#probably going to try again sometime this year hopefully maybe?

[moonstruckme]

vampire!james is such a fun concept!

what about if reader was a newly turned vampire too and James lets her feed on him

like the scene with elena feeding on damon in TVD?

because blood sharing is intimate :P

Hi lovely! I don’t really remember what this was like in TVD because I last watched that show probably 10 years ago and I don’t think I finished it but hopefully this is along the lines of what you were thinking, thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, feels mature at times but no smut (vampires are just hot idk)

vampire!James x fledgling!reader ♡ 1k words

James hates seeing you like this. He remembers what it feels like—being aware for the first time of every nerve ending in your body, your mind whirring at a thousand miles a minute, everything worse and louder and so much more than it had felt when you were human. 

He’d warned you the transition would be like this, but you’d wanted it anyway. You keep trying to act like you’re alright even now, trembling from head to toe in the corner of the bed, eyes darting towards every sound and movement like your body thinks you’re under attack. The three bags of blood you’d gotten from the butcher lie empty on the floor. Normally James only needs one every few days, but this is one thing he’d forgotten about the transition, he supposes. The hunger is intense. He won’t be able to get you more for at least a few hours.

“Sweetheart,” James says softly. You still flinch as though he’s shouted. “You should try to go to sleep. It’ll help with the cravings.”

“I don’t think I can.” Your lisp is sort of cute. You haven’t been able to retract your fangs yet, have pricked your own lip more than once. “I can hear so many hearts. They’re loud.” 

James nods. He’s learned to tune them out, like the hum of electricity or the rush of wind outside, but he knows what you mean. If he focuses, he can listen to the beating heart of the bird nesting in the tree by your window, the neighbor’s cat, the woman who lives at the end of your street. Sometimes they seem synchronized together, the unceasing, steady beat of life in the world. It gets louder when he’s starving. 

“The butcher won’t be open until morning,” he tells you, though you know already. You nod, wrapping your arms around your legs. “But I can try to help, if you want. You could try feeding from me.” 

It’s an idea James has been toying with since you said you wanted to turn. He doesn’t think you could survive off each other forever—he’s not sure if he still makes new blood, if his body works that way anymore—but he doesn’t have need for his blood the way a human does. Maybe he could sate you for a bit. 

You give him a look of wary surprise, but James knows how you feel well enough to recognize the hope behind it. Any chance of feeding will sound good to you right now. 

“Can we do that?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But I don’t think it’ll hurt to try. Might taste a bit stale, though.” 

It’s a lame joke, and you don’t laugh. Your trembling worsens, your restraint barely holding out against your cravings. Your voice is small. “I don’t know if I can be gentle. I feel…weird.” 

James offers you a smile. “I know, honey. It’s okay. Can I touch you?” 

You nod. James is careful about it, not wanting to overstimulate your sensitive nerves. He takes your hands in his, slowly guiding you onto his lap. 

“You’re alright,” he promises. “Let me help.” 

Your brows crease, and your lip starts bleeding again when you prick it with your fang. James gently thumbs the droplet away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper, scared. 

“I’ll be fine.” He looks you in the eyes, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks calmingly. “You did it for me, right? That wasn’t so bad. Just…” James palms the back of your head, bringing it to the crook of his neck like an embrace. “Take what you need.” 

James doesn’t have a heartbeat for you to hear, but that doesn’t matter; once you’re close you can’t restrain yourself anymore. You bite into his neck eagerly. 

It feels like you described. Part of James worried that you were stretching the truth, trying to make him feel better, but the places where your mouth connects to his skin are suddenly the center of James’ universe. He can feel his blood rushing to meet you, to sate you, fill you up and be everything you need. Your low moan vibrates against his skin, and James laughs, dizzy and drunk on you. 

One of your hands fists in his hair, pulling his head further to the side. He bears his neck to you readily. He hopes you glut yourself on him, stay here with him, keep your mouth suctioned to his skin until you both die whatever deaths immortals can. 

He feels a bead of wet roll down his chest. You make a soft, thoughtless sound in the back of your throat, leaving his neck to chase it. Your tongue licks a stripe up James’ left pectoral. 

He blinks slowly as you wipe your mouth, breathing hard. It feels like waking up from a dream. You have blood smeared around your mouth and nearly dripping from your chin. You look embarrassed as you catch it with your fingers and lick them clean. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s okay.” James smiles at you. He still feels slightly doped up, but it’s also sweet to see you like this, pupils still blown from the taste of him and shy about it at the same time. “You were right, that was nice.” 

One side of your mouth tilts up tentatively. “I didn’t hurt you? You were so controlled when you fed from me.” 

“That’s not your fault, honey, you can’t be controlled this early on.” James kisses you, pleased to find your fangs are starting to retract. “It’s not possible. But no, it didn’t hurt.” 

Your smile blooms with relief. “You didn’t taste stale,” you reassure him. “You sort of tasted like yourself, if that makes sense.” 

He nods. You’d tasted like yourself, too, all sticky sweet and addicting. 

You let your breath out in a whoosh, sagging in his hold. “I’m…god, how do you manage to walk home after this? I’m so tired.” 

“It gets easier with time,” James reassures you. He pets the back of your head, turning you both around so his back rests against the headboard of your bed. “You can sleep, though. We’ll clean you up tomorrow.” 

There are no arguments from you. You’re fading fast, head falling naturally back into the curve of his neck. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I wasn’t as nice about it as you were with me.” 

“Sure you were, sweetheart. You’re always nice, I don’t think you can help it.” 

“Yeah, well.” You turn your head slightly to mush a kiss over the puncture marks you’ve left him. “Thanks.” 

[swordsandholly]

Steel Magnolia

Part 1 - paused

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

[skipper1331]

Secret (2) // Alexia Putellas

| Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | extra |

She didn‘t try to follow you.

She didn‘t try to text or call you.

She didn‘t try to fight for you.

She let you.

She let you walk through that door.

She let you go.

They say that you only really appreciate something when it is no longer there - she understood that now. It never occurred to her how terrible it must have been for you to be her "secret," even if she never wanted it that way.

Plagued by the fear of what others would think or what would happen, she dreamed of a love without worries and anxiety; in her eyes, this love only happened behind closed doors. She didn't realize how bad it actually was for you, even though she knew exactly that you wanted a typical romance book love story. She didn't deserve you and even less deserved that you had put up with her in secret for so long.

You, on the other hand, were caught up in your anger. You had put up with this secrecy for over a year, but a limit had been crossed - your heart ached just in her presence.

She had managed to nestle herself in your heart with her charming smile, her sparkling eyes and her elegant but captivating nature. She was Alexia Putellas, of course she had done it. She could do anything when she set her mind to. She had won the Ballon D‘or twice, the World Cup and dozens of other trophies and titles - only the title of calling you her wife, she hadn't managed.

In the nights where she couldn‘t sleep, she had dreamed of marrying you - you were different. Any feelings she knew before no longer existed. It was only you.

And you were no longer hers.

-

After your break up with the Catalonian, your motivation started to rise again as the weight you had been carrying in your heart and on your shoulders wasn‘t there anymore. You went out with your friends, explored the city a bit more and focused on yourself. You deserved to be happy and you knew that. You treated yourself with new shoes (shoes you had been eyeing for awhile) and finally an own Netflix account.

In training, you went to your absolute limits, playing wonderfully and yet having fun - the love to the sport filled your veins again.

You were glowing - the new look suited you.

But when you were at home, it was different. Two people met at the doorstep. Person 1 who glowed and person 2 who sulked. As soon as the threshold was crossed, personality 2 took over your body, mind and soul. Your broken heart showed itself. You hadn't managed to remove the second toothbrush in your bathroom or empty Alexia’s drawer yet. Her clothes were yours too, you wore them as soon as personality 2 needed the comfort which was needed constantly.

You cried.

You screamed into your pillow.

You ate ice cream, chocolate, anything.

Watched sad shows and movies.

And cried more.

Nobody seemed to notice your switch of personality - who should?

No one knew that you and Alexia used to be a couple..

No one knew that your heart was broken..

I‘m capable of handling that on my own.

I‘m an independent woman.

..except one person: Alba.

unknown

hey, it‘s Alba.

Ale told me what happened.

If you need someone to talk to (a friend), feel free to message me:)

You appreciated that she sent you a message, her intention probably kindhearted but she was Alexia‘s sister after all.

You replied with 'thank you' and sort of an appreciation.

Time would heal your wounds. Hopefully.

In the nexts weeks, you focused on the upcoming uwcl matches and getting enough recovery after your training sessions.

You like to think that you didn‘t even look at Alexia but you knew better than that. She‘s Alexia and breathtaking, you could not not look at her.

But you tried your hardest not to give in when she looked at you, looking at you with those sad doe eyes. Sometimes it seemed like she wanted to approach you or even say something yet she never did, she stayed silent.

Was it wrong to hope for her approach? That she would just kiss you in the middle of the pitch?

Maybe it was wrong but you couldn’t help it. You loved her and you knew she loved you too. And love, no matter how much you want it sometimes, doesn't just disappear. It always leaves its mark.

Added to that, Alexia wasn‘t just anybody - she was the first person with whom you truly felt the butterflies and every cheesy book describing feeling.

She could have been your greatest love story - the love story you always wished for.

-

"Good luck" Alexia said, her hand brushing against yours as she walked past you.

She smiled a bit, immediately looking away, joining Aitana and Keira.

"Good luck" you whispered back, surprised that she had spoken to you, nonetheless kindly accepting that she did.

The first leg against Chelsea went alright, Aitana opened the score as you made it 2-0, 5 minutes before the ref blew her whistle.

You shook hands with each opponent and talking to your friends for a bit.

"Oh please, I’m your biggest fan, swap your jersey with me" the dramatic voice of Niamh Charles shrilled through the conversation you were having with Guro and Erin. You laughed, Niamh‘s arm around your shoulder, "oh please, please" she fake cried, the girl nothing but laughter in her voice.

"Aren‘t the dozens of my jersey enough?" you joined, laughing.

It was an unspoken rule whenever Niamh and you faced each other to swap jerseys as the two of you had met in the u-teams, becoming friends in an instant and being close friends ever since.

"Nah, babe, you know I can never get enough of you" she rolled her eyes, pressing a sloppy kiss to cheek.

Disgusted, you wiped it off and shoved her away.

Alexia watched the scene in front of her with fire in her eyes, oh how she hated Niamh - the green eyed monster talking.

"Jealous?" the soft voice of Ingrid pulled her back to reality.

"¿Que? No! I’m not jealous" Alexia’s accent was thick, her voice raspy and mind completely somewhere else.

"You should ask her out, I think she likes you" the Norse proposed, tapping the Catalonians shoulder as she walked to Frido, leaving the captain alone.

Ale had always suspected that Fridolina and Ingrid knew about the two of you because they were your best friends, but that wasn't the case. Alexia realized that only now since Ingrid had suggested asking you out - you had always been honest and respectful with her wishes - accepting them, even though they broke your heart day by day.

No one knew that you were more than just teammates.

They were clueless.

You were amazing.

And she was stupid - stupid to think that you would tell anyone when you hadn't even told your best friends and stupid for letting you go.

-

The second leg ended up in 2-1, 4-1 on average which meant that Barcelona would play in the Champions League final.

You were thrilled when the ref blew his whistle, so happy about the fact that you had the chance to win the trophy.

On the other hand, you felt bad for the Chelsea players, they had given everything as they tried their best to win. Unfortunately for them, it wasn‘t enough. You approached Niamh who had tears in her eyes, pulling her in a hug. You comforted her the best you could but loosing an important match would sting for awhile, no matter how much you praised the defender for her game.

"You know, I will burn your jersey at home" the defender chuckled, nonetheless taking her jersey off while you did the same - swap.

"That‘s only fair" you grinned, wearing now the blue shirt.

Once again, Alexia glared at Niamh, hating the fact that you were wearing 'Charles 21' on the back instead of 'Alexia 11' or 'Putellas and your number' but she knew it was her own fault.

If she had just listened to you or introduced you as her girlfriend with such pride right from the start then she wouldn't be in the situation of a broken heart and jealousy.

She loved you and was forever sorry for hiding and neglecting you.

You deserved better than that, way better.

