I asked, my voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are they still alive like me?"

"Alatus was a brave ally in the Archon War," Zhongli explained, his tone respectful. "He faced many dangers alongside us with unwavering courage." Zhongli paused, recalling a perilous moment. "When an explosion threatened his life and other adepti perished, you and I protected him, ensuring his safety." Reflecting on their bond forged in the chaos of war, Zhongli felt both pride and gratitude.

"He is alive and well, still watching over Liyue to this day," Zhongli continued, his voice tinged with a hint of solemnity. "However," he paused, "he now goes by a different name, much like you." Zhongli's expression grew somber as he spoke. "He's become a reserved individual, and I'm not certain if he harbors any ill feelings toward you for what transpired. It may be difficult to engage him in conversation, let alone earn his trust."

A surge of anger welled up inside me. "So, let me get this straight," I began, my voice edged with frustration. "I risked everything to save him from being crushed by falling rocks, and now he wants to blame me for what happened?" The injustice of the situation gnawed at me, fueling my indignation as I struggled to make sense of it all.

As the familiar feeling of unease crept over me, reminiscent of my time at Wangshu Inn, I couldn't bring myself to care in the midst of my frustration.

Zhongli's voice broke through my turmoil. "I'm not entirely certain," he began, his tone thoughtful. "It's possible he believes he could have changed the outcome, but the reality is that the explosion was too powerful and sudden. There was simply no time for anyone to react." His words carried a sense of resignation, acknowledging the harsh truth of the situation.

"I see," I replied, calming myself as I attempted to comprehend Alatus's perspective. Despite my efforts, my heart continued to race, a sudden feeling of unease prickling at the edges of my consciousness.

"Someone is here," I murmured, my senses on high alert as I scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of intrusion. With a nod to Zhongli, I added, "I should get going." Waving goodbye, I prepared to investigate the source of the unease, knowing from past experience that danger loomed whenever this feeling gripped me.

As I mentioned someone being present, Zhongli's demeanor shifted abruptly. His eyes widened in realization, and after a moment of silent acknowledgment, he took a deep breath. With a sense of urgency, he stood up and swiftly made his way home, his departure signaling the gravity of the situation.

As the city of Liyue laid deserted and the gentle hum of insects filled the air, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that enveloped me. Despite the emptiness of the streets, I sensed a powerful presence nearby, much like the unsettling atmosphere at Wangshu Inn. The familiar sensation sent a shiver down my spine, alerting me to the imminent danger lurking in the shadows. With every sense heightened, I remained vigilant, preparing to confront whatever threat awaited me in the silent darkness.

Stealthily navigating the empty streets of Liyue, I made every effort to minimize noise, moving with silent determination. With a focused gaze, I summoned my polearm into my dominant hand, its familiar weight reassuring against my palm. Each step was deliberate, every movement calculated as I remained on high alert, prepared to face whatever danger lay ahead. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grew thicker, urging me to proceed with caution through the silent city streets.

Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of a figure perched atop a tall mountain, reminiscent of the scene at Wangshu Inn. Black smoke billowed ominously from its form as it fixed its gaze upon me. A chill ran down my spine as I locked eyes with the mysterious figure, its intent unclear but undeniably foreboding. With a sense of urgency, I remained on guard, prepared to confront whatever malevolent force lurked in the shadows.

In the blink of an eye, the figure vanished from the mountaintop, leaving me momentarily startled. Fear gripped me as I frantically scanned the surroundings, my polearm at the ready. Suddenly, a sharp impact jolted through my weapon, causing me to whirl around in alarm. To my horror, the figure now stood mere inches away, its penetrating gaze fixated on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Frozen in place, I could feel its eyes stare into my soul, leaving me paralyzed with a sense of dread.

As I turned around, my heart pounding with trepidation, I found myself face to face with the figure that had haunted my thoughts. Standing tall and graceful, he emits an aura of extraordinary elegance. His midnight-blue hair cascades down his face in a sleek, flowing manner, contrasting sharply with his fair, porcelain-like skin. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of golden amber, hold a depth of wisdom and melancholy, hinting at the countless ages he has witnessed.

