#she doesn't recall being human and so many of her memories are

[pyshcic]

⤳   @vinduri​​​,    𝘨𝘪𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘰,   asked:     ‹ have i satisfied your morbid curiosity? ›

“ oh, i hadn't meant it morbid.  ”  voice is a muttered and quiet thing, a thin speech breathily made as she leans closer to inspect the printed image of a painting which reeked to her of familiarity: ivan holding his son tightly to his chest, his eyes wide in horror, drenched in blood. something about the visual gripped alice from somewhere deep within her chest, but she couldn't place the reason. brows furrowed as her frustration mounted, and with great effort she pulled herself away from the book and shut it with a swift, delicate motion of her hand. “ it's only that i'm very ill of loneliness. and i'd been wanting ... to ask –––  ”  mouth hangs agape as she folds her hands in front of her and looks a bit sheepishly towards the other, before sparing a glance around the room. the silence is filled only by the obvious end to her sentence, that she had wished to ask exactly what she had asked him: what sort of teeth lay behind those lips, are they sharp? bloodied? have you eaten, lately? “ i am ... so hungry.  ” 

[synchodai]

When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

[dcxdpdabbles]

What if Skulker was Willis Todd all along? (Prompt)

Skulker is one of many ghosts who do not remember his time alive. In fact, it was odder for those formed from deceased beings to have memories, as their final moments shaped their ghost. Ember burned in a fire, but she could not remember where, when, or how that fire happened. Johnny 13 and Kitty were on a motorbike when they died, but they do not know where they had been heading or what had caused their accident.

Spectra feeds on human misery, but why that made her young and beautiful is a mystery to her. All Box Ghost could recall was the call of the cube-shaped spaces and the flashing word "Beware" before he popped up in the Realms.

Most ghosts hated not knowing, like Johnny 13, Young Blood, and Ember. This fueled their urge to run to the human world and find answers. While there, they desperately attempted to win the humans' acknowledgment.

Maybe they thought that if the living paid attention to them, they wouldn't fade away, even if none of them knew their names.

It was something Skulker never understood. He was dead. There was no changing that fact. Why would he pine for a life he could not remember and never hold? Why would he allow his eternal existence to be wasted chasing a light in an unknown darkness?

For the first few days, months, and years, time was strange in the Realms; it was aimless and meaningless. Skulker had formed as an unfinished ghost, barely avoiding being a blob ghost. He isn't sure why, and none of the very few medical specialists in the Realms understood either.

Millions of locations had doctors and medical knowledge, but most citizens of the Infinite Realms were not the kindest to outsiders. Skulker learned early on that one didn't just approach a territory for aid. Not unless you were the Ghost Child.

The only tribe that had a theory was the Far Frozen. They had allowed Skulker to consult them, but the Yetis were not exactly welcoming to Outsiders. They only spoke and aided ice-core ghosts, so even though they might have figured out what was wrong with him, the yetis had refused to conduct any treatment past some basic testing.

"You sent your Core Ectoplasm away." The large Yeti told him. They had refused to grant Skulker the honor of learning their names. He wasn't worthy enough with his barren core.

"What do you mean I sent it away?"

"Exactly that. You sent what should have helped take shape somewhere else when you were forming." The Yeti considers the charts with narrow eyes. "It looks like it was a last thought before you died. Pity, but this is what was left, and that's why you will look like this forever. You might have been powerful, but Fate had different plans."

Skulker had been trying to process that while the Yeti hummed. "Well, if anything else, we can put you to good use."

That caused his head to snap up. "What do you mean?"

"Our young need to practice hunting, and you will be the perfect target for the smallest ones." The Yeti's sharp smile was as cold as the land which it held from. "Do make the chase a good one for a being as little as you."

Skulker had barely escaped that hell hole with his Core intact. As the yeti's children howled and sneered behind him, he was suddenly hit with the thought.

The little guy is always the prey in this hellish existence. No matter how hard you try, how much you drink, gamble, or swindle, you can not rise above your station.

The words feel like a distant dream but are as real as fact.

It filled him with rage. He doesn't know where the resentment came from, but when Skulker reached the edge of the Far Frozen territory, he vowed to never be anyone else's prey again.

Skulker would be the Realm's greatest hunter, and no one would know his proper form. They would cower when they saw him, not snicker and dismiss. It took him years to build the perfect body, but he had plenty of time in the Realms.

He never allowed where his Core Ectoplasm went to cross his mind again as years passed and his prey grew more immense, dangerous, and fun to chase. Even the Ghost Child's insufferable ability to evade him did not make him think about it.

That was until the Welp ran off to another human city, and when Skulker had rightfully gone to claim his pelt, he found himself staring at a young man who held his Core Ectoplasm. There he was, walking on the street like the other humans, staring right back at the battling ghosts with an open jaw.