-

Winning the champions league felt euphoric.

The final match had been intense, both sides fighting for goals as the ref showed many yellows cards.

But Barcelona did it, they had done the unthinkable - beating Lyon and taking their revenge.

It didn‘t matter that the score was only 1-0. That one goal meant more than anything to everybody of the team. You felt so much pride and joy, the stadium chanting while you received your medals and lifting the trophy.

You wanted to cherish this moment forever.

"I‘m proud of you" la reina stated as she stood next to you. You didn’t even notice that she had approached you.

"Thank you, Ale, it means a lot" you smiled at the midfielder. Your smile was so genuine and wide, your eyes sparkly and shiny - you looked so beautiful, in Alexia’s eyes.

She couldn’t help but kiss your forehead.

You let her.

Her lips lingered for a moment, pulling back with rosy cheeks before she walked to her mother and sister who were waiting in the stands.

Your eyes followed the Catalonian, her mother hugging her tightly while Alba looked in the direction Ale came from - she saw you and waved.

-

Back in Barcelona, the team + family/ friends went out to celebrate. Drinks were getting drowned, songs were being yelled and dance moves were being showed. The vibe and mood was amazing, everybody letting loose after the last few intense weeks.

You couldn’t remember how many drinks you‘ve had but it was a good amount - each of them delicious.

Making your way over to the bar, you ordered yet another drink. You wouldn’t say you were drunk per se but you also weren’t sober anymore.

Nobody was, or cared.

You won the champions league, you were allowed to party.

While you waited for your drink, a familiar unfamiliar voice talked to you, "hola"

you turned to the side, seeing the younger Putellas standing next to you.

"hi" you replied.

"Congratulations! Your goal was amazing" she beamed while you smiled and mumbled a thanks. "my sister can be an ass, you know? Oh yeah, you do." she giggled at her own joke - she clearly wasn‘t sober either, "but she loves you. She‘s been sulking for weeks."

You tried to listen the best you could, questioning if you would remember the conversation in the morning.

"She even told mamá about you and how she fucked things up"

You gasped, "no way! She talked about me? I‘m so shocked"

The sister laughed, playfully hitting your chest as you joined her laughter - eyes watching the two of you.

"You should make her jealous"

"Yeah, sure" you replied, rolling your eyes, "as if Ale‘s jealous"

"More than you think. She doesn’t like your friend Charles, for example. 'she should wear my name' blah blah blah" Alba explained, your mind spinning for several reasons.

"How should I make her jealous then?"

"Easy. Follow me" the girl grabbed your arm, pulling you on the dance floor, "hey! my drink" you grumbled, the Putellas sister ignoring you.

She turned around, looping her arms around your waist as yours went around her neck. You followed Alba‘s lead, Shakira blasting through the speakers. Looking around, you searched for Alexia. It didn‘t take long to find those pretty eyes who looked nothing but angry. Her jaw was clenched, hands balled into fists as she shifted uncomfortably around.

She was not enjoying the show.

"Bet she‘ll be here in 3…" Alba leaned in, "2…." as you did the same, "1…"

Strong hands on your hips pulled you away, a protective arm smacking around your waist, Alexia glaring at her sister - so much fire in her eyes, "you‘re allowed to look but do not touch what’s mine" she growled, "now leave" her voice was stern and firm. Your ex girlfriend stood now in front of you, looking at you, checking you out while Alba walked away, winking at you.

"You look nice" the girl smiled charmingly, the green eyed monster completely gone.

"What was that?!"

"I said you looked-"

"No. Do not touch what’s mine?!" you mocked, your heart secretly racing at her possessiveness.

"I won‘t let her kiss you!" her voice was raised, jealousy pumping through her veins again, "I‘m the only one who will do so" the thought of you ever touching, kissing, loving someone else made Alexia furios.

She loved you.

"Do you understand me?"

The alcohol in Ale‘s system made her bold, confident and possessive - she didn‘t care who was watching or listening. All she cared about was you.

You had never seen her like that before - openly jealous, with her hands on your hips and chests touching in public - it was hot. She was hot.

"Yes, I do" you replied, somehow starstruck.

"Good girl"

You died on the spot.

Was it hot in here? It definitively was! Or was it just Alexia?

It was just Alexia.

Your knees went weak, your heart was racing and skin on fire.

In a crowded bar, surrounded by family, friends and colleagues she smashed her lips against yours. You responded as eagerly while she tried to pull you impossibly closer - oh, how she had missed you and your kisses.

This kiss wasn‘t like the ones you shared before, it was pure need.

"Let‘s go" the midfielder mumbled, trying to catch her breath, the same as you did. She waited for a respond - your consent - before she left.

With you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

this one is kinda nsfw/tmi, apologies in advance u_u gonna try and keep it as short and detail-less as possible

i live at college and i have a roommate. sometimes, as many humans do, i want to masturbate. i do so in bed, either at night or (sometimes) really early in the morning if i wake up early. my roommate is usually also in the room, in their bed, hopefully but not definitely asleep. im super quiet and i dont think you can like, Hear anything weird, but its a small room and i worry sometimes my roommate knows what's going on. i saw a post on my college's gossip account the other day about (hopefully) someone else's roommate "touching herself" while she thought the poster was asleep and it made me concerned that maybe part of roommate etiquette is never doing that at all?? if my roommate is uncomfortable i doubt they'd say anything-- all my love to them but they are Not very communicative especially about anything they find embarrassing. it took me Forever to convince them to Actually Talk To Me when they were going to have their girlfriend over instead of just scuttling out of the room like a frightened beetle when i accidentally walked in on them (they were always way more embarrassed than me).

reasons i think i might be the asshole: like i said my roommate gets embarrassed easily so if they do know what's going on they're probably uncomfortable. it is a small room and they're probably awake usually. post on college gossip account.

reasons i think i might not be the asshole: i talked to my mom about this concern before leaving for college (we're a very sex positive family lol) and she said as long as you're quiet it shouldn't bother anyone. like i said i'm very quiet and it doesn't happen all that often. there is no other time i could do it that would be less awkward and i'm not a puritan so i don't think Complete Abstinence is the answer either.

school is over in a couple weeks and fingers crossed i'll have a single next year so i won't have to worry about this again. still bc of that gossip post im worried that i may have violated some unspoken social rule (wouldnt be the first time) so: AITA?

[heliads]

Can I pretty please request Carlos Sainz x reader where she’s rly shy and gets worried that maybe he wants someone more outgoing but he tells her he loves her any way she is? Your writing is amazing 🫶🏻

anon i love you wholeheartedly please let me speak on carlos

masterlist

You are not who you are supposed to be. There are qualifications for being the girlfriend of a Formula One driver, you’re sure of it, probably even a style guide somewhere if you only bothered to look it up. Perfect hair. Clean makeup. Pretty, but doesn’t try too hard. Willing to give up their whole life to follow one man on mad jaunts across the planet. Wherever your guidebook is, though, you must have lost it long ago, because you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, and worst of all, it’s starting to show.

You never should have gotten into this position in the first place. That isn’t to say that you hate it, far from it; dating Carlos Sainz is the best thing that ever happened to you, making you the happiest wrong person at the right time to ever exist. In every other universe, he’s probably seeing models or actresses, but here, he has you, and you’re willing to fight off every multiversal version of you just to keep everything as it is right now.

Your butterfly effect was quite stunning, actually. You ended up getting tickets to a Grand Prix through last minute cancellations. They were great, came with paddock passes and all that, and while you were lingering through Ferrari hospitality, Carlos happened to drop by to visit a friend and he noticed you while you were in line to get some water. He’s got the confidence of, well, a world class athlete, an adrenaline junkie, a professional race car driver, and so he introduced himself.

Sometimes, it’s just as easy as that. A father’s cousin’s roommate buys two tickets to a Grand Prix, then a stranger’s roommate’s brother gets sick, and suddenly you’re touching down off a plane overseas and walking through the door of paddock hospitality. You wear red, and you are seen. Just like that.

It took one more weekend before either of you knew that you wanted what you had to last for good. He texted you, followed you on Instagram and blew his cover of seeming cool by accidentally liking a post of yours from six years ago. And, when he saw you again, he knew that he wanted the spark between you to be something more, something like a bonfire.

Coincidence may have supported you thus far, but you don’t trust it not to abandon you. At the end of the day, you are you, you are Y/N L/N, and you are so far removed from Carlos’ world that it stuns you to think that you were even in his orbit so long as to meet him. If there are powers that be somewhere in the universe, they’re either playing a cruel joke or messing around to give you a helping hand. 

Hopefully, it’ll be the latter, but truly who knows at this point. As if it wasn’t surreal enough to introduce Carlos to your friends and family as Carlos Sainz, Formula One driver. As if it doesn’t blow your minds that people have started making Instagram accounts just dedicated to posting photos of you and your boyfriend whenever you’re seen out together.

The problem lies in the insanity of it all. You are not from this sort of life, you weren’t born into a silver spoon dynasty and you barely know how to interact with any of them now. You get along with the other WAGs as best you can; Heidi’s lovely, sure, and you were friendly with Charlotte until she disappeared, but sometimes it feels like it’s just you and your boyfriend against the world. Of any ally to pick, Carlos would be your top choice each and every time, but still. The fact remains that he will go out and race and leave you to your own devices, and you lack the extroverted impulses to social climb with everyone else.

This, then, is the main concern. You can pick out whatever designer clothes you want, goodness knows Carlos has offered to buy you anything already, and you can get your nails and hair done before each and every race, but that doesn’t change the fact that you, at your core, are never going to enjoy the paparazzi circus whenever you have to brave it.

It’s just not your scene, that’s all. You’re on the quieter side, happy to spend time with a few key friends but increasingly nervous in large crowds. Formula One is all large crowds, as you’ve discovered; thousands of fans, hundreds of engineers and team members, plus drivers and girlfriends and best friends. So many eyes, all on you. So many voices all shouting over each other.

You love Carlos, though, and you love him wholeheartedly, so you gather up your courage and go to race weekends when you can. Every time Carlos sees you in the crowd, he smiles so widely his friends tease him for weeks, and he runs to you first after every podium and strong finish. You want to be there for your boyfriend, truly you do, you just wonder if all of this should come easier to you than it does.

Also, you wonder if Carlos wishes the same thing. He has been nothing but perfect to you, so the spirals of guilt currently tangling their way through your insides are purely of your own creation, but what if he truly does think like that? Carlos must see the other WAGs, how they shine and sparkle with attention instead of feeling the urge to run. Wouldn’t he want that? Wouldn’t he get frustrated that you can’t be like the rest?

Thousands of girls in the world, and he picks you. You don’t know if it’s sweet or genuinely frightening. He wanted you out of everyone, yes, but he could replace you in a snap, swapping you out like some useless part on his car. There is nothing about you that cannot be replicated in any other girl. Even Charles did it, in a way, got himself a new girlfriend that’s a dead ringer for Charlotte. Carlos has no reason to keep you except for something he knows and you don’t.

The guessing will drive you mad, maybe, but you’ll lose your sanity long before that just trying to keep up with everything in his fast-paced life. You’ve been to prior F1 races, obviously, it’s how you met Carlos in the first place and it’s also how you kept him, but this upcoming weekend is different, this is Barcelona. Carlos is the center of attention at his home race, and every step he takes, a new storm of people is flooding in to ask him for autographs, selfies, anything to remind them that he’s real and right before their eyes.

Carlos doesn’t ask for a whole lot, and he certainly didn’t force you to come to this race, but you saw the hope in his dark eyes when he brought it up oh-so-casually at a dinner last week. You had assured him that you would go there to cheer him on along with the rest of his home crowd, and Carlos had been delighted for the rest of the evening.

You are happy to go, truly, but it’s taking everything in you to keep your smile up in front of the reporters and crowds and fans, and it’s just the first day. All you’re handling right now is qualifying, not even the actual race. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers that it’s only going to get worse from here on out, but when Carlos looks back at you as you wind through the paddock, you just smile and tell him you’re glad to be there with him. You’re here for him, after all, and Carlos is busy enough with race stuff that he won’t want to hear your complaints.