His features are striking yet delicate, with high cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted jawline that accentuates his allure.

As I beheld the figure before me, a rush of recognition flooded through me like a tidal wave. The same ethereal teal-blue light emanated from him, casting an otherworldly glow in the darkness. It was him—Alatus, the one I had saved all those years ago.

My heart quickened with a mix of disbelief and awe as I realized the truth of his identity. Alatus stood before me, his presence a tangible reminder of the bond we shared, forged in the crucible of war. But before I could utter a single word, he vanished once more, leaving me standing there in stunned silence, grappling with the fleeting glimpse of the past that had slipped through my fingers.

-

I made my way home, my mind still reeling from the encounter. I splashed cold water on my face, only to be met with a startling sight when I looked into the mirror. My eyes, once ordinary, now glowed with a captivating amber light, like stars in the night sky.

Fascinated and bewildered by this unexpected change, I couldn't help but wonder what had caused it. Was it a lingering effect of my encounter with Alatus, or something else entirely? Lost in thought, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a journey into the unknown, one that would forever alter the course of my life.

Next chapter: First encounter with "Alatus"? Will it be pleasant or does he think the death of 4 other yakshas was your fault?

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write a saiki and gn!reader, where gn! just transferred the school and saiki can't read their mind and tries to figure out why so he starts following them only to discover that they can teleport, turn invisible and is able to prevent people from reading their mind

Also can it be a platonic relationship? Sorry if I'm asking for too much 😅

I left this for a LONG while but now I’m kinda back on my Saiki K brain rot, I’m here to finally do this!

Was this stalking? Potentially…Hypothetically speaking from a certain moral standpoint…yes.

However what made this different from stalking was that Saiki was good at masking his stalking and by ‘good,’ I mean that his friends -mainly Nendo and Kaidou in specific- lack the social awareness skills to detect that he was doing it in the first place; Which was the perfect excuse Saiki could use in continuing to delving deeper into his self appointed mission. To understand how we got to this point in the story where our beloved pink haired, cynic psychic found himself tailing you from a distance under a suspicion, we must go back to that morning where PK Academy was in the midst of receiving of initiating a new transfer student.

First Kuboyasu Aren, then Saiko Metori, now you? Hasn’t the whole transfer student trope ran itself into the ground by this point? Saiki questioned whilst you were going through the mandatory self introductions to the rest of his home room but that wasn’t as engaging as the fact that within the sea of thoughts belonging to his peers, yours, much like Nendo’s, didn’t seem to be there; Not a blip, not a sound, nothing. Almost as though you were made out to have possessed a higher level of comprehension which rendered internalised thoughts and speech almost unethical. Saiki knew that you were smarter then Nendo, which wasn’t saying much as seemingly everyone and their domesticated animals such as dogs and cats were smarter then Nendo.

So why was it that he couldn’t hear your thoughts? He immediately ruled out the probability of you being just like him because that was just wishful thinking based upon little to no factual evidence that could’ve potentially pointed him towards that conclusion. Maybe your thoughts were just too quite for him to hear? Then again Saiki could hear the thoughts of a mouse as clear as day and they were usually quite loud for something so small bodied and generalised as quiet. So before Kaidou begins to inevitably spout his rhetoric. No, Saiki didn’t think you were an impeccably built android with the strength to bench press a bus or two, sent to PK Academy under the employment of Dark Reunion; He just had to get that out there before he would unfortunately be asked by the blue haired boy later on.

With the mystery concerning his shortcomings in reading your thoughts driving the pink haired psychic into a state of potential paranoia. Saiki did what he does best when faced with similar situations; observe from afar. (Read: stalk the person until they’ve proven themselves no longer a threat to him.) which leads us back to where we originally left off.