He was at the most in his mid-twenties, built similarly to Skulker's battle suit, but had soft blue eyes and the strangest white streak of white in his hair. He had no idea who the human was, as there was no way he was worth anything for a good hunt, but Skulker could feel his Core Ectoplasm holding the man together.

That was his existence, and that should have given him a proper ghost body being used as glue to a random human who wasn't even a Halfa!

Why had he sent it to him when he had died?

Skulker was so shocked that he hadn't even thought to dodge when the Ghost child threw back his mini-missiles at him. The explosion had sent him flying in the opposite direction of the man, which was just about the time the humans finally started to panic and run amok.

Skulker lost the stranger in the crowd, but now that he knew he was out there, he would stop at nothing to find answers.

(Willis Todd was not a kind man. He had been horrible to the mother of his child, to his son, and to his wife. He had been born at the rotten bottom of Gotham's social ladders, where the little guys were used and discarded like toilet paper. He tried to get himself out of it by any means but something always beat him back into place.

He grew bitter.

He loved his son and wife, but his anger could not be controlled. It was louder than his love ever could be. It always guided his hand and hurt everything around him until his son flinched whenever he entered his room, and his wife lost herself to the needles.

Still, Willis could not bring himself to let the anger go. He hated himself even more as days passed, and his rage grew bigger and bigger until he could no longer think without snapping.

He was arrested, slipped through the cracks in the system, and wrongfully marked for dead among the cells. He knew no more of his wife or son until years later when Jason's bright-eyed face appeared in the newspaper. Willis had been shocked to find out Catherine had died while he was aware and Jason had lived on the streets. Now, he was one of the sons of one of the wealthiest men alive.

Willis's anger was still there, but so was his heartbreak. There was something wrong with him. Something that would have choked and slaughtered Jason if he stuck around. So he folded the newspaper, put it back on the tabletop for another inmate to read, and swore to himself that he would never go near Jason again, even if one day he was released.

Years later, he reads a week-old paper to find out Jason had been killed in an explosion while overseas. His body was so severely damaged that Bruce Wayne had buried him in a fast funeral, and Willis hadn't even known his son was dead.

The rage had snapped.

It clouded his mind as he slammed his head over and over again on the wall until nasty cracks were heard. The blood dripping down his face and over his tongue drowned out the taste of his tears.

The guards tried to stop him, but it was too late.

His last thought before death took him was, "I would give anything to take Jason's place; if any Todd deserves to breathe again, it should be him. If I could just give him what he needed to live."

The second Willis' eyes closed miles away, Jason's snapped open within a coffin, and the gentle green glow of his skin brought the problems of a man who loved him but only as much as he could)

[yourfatherlucifer]

Shark Bait (Hongjoong)

Shark Hybrid!Hongjoong x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Living in a world full of different creatures and humans, some mixed together, creating hybrids. You were just a mermaid though, an ancient tale from the sea. He was something every human feared, even merfolk feared. But you fell in love, how could it be so forbidden?

Warnings: Talks of species violence

AU: Hybrid

Genre: Fluff

WC: 900+ (unfinished)

Rated: PG-13 for violence

Nets: not tagging because I didn’t finish this story and I just want to get it out of my drafts.

“Mom, look at this thing I found! It looks like it was from the pirate era!” You shoved a goblet in front of your mothers face, “Must be some kind of cup?”

You pulled it back to examine it further. Your mother shook her head.

“Y/N, we talked about this, I understand you like your scavenging, you’re an adult you can do as you’d like, but please, take it somewhere else.” She folded her arms.

“I don’t like those human objects. They just bring misfortune.” Her tail swayed behind her.

You had rolled your eyes at him before clutching the found object to your chest, “And what misfortune do you speak of mother? It’s a cup.”

You loved living in the ocean, though, you had no idea what land life was like anyway. Still, you loved the shiny sea life, the coral, the seaweed, the little treasures you’d find at the bottom of the ocean.

Some you’d even bring to your little siblings, they’d love the gifts. Sometimes they’d even wanna go on a journey with you, but you or your parents would never allow it. They were still very young and there were dangers that lurked in the waters.

Despite being friendly with the sea life, there were still some that didn’t like you. The sharks for example, especially the great whites. They loved to harass the merfolk.

So you had to be careful when investigating ship wrecks, making sure there were no bodies. You always felt bad for the humans who got lost at sea, so you’d guide them back. However, there were always the bad humans, the ones that would try to capture you for your body, to take you as a trophy or a ‘pet’.

That didn’t stop you from loving your life and exploring. Your parents considering you to be adventurous, they always worried about you, scared you’d get hunted by a shiver of sharks. You never did though, you were always careful.