That’s what you keep repeating to yourself throughout the entirety of that day. Carlos qualifies well and is properly pleased about it, as he should be. The possibility of a podium or perhaps even a win for his home race has been one of his top goals for the season, and he’s as close as he can get to it right now. He earnestly talks about it the whole drive back to your hotel, but once you’re back in the safety and peace of the room, the conversation abruptly switches back to you.

Carlos sheds his jacket at the door, watches you flop down onto the bed with a smile on his face, then asks you pointedly, “And how are you doing, amor?”

You smile back at him, the expression trained to perfection after being tested so many times today. “Great! Glad that everything’s going so well for you. I’ll be cheering for P1 tomorrow.”

In truth, you’re tired more than anything. People kept coming up to you all day, assuming that taking a selfie with Carlos’ girlfriend was at least half as good as getting to see him. They gave you all manner of gifts and things to give to him, extracting promises that you’d tell him dozens of different people wished him well. You knew you’d get a lot more attention when you started dating Carlos, but the lack of personal space and privacy at the races is truly unlike anything you’d experienced before.

Carlos has been dating you long enough to pick up on this, apparently, because he furrows his brow and sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “I’ll be glad to see you tomorrow, but do you want to tell me what is really on your mind? Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I know you, no?”

You sigh, covering your face with one of your arms. Carlos deflects from this attempt to hide by gently pulling your arm away, pressing a kiss to your forehead to make up for it. “Talk to me, cariño.”

You look sorrowfully at him, but when it becomes clear that Carlos won’t let you go until you confess, you give in. “It’s just a lot, I guess. The people and the cameras and everything.”

Carlos frowns. “I can get them to go away, you know that. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You look away. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to hear it. All of the other girlfriends have no problem with it, just me. I thought you’d want me to be more outgoing, so I tried, I really did, it’s just hard for me, I don’t know why.”

When you dare to risk a glance up at Carlos, you’re surprised to notice that he looks genuinely hurt. “Sweetheart, you didn’t think that I would actually be unhappy about that? I just want you to be happy. Don’t think about me.”

You let out a low breath. “I know, it’s just– I want to be like the rest, really. I don’t want this to be a reason–”

You cut yourself off, distracted by Carlos’ hands still wrapped around yours. Carlos picks up on the obviously dropped subject, though, and looks at you with fresh concern. “You don’t want it to be a reason for what?”

“That you would break up with me,” you whisper.

That’s it, then. That’s the truth. If you can’t live with Carlos’ lifestyle, why wouldn’t he leave you for someone who could? It makes perfect sense to you, but judging by Carlos’ expression, that logic couldn’t be further from his mind.

“No, Y/N,” he says, “That’s not right at all. I don’t want to break up with you, like, ever. Not because of this. I don’t want someone else, I want you. I love you, querida. I love the girl who showed up out of nowhere and made me forget about every other woman in the world. I love the girl who shows up to my home race even though it stresses her out because she wants to be there for me. I love you, Y/N. No one else. Just you.”

And, well, in the face of such passionate declarations, who could stand firm in their own self-pity? Certainly not you. You smile and let him kiss you again and again until you can’t see straight, and after that it is better, it is all better. Hearing it straight from Carlos is better than trying to guess at it. It lets your worries finally sink off into nothingness. It’s just you and him, just what he wants. Just what you want.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[i-arch-my-backula]

Poly relationship headcanons for movie Louis and Lestat

I'm putting off doing this for the TV Louis and Lestat because I'm still early on in season two, and I don't want to do anything OOC for them. Anyway, I'm hopefully going to have another chapter for my Immortal Lovers fic coming out soon.

Content includes: Brief mentions of a sick reader, Lestat has a temper on him, Louis has Catholic levels of guilt, maybe a bit of an unhealthy relationship

Considering you're a human, you probably either knew Louis before he turned, or you met Louis before he learned to not get involved with 'mortal affairs' anymore.

He'd try to keep you secret from Lestat for as long as he can, but of course Lestat finds out and he quickly develops an attraction to you, and from that attraction grows feelings like Louis has.

There will be lots of back and forth between the two of them about if you should be turned or not. Lestat saying that it's better for you to be turned and Louis saying that you shouldn't.

But in the end, when you get sick and they're not sure if you're going to make it, Louis can't bear to part from you, so Lestat turns you into a vampire.

Or I could see Lestat using you as a way to sort of 'trap' Louis into staying with him if he was going to try to leave. Kind of like what he did with Claudia but this time it's for romantic partners.

Early on in your vampire life you can choose who you share a coffin with until you get your own. If you choose Louis he'll be affectionate, but still get you a coffin in a reasonable amount of time. But if you choose Lestat, he's going to drag it out for as long as he can.

Both men are going to shower you with affection. Louis' romance being more so verbal and through actions, like taking you out for walks together, or seeing plays and operas. Where as Lestat is going to give you gifts and get you fancy clothes made to your every desire.

Lestat isn't the best teacher there is when it comes to the ways of being a vampire. Of course he tells you about not drinking dead blood and using a coffin, avoiding sunlight, never killing in the house etc, etc. But if you want more knowledge on vampires, you'll have to go to Louis, or do your own research.

Louis prefers to hunt alone, still feeling some amount of guilt at having to eat from humans if he wants to sustain his immortal life. But if you insist, he'll let you join him some nights, when he isn't feeling as guilty.

Lestat however, is almost always happy to have you join him on a hunt. He likes to drag his meals out a bit so having someone to share it with is nice.

There are some occasions that the three of you go out together on a hunt. Lestat is usually the one who initiates these hunts, finding the victims and setting up a private area for the three of you to share. It's not often this happens, but you three still do it once or twice a year.

Louis prefers the dates that he takes you on to be more 'romantic' or 'traditional' like taking you out for the night or spending it at home together, embraced in each others arms, reading books and talking.

Lestat prefers for your dates to be more public. Going out to parties together, seeing plays and operas, going shopping wherever you two please, maybe even using a hunt as a sort of date.

But Lestat also has his outbursts. Getting into fits of rage yelling at you and Louis. His temper gets the better of him at times and he usually leaves for the night to collect himself again. But by the next night he'll apologize with some kind of gift, you rarely ever hear him say that he's sorry.

But Louis can also get caught up in Lestat's yelling sometimes, the two of them getting into arguments of just shouting back and forth. But Louis will come to you after and apologize.

I can see the two of them using you as a way to speak to each other if they're not on speaking terms. If an argument got a bit too out of hand and they're not ready to make up they'll have you relay messages for them, Lestat more so than Louis. For two immortal vampires they can be rather childish at times.

[no-gorms]

Steve/Tony, Hanahaki, UST, open ending

It is an unfortunate fact of Tony’s history that he’s familiar with the longing disease. Lung gardening. Hanahaki, or whatever other euphemisms they’ve come up with lately to describe it.

Naming conventions aside, Tony’s knows well enough what the affliction feels like – the warning sting at the back of the throat that’s followed by the pressure of something more personal, more vicious than mere phlegm. The body’s breathing apparatus has decided to betray its owner, and Tony’s had it enough times that he could be embarrassed, if he were the sort of person to be embarrassed by that kind of thing.

A cough, a heave, and then petals are cascading in a disgusting shower onto the tabletop. At least the tabletop is glass, which is easy to clean, and Tony’s reflexes were fast enough that he’d pushed Hill’s paper folder of printouts clear away.

Most people would be grateful to have their symptoms manifest in privacy. Those who do not, get used to the shocked silence that follows.

“Oh no,” comes Bruce’s voice from Tony’s left. Quiet, worried.

“Maybe—” Natasha clears her throat, businesslike, “—we can take five?”

“Ah, shit.” Tony straightens up and dabs at his mouth with a handkerchief. He eyes the pile of petals with a scowl, noting that they’re bright-colored blooms, as if he’s twenty years old all over again and doesn’t know any better. “Fantastic. Just what we needed today.”

“Yeah, we can take five—” Clint starts.

“As if we don’t have enough to do.” Tony sighs. “Goddammit, Steve.”

“What?” Steve says.

Being an old hat at surviving Hanahaki also means that Tony knows the faces he’ll see when he looks around the table. There’ll be surprise, concern, empathy, and discomfort in various combinations, and Tony gets all of that and then some, because the Avengers have so far rolled with a number of far greater inconveniences with grace.

“Look.” Tony takes one last cleaning swipe of his face with the handkerchief and drops it on the pile. “It’s not your fault, I’m not blaming you, but you gotta step up on this if we’re gonna make the flight out in time to follow Thor’s lead.”

“I, what—” Steve blinks twice, quick and robotic, before those same eyes widen.

Ah, so this is a surprise to Steve, which might be even more irritating than the Hanahaki itself. Tony could try to be half-full-cup about it and take it from the angle that this means that he hadn’t been too ridiculous openly about his burgeoning crush on the good Captain. But that would take more effort than he’s willing to expend.

It was supposed to be just admiration. Idle feelings to be nurtured like a baby bird of a side hobby. Good fucking going, Stark. What had Steve even been doing to make it tip over? Squinting at Natasha’s slide with that stoic yet judgmental purse of the mouth that usually has Tony internally clapping his hands with glee?

That could do it.

“Yeah, I know, it’s stupid,” Tony says, waving it off. “You don’t even like me as a human being, but I’m a masochist that way sometimes. Good news is, I’m also fickle, so it probably won’t be that hard to make me hate you. By this afternoon, hopefully? Or whenever you’re ready, I’m sure you’ll figure something out, but anyway this is still…” He eyes the pile of petals. “This is way early stages, we’ll have weeks, but the sooner the better.”

“What do you mean I don’t like you as a human being?” Steve says, as though that’s the most important part of what Tony just said.

“You need to be mean to me, okay?” Tony says.

Bafflement animates Steve’s normally poster-handsome face. Bafflement, and then offense, as though Tony just asked him to kick puppies, which Tony would never do, and anyway Tony isn’t a puppy. Steve can be mean, sometimes by accident and sometimes on purpose, and those glimpses of candid moments are so rare – for Tony, at least, since the others know Steve far better than Tony ever could – that Tony has and does treasure every single one.

Unfortunately, this thought sends a wave of affection rolling through Tony’s brain, which is followed by a wave of petals rolling out of Tony’s mouth. And this time they do destroy Hill’s folder of printouts.

He recovers faster this time, which may or may not be helped by Bruce patting his back gently.

“Sorry, correction.” Tony wheezes through an inhale. “You need to be mean to me, and not in a sexy way.”

“What—?” Steve starts.

“Stark means that you need to be cruel to him to stunt his feelings for you,” Thor says, nodding solemnly. “But to not use language that he’d find appealing. ‘Tis a fine line, indeed, I understand the challenge there.”

“Thor,” Bruce says.

“What?” Thor says.

“Right,” Clint says, “I think we should not be here for this.”

“We were finishing up anyway.” Tony stands up and shoves all the petals into the folder that will be going into the trash pronto. “I need to do a health scan but you guys can keep going with that entry route, and let me know what you’ve decided before suit up, yeah?“

“Tony,” Steve says. “You’re—that’s dangerous—”

“Yes, yes, I am aware,” Tony says irritably. “Romanoff, have my back?”

“We do face death on the regular,” Natasha says. “This is manageable.”

“See.” Tony points at Steve. “I’ll work on my part, but you have to do yours. Mean. You can do it, I believe in you. Just maybe… don’t use Howard?” He sighs. “No, you should probably use Howard. Anyway, I’ll be in lab, give me a buzz if there’s anything.”

Tony goes with a careless wave over his shoulder, and waits until he’s out of the room and the door is closed before he lets himself wince.

Could’ve gone worse, actually.

[tossawary]

I still think that the ending of "Avatar: The Last Airbender" was poorly foreshadowed, specifically the lion turtles and the energy-bending. (Not Aang not killing Ozai! I like that part! It suits the themes, it suits the characters! That part is fine. I am glad that the last airbender found a way forward that respected his people and beliefs.)

Like, I saw ATLA when it was originally airing and I thought these things kind of "came out of nowhere" at the time. I have heard the arguments to the contrary over the years and I have never really been persuaded by them, while at the same time personally agreeing that the lion turtles and the energy-bending absolutely do fit the world and lore! They are fitting elements! They work! I like this ending at the same time that, in my personal opinion, I think it was poorly established.