It was lunch period and Saiki knew something was off when you didn’t follow everyone else to the cafeteria and instead chose to walk in the opposite direction towards the school gates. Where are they going? Don’t tell me they’re already getting lost. Good grief someone should’ve at least shown them the school layout first before dropping them off at home room. On another note it only just occurred to me that in certain tv shows set in a high school and or college, the whole ‘getting lost’ trope just grows increasingly more redundant when you consider the fact that it’s a sloppy, unoriginal and overplayed method used in introducing the love interest(s) to the audience. Goes to show that Show runners have gotten lazier as of recent.

Saiki peers his head out of the doorway just to see that you turn round the corner, unsuspecting of his deadpan gaze, before he checked the hallway of any potentially unwarranted encounters, mentally sighing in relief when he found it vacant of any and all hinderances. Before he turned the same corner, Saiki expected you to be a few paces away from but to his slight surprise, you had vanished; Well corporeally vanished as the pink haired male could still sense that you were still well within his 200 meter radius. Then it occurred to him that you had just turned yourself invisible when you sensed that you were being watched. However before Saiki could react, you had disappeared from his radio is entirely. Enter your second ability: teleportation.

“What’re you following me for?” Your voice came from behind him so suddenly and without warning that almost let slip some emotion across his face. You’re just like me. “What’re you talking about, your making no sense.” You said, noting how Saiki didn’t speak with his mouth but more so through a telepathic link, connecting the two of you. Saiki sighed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. Just watch. After he said that, Saiki himself vanished before your very eyes, causing your eyes to grow wide and a gasp of surprise to leave your lips as you tried to figure out where he could’ve went; praying that no one saw either of you displaying your powers.

Come to the school gate. Saiki commanded shortly but sensed that you were about to question why he adds, look, I’m not stupid enough to put us at risk of being spotted. I’m not Nendo, you chuckled at the comparison, besides I think it’s high time we have a talk about what else your capable of doing. So just get down here, I don’t care how you do it, teleportation or not, just get down here before I start rethinking my choices. “Alright, alright. I’m coming, no need to get all mardy at me. ‘I’m just sceptical is all.” You muttered. I heard that. “Yeah your supposed to genius.” You retorted as you teleported to the school gates where Saiki was waiting for you with a plastic bag of…coffee jellies? Your face must’ve said it all for Saiki as he huffed, subconsciously holding the bag closer to his being. What? I got hungry and decided to treat myself.

“You’re unbelievable, could’ve bought me something.” You scoffed lighthearted. Please, I don’t even know what you like because you’ve been blocking me from your thoughts, so why don’t you go buy it yourself rather then relying on me. Saiki rebutted as he entertained himself to one of his coffee jellies as you then took up his advice and teleported to the nearest convenient store to buy yourself a couple of snacks before teleporting back to the school gates; Saiki was already on his second coffee jelly. You parked yourself next to him and began to eat in silence.

“May I have a coffee jelly?”

No

[mickmundy]

another merc hc thread request from twitter! pyro seems like an appropriate addition since we've been stuck in our apartment without ac during a lethal heatwave. as of today for the first time, we officially have ac! let's cool off with some pyro headcanons! i hope you enjoy my dear friend!

honestly pyro is one I've held off on for a long time because i really think they're at their best when a great deal of their character is left completely ambiguous. pyro is the Beloved Mystery of the group (spy thinks it's him. Ha!), some things are better left unknown!

that said, i don't ponder what's "under the mask". the mask is an equally important part of who pyro is, too! i know it's common to dwell on what's going on under that iconic uniform, but i personally don't! are they an eldritch terror? are they just Some Person? who knows!

imo the mercs do not ponder this either. pyro is their friend and some things are just simply not their business! they might have a passing curiosity sometimes, but all in all, nobody is seeking to try and "figure them out"! they like pyro just the way they are, no matter what that way may be!

very creative, super visual! loves to draw and paint… they won't hesitate to get their gloves wet! loves gardening or anything that keeps their hands busy. LOOOOVES junk journaling. what can they say, there's lot of junk around the base!