Your mother scoffed at you, she was almost seething with anger, "It doesn't matter, Y/N! You are always going into the dangerous waters without thinking! Just to get your stupid trinkets, that we have no use of! What, what are we gonna do with a goblet!" Her arms thrown up.

You couldn't understand why your mother was being like this, you were always safe, nothing had happened, ever.

“Y/N, please. Just listen to me. Your step father and I care for you and are worried of your adventures,” you could feel the ‘air’ turning somber, “I’ve never told you what actually happened to your father.”

After so many years, she was finally going to give you answers? And for what? Just to stop you from having fun? It isn’t right. You never grieved your fathers death, because you never met the dude. So what does his death have to do with anything?

Your mother took the goblet from your hands and brought you inside your cove home, "Listen, your father was the same way, he loved his little adventures, just as you do. That's where you got it from," she took a deep breath, "He'd always bring me little presents when I was pregnant with you."

She smiled as she recalled those delightful memories.

"But one day he didn't return. He was with some buddies, on yet another adventure for me presents. He wanted to some stuff for you to have."

You could see her emotions unraveling but continued to listen, "When he didn't return for hours, I was so scared. Then his friends came here. Without him."

"They told me they were attacked by sharks. Your father was the only who didn't make it. Said he distracted the sharks so they could get away."

At this point your mother had tears streaming down her face, even if you couldn't tell with the water.

When she wiped her tears away, she stared at you once again, "That is why I don't like your adventures. These attacks on our people are getting too common. I don't want to lose you, Y/N, you're all I have left of your father. I hated those trinkets after he passed."

-

Even after the talk with her, I still didn't care, I didn't know him. I was always careful anyway, never once have I come across a shark, maybe a nurse shark but they're friendly. It was the great whites, goblin sharks, tiger sharks and other sharks that were aggressive.

I had found another shipwreck, ways from the last one I discovered earlier, this looked fairly new, couldn't know exactly when it sank though.

It was a smaller boat, looked like one those humans partied on, what did they call it? Yacht, I think? Wonder how it got sunk.

Humans could be idiots when it came to anything.

I wedged myself inside, careful not to catch my tail on anything. There were a few shiny things, a small rectangle about the size of my hand, I think the humans called these phones, not too sure. It was useless underwater, so I just placed it back where I found it.

While searching for miscellaneous objects, I didn't realize the boat had been swarmed by sharks. My predator.

Once I had stopped searching, I turned to make my way out, only to be met with huge jaws, razor sharp teeth, and pale gray skin. A great white shark. The King of the seas.

I swam back further into the boat and in response the shark mauled the small entrance with its mouth, trying to get to me. Oh my god, I should've listened to my mother, now I am going to die just as my father did.

I cried out in fear, I didn't want to die.

As the shark approached me, something pushed it out of the way, I could hear shouts, "Back off! Didn't I tell you to stop killing the mermaids!"

You poked your head out in confusion, what was going on?

The figure swam up to me, I could finally figure out its features. It was a boy..about my age. He’s beautiful. However, he adorned a fin on his back and razor sharp teeth.

He held his hand up to me but I slowly swam back into the boat, “Hey! Wait, it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you.”

He smiled, “My name is Hongjoong, I’m a shark-hybrid. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything, I just wanna be your friend.”

UNFINISHED

[istharoth]

i miss you [Haku Kusanagi/Fem!Reader] wc: 800> Minor angst | Not proof-read

The bullet train waits at the almost empty station. The passengers waiting outside for the gates to re-open. There are not too many people, which comes as a surprise. None he knows in this place, none who will recognize him ever again. 

Haku doesn't tend to make mistakes. Perhaps entering the wrong train was something that was supposed to happen as if there was something or someone he shouldn't be seeing on the other side. It doesn't cross his mind in the slightest. It's a minor error, nothing to write home about. Nothing Rui or Tohma could joke about. 

As the door behind him closes, he looks for an available seat. The entire coach was empty, devoid of a single presence, except for harmless anomalies. He doesn't like being alone, even if there was one person in another coach, he would remain there until his stop. 

The gate slides open and he enters another coach. A few, if not most of the people taking this line were in the coach. He looks around for an empty seat, finally sitting down on one across to the priority seats. He glances at the people, none of them noticing him. It's expected, most people can't see anomalies. 

Perhaps fate was playing a cruel trick on him. If it wasn't then how was he supposed to explain the familiar cap resting on someone's head. His eyes don't leave her, she feels familiar. As if she were someone he had seen before, someone who wasn't supposed to forget him. Someone who he wished he could've gotten over. 

She turns her head, glancing at his figure then turns her head back—as if he were just a stranger. Darkwick is cruel. So very cruel. 

Even after everything, she cannot remember him. 