I think that the story BEGINS to establish lion turtles and energy-bending well enough. We meet both many other spirit beings and bending-capable animals earlier on, including the Moon and Ocean Spirits who apparently gave the world water-bending. S2 introduces Ty Lee's chi-blocking techniques and Guru Pathik teaching Aang about chakras. There are also a handful of lion turtle easter eggs in the background of some episodes, the most prominent perhaps being on a scroll in Wan Shi Tong's library.

But the story then jumps from these various establishing elements all the way to "lion turtles are real and not extinct and telepathic and can also energy-bend and Aang has suddenly mastered this new art well enough to take someone else's bending away permanently, and these relatively new elements are going to resolve the main conflict of the show". It feels like "1+1=3" to me. I think that last jump in the story is too big. Like, we're REALLY close, but I personally needed another 1 in there somewhere to bridge that final gap and get to that 3.

(Includes some fic ideas / suggestions on how to maybe add to strengthen the foreshadowing under the cut.)

The fact that a lot of people, especially more casual viewers, were really confused by the way all of these elements suddenly came together at the end says to me that, no, the foreshadowing that WAS done (there WAS foreshadowing, I cannot rightfully say that it all came completely out of "nowhere", but it) was not good enough. Or maybe I should compare it to someone presenting me with all of the necessary ingredients for a cake and then telling me that it IS cake? Yes, all of the right ingredients are HERE, I agree, this COULD be a really great cake, but... you still have to mix it all together in a bowl and then put it in the oven to bake to get that specific cake. It's not quite cooked yet.

(Okay, wow, that sounds kind of mean. Maybe I should compare it more to a missing stair? We have MOST of the staircase, I just need one last step to get to the Deus Ex Machina at the top. To be clear: I don't think a "Deus Ex Machina" is inherently bad. I often like them a lot. I just wanted a little more foreshadowing than the stuff that is already there.)

In storytelling, there's this technique casually called "The Rule of Three". (And yes, of course, rules were made to be bent or broken depending on what story you're trying to tell, but usually, these rules exist because they are effective.) This rule is also sometimes known as "Introduction, Pattern, and Payoff". (It has other names, but that's how I remember it.)

Very loosely, this rule states that an important element of the story must appear at least three times. 1. It must be introduced / established in the world. 2. It must appear again to remind the audience that it exists / and establish a pattern such that the audience begins to expect it to appear again later. (And is hopefully excited for it.) 3. Payoff. The element returns in an important way, probably to resolve part of the plot. The previous two appearances have acted as foreshadowing for this ending.

There's also a "Rule of Two" version of this general storytelling technique. Like, "If this special crystal can zap the bad guy and save the day, we have to have shown or at least told the audience that it can do that BEFORE the big final fight scene."

In regards to ATLA, no, I don't think that a scroll in a library or a statue in the background of some scene served as adequate introduction and reminder for the existence of lion turtles, so it didn't necessarily feel like a payoff for me that they solved the main conflict. (It's the "solved the main conflict" that's most of the issue for me. If the lion turtles had just appeared in another episode as a random cool thing like those sea monsters by Kyoshi Island, I would not have cared.)

I actually think that the establishment of other spirits like the Moon Spirit and bending-capable animals like sky bison and dragons can serve as a decent enough "Step 1) Introduction". Though this does not establish that lion turtles specifically exist, we have established that powerful creatures similar to lion turtles exist. But I still needed a solid "Step 2) Pattern / Reminder" that would have established that lion turtles specifically exist and are important BEFORE one shows up at the end like that.

I think that there's at least one episode somewhere in Book 1 or Book 2 that could have been cut in favor of an episode where the Gaang meets and rescues a young lion turtle baby or something.

Maybe Guru Pathik could have learned his ways FROM a lion turtle? Aang could have gone to an isolated village somewhere (with more brown people besides just Guru Pathik?) where people are living in harmony with a lion turtle, or maybe even on the back of a lion turtle! That would be cool!

Concept: Aang encounters Guru Pathik living alone on the back of a lion turtle which doesn't talk to people anymore (Aang swims down to look at its face and it doesn't even look at him), because its kind have been hunted nearly to extinction and it's tired of violence. Guru Pathik learned his ways from his old teacher, who learned from his old teacher, all the way up the teaching lineage from a person who once learned from the lion turtle itself before it gave up on the world. Guru Pathik tends to this nearly empty temple on the back of a silent lion turtle who ignores him, because he will not forsake his teachings even when the world seems uninterested in hearing them and the old lion turtle seems like it could die any day now. The people in the fishing village on the shore think that Guru Pathik is crazy and most of them don't even believe that the floating island really is a lion turtle, it's just weird geography.

Guru Pathik could also have chi-blocking abilities! We could see him demonstrate them in self-defense! He could teach a few chi-blocking moves to Aang, who could later go on to use them occasionally in Book 3, and it would have been really cool to see Aang exploring non-bending skills. We don't need Guru Pathik to explicitly name energy-bending here, but I would like to connect him just a touch more strongly to chi-blocking. Like, he IS connected already by helping Aang clear chakras, which is kind of like a reverse of chi-blocking, but it would be nice to establish Guru Pathik as somewhat capable of the opposite but perhaps not liking to use the skill.

Aang really vibes with this dying culture of pacifists, but he still has to leave Guru Pathik before he can finish the training. Later on, he can encounter Guru Pathik and the silent lion turtle again, and he can confess to them how desperately he doesn't want to have to kill anyone, no matter what his past lives say. He just wants to STOP the violence and restore balance to the world without sacrificing himself. And THEN the lion turtle could wake up and gift him with energy-bending.

Or something like that! The foreshadowing doesn't have to be THAT heavy-handed, but SOME brief appearance by an actual lion turtle would have served as a better "Step 2) Pattern" to me.

Things like chi-blocking, chakras, water-bending healing, water-benders losing their bending when the Moon Spirit was killed, and even Zuko's spiritual turmoil serve as a good "Step 1) Introduction" to the concept of energy-bending to me. The ingredients are THERE. But again, I would have liked some clearer "Step 2) Pattern" that had actually baked the cake in regards to this being a skill Aang had specifically.

The above episode concept with Guru Pathik on the back of a lion turtle could have worked as a "Step 2) Pattern / Reminder" for energy-bending.

ANOTHER option would be to have Aang temporarily lose his bending at the beginning of Book 3, after Katara resurrects him with that special spirit water after Azula killed him at the end of Book 2.

I think Aang losing his bending for at least 3-4 episodes would have been really good for him / the show. So much of Aang's identity is tied up at this point in being the Avatar and the responsibilities of being the Avatar. Losing his bending, especially his AIR-BENDING, and his connection to the spirit world and his past lives would send him into a personal crisis. The Gaang could worry over whether or not a new Avatar has somehow been born or if the Avatar powers are gone forever. The characters could confront the fact that perhaps they've been relying too much on Aang as the Avatar and what they'll do now without the Avatar.

Also, it would be really funny if Aang woke up and picked up his glider to jump off that boat, then just fell into the ocean, and Katara needed to fish him out. (Which would then transition into the dramatic revelation that he has lost his bending!!!)

Katara could use her healing abilities to tell Aang that what's happened to him feels a lot like Ty Lee's chi-blocking. Katara would then probably try to emphasize with Aang, who gets angry with her and says she has no idea what this feels like! Katara could then have a really good intimate scene with Aang over how scary it was when the Moon Spirit was killed, what it physically felt like to lose that spiritual connection, and how scared she was even afterwards about what it would have been like to permanently lose that connection to her people and her culture. Aang then apologizes to Katara and they resolve to find his bending again.

Aang then goes on some spiritual journey with his friends to reconnect with his bending and his past lives as the Avatar. Probably some partially internal spiritual journey with Guru Pathik's teachings. Katara and Toph could both talk about what bending means to them personally as different people, and also what it feels like to them as they interact with the elements of the world around them.

Aang could have some cool fight scenes where he dodges some random thugs using all of his bending skills (martial arts) without the actual bending, air-bending techniques, water-bending techniques, and earth-bending techniques, and then finally some chi-blocking techniques that Guru Pathik showed him. There could be some scene where Aang saves a kid from these random thugs and realizes that he can still do good in the world even if he's not the Avatar! Even if he's not a bender anymore!

There could also be some REALLY funny scenes of Aang trying to get Appa and Momo to teach him how to reconnect with his air-bending. Aang mimicking their movements and so on. (Sokka: "Is that... working so far, buddy?" Aang: "NO! They're terrible teachers!!!" Cue sad Appa bleating and offended Momo chittering.)

You could even do it in a cycle of sorts, where Aang reconnects with his air-bending first using Guru Pathik's teachings and his friends' help. (He is OVERJOYED.) And then Aang slowly regains water-bending and earth-bending over the next few episodes, culminating in him having to face his fears learning fire-bending again. I think you could accomplish this storyline by squeezing it into about 3-4 episodes, or else starting off with losing then regaining air-bending plus the Avatar state in the first 2 episodes of the season and then threading relearning the other elements in the background through later episodes.

ANOTHER option where Aang temporarily loses his bending is after the eclipse, because he has a spiritual crisis over the fact that he was resolved to kill someone and he really doesn't want to do that. I don't like this option so much because it feels a little too late in the season compared to kicking off Book 3 with the drama of Aang losing his bending(!!!), but it's an option.

See, if Aang temporarily loses his bending and has to find it again somehow, then the show could establish what this kind "energy-bending" and spiritual manipulation within a person looks like. If Aang has had to get his bending BACK, then it would better establish Aang then using this ability he has now practiced on himself to take bending away from another person. It's a pleasantly surprising twist that Aang figures out how to reverse a previously established energy-bending technique and successfully uses it against Ozai.

And then the ending, though arguably still in the realm of a Deus Ex Machina (which is cool), would feel more like "Step 3) Payoff" instead of "What just happened?" We needed to see more obviously that Aang was capable of ANY kind of energy-bending before it saved the day like that.

Anyway! This post became way longer than originally intended! I hope this has made it clear that I like both the lion turtles and energy-bending as concepts. I think there are many elements in the show that begin to introduce lion turtles and energy-bending as Aang uses it as things that COULD exist. I just think that the show needed some kind of additional baking step in the middle to establish a pattern and use those ingredients to foreshadow that specific "an ancient lion turtle teaches Aang energy-bending and Aang then uses it against someone else" ending.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Preserve Us

You know how in conservation biology you sometimes try to introduce a pair to be mated and one will just... just fuckin' merc' the other? Just absolutely obliterate them in a hissing, growling, nightmare ball of fury? Before anyone can stop them? Territorial and (to put it lightly) "uninterested", dispite your desperate desire to save their species from extinction, and need for them to get frisky?

I know.

Holy SHIT do I know.

There's a lot of reasons. Ways you can (hopefully) get around it. But first? Is finding out WHY it happened. Was it just the one? The environment? Were they sick? Or... as is the case sometimes, did they decide their Handler was their mate? Some species only mate once. Are loyal for life. You gotta work around that.

Which is all well and fine and good.

When we're talking about ANIMALS.

Non-sentient, non-sapient animals! Not ALIEN SPECIES! What the ABSOLUTE FRESH HELL did they expect from me!? Compliance?! This was UNETHICAL! Monstrous! I had been trying to slip my gaurds long enough to radio for help SINCE I GOT HERE.

I hope the fuckers ROTTED in whatever their Gods considered a Hell.

"Conservation facility" my ENTIRE ASS. You can't run CONSERVATION EFFORTS like this on SENTIENTS. Eugenics loving, atrocity fetishizing, immoral BASTARDS!!! And they KNEW it too. They HAD too! Or they wouldn't be HIDING it! Fucking KIDNAPPING scientists! Biologists! Doctors!

I was on my ways to study Lekku monkeys!

God...

I'm? I'm so tired of being pissed.

Furious and outraged and SCARED. Horrified and sick. There are PEOPLE here. Kids! And I don't... oh god, I don't... H-How LONG has this been going ON? Why did no one NOTICE?

Every day I feel my heart break. The desire to scream and scream and never STOP, grow inside me. I have to get out. I have to get us ALL out. Get these people FREE. Do SOMETHING. But I am forced to "conserve" the species assigned to me. The group assigned to me.

It's killing my love for the field. Making a mockery of everything I worked for.