this applies to my personal Team Fortress Law in general but also heavily to pyro so i'll stick it in with their headcanons: the love of the bit. and of nonsensical "toon" physics. a lot of fun things about the tf2niverse is that they don't demand explanation! "pyro, you could do that the whole time?!" No, not ANY time! only when it serves some higher comedic or ironic purpose!

i think pyro is mute (selectively or otherwise) and prefers to sign. she'll also grunt/make other expletive sounds, but her preferred method of communication is signing! or drawing out what she wants to communicate. no matter what she chooses, the mercs are great interpreters!

loves to learn. can almost always be seen peering over one of the other mercs' shoulders when they're doing… just about anything! it happens so often that even the most personal-space-valuing mercs have gotten used to pyro's love of observation!

not a child, or child-like. enjoys whimsy and toys and also maiming. just because he has some unconventional interests doesn't mean he's any less of a Grown Adult Merc than the rest of them!

loves to bake and is really good at it! pyro enjoys burning stuff, but even pyro knows that everything has it's perfect Burnt (ie:correctly cooked) Temperature! the mercs love his sweet treats!

i think the other mercs play up their fear of pyro to outsiders as an inside joke. like the meet the team videos where they're all scared of them was done to scare the shit out of the director LOL. like pyro has no idea that's what they're doing and spy will come behind the director and be like "look at the bloodlust within the wretched beast's eyes…" and pyro will see spy and stand up and wave like ^_^! and spy will wink and wave back when the director can't see him do so SKDFS

the best listener out of all of the mercs. pyro loves to listen! about anything! not likely to give sagely advice (best to go to heavy, engie or spy for that!), but if you just want someone to lean on and listen, pyro's your pal (and best secret-keeper)!

there's a lot of speculation about pyroland but again it's not something i dwell on. i entertain the idea of pyroland being symbolic of pyro quitting the job they hated. life's a fantasyland every day when you're doing what you love with who you love!

is a great driver and one of the most financially responsible mercs! extremely wealthy (nobody knows this) and lives humbly. always a big tipper, loves giving gifts to the mercs (handmade or otherwise)!

the eye goggles on pyro's mask are expressive! if she "raises a brow", her goggles move to make the expression!

doesn't hate water, just gets in it in their suit! loves to swim and blow bubbles underwater in their mask. don't leave them in charge of the thermostat though… what's A Little Warm to pyro might be 'your skin is melting off' to another! as for when they were frowning in the sub, i always figured that was because he can't play with fire in a submarine, lest the whole thing explode!

very gentle. great with medic's birds and all of the critters sniper catches (claps their hands repeatedly when sniper catches a new one!), takes very good care of them! loves reptiles specifically because they like warm climates and can be pretty hard to kill, just like pyro!

nobody ever sees pyro eat, but he Does eat! they'll all sit down to eat and there will be bite marks in the food and it will slowly disappear... but not when anyone can see it do so! again, nobody questions this or tries to "catch" pyro in the act. that's just another Pyroism!

really loves learning other languages (pyro has a language of their own of course!) and hanging around spy and heavy. they like their mellow vibe and enjoy "parallel playing" with them while they discuss literature. the mercs also say that pyro has a knack for impressions!

[amazing-spider-man-book-club]

The Amazing Spider-Man #6

Published: November 1963

Containing: "Face to Face with...The Lizard!"

Introducing: Curtis Connors/The Lizard, Martha Connors, Billy Connors

Synopsis: Peter is sent down to Florida to get some photos on a mysterious figure, The Lizard, who is terrorizing the everglades, but soon must discover a way to help this new villain become human again.

Read alongside us here:

https://readcomiconline.li/Comic/The-Amazing-Spider-Man-1963/Issue-6?id=4028

@frankendykes-monster: There's something so humorous to me about naming a villain "The Lizard" after already having one named "The Chameleon". The off-brand model even if they share nothing in common. I had to look up when it was discovered that dinosaurs are more closely related to birds than reptiles but no luck unlike last issue's forcing me to look up how spiders communicate.