He wants to move his seat and sit facing her. Perhaps just to look at her for longer. But he cannot. He feels afraid, terrified to face her, even. 

She cannot recall him. He is nobody but a passing stranger on a moving train. 

Often, no, every day. 

Every day, his finger hovers over her social media account, trying to make sense of why he should follow her. 

Every day, he wishes to speak to her. Every day he gets the urge to dial her number and talk to her. But he can't. She's a different person, someone who doesn't know of him. Someone who cannot remember the time they've shared. 

He misses her. He's missed her dearly, he still does. 

He almost wishes this were a divine intervention. Whatever happened between the two, nothing was what friends do. The unspoken glances, the shared kisses, the love letters, the laughter. That is all what they'd done. They'd tread the strings onto each other's bodies, not inherently bound by fate, yet here they were. 

Here he is. 

If only he could gain the courage to switch his seat and no longer look at her back. If only he could see her one more time. If only he wasn't terrified of what would come—her not recognizing him. 

His eyes linger at the back of her head, watching as she cranes her neck to look outside the window, as she slides her bag over her shoulder as her stop was nearby. They shared the same stop, Shimbashi, he's assuming so. 

But when his stop arrives, while he waits for the gates to open he sees her still sitting in her seat. Shimbashi isn't her stop. He's almost curious to know where she'll go. 

He doesn't know when they'll meet again, or if they'll ever meet. He shouldn't reach for her. 

He's supposed to follow the rules. Article 10: Section 5- "No ghoul or student will associate themselves with a [once] cursed human." A rule originally meant for Obscuary but they implemented it again after the Honor Student broke her curse. 

Why is he being haunted by the memories he can no longer share? Why is it that he's afraid to speak to her? He wants to look at her entirely.

He wants her to look at him. Even if it's just once, just a passing gaze. 

He still wants to love her. He still, after all this time, cannot forget. 

The doors slide open, the train chimes with an announcement. The doors were closing, he should leave. He has to leave. He doesn't want to leave. 

He doesn't think he can ever let go of her but now is not the right time. He almost wishes they didn't love each other in the first place. 

But, really, he cannot regret the feeling of loving her. 

[black-dhalias]

The Bear, the Rose, and the Song

Rosalie Hale X Emmett Cullen X Poly!Reader

Includes SMUT towards the end

Nothing quite like an evening at the mountain peak, especially with such a wonderful woman at your side. You glance over, noting the perfection that is your wife—nothing quite like it at all.

The way she tucked her legs up under her as she leaned into your side, her left hand twisting circles in your hair. Her right hand intertwined with yours. In the sunrise, you both shimmered, but she seemed to shine—her eyes shut as the sunlight brushes her cheeks. Is this heaven?

Your hum, seemed to call to her as she glances in your direction. Nothing short of perfection. "Are you ready to head back?" You shook your head, adamant that you want to stay—your cheek against her hair, enjoying the dance of sun off the blonde curls.

"I could stay like this forever..." She smiles, you hum again and return the gesture—your fingers tightening their grasp as she slides closer.

A scream cuts through the silence, splitting the mountains in two as a breeze shifts the air. The thick scent of blood that sings like a song you once sang.

"Y/N?" You look back, realizing you had stood and were now at the cliffs edge—you swallow, there is concern in those amber eyes. An emotion that often clings to her, she worries too much, but now—in this moment, you can't explain the song. You tug her hand, eyes shifting in the direction of the scent—begging her listen, pleading her to hear your pleas.

Rosalie always understood, but now, she hesitates. You were older and more compassionate, you had more control—more experience. You were simply a better person.

In this moment, you felt different.

She notes the purse of your lips, the way your eyes shifted ever so slightly. She notes the way you tugged her hand again, this time more forcefully. Ready to take the leap, with or without her, and she'd never let you jump alone.

That was the day you found Emmett, you can recall the bloodlust with a perfect clarity, until you saw the way Rosalie looked at him. Even in that moment, even knowing the song his blood sang—you were content in waiting back.

Watching as her gentle fingers brushed his curls and whispered comforts as she carried him. Now as you watch them, you smile fondly at the pair—embracing the chaos of their many personalities left you whole in ways you did not understand.

Ways you felt you did not deserve.

"Y/N!" Emmett makes grabby hands in your direction, the way Rose was tucked in his chest already as he lounged across the bed.

You smile, notating the way he seemed to brighten with the gesture. The way his blood once sang, now it was simply him. Rosalie, she was your lover, a mate, and Emmett was your singer. A connection that could hardly be matched, except by a mate. It seemed perfect when you all connected, falling into rhythm like a symphony.

.

.

.

"So Y/N can't talk?" Bella asked Edward, as he explained his family dynamic—one of the elder Cullens, you didn't go to school like the rest despite being similar in age.