I don't... I don't think my hands will ever be clean again.

But I have to help. Do everything I can. Make hell a little kinder, if nothing else. At least while I figure out a way OUT. My group deserves better. The groups I do not work with, deserve better.

I disguise games as "testing". Pages and pages of meaningless numbers ans scores. INSIST that enrichment is the key to success. Diet is EVERYTHING. Oh, and habitat? Well unless we can mimic their habitat there's no WAY they'll "breed".

No, no, using machines would stress them out too much.

It's like you DONT want babies!

Who's the expert here? That's RIGHT! Dr. Cho, but FAILING her and like five other people? Me. And I know for a FACT they are pulling the same scam. We ALL fucking hate you. Dr. Cho has KIDS, you FUCKS. Hasn't seen her son in YEARS thanks to you bastards. He was engaged. She's probably missed his WEDDING thanks to you!

Getting distracted, spiraling again, gotta stop DOING that.

It wont help anyone.

But God, if my brain doesn't slowly feel like it's shorting out the longer I'm here. Stress is called the silent killer for a reason. Or what that something else? Fuck. I can't even look it up! Bastards cut us off from the galactic web. Full information blackout. Because of COURSE they did... can't risk us rightfully calling for help.

Getting the Feds involved to shut this hell pit of a black site DOWN. Or a "whatever it truely is" site. Because it sure as SHIT has nothing to do with conservational biology. Except maybe the abuse of it.

But that doesn't help me right now.

Focus, damn it!

The Yanderens. Old, absurdly rare, nearly extinct, with a home planet they'd reduced to uninhabitable wastelands millennia ago due too... something. No one knew what. There had definitely been fighting. It WAS documented they were excellent fighters. Ruthless ones at that. But it was ALSO documented they strongly pack bonded.

There had been a lot of strongly worded warnings on what few documation my captures were able to find, translate, then shove at me. But honestly? They said the same thing about humans. Ooooh big scary persistent hunters~ oh nooooo! Watch out for the omnivores with a history of war! Sins of the father and we are defined by our diets! Class systems! Let's all JUDGE each ooooootheeeeer~!

Yeah, no. Not buying it.

Especially when the "warnings" were so damn vague and poorly documented. All "the HORRORS!" and "we barely SURVIVED!". Cause honestly? The Yanderens I was watching over? Easily the most mild and temperate individuals I had ever met. No tantrums from the kids, no big emotional meltdowns, just curiosity and at WORST? Mild frustration.

It made everything ten thousand times worse for me, that these poor people were in this hellish place. They were calm. Curious. Meant for greater, BETTER things! They should be out, playing and learning. Exploring and enjoying peaceful strolls in some art gallery or zen garden somewhere! Not... not this sterile fucking LAB.

But then M-17 loses his SHIT.

And now I'm kinda panicking. Because F-6 is not just dead, God rest her soul (she didn't deserve this. Oh god. She was so SWEET.), but M-17 might just be too, soon. If I can't find out what HAPPENED. Because if he's "feral" or "diseased" or whatever other horrifying terminology they end up using? They DO something about it.

And I can't actually stop them.

I... I don't know if it was a trauma response. Or I did something wrong. I could PROBABLY pass it off as my needing more studies into their observed "mating habits"? That... that I somehow... turned it... uuuuh... dominance battle? Shit. Where are my notes?!

F-6 is DEAD and its all my fault.

She was such a cuddle fiend too. Always excited to hear about my studies, from before. My life. Wanted to join me after we got out of here. I never should have let her volunteer. Granted, she wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Wanted to spend the pregnancy plotting our escape. Asked me to help raise the kid once we got out. Had a whole grand plan. But I...And I...

God...

I should have said NO. Insisted. It was just so hard, when F-6 had made it all sound like it would be okay. Like she had a plan and all I need to do was trust her. Believe in her. Then we could be free.

I had hoped M-17 would work best. He was always the most agreeable and quick on the uptake. I figured... well... ha ha. God, I'm such an IDIOT. I should have CHECKED. Who KNOWS what happened before I arrived? What triggered I just accidentally rammed my foot into? FUCK! I sweep everything from me desk onto the ground. Don't give I shit that I'll have to clean it up later,

I had figured M-17 would be COOL with it.

This place is getting to me, isn't it?

Why the FUCK would anyone be COOL with getting jumped? Bred like an animal? Shoved in some random ass room, with a vaguely familiar stranger, and told "now fuck. We want a literal litter from you two"? All while some biologist watchs and makes god damned NOTES!?

Of course he fought back. OF COURSE he didn't stop!

The only one there he could trust was himself.

I...I'm becoming a monster... aren't I?

Oh god.

At least we're in the satellite facility. The gaurds are definitely going to rat me out, but the news will take time to filter back. And... and the Yanderens being so "dangerous" might work in my favor. I... I can spin this. I HAVE to spin this. I can't let TWO people die for my fuck up.

I promised myself I would get as many people out as I could. I refuse to back out now. Even if that means crying, puking, then going out there to lie my ASS off. This was TOTALLY NORMAL. In fact, expected! Yep! It means that's we've determined that M-17 is the alpha Yanderen! A thing that is both REAL and possible to BE!

I rinse my mouth, stomach empty. Crying has exhausted me. But I can't give up. Too many lives count on me now. I... I wish so badly I was just a nobody again. Just some random biology student, trying to make a name for herself. Being "important" is a CURSE.

I try not to chug my water as I half stumble out of the glorified shoebox that is my bathroom into the much larger and Fancier CLOSET that is my room. Truely, no expense spared, for the captives they ripped away from their lives. So glad I am here willingly and of my own volition.

I gather myself. Finally ready to go and try to untangle the mess I have made of everything. When a deep booming alarm rattles my bones. The lights flickering to red. Blast doors slide down, SLAM shut over the transparent recessed bit of wall that counts as my window, the door to the rest of the facility.

Trapping me inside my small room.

Almost immediately after, an EXPLOSION rocks the world hard enough to knock me from my feet. Only the bed's limited padding keeping me from a nasty concussion. The edge of it still ramming painfully into my shoulder. Another explosion. Then another. I sit for a long, terrible, second stunned.

The moment passes.

I scramble on my hands and knees for the in facility communication device that I had knocked from my desk in anger, grief. Not daring to stand lest I be thrown down again. I manage to find it as the world shakes again for the fifth time. Followed by what sounds like gun fire out in the halls.

I fling myself back towards my shitty little bunk. Drag every bit of padding and protection I can, down and under it with me. If the roof goes? I want shock absorption. If shots get through the door? I want something to slow those blasts down. Anything. ANYTHING! To increase my fucked chances of surviving.

I burrito up and wriggle back as deep as I can. The world muffled but ending just outside my crawlspace. Then I desperately try to get one of the others on the line. I got nothing but chaos. Running. Running. Hiding. And Dead.

Dead. Dying.

Remember me.

And GONE.

Some of them fighting with their groups too freedom. Some being targeted right along side their captors. Others savaged by the ACTUAL animals they had been working with, the one's Galacticly deemed too dangerous for effort like this. Someone or something had set EVERYONE free. A simultaneous attack on all fronts that our captors could not put down or escape.

The Yanderens were out there.

Oh god. Please let them be okay. They wer-

My thoughts ground to a halt as M-32 LAUNCHED his tiny body onto the screen of one of the security feeds I was desperately looking through. F-6 had figured out how to get us a backdoor to them a long time ago. M-32 was just a kid. A small, soft, cuddly little thing that loved to lean against me and crawl into my lap. All cherubic cheeks and cute little curls. Shy!

Yet I watched... in mounting horror... as like a lion on some unfortunate animal, he landed on a gaurds back. Small arms going around his body in a mockery of a hug. Head tilting so he could BITE at the back of the man's neck, small hands clawing and ripping at weak points in his armor, as he screamed. Thrashed. Tried desperately to get M-32 OFF of him.

There was so much blood.

My hands were shaking. So much, I accidentally hit the next screen button. Jerked my thumb back. But... but oh god. There was F-26. Using the butt of a rifle to slam down against the head of a scientist. Again and again and again. Long after the begging and thrashing stopped. I flipped again. M-4? No... please not M-4. Not the soft spoken and wise...

I watched as he grinned, a cold thing, and shot out another joint. His foot on the chest of the head scientist who had moved him to a different group. In the background, his supervisor lay dead. They had not died quickly. The head scientist was begging. A mess of tears and pain. M-4 shot another joint, pressing his foot down harder.

I wanted to be sick.

I flipped again. And again. And AGAIN.

H...Had I known them at ALL? Like demons wearing the faces of those I'd known. People I'd trusted. Not a SINGLE ONE was... oh... oh god. F-6. Had she been too? Would I have ever known? Was THIS what all those warnings meant? I couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Had... Had never had a panic attack but... BUT-!

I wheezed.

Shook.

"Oh, Clever giiiirl~" A familiar voice sang, before a blood splattered face flickered into being on the screen in my hands. "Where aaaare yoooou~?"

M-17. He'd somehow managed to take over the security cameras. That or the communication feed. His eyes were bright. A grin on his face like I'd never seen from him. ALIVE in a way I'd never seen him. The excitement transformed his face. No longer softly doll like, but something DANGEROUS. Unhinged. His eyes dilated and deadly teeth on display.

"Come out, come out wherever you aaaare~. I have so much to TELL you! We have so much to DO! I'm going to make you MINE sweetheart! No one else can have you. So come out. I won't hurt you much, I promise! Just gotta make you mine then we can leave okay~?"

Furious snarls echoed through the halls. Male and female alike. Old and young. I... I recognized each of those voices. What was HAPPENING?

"Aaaah? Did you TRASH really think you DESERVED her? Ha! Please." M-17 grin was cruel. Mocking. "You don't have a chance in hell of taking what's MINE."

His eyes seems to shift away from unseen enemies and back, somehow, to me. Warming to something euphoric. Resting his head on his hand as if to consider me. His fingers spread, stroking his own face, as if the desire to TOUCH was simply too great. As if what he was imagining was bleeding over into the real world.

"Oh clever girl~ my clever, clever girl~♡ I can't wait til it's just you and ME. Start think of where you want to go first, okay? We're going to get married. Have that child you wanted me for. All the things you ever dreamed~♡ I'm going to have you all to myself. No more annoying others. Ah~ can't wait to find you soon!"

"But first?"

"May the best of us Win."

[theamazingmaddyas]

So, I've been hyperfixating on Michael Yew as a character in general (No, I'm not okay, all the fanfictions have emotional destroyed me) and I've been going through everything Michael related, and recently have been looking at Michael fan art, and I've realized that almost every fanart where he's with someone else he's oddly tall? Like, this isn't hate towards the artists, they're out here doing the gods work drawing minor characters, but it leads me to wonder if people really realize how small Michael truly is.

Michael's described as being four foot six, and while one could technically try and argue that Percy is an unreliable narrator and is estimating Michael's height, there is quite a bit of evidence on the contrary. Michael is one of, if not the only person who Percy gives an exact height to; even Annabeth, Percy just describes as being tall, never giving the reader an exact height. Besides, Percy's description of Michael is as followed, "Michael stood four feet six, with another two feet of attitude." If Percy were estimating, or even exaggerating, he'd probably use a preposition in his sentence. So, it's safe to say that Percy is 100% certain of Michael's height (which does leave the question how Percy's so certain of this fact, but we'll never know that, as much as I wish we did.)

I know most countries don't use feet, and as someone who read the U.S. edition, I cannot be positive, but I'd assume if other dialects of English, or different languages, had their prints, it would be in what's common there (probably centimeters?) But if not, here's a conversion chart for everyone:

4ft 6in = 4.5 ft = 54 in = 137.16 cm = 1.37 m

Okay, so we all know how objectively small Michael is, but how does that compare to other people? It's difficult sometimes to make such comparisons between two characters, so I found a height comparision thing to show the height difference. As you, hopefully, can see, the first picture I put Michael (4'6" or 137.16cm) next to Percy (who's about 6' or 182.88 cm). And the second, Michael next to Coach Hedge (5') because his height is made explicit in heroes of olympus, while Percy's is just a guesstimate.