The introduction of The Lizard rings like a horror film, the setting in Florida couldn't help but make me think of The Alligator People (1959). Virtually all the tropes like the monster staking a claim in hostile territory and scientific mishaps and an ancient castle ooze charm, it's only the near ending when The Lizard wants to create more reptilian humanoids that you're forcibly reminded that this is a supervillain we're dealing with.

I have to wonder if The Lizard was originally intended to be a one-and-done given the character never returns during Ditko's time on the title but Curt Conners does. Much like Mysterio returning to his first costume, it's something that's only established as an ongoing threat when John Romita takes over. I have to say the character's design is probably the first Ditko one that's something of an acquired taste, had he worn a purple coat and had black eyes with white pupils like on the cover, it would have been more cohesive and threatening, though I'm not a giant fan of more animalistic subsequent designs decades down the line. This issue's title page is another all-time favorite of mine for how much it reads as a three-dimensional space. Ditko occasionally goes all-out, though at the same time I feel like we see way more of Spider-Man sans webbing in this issue (whenever the character is far enough away from the camera that drawing them would be too much of a hassle. Blah.)

I have to wonder what people reading this for the first time have to make of Liz Allen and Betty Brant being Peter's love interests, because if it wasn't a full-time thing last issue, it certainly is now. Betty's appearances in the live-action Spider-Man films have more or less been cameos, is what I'm saying. Given Liz's newfound interest in Spider-Man I think it's quaint if disappointing that it isn't until Civil War, over 40 years after this, that she discovers it's Peter under the mask alongside the rest of the world. Womp womp.

Probably the most realistic thing about this issue is Jameson accidentally starting a tabloid frenzy wherein he demands Spider-Man go down to Florida to fight The Lizard. It's ridiculous but plausible enough that I could see people actually read papers and developing a strong opinion on the matter.

@duel1971 : This issue may be my favorite so far. The story takes Peter out of NYC and down to Florida on J Jonah Jameson’s dime to get pictures of the Lizard. This leads to Peter and Jameson being traveling partners, a concept I would happily read a full-length story about but which is only touched upon briefly here.

Curtis Connors has one of the most well-realized supervillain origins we’ve seen yet in ASM. The tragic nature of the character feels iconic: the loss of an arm motivates him to recklessly experiment on himself and leads to a complete physical transformation that renders him a threat to his beloved family and, as the issue draws on, civilization itself. (Or at least Florida.) In addition, lizards being a natural predator of spiders makes the Lizard’s ability to physically outmaneuver and outmatch Spider-Man feel ordained by nature.

Some parts of the story feel a little clunky – in particular, I’m not sure what a serum that turned a man into a lizard would do to actual lizards. The story doesn’t seem to have a firm idea either, but apparently it would be very bad. I appreciated the attempt to raise the stakes, but found Curtis’s alienation from and eventual reconciliation with his family to be much more compelling.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Snow Day

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to @maglor-my-beloved for having submitted that beautiful drawing (please share it!!!) for me to get out of my writer's block.

It's my joy and honour to share the result of my toiling with you! <3

Characters: Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel

Words: 1550

Warnings: It's pretty cold, there's a sword, a bit of sadness, use of the M-slur for Melkor 😂

“Morgoth be cursed,” Erestor muttered, looking out of the window with boundless annoyance that made his face look drawn and pale. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s actually not,” Glorfindel contradicted, strolling into the study with a sunny grin. “It has just stopped. We could steal a few shields and slide down a hillside? Make the best out of it?”

At that uncautious suggestion, no matter how enthusiastically it was presented, Elrond lifted his head sharply from the letter he’d been perusing, hitherto having desperately tried to shut out the ongoing discussion between his friends.

He now realised that this had been a grievous mistake!