"More like doesn't. Y/N wasn't changed by Carlisle and only joined him a few months after he left the Volturi—a lot of their human memories are fuzzy, but they were maimed in an experimental procedure." Bella's eyebrows furrowed, trying to imagine why you wouldn't speak—you seemed so sweet, but never spoke a word.

"Ho-?" The word didn't even finish before Edward interrupted her.

"Someone crudely removed their vocal cords among other things, so when they turned. They healed, but—" Edward inhales, glancing over at Bella in the passenger seat.

"But they never quite recovered. Y/N is roughly 200, but only found Rosalie in 1933 and Emmett 2 years later. She spent her first 100 years alone and unheard, Rose helped her find a voice again." Bella notes his smile at his adopted siblings.

"They still don't talk?" He shakes his head.

"But they sing."

Rosalie could hear the velvety sound of your voice, it seemed to carry warmth and comfort. Every word echoes off the walls of the cottage as the rain patters on top of the porch roof—you spoke next to nothing, but your voice seemed to bury itself in song.

There were no reservations, the piano seemed to harmonize with the rain. Rosalie leaned her head onto the doorframe, just listening as everything poured out of your soul.

You never let Rosalie walk alone, every strain and stress was your burden to share. Your love was never questionable to her, held no strings or stipulations—she never had to earn it.

She felt Emmett’s presence, close, but too close. His eyes shimmering a brilliant red, you were quick to bring him here. The little getaway cabin where you spent many years with Rosalie, enjoying her without the shame. “Have they always talked?”

He couldn’t remember ever hearing you say a word, but he remembered your face with perfect detail. The way you smiled. How Rosalie gravitated to you.

��It’s complicated.” She smiles softly, never looking away. “They’ll sing everything you’ll ever need to hear.” You use ASL mostly, Rosalie had taken it upon herself to learn years ago, but you kept to yourself.

Emmett had found this new life complicated, it felt intricate and challenging, but these two women. You and Rose. It didn’t seem impossible.

“It’s about you isn’t it?” She hmmms, you smile through the lyrics—playing out the notes. Emmett gestures, “The song. It’s about you.” Rosalie’s expression is soft as she looks at you.

“Maybe it’s about you too.”

Looking back, you’re almost certain that was the moment Emmett realized he would never be alone again. That he would always have someone on his side, no matter what.

Introspectively, you knew from the first minute, he was simply meant to be in your life. The same with Rosalie, she had been changed with the intent of being for Edward (a perverted thought that bothered you even now), but once you saw her. Heard those screams—not even Carlisle could deny it.

You didn’t move for three days as she begged you for death, and the silence that followed her change. “I’m so sorry he did this to you.” she recalls the whisper as she met your eye, “I never would have wanted this for you.”

It was the first and only time you ever spoke to her, your voice was soft and tender—it felt broken, she could feel the broken in your tone. Now she understands you more, loves you deeper than then.

“Rose?” Emmett looks up at her, before glancing at you across the room. There’s something so curious about quiet need held within his eyes. “Y/N?” You look back, practically coming to them instantly—you bent to their needs at all hours.

Emmett folded your hand in his and then hers, the dynamic felt natural as he summoned some courage. “I want to go with the others to school, with you Rose.” You smile, not feeling at all bothered that he felt ready to explore himself more. To venture away from the home the three of you built—in these four walls, it was just the three of you.

You nod, folding your other hand over his with eagerness—you place it over your heart, knowing you wouldn’t join them.

“I don’t want you to feel left—” You don’t even let him finish as you shake your head, moving your joined hands over his own heart. “But—” You lean up to give him a quick kiss, “Thank you. For always loving me.”

You feel Rosalie snake her arm around you, enjoying the way she leans down to kiss the top of your head. Was Emmett always this sentimental, no, but he always meant it.

••SMUT BELOW••

Rosalie laid out beneath you, lips hovering above her clit as your tongue rolled across the sensitive point. Your thumbs rolled circles in her thighs as your face buried itself in between, the soft pull of her fingers in your hair encouraged you. Her back arches as her body shivers beneath your mouth, she tasted like perfection.

The soft moans you elicited from her etch into your brain, as you pull away—her legs draped across shoulders and grin as you lick your lips. Even without needing breath, her chest heaves—the soft mounds of flesh grabbing your attention as they rise and fall in perfect harmony.

"Do you like what you see?" It felt like a dare, and she swears your eyes seem to come alight as you drop her legs and drag yourself upwards between them. Your bare stomach pressed against hers as you hover above: "Cmon love, I'm not going to break." You lower yourself, keeping your eyes locked on her—memorizing the face she makes as your lips lock over her nipple, tongue flicking as you grasp the other. Her eyes close, lips parting to let out another moan.