Michael doesn't even reach Percy's shoulder in height, despite the two being the same age, or Michael being older (which I genuinely believe: see my previous post about Michael). Even with Hedge, who people comment on how small he is, has a noticeable few inches on Michael, who reaches to probably about his nose or upper lip.

Now, mostly Michael is drawn with the other Apollo boys, and I've rarely see a fanart where Will's taller than him. Maybe it's because Will is explicitly a few years younger than him (at minimum, 2½, at maximum, 5ish), or maybe not, I'm not sure.

According to the wikipedia page, Will Solace is 6', but again, we take everything on the wikipedia page with a grain of salt, because Will is just described as tall in the books, specifically in Heroes of Olympus where Will would be about 14 or 15 (though, this is also a bit iffy. I could write a whole thesis on Will's age, specifically how I believe Apollo's description of Will's age is overexaggerated in THO, but that's for another post). Using this math, Will would have been approximately 13 to 14 when Michael kicked the bucket. The average height for a 13 year old boy is 5'1" to 5'5", meaning, if Will's height were truly above average, he'd be, at minimum, 11 inches taller than his brother in TLO, which is:

Even if the fanart is depicted a young Will like starting it camp, there is no plausable way for him to be taller than Michael.

Here's a chart for average heights of a white boy (while we do not know Michael's ethnicity, this chart is easiest to show). The red dot is Michael's height in The Last Olympian, if he were 16, and the yellow dot is Will's approximate height, at 13.

If you were to graph out Michael's height, it'll be pretty obvious that the only ages he's taller than Will is when he's really really young (I study neither biology nor math, so I couldn't be bothered to actually figure out the formula, but maybe I will someday) if Michael grew at an average rate. If his growth was normal until about ten and then was stunted, that would be a different story, but we, as readers, will never truly know the reason.

I might not be a bio or math major, but I do double major in creative writing and psychology, and that means I'm interested in why Michael is drawn taller in comparision to who he's with. And for this I have a few theories.

The first one, which I mentioned a bit ago in this post, is age. People percieve being taller as being older—though once you reach adulthood this becomes less infallible, though since they are kids that doesn't matter much—meaning if Michael were drawn his actual height, he'd be percieved as younger. While I'm not positive, I have an inkling this stems from ableism, but I have no proof to back up that claim.

My second theory is that, much like the fact that many people in the fandom say Connor and Travis are twins even though it is explicitly stated they are not, people genuinely forgot. Or one person said something, and it snowballed from there.

My third and final theory is that people just can't fully comprehend the height difference in their mind. I struggle with creating mental images, and it's possible that many other people do.

It's interesting to think about, really. And I'd really like to know if other people noticed this, or if I'm just overthinking everything again.

[fjorests-of-wildemount]

I have talked quite a bit about this in the past, but given where we are in the campaign now and what has just happened, I wanted to put down some thoughts in a maybe, hopefully coherent kind of way. Mostly the thoughts chase each other around in my head going “brrrrr” so here’s hoping they cooperate.

Since we have known him, Orym has been on a Mission. When he first linked up with the Crown Keepers he had been on the road, presumably on his own, for at least four years, possibly five. At some time during those years, Keyleth charged him with finding out information on the attack that killed Will and Derrig to make sense of what happened that day. Early on he’s quiet, thoughtful, reluctant to take the lead, and honorable to a fault. Even as he opens himself up to create connections with this motley crew, he still guards part of himself. In fact, in the time we see them together he never tells the Crown Keepers about his family. The only mention we get is when he is asked by the Wildmother if he will continue on and Orym says, “For him, I will.”

None of this is to say he doesn’t feel connected to his friends, who manage to take him on a journey away from his primary directive, and–given the fact that Orym was alone at the beginning of ExU–it’s safe to say these are the first people he’s connected with in a long time. It was while he was with them that he started practicing the Zeph’aeratam again. Being part of the group with Opal and Dariax and Fearne and Dorian and Fy’ra showed Orym that the world was bigger than his grief.

But still, he kept it to himself.

After the events of ExU Prime, Orym and his two best friends from the Crown Keepers, Dorian and Fearne, went back to Zephrah. A place that I would argue Orym probably had returned to seldom, if not never, since Will and Derrig’s deaths. It was sometime during this journey that Orym told them both about his family, likely the first people from outside of Zephrah to know their names and what they meant to him. These friends went with him to continue his Mission, to try to help him get closure. And when Dorian left, Orym kept hold of the means to keep in touch, because Orym had gotten closer to Fearne and Dorian than he had gotten to anyone since he lost his family.

I would love to know what, if any, kind of conversations Orym had with Dorian and Fearne about Will and Derrig, especially Will. Because as the weeks went on, Orym did forge bonds with Bell’s Hells, he did start to tell more people about the ones he’d lost, but always at a distance. He kept the memories of who Will and Derrig were to himself, even as he was honest about how much he missed them. Did Orym take the chance to tell Dorian and Fearne about what they were like when they were alive? Because it’s clear that Orym is bereft, and angry, and lonely, and goes to sleep every night with them in his thoughts. Is there anyone else alive who knows the secrets of what Will and Orym were like when they were together, just the two of them?

There is nothing secret about the pain and anger he feels, but what about the joy?

The Mission as it was originally put to Orym is over now. They know everything about how and why Zephrah was attacked. That doesn’t mean Orym is stopping, because Orym isn’t the kind of person who could stop when someone is in danger. But the single-minded drive toward Otohan, toward answers and justice or whatever Orym thinks Will and Derrig would have wanted from him in this, was the mortar Orym used to build up his walls. He’s standing on a precipice of a vast future and he’s alone because he has made himself alone. His grief has made him alone. And there are so many complicated reasons why Dorian is the one he is finally, actually reaching out to now that there is no more path to shuffle down. 

I’m not sure if Orym even knows who he is anymore without this grief, without this Mission. In his mid-thirties his whole adult life has been spent married to Will, or grieving Will, or searching for answers for Will’s death. In the middle of the world ending, how do you decide what comes next?

A million episodes ago Orym offered to be the one Imogen could lean on, and then, after she walked away, he reached out to Dorian on the Sending Stone. I think Dorian has been the one Orym thought that he could lean on for a long while now. And I think that is intrinsically tied to his Mission, this journey, and his grief.

[sugar-omi]

I hate myself for thinking this but, what if MC finds out she’s pregnant and the first thing in her mind is that she’s fucking up Cove’s future. So instead of telling him she just breaks up with him and shuts herself away from him so he can’t convince her that they’ll work it out. Now Cove has no clue why the love of his life just broke his poor heart. Skip to five years later, Cove comes back to surprise visit his dad but surprise there’s MC, Cliff and a little five year old boy that looks way too much like Cove. Like I’m talking copy and paste that’s a little Cove

oh my fucking god.... i. pls i have some thoughts but also OUCH. BIG OUCH

mmm i'm not gonna make a full fic/detailed post... maybe later if we're all itching for some angst or i'm up for causing more heart ache n then i am very much open to expanding on this (already thinking abt cove getting to know his son.... omfg my heart HURTS)

but i wonder how MC "gets away" (for lack 'a better words) with not telling cove about the kid.

because i can tell you right now, cliff and kyra can't know about it and keep it a secret. not for 5 years at least.

so does she beg everyone in her family to keep it a secret? i think that's the best bet. moms would really prefer Not to keep it a secret, but they also can't force you to tell cove...

but i also don't see them letting 5 years without cove at least knowing, go by either... they'd try to keep the secret, but seeing cove's sad face would break them quickly, if not instantly.

also your friends!!! god, they can not keep a secrete to save their life, especially that big. so you can tell them, but expect the news to find its way back to cove in about.. mmm... 4 hours? so yeah....

anyway!!! lets say that your family kept the secret...

i think your son would eventually start asking about his dad. he sees how you and your family react to him, hears all the mumbling about how he looks so much like... "cove"? when you think he's in the other room.

and he sees how sometimes you look sad and how you slowly and tenderly run your fingers through his hair. and how sometimes you tell him "yknow, daddy has hair just like yours."

and when he asks why you're sad, if you respond with something along the lines of "you look just like your dad, thats all."

or even if you say that in response when he asks what his dad looks like (if you haven't shown him pictures), or if he overhears you saying he looks like this "cove" guy

you notice he starts looking at himself more often... maybe even asking, "does daddy have green hair like mine?" "are his eyes really blue, just like mine?" "does he wear glasses too?" and still in awe that he and this man he's never met, but already seems to adore him (as much as a toddler can adore someone they don't know), share the same features.

and if you show him pictures of cove, which i hope you do, but if you don't, don't worry because your son will probably realize "he has green hair like me!!!!" and he'd either run up to enthuse about it or run up to ask him if he's his daddy bc they have the same hair color... or just call him daddy n if anyone tries to argue about it, wdym?! they have the same hair color, what more do you need?!

so hopefully, cove is the only man with specifically seafoam green hair. otherwise, you're shitting yourself every time your son runs off to meet his green-haired-brethern

anyway. I think all your sons questions, and seeing pictures, knowing that he shares so many traits with cove, and seeing you miss him.

oh god, seeing you sad would make him insist so so much on seeing cove.

"if we meet daddy, will you be happy again?"

also can't believe I almost forgot.. your son being sad about not having a dad, and being jealous of other kids for spending time with their dad, etc.

he'd ask you questions about why he doesn't have a dad, n if he does. why isn't he around? and a real heartbreaker.. does daddy hate him? does he not love him? is that why he isn't here?

so I guess that means it's time to go back to sunset bird! and finally explain why you moved away n never looked back, and why you don't talk to anyone but your parents from back then...

now I won't get into everything right now (im a fuckin liar. I can feel a tangent coming on)

but I wanna talk abt how cove would feel, just a bit, and how I think your future with him would look...

I think at first, he'd be really shocked, seeing this carbon copy of his much younger self. the only thing telling him that his 4-5 year old self didn't jump out of one of his many childhood pictures,

is any birthmarks or beauty marks that maybe you have, or the boys hair being curlier than his, or his skin tone, or maybe he has your nose. whatever it is, he knows he's looking at the imperfect combination of you and him.

(cove's heart is beating outta his chest right now, n you're lucky he only stumbles instead of fainting, because this really is a shock... but that deeper part inside of him, that egotistical, primal almost, part of his heart swells up at the thought, the reality. that his son looks mostly, if not entirely like him.)

but after shock, he's sad. I think he'd be really sad, because he realizes that this is why you broke up right? and no matter how in control of your emotions you think you may be, your wide eyes show how afraid, nervous, and sad you are. he knows. he knows without even talking to you and it hurts

and after he gets past the anger and confusion stage, maybe even in between in fact- which would be more natural since, I think he'd feel this all at once but that's besides the point

he'd be really sad he missed all his sons milestones. walking, first words... God he probably dreams about it (when he does eventually fall asleep), and now his heart is tugging at the seams and the seams are RIPPING.

he also starts thinking about how hard it must've been doing it by yourself. and going through all that without him, your partner.

but maybe you didn't rely on him like he relied on you? maybe you didn't trust him like he did you, maybe you just... didn't need him. like he needed you.

you did break up afterall, and you never let him know about the kid until now, so maybe you thought he'd be a failure of a father and nipped it in the bud before disaster struck...

but I also think that's where anger comes in. because you didn't tell him. he didn't have a choice at all.

he knows he had a tendency to hesitate or run away, but he thinks really hard about it, and he knows he wouldn't have ran away from this.

leaving you alone would scare him a lot more than being a father. being a bad or absent father would scare him a lot more than trying to be a good one. knowingly abandoning a life he helped create, would scare him so much more. he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

so while he gets it. he doesn't get why you didn't try.

and if you explain that you worried about ruining his future, he's so upset and so mad because how could you make that choice for him? how could you take on the burden alone?

this is also where confusion merges in, because while the answers are so obvious or easy to guess, he just can't believe it. he doesn't wanna believe it...

now about your future...

cove still loves you. he's loved you his whole life, it's hard to stop even 5 years later... and seeing you, it makes his heart throb because he's dreamed about this for many nights.

you broke up with him without giving any answers. you even up and moved by the end of the week so when he tried to give you space, before talking to you, it was too late. your room was pretty much void of every sign of life.

you took all your treasured items, your clothes- spare some youd been meaning to get rid of, your pictures, your hobby items. everything. he's surprised you didn't just take the bed and frame.

he's surprised you didn't just carve out his heart n take it with you, because if it's still in his chest, why does it feel so hollow?...

it'd take a really long time to even think of a romantic relationship. if at all. maybe cove's even accepted the break up at some point, depending on how long you'd been together. but if you'd been together since you were 13, it's a hard pill to swallow. bc you can put up with his angsty teenage self, what changed...?