Neither one took well to being cooped up inside—the reasons for their mounting cabin fever might have been opposed, but the nerve-wracking effect of their continuous arguing was unfortunately much the same.

“I have too much work as it is,” Elrond finally interrupted the ensuing squabbling patiently. “I’d much rather you don’t add to it by wilfully engaging in dangerously reckless behaviour.”

Erestor nodded smugly, but his eyes returned to the icy desert outside longingly again and again as if he was earnestly considering Glorfindel’s proposal.

Shrugging, Glorfindel meanwhile leaned against the wall, crossing his long legs and smirking deviously at the much put-upon Lord of Imladris. “If you’re so opposed to a bit of innocent fun,” he drawled seductively, “I guess you’ll have to set aside your boring paperwork and come with us. Just to make sure that we won’t do anything you deem too foolhardy.”

“Can’t you just build snowpeople?” Elrond asked tersely, exasperation colouring his fatigue-laden voice. “That should keep you out of trouble.”

As he returned his attention to his correspondence, he missed the exchange of meaningful glances between the other two who’d instantly recognised the minute crack in Elrond’s usually so impervious mask of calm efficiency.

"Glorfindel is right," Erestor declared slowly.

Elrond’s head snapped up again in wordless shock—clearly, the bad weather had driven them stark raving mad if Erestor had taken to agreeing with Glorfindel.

“You should rest a little. Why don’t you come with us? Not everyone has had the chance of being parented by a hundred different people,” Erestor continued with that corrupting mix of petulant aggression and wide-eyed vulnerability that made him so wickedly convincing. “You could show us how it’s done.”

Before Glorfindel could snigger that there was but little mystery to the matter, Erestor had firmly kicked him in the shin to keep him from destroying their joint efforts by innocent bluster and ill-advised encouragement.

“There were hardly a hundred,” Elrond muttered, his resolve and interest in the dry reports about taxes and weather changes already waning inexorably. “And I would think that the two of you can figure it out on your own.”

Two mouths, pouty and rosy, opened to protest, and he lifted his hands to placate the storm of remonstrances and well-meant sermons before it could arise.

“As you wish. Please make sure that you’re wearing appropriate apparel—the wind can be quite chilling—and meet me by the Eastern gate. I’ve got to drop these off and retrieve my winter cloak and mittens before I even think of venturing outside.”

Watching them scamper away hastily before he could change his mind, Elrond wrenched his thoughts away from the duties he’d have to postpone until his return and, with an indulgent shake of his head, swiftly made his way to his own chambers.

When he finally arrived at the appointed meeting point, swaddled in several layers of insulating fabric, Glorfindel and Erestor were already waiting for him—they were also already viciously fighting about something the late-comer could not yet discern.

Elrond sighed and joined the fray fearlessly.

“I can’t believe you’d double-cross me like that!” Glorfindel muttered, visibly vexed, while eyeing the short sword in the other’s hand. “When I propose we take a detour to the armoury, I am an imprudent fool, but when you simply sneak in and out, you’re a genius!”

“Your words, not mine,” Erestor laughed and danced away when his colleague lunged forward to pluck the weapon from his grasp in a petulant attempt at checking the other’s glaring aura of petty triumph.

“Let’s go!” Elrond, growing uncomfortably hot as he helplessly watched them chase one another through the deserted hallway, exclaimed.

He sincerely hoped that the bracing cold and the creative endeavour would distract them sufficiently from their spat so their little outing would not end in the kind of grievous injury he had so adamantly wanted to prevent from the beginning.

In sullen, determined silence, they trudged up the snow-packed path leading away from the sheltered, cloistered paradise of Imladris until they reached a small hill, covered in fluffy, white powder and cruelly exposed to the presently dormant violence of the weather.

“So,” Elrond said quietly. “As Erestor has previously remarked upon so brazenly, this snowstorm might well be one of Morgoth’s curses which linger still within the darkness plaguing our world. When I was…young, we’d craft effigies to dismay and mock him so we’d be less afraid...”