Letting go of her breast, you let your fingers drag across her soft skin—not an imperfection in sight. Without a second to breathe, you palm her mound with your hand—resting your middle finger just above the clit. Giving it just enough of a touch, to remind her exactly what it means to be yours. "Please..." You comply with the plea, sliding your finger downwards to touch her entrance before sliding inside.

Rosalie didn't shy away from moaning your name as you work her entrance, pacing yourself as you begin to kiss the other breast before bringing your lips up to kiss. Hoping she can taste herself on you.

You start slow with only a single finger, only entering half an inch before removing. After a minute, you place a second finger—driving it deeper as her lips part. Sweet noises bringing your closer as you increase your pace, working your thumb along her clit as you drive three fingers into her.

Large hands reach around your chest as the mattress shifts under Emmett's added weight. He palms your breasts in his hands, thumb and forefingers rolling your nipples. "I go out hunting, and almost miss all the fun." His tone is light as you smile at him, retracting your fingers and bringing them to his lips. He wraps his mouth around them, before smiling—looking down at Rosalie who was still breathless. "Oh Rose, you taste wonderful." He leans down to place a kiss between her thighs, never breaking eye contact as she bends to them both.

They were safe. They were warm and good, and everything icy about her melted beneath their fingertips.

Emmett wraps his hand around yours as he brings it back to her pussy, "I love when you do that.”

Your legs on either side of her thighs, one hand bracing while the other works Rosalie. You feel Emmett lay down on the end of the bed before his lips kiss your entrance. You shiver in anticipation, feeling him grasp your hips and pull you lower as his tongue moves through your folds and onto your clit with precision.

Rosalie came quickly again, her insides quivering as kisses you deeply enjoying the way your moans feel against her lips. She could feel your pleasure in every hesitation when his tongue hit the right spot. You felt warm like the world was on fire, as you remove your fingers from Rosalie and bury them in her hair.

Skin to skin, and you still attempted to bring her closer. Her breasts against yours, you felt high as you came. Breathing heavily as Emmett enjoyed every drop of your climax, loving your taste as he slid out from under you.

The mattress shifts as he lays beside you both, spooning your forms as Rosalie moves to lay inbetween. Her facing Emmett as you spoon her from behind—you can think of no better place than behind Rosalie Hale.

“Remember our first?” The memory lights up your mind as you recall your first time with the pair. You’d been with Rosalie before, but with them both, everything felt like it clicked into place.

Emmett was gentle with his touch, hesitant to get close to either of you knowing your past. But he wasn’t them, and as you guided his hands to grip onto Rosalie’s hips—you felt his confidence growing.

You smile up at him, sitting up with your head resting against your fist. Giving a soft nod, Emmett cannot explain how it feels to love you both.

It felt like a warm spring after a cold winter. A soft autumn breeze to cool the summer sun. It was the lull of water against the sand, or the roar of the falls against the rocks.

Emmett didn’t have many words and was never one for poetry, but that seemed to be a good start.

[bride-of-shadows-if]

[It begins with your end.]

The prologue of Bride of Shadows is a ten-minute read that paints a grim picture. You have no body and no clear memories of who you are or how you came to be drifting in a void. The only thing you have to latch onto is the voice of a mysterious deity.

The goddess holds up a thread with several knots, slowly untangling them. With each knot that's undone, memories cascade into your mind. Passage by passage, you piece together the tragedy that was your life. Half-human, half-creature of the night, you were abandoned on the steps of a temple shortly after your birth, your body burnt and deformed from exposure to the light.

From there, you begin to shape your unique backstory as you recall growing up in the temple, becoming a priestess, and venturing to the arctic continent of Nazralt to proselytize to indifferent outlanders. Did you spend your youth obsessing over scripture, or secretly poring over scandalous tomes? Do you truly believe in your religion, or did you take your vows because you were too afraid to be in control of your fate? Have you ever been tempted by impure urges?

As you work your way through the prologue, your profile takes shape, crafting the base stats and personality with which you'll begin your epic romance. Maybe the most tempting route will be the bookish romantic who is quick to fall head over heels for the beguiling rogue, Serax. But it's also quite fun to be the prudish zealot who's always ready to lecture the darkly handsome Valdricht on the nature of his many sins.

But all of that comes later. As the story of your first life comes to a brutal and untimely close, the goddess offers you a choice:

Eternal oblivion, or rebirth.

She'll return your soul to the mortal realm. Your body will be healed, not just from the ravages of your death. You'll be made whole and beautiful, and you'll be granted immortality. All she asks for in exchange is that you serve her for one winter. Do as she says until spring and her gifts are yours to keep. Resist her will and your life will be forfeit.

It doesn't sound like much of a choice. But then, you're not accustomed to being in control of your own life.

Upon accepting her offer, you'll choose your name and your character portrait. As your soul rises to return to the mortal realm, the hammer drops. You're given your first orders. They begin cryptically, and then become dreadfully precise.

"When you wake, you must stay where you are until you are found. The ones who find you will want to be rid of you. Do not allow them to cast you aside. Find a way to make yourself indispensable to them. Make them value and cherish you. Or, if that proves too difficult a task, open your legs and be an eager bedmate. However you accomplish it, by winter's end you are to lay with one of them and conceive a child."

It's a surreal command. You've only ever interacted with men from behind the mesh wall of your veil. Why would a goddess want you to defile yourself, and what are her intentions for your child?

As your shock ebbs, you'll resolve yourself to carrying out the task. You've been ordered to do something that goes against your nature, but at least it should be easy enough. After all, you are pretty now. That's all it really takes to seduce a man, isn't it?

Next week, I'll be posting illustrated character sheets of our enigmatic male leads, along with some story snippets so you can get a feel for their personalities and my writing style. The demo version of Bride of Shadows will be out on January 10th. A playthrough of the demo will be around the length of a novella, give or take depending which choices you make. You can also replay it, make different choices, and then watch in awe as the story is actually different and not just the same passages repeated over again, making you wonder why there even was a choice if it didn't matter at all? Is it obvious that I've been burned by interactive romances? Anyway, the demo is just the beginning. I write like I got my keyboard at crossroad bargain. We're going on a journey.

-Mortish

[tomahachi12]

Felt like this needed its own post so it wasn't hidden in the comments (:

So many questions! 💜

Refers to this post

"Did any of this come to light to the main squad during or post series?"

Post series is when they all learn about Toma's history.

Toma was brought into Outpost 3 before the start of the Pilot episode. I'd say maybe two to three years before. Like Nori, after the implosion, she lost her memories of just about everything up to that point. She does have brief moments where she recalls something, but then it's gone again.

There's something about two of her students that seems so familiar to her, but it's all too fuzzy and makes her head hurt to think about.

--

"How did Nori react?"

You'll have to wait for this one (:

--

"What was her reaction to what happened with Yeva, and especially Alice?"

It wasn't good ):

--

"(Did) Khan ever feel guilty for accidently leaving her for dead?"

Khan doesn't remember her. There were so many dead bodies (human and drone) in the area he had to block it from his mind so he could continue to lead the others. He was also very much distracted by a purple-haired babe he found half buried in the snow.

Sarah, on the other hand, remembers her. Seeing that Toma is actually alive, and wasn't dead like she first thought that day, hit her hard.

She's happy that Toma is alive and well now, but for a while, she blamed herself and apologized profusely for leaving her behind, and for not being able to recognize whatever signs of life she may have had.

Toma has no idea what Sarah's talking about but forgives her anyway.

[read-watch-sleep]

what are some of your favorite wammy boy headcanons?

Oh, Hello! This is a very exciting ask, so thank you! I have many of these so I’ll try to work off of ones I haven’t seen as much of before rather than just ones I like (this is also because I like them all.) 

Near: This is the most important and self-indulgent ‘headcanon’ I have but I’m a firm believer in citing the films/drama, and so: Near is Thai. He was born in Thailand and speaks/reads Thai as his first language. He was an orphan that was adopted after assisting in an international case in Bangnum, probably at a younger age than most of the Wammy’s kids, per L: Change the WorLd. 

The incidence rate for albinism rises to 1 in 500 in some areas in South Pacific (as opposed to closer to 1 in 10,000 elsewhere),  so it’s not even that much of a stretch to keep his original Manga appearance. This adds significantly to how much he stands out to everyone, because he’s too pale to looks like most other Southeast Asians, but has distinct facial features, and a generally smaller stature, which make him stand out amongst most of the European Wammy’s students.

Mello: Despite taking the most drastic measures out of most of the successors, I think Mello actually has the strongest moral compass out of the Wammy’s kids (including L). His attachment to catholic imagery, emphasis on how hard he works, and the circumstances leading up to his death suggest to me that he has a strong ethical viewpoint, probably established by organised religion, that Wammy’s was never able to teach out of him. Note how he allows Takada modesty, and does not mistreat the people he kidnaps, whereas L… did not grant Misa the same mercy in his custody. 

This doesn't make him a good person, however. Mello is more than willing to kill to get what he wants. It just means he has a stronger sense of righteous ‘good’ than most of his peers. 

Matt: I mention this in one of my fics, but Matt’s first crush was 100% Riku from Kingdom Hearts. I have never played a KH game in my life, but I’m absolutely certain of this. The highly competitive rival who pushes himself too far in order to stay relevant, only to recover to the ‘good’ side with the power of his heart? Cool and collected but with a jealous streak? Plus, have you seen what he looks like? That’s just Near and Mello wrapped into one pixelated Gameboy package. Matt’s first wet dream.

Beyond: I think Beyond, despite not really being able to attach to anyone, harbours a protective fondness over the other successors, especially those close to the top. I imagine he was able to figure out they were next early on, if they ever met, as Near was barely 10 years old when Beyond was arrested. He probably has their lifespans memorized. Wammy’s staff probably saw a lot of Beyond’s behaviour in Mello, as well– I think he was brash, impulsive, manipulative, and violently insecure. 

Unlike Mello, however, he wouldn’t care much about the opinions of other children, not even his rival for first place. 

A: I don’t have a lot of concrete thoughts about them, although I’ve seen many headcannons that I like. Generally, since A is largely a ‘fridged’ character, I change them to suit what would best work for a fic they might be mentioned in. 

I do think, however, that they were the most like Light, rather than L, than any of the other successors. Popular, handsome, talented, and with a complete disdain for the human race. 

Linda (honorary Wammy’s boy): Linda was given ‘artistry’ as a talent which has always felt a little sexist to me. While I think she is an accomplished artist, she’s actually much better with applied mathematics than any of the boys– Near things largely in terms of statistics, but Linda follows more complex modelling systems as well. Given that she was able to recreate Near and Mello’s faces almost perfectly, I attribute much of her success at Wammy’s, and also talents with maths, to an eidetic memory. Because her recall is so strong, she has an incredible knack for patterns, rivalled only by Near’s autistic tendency to process things by patterned details. Their shared talents with numbers and probably made them rather close, although I don’t think Near was all that interested in her. 

L: I don’t want to say that L is textbook Manic/Depressive, but I always figured that L had intermittent episodes of manic physical energy/activity that would contrast his usual “sitting in a weird position for 17 hours straight.” Basically, I think L, especially when he was younger, got the zoomies. Wammy’s probably tried to redirect the energy with sparring and sports, which is why he’s so good with tennis (although tennis is largely an intellectual sport) and martial arts. They probably found L on rooftops and such quite a lot– I can imagine him running up 11 flights of stairs at 2 in the morning. 

I also have thoughts about K and F from the films/drama, but I figure you weren't asking about those.

[tyquu]

Here's the Ben whump rant i talked abt in my last post,,,

Ofc heed the triggers and what not: Blood, injury, ect ect

Also take everything here with a serious handful of salt, im being dramatic as heck. So if you don't wanna see me get serious abt something that's not that deep, this probably isn't the rant for you <3

Anywho...

Do you ever think about just how often Ben gets the absolute crap beat out of him? Like in Grudge Match, I forgot how many times he gets flung about in his human form. He's ten years old, his bones are way too weak for all that. The amount of head injuries he must get is insane, and Max never once seems to take Ben's injuries seriously. 

Like that time Ben gets sick after sitting in the back of an ice cream van for like,, twenty minutes. He's ill to the point it's actively inhibiting his ability to play hero, blinding wildmutt with gunked up sensors and taking the heat out of heatblast. He's pale and sniffly and looks like shit, but Max still makes the executive decision to drag him out on errands instead of giving him time to rest. 

Also just cause he takes the majority of damage in his alien forms doesn’t mean those injuries suddenly have no impact at all. I think in alien force they were toying with idea of his injuries carrying over becoming more of a problem for him, with his busted knee in season one, and black eye in the episode where he gets grounded. Either way, it’s still implied that wounds translate over after he de-transforms, even if to a lesser extent. Not to mention all the scrapes and little injuries he must get from de-transforming mid battle (on the occasions he does).

FUCK, I mean Ben actually displays short term memory loss as a direct result of getting hit in the head in alien force, and Gwen isn't concerned about it probably because she grew up with Grandpa Max not being concerned about it. She doesn't realise just how dangerous this level of head injury is, what the brain inflammation and possible bleeding could do to him. She's probably looked him in the eyes, with his pupils blown wide, dazed and confused about his whereabouts, and then buried her concern because it's nothing new right? Ben's been dealing with stuff like this since he was 10, and Max, the ever responsible adult, never shows the appropriate amount of concern for it, so it makes sense that both Gwen and Ben don’t consider these things serious until its too late. 

Like not to get all dramatic about this and over think it (more so than I already am lol) but I’m positive this stuff would have long term consequences for Ben’s health as he enters adult hood, or even before then. Trouble recalling things, ringing in his ears, migraines and headaches as well a light sensitivity, all of these are symptoms of repeated and serious head trauma. Not to mention, paired with my personal headcanons about the burning chemical sensation of