I think seeing you be a parent, and so adored by your son, warms up his heart. makes him fall in love a bit at the sight.

it's not instant, he's getting to know you again. and getting to know this life that he didn't even know was waiting for him.

it's a good 2 or 3 years of figuring out this mess until it becomes something that makes sense. or as much sense as it can make. and if there's still something there, no matter how miniscule. it will catch fire.

now about the kiddo... he's so scared. and I hope you took a few days of talking with cove, and prbly cliff n Kyra bc they have a lotta feelings n thoughts on this too, before you try to integrate cove into his life.

it's small. cove meeting you at the park, and either your son is asking cove a billion questions (both abt why the sky is blue, and awkward questions abt why he wasn't present before...)

or he's trying to drag him on the monkey bars (doesn't work, cove's feet are on the ground still....)

or he's sitting silently on the blanket, reading, occasionally showing cove his favorite scene of the picture book or making him pronounce a word

but it does get bigger, it becomes lunch-n-movie dates, spending the night at your house (at your son's insistence. prbly bc he didn't want him to leave after a fun day), then cove taking him out alone..

it's a lot. and sometimes it feels like you're going backwards or that you're not moving at all because it's hard, for awhile. and even though his dad is on speed dial, there's not enough information he can give cove in how to take care of and deal with a kid he just met a few months ago.

especially a kid who already has a bit of personality, is hell on wheels (like most 5 year olds), possibly has many questions n sometimes problems with cove suddenly being here... it's a lot. n cliff can't help with any of it really.

he does get comfortable, eventually. although there's still times when he's sad, sometimes even angry about what happened, and all he's missed out on, he's so so happy to not miss out on anything else.

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain || 1

series intro here, or read chapter 2

characters: reiner x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader.

notes: this is an 18+ series, please don’t interact if you’re a minor! reader is referred to with she/they pronouns.

content warnings: explicit smut, fingering, reiner eating pussy like a god!!, alcohol consumption, degradation, mild slut shaming (?), mentions of marijuana at the end

“Has he always been a bitch?” You question Marco, inhaling bites of your ramen. He shrugs, “We’ve both been on the team since freshman year and I’ve never had a problem with him. Maybe you’re the problem?” He meets with dead silence as you stare up at him from your bowl.

“Funny, Bott. I’m just not looking forward to spending so much time with him, if he behaves like that, anyway.” Exasperation visible, you slump in your chair to think. “It’s not like he’s on the sidelines. He’s the damn captain, which means I have to talk to him a lot.”

Marco shrugs. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s not that bad. Just try to be nice to him, please. Eren won’t get any nicer if you’re mean. Plus,” He stops to take a bite of his food, “we don’t have the time for fighting. We’re expected to go to nationals this year, and that’s not happening if you two scare each other off.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Bott. I’ll see you at practice later.” Uncrossing your arms and brushing off your legs as you get up from your seat. Okay, sure, Eren has yet to be anything except slightly dismissive and maybe just a little shit. He hasn’t actually done anything to you. You toss your bag over your shoulder before thanking Marco for the meal and dismissing yourself.

As the time for practice draws closer, you collect your thoughts as you stand outside the cold metal doors of the university’s second largest gym. Sure, you went to a school notorious for its D-1 volleyball, but the gym’s size was excessive. The high rise bleachers felt as if they would swallow you alive and the walls would collapse in. They had before. You remember the bile pool in your throat as the sports cameras flashes ate at your failure and spat you back out. Like a gazelle running from its predator, your body craves to run away from the glorified arena ahead of you.

“The fuck are you standing in the doorway for? Are you going in, or what?” Is it wrong to want to choose violence? Couldn’t he just say excuse me or ask if something’s wrong like a normal person?

Ugh, you should choose peace and not mess up a good opportunity. Just think about the money and all the nice things you can buy.

“I’m obviously just trying to get in your way.” You push the door open and walk into the gymnasium, not bothering with holding it open for Eren. In fact– hopefully it hits him! 

You hear the door fly open again behind you and a bag hits the ground with a loud thud. Eyes landing on the congregation of men in jerseys surrounding a smaller man, you beeline over to them. As you near, the smaller man, who you assume to be Coach Levi, locks his gaze with you. Is he… angry? Concerned? It’s impossible to determine what he’s thinking as he continues to stare.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Your jaw drops. You’ve met more people in your life than you can count and never did a single person start a conversation in such a way.

“Not as far as I’m aware of…?”

“Okay, if you do what Hanna did, I will rip that baby out of your-”

A blond kid speaks up, “Um, Coach, you probably shouldn’t be threatening them on the first day. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to do that when we really need someone to organize our itinerary and keep practice stats. We’re nothing if we don’t have those numbers.”

“Fine, Arlelt. You and Braun stay here, explain how game statistics work and start having her do one-on-ones after. Performance evaluations for all of you.” You watch as Coach Levi’s eyes hover over Eren, who looks less than pleased. You’re not sure what’s going on there, but also can’t bring yourself to care. “Rest of you can go practice.”

As you glance over at the two boys who stayed, it throws you off that you’ve seen both of them before. The little blond one, you’re pretty sure his name is Armin. You’ve seen him walking around with Eren before, but he always looked so out of place in how gentle he is. You’re pretty sure you watched him bump into a trash can and apologize.

The other, however, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man with such a commanding presence. He’s well-built. You’re pretty sure even a Greek god couldn’t hold up in comparison. You scoff internally, ‘it’s always the fucking volleyball players.’ But there’s something that lingers on your tongue, a conversation revolving around him. Then it hits you, Petra’s gossipped about him before!

“There are some really cute guys on our volleyball team. Did you know that?”

“Not this again, Petra. We’re supposed to be doing our biology homework.”

“Bitch, please. Let me speak. Anyway, there’s this guy on the team, his name is Reiner and oh my god- that is one fine ass man. He’s built like a tank engine. Not only that,” she says, a little giggle follows. “I’ve only heard this from two girls. He says he doesn’t like to hook up a lot, but his head game is insane. Like cum in a minute insane.” 

You stare, “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, Petra.”

“I don’t know! Hook up with him yourself and you can give me all the juicy details afterwards.” You can only sigh in response, disturbed by your best friend’s inability to study.

But, here he was in the flesh, all 6’2 farmers tan of him. You couldn’t possibly do something so scandalous on your first day, could you? You shake the thought out of your mind as Armin talks.

“Volleyball stats are relatively easy to get the hang of. You just need to watch pretty closely. Even if you do miss something, we record them and you’ll go back through with Eren to make sure everything is recorded properly. Then, you’ll want to convert the numbers of each hit, serve, and pass into percentages compared to how many times it occurred per set.”

Reiner laughs, just a small one, but lord it’s like music to your ears. “Armin, you’re dumping too much info on them at once. It’d probably just be best to just show them the ropes visually and they can go from there. C’mon, let’s have coach set up the camera and record the three-on-three’s that they’re doing now.  We’ll watch the game, I’ll have you watch me record it, and then we’ll go back over it while watching the tape later.”

You nod, feeling just a hint of warmth across your face. Is this even possible, to have a school-girl crush in university? Those days were supposed to be behind you, but you can’t help but have the smallest bit of a smile as you follow him and Armin to speak with Coach Levi.

As you watch Reiner and Armin record the stats, your mind spins with utter confusion. You’re beyond lost, unsure how they’re even keeping up with the sheer amount of movement the players are doing. Dig? Write it down. Set? Write it down. You want to groan, or maybe even just go get dinner as you feel your stomach rumble.

As practice wraps up, your stomach rumbles in pain once again as it craves its next coddling. Reiner glances over from where you two stand, finishing up showing Coach Levi the statistics and getting a dismissive, “make sure it’s right,” instead of an appreciative response. He smiles at you, looking down.

“Gettin’ hungry?” He asks.

“Beyond hungry,” you say, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I’m being tortured. I haven’t eaten since noon. It’s 7 now! It’s criminal that you guys would starve me for so long.” You tease Reiner. He only responds by glancing at the gym door where most of the boys say their goodbyes before tapping out for the night.

“Y’know, I’ve heard I make a mean rice bowl.” 

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow him back to his dorm room as practice winds down. Upon sitting across from each other at his make-shift dinner table, you learn Reiner is one of the middle blockers, coming at no surprise to you when taking in consideration to his stature. Although, you also learn he was from the countryside and this scholarship was his way out.

“Y’know, I always kinda dreamt of moving to the big city and being able to do what I love. But it’s crazy, man, I still can’t believe I’m here sometimes playing for the top university on the island.” 

Hearing the passion in his voice, you question if it’s right for you to intrude as a manager. Is it okay for you to be in charge of the livelihood of the men who’ve come so far and done so much for their passion? The men who could very well play on Paradis’ Olympic Team in the future? The concern is quickly shoved into your mental locker to be returned to as Reiner asks about watching a movie over some post-dinner snacks and beer. A much needed chance to relax after endless studying, you agree chipperly and move over to his plush couch.

As you two get halfway through Inglourious Basterds, you feel his arm wrap around you and his head turn in your direction. The alcohol running through your system has you heating up just from the skin contact. You blush as Petra’s words return to the forefront of your mind. You turn your head to face him, eyes interlocking with each other. His eyes signal a look of need, not want. You’re not sure if anyone’s ever looked at you like that before. Like a hunter who’ll starve without the meat of the deer he’s trailing.

“You’re so fucking hot” He mutters, you’re surprised a man of his stature can be so quiet. “I don’t think I’ll last with you as our manager.” Reiner closes the gap between the two of you. There’s a slight metallic tinge on his lips, but it’s addicting in the worst of ways and only deepens the experience. You two continue, allowing yourselves to sink into the couch, your body hitting the arm rest. His kiss moves from your lips to your neck, hands beginning to roam until they find purchase underneath your shirt. First, he plays with your bra before making his way under. Reiner moves his lips from your neck gently, almost like he’s scared of making a mistake. He helps you pull your shirt over your head and follows by removing your bra, his delicate touch unhooking the backing.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you coo to him, lust-filled gazes connecting. “Please, I like it a bit rough, I swear.” He groans into the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t say that shit, I might break you.”

You can only laugh at his words, unfazed by the prospect, if not even more turned on by it. 

“Holy shit, please do,”

“In that case,” He says, voice lower as if weighing his options internally. “Don’t blame me if you limp to practice tomorrow.” Reiner helps you remove your pants before his fingers begin to dance over your body again. The touches are soft as they ghost the outline of your skin, your heart beating as you wait for him to soothe the ache between your legs. You attempt to rub them together for a semblance of friction but his arms find their way to keep them split. His gaze shifts up to you, eyes narrow as if disapproving of your behavior. Reiner’s face then begins to move lower, tongue licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh as his fingers begin to dance over your clit. He moves his face over to meet his fingers, tongue flattening against your clit, which draws a moan of approval from you. It seems evident that it spurs him on further as he begins to speed up his tongue, then switching to sucking your bud and having his fingers delve lower to your hole. Reiner holds eye contact with you as he begins to press one of his monstrous fingers inside of you. 

You can only make a noise of approval as he pushes it further in, approving of how well even one of them feels inside. It heightens your pleasure as he thrusts it forward, keeping his tongue dancing and sucking against your clit in a flurry of movements that have you questioning if Reiner is really a man and not a god in disguise. As he pushes a second large finger in, you cry out much louder than you should be in the dorms. You bite down on your lip to withhold any further noises, but Reiner puts a complete pause on what he’s doing.

“Keep moaning, baby. Let them hear how well you’re getting finger-fucked right now. This is what Armin wanted to be doing to you right now, did you know that?” He lets out a deep laugh, lips and face glistening in the dim lighting of his tv. “Bet you’d like that, though, huh?” His fingers move again and you gasp. “Yeah, you’d fucking love it if I bent you over and fingered you from behind to show off the entire team what a good little pocket pussy you are.”

That’s what tipped you over the edge. In fact, it’s probably disrespectful to feminism that you allow yourself to be finger-fucked while getting off to the disgusting words spewing out of the blond’s mouth. But social constructs be damned if this man didn’t stick his dick in you soon. You clench around his fingers as they continue to move, despite your cum gushing over his fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ nasty. But you’re still not ready for me.”

His face returns to its original spot, blowing hot air on it first as you wriggle at the stimulation. Reiner only adds another finger in response, allowing the three large digits to stretch you out before moving them once again. It feels as if you’re melting around his fingers as your back arches to the stretch. Despite slight discomfort, it’s overwhelmingly pleasurable to feel the expertise in his ways.

It’s not long after he adds another finger that you feel the coil in your stomach once again. As his tongue laps at your clit with a technique unknown to you, you’re about to unravel against his touch once again.

“‘M gonna cum,” you pant out desperately.

“Do it, cum on my fuckin’ tongue.” He replies approvingly, allowing you to take the time you need to ride out the rush to your body. For a second, you feel as if you’re floating in the way your back arches off the couch and your head spins in pure ecstasy. You glance over at Reiner, eyes fixated, as he removes his pants and reveals the thing you’ve been so curious to see. It matches his stature in almost every way, which makes you cringe at the thought of him fitting it in.

“You said you like it rough?” It’s a trap, that much you’re sure of. You glance back down to examine how large he is before you reconfirm, but before you know it, the condom has slipped on and he’s making his way back to you. He asserts his way on top, arms on either side of your head as he leans in to give you a quick kiss. It catches you a bit off guard, the earlier metallic taste has changed into the taste of your own cum and there’s a slight wince as you taste it. You can’t tell if this man is slightly depraved or hot as hell.

“I asked you a question. It’s not nice to ignore me.” 

A loud smack to your clit resounds as you let out a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. It’s slightly pathetic, how you’re behaving for this man, but god be damned if anything were to impede your moment. 

He only grunts in response, lining himself up with your entrance. As he sinks in, you bite your lip to fight the stretch. You attempt to lie back and relax in his touch to allow him in, but he’s just so large. Reiner bottoms out, tip just ghosting against your cervix. He only grants you a few moments to adjust to his size before he’s pounding into you, your cries of pleasure nothing but music to his ears. The tip kissing your cervix is making your brain fuzz beyond anything you’ve felt before, and your walls hug him in intoxicating ways. Reiner grips both of your legs, bringing them onto his shoulders to push in further which earns you a grunt of approval from the larger man. 

He fucks you like he hates you. Every so often, his head falls back, and he lets out grunts of pleasure. His body moves like an artist painting their long-lost lover from only a distant memory, hips ferocious in their assault of your cunt. Reiner flips you over onto your hands and knees after an indiscernible amount of time, your sweat-covered body cringing at the chilly breeze it causes. His pace is still unrelenting from the back, cock feeling as if it’s touching every inch it can inside of you.

“Holy shit,” He cries out. “I’m gonna cum. I wish I could cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

Without another word, except for your moan of approval, Reiner finishes and delicately slides out of you, removing the condom and disposing of it. He arrives back a couple minutes later, towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“So, round two?”

“I’m pretty sure you started my period just now.”

[distracted-and-diffused]

DBDA Rewatch Fridge Horror Moments: The Only Way Out

(This moment brought to you by rewatch round 10.)

"This was a mistake! A huge mistake!" -- the Night Nurse

Again, there is a lot of fridge horror fuel going on in Episode 07. (I had five different topics on my shortlist for this slot when I was planning out this post series.) But it's interesting to me to consider the ways in which the Night Nurse, in this quote, could be right.

The Night Nurse agrees to open a portal to Hell for Charles to go rescue Edwin. Niko agrees to keep an eye on the Night Nurse. Charles descends into Hell, armed with Edwin's notebook filled with notes and maps, and an infinite backpack stocked with lit cherry bombs and Molotov cocktails. (I'm assuming that must be what the Night Nurse meant by "provisions.")

But although Charles is very, very convincing in the moment, he has no previous experience with Hell — just a second-hand account of it. And Hell is not easy to escape (which under normal circumstances, is probably not a bad thing — it's Hell).

It took Edwin 70 years to get out the first time. How long does the Night Nurse expect that it will take Charles to retrieve him again?

How long is she willing to wait — in front of an open portal to Hell — for him to come back before giving up? (Would she give up and leave them in Hell if it took too long, as Charles seemed to suggest that she do?) How long is he actually down there?

(I was trying to figure this last question out, for fic purposes. This show does weird things with time sometimes, but I'm guessing it's anywhere from a few hours to maybe — at a stretch — overnight. It's not likely to be more than that, considering that the boys seem to be back not too long after Crystal and Jenny return. That is really, really impressive, and a credit to both Edwin and Charles!)

But in addition to the Night Nurse's potential doubts about the wisdom of letting Charles go, or about the time this may take, as she waits and paces in front of the door, there is another issue.

When the Night Nurse opens the portal to Hell, she uses the door and not the wall that Edwin was pulled through. (A portal used to make a different kind of portal — okay, that makes sense.)

But she doesn't use the door to the side of the room — the door that leads to Crystal's walk-in closet. Instead, she uses the door in the front of the room.

The door that is the only way out of that room, if not for the Night Nurse, then for the living human (Niko!) who is waiting with her, for who knows how long. The door that goes to the hallway.

The hallway that — since neither Crystal nor Niko's rooms have an en-suite toilet — has that floor's only bathroom.

(Hopefully the boys didn't take too long.)

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi!

First off, this is my first time asking for some fic recs. but thank you for your service. I am new to this fandom but have been in MANY other fandoms and you are doing some fine work, friend. Hats off to you!🫡

Now onto my fic search, I just read “A Tiny Bit of String” by bunnymaccool. It was absolutely lovely, but only a one shot and I need more! I was wondering if there are any other fics out there similar to it, namely where some or all of the Hales magically return and Derek has to deal with suddenly having his family back? Or any other Fix-It Alive Hale Family fics. Preferably Sterek, but non-ship related would be fine too. Thank you for your help!! :)

Yeah I think so.

A Tiny Bit of String by bunnymaccool

(1/1 I 14,283 I Teen I Sterek)

The pulling of a single bit of string can sometimes, perhaps, unravel the entire piece of knitting.

Sometimes the universe decides it has taken too much… and chooses to give back.

***

Castle On The Hill by thegirlnamedcove

(3/3 I 4,742 I Teen)

“I figured it out!” Stiles skidded into the loft at ten at night, all noise and kinetic energy. Derek was parked in an armchair up against the picture window, a book in his lap, and irritation growing by the second. “What?” “Magic. I figured it out. Well, some of it, the important parts, hey how opposed are you to bloodletting?” He sighed and snapped his book shut, rising from the chair to head Stiles off before he started poking around trying to find Derek’s knives. “Moderate to very. What did you figure out?” “Derek. I can bring them back. The Hales, your family, I can bring all of them back.”

Dream of Life Again by BarlowGirl

(1/1 I 18,321 I Explicit)

“You better be ready,” Lydia says as she cleans dirt out from under her nails with an antiseptic wipe. Stiles can smell the lemon scent even from where he stands a few feet away. She’s probably going to end up covered in blood in a few moments, but she likes to be in control in any way she can, so he doesn’t tease her about this. “It’s time to start.”

“I’m ready,” Stiles says and he’s pretty sure it’s not even a lie. Hopefully.

Scott, Stiles, and Lydia each sit at one point of the triskelion that Lydia’s drawn on the tarp. The center is a tight knot of some language Stiles had never even heard of before this, written in ink in tiny writing. It’s beautiful and also makes him slightly nauseated. Lydia makes both cuts, so the blood drops from Stiles’ arm and Scott’s, too, into the center of the triskelion. There’s wolfsbane on Scott’s knife, not enough to make him sick, but enough to keep him from healing too quickly.

It’s a surprisingly simple thing, after that, for what they’re doing. Blood, a few words, and a little magic.

Just those things, and, for the first time in three years, Laura Hale gasps in a breath.

No Other Love by Idday

(1/1 I 18,745 I Teen)

And maybe it’s irony, or the universe at work, or maybe it’s just Derek Hale’s shitty luck, but that’s when, at that exact moment (as Stiles will swear later), there’s a knock on the door. “Laura?” Derek breathes in disbelief, and Stiles feels his own face fall into confused slackness. Because the girl standing in the doorway? The last time Stiles had seen her—or, well, half of her—she’d been very naked, and very, very dead. “Hey, baby bro,” she says with a grin. ... OR: The one where Laura comes back from the dead, and it turns out to be bad for Stiles, because he’s suddenly spending a lot of quality time with one of the coolest people he’s ever met, and her brother. The guy that he might be just a little in love with. He's not okay.

Oh Alpha, My Alpha OR Pack. Finally. by iLuvSteterundSterek

(15/? I 30,680 I Teen)

What if Lydia resurrected Laura instead? And what if Derek gave the alpha spark back to the rightful alpha? The Hale Pack might finally regain control over Beacon Hills. The only problems may be the emissary who failed his pack, and the hypocritical wolf who thinks that Beacon Hills and Stiles are his.

AND

@lovesouthernsweettea suggested this one!

One More Again by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(16/16 I 22,238 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When a strange man appears in the Hale Pack territory with an unusual proposition for Stiles and Lydia, Stiles is unable to resist going back in time to stop the Hale House fire.

Even after a few bumps in the road, Stiles finds himself in the past with one nearly-insurmountable goal - getting Talia Hale and the rest of her family to trust him with their lives.

[ciitroner]

What if Y/N tries to kill herself because her kidnappers Johnny and Simon won’t let her go ,or kill them in desperation to get back. Anyway backstory 3 when I need to know how she gets herself kidnapped😞😩

Warnings: slight nsfw, mention of murder and suicide (nothing too extreme, I think. Yet, if you’re uncomfortable, don’t continue. It gets worse and worse.)

This is probably a boring answer: they’re smart people, they know not to leave anything sharp or something else you could hurt yourself with near you. Your handcuffs surely do the work of sometimes making you bleed if you move too much, trying and failing to get out.

If they’ve had a relatively good day, they’ll let your hands out of the cuffs. Bringing your almost limp body up to its feet (you haven’t moved much, as you were obviously cuffed during the hours they were gone.

“Cannae let ye out of yer cage, birdie.” You don’t trust them, they don’t trust you.

You get slightly lightheaded as Soap plays with you like a ragdoll cat, it’s tolerable until it’s not. He makes you do deep stretches, kicks your feet apart and bends you down - pushes his dick into your clothed cunt, and calls you his good little kitty. You make an effort to punch him between the legs while bent, although you don’t make it very far until Ghost grips your arm tightly.

You hiss and almost tear up, and they notice the slight bleeding. They’ll set you down on the bathroom counter and care for you, in their own ways. Your heart slightly softens in these moments, when it feels like they actually care like normal people, but they’re not normal people. And you know that very well.

Maybe something happens and they both have to run out of the bathroom to fix something. Gives you enough time to search for something sharp in the bathroom. You find a small pocket knife, and decide it’s your saviour.

Highly unlikely, but if you’re able to sneak up behind one of them and stab them in the back, you’ll get yourself a hard shove from the other, and you’ll get treated even worse afterwards. The knife was not enough to kill, but only enough to worsen the situation.

You stab yourself, they’ll find you before it’s lethal and make sure you never leave their eyesight ever again. They’ll be soft until your wounds heal, but their coldness manages to make you shiver still.

Fun answer: you kill one of them, the other will kill you, before killing himself. I cant see any of them wanting to live on alone, nor live with you without wanting to strangle the air out of your lungs everytime they see you.

Let’s say you kill them both, you’ll escape! Hopefully you’ll remember one of their passwords and being able to call the police. And then you spend the rest of your life in therapy, probably.

You manage to kill yourself! Congrats. They’re gonna keep your body :D

(Or well it kinda depends, if it’s the first month they’d probably bury you. If it’s gone maybe a year, they’d keep it since they can’t handle being without you. If it’s been a few years maybe they’ll join you in the afterlife)