Struck by the incandescent intensity of his friends’ regard, he fell silent for a moment, kneading the strap of his bag nervously for fear of having already said too much.

“I like this,” Glorfindel finally cheered after having given the idea some thought. “Let’s create cool guardians for Imladris. How about that?”

Thus, it was decided. Snow was progressively heaped, rolled, and pressed into the approximate shape of three lumpy Elven bodies under much grunting and giggling until they were satisfied with the raw building blocks they had assembled.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” Glorfindel thundered as he watched Elrond reach into his trusty satchel and extricate a handful of sturdy chiselling tools from an old leather cover. “Erestor! Come look at that—our Lord Elrond, who claims to be blessedly free of the curse of ambition, has dragged scalpels and tiny hammers along.”

“Didn’t expect anything less,” Erestor mumbled, entirely enthralled by his own project—he envisioned a fierce warrior, armed and armoured, who’d stand stolidly atop the knoll and keep a cold, watchful eye on the landscape,  ever-vigilant to the enemy’s scouts growing bolder and roaming closer to Imladris with every passing day.

Miffed by the others’ clear attempt at cheating, Glorfindel rushed down the hill and into a nearby grove of tall trees to countervail his evident disadvantage by gathering supplies and aids that were readily available by nature’s grace.

As he emerged once more and clawed his way back to his snowy canvas, though, both Elrond and Erestor had nearly finished their snow elves.

Uttering a snorting noise of dismay, Glorfindel stuck the two perfectly beautiful branches he’d found into the slender, shapely body of his creation and took a step back to let his appreciative gaze drink in the unexpected success of his opus.

Indeed, he was inordinately pleased with the ferocious, aggressive look of his crookedly grinning gelid sentinel, and so he beamed with pride as he turned back to his friends.

Of course, Elrond’s snow statue had expertly chiselled features and wore a thick, blue scarf that blew like a banner of a House long-fallen in the icy wind, and Erestor’s piece was bestowed with a sharp blade, glittering in the sallow sun, but it simply wasn’t in Glorfindel’s nature to become truly enraged with envy.

“Foresight, caution, and good health shall keep Imladris safe,” Elrond said ponderously, patting the sharp, high cheek of his snow sage, who was unnecessarily well-dressed to withstand the freezing temperatures. He truly had been made in the image of his creator, one had to admit, as Elrond now cleaned his thick gloves of the last remnants of sticky, melting snow before dutifully preparing and packing his tools.

Diligent to a fault, he certainly yearned to return to his study and letters before the weather could turn on them and make them regret ever having considered so foolish a plan as to leave the safety of Imladris in these meteorological conditions.

Scoffing, Erestor nodded at his own fearsome, sword-wielding oeuvre with grim satisfaction. “Sharp blades and unwavering vigilance shall serve us better, methinks,” he hummed gently as he further imbued it with stern tenacity.

Both turned to Glorfindel who grinned sheepishly. “I’m with Erestor on this,” he admitted. “Thus, I…made him. Erestor will keep us safe.”

For a seemingly endless moment, Elrond—who’d undeniably gone somewhat overboard in the execution of his planned distraction—merely blinked as the wind was picking up again and now buffeted them with glacial needles.

“I can agree with that,” he finally said, mellowing. “Let’s leave our brave companions to guard the Realm—each in their own way and as best they see fit—and return to our lit fireplaces and comfortable chairs.”

It looked as if the other two would demur, so he quickly swore that there would be no more work of any kind upon their return.

“Let’s merely sit together, have a cup of warm tea, and talk about our childhood traditions as if they were not lost forevermore yet!”

With a last solemn, laughably superstitious salute to the resplendent results of carefree fun and amicable competition, they threw themselves against the near-solid wall of snow-laden squalls and fought their way back to Imladris.

There are no Masterlists nor tags this time.

It's just a random art/fic exchange as we're gearing up for TRSB!

Lots of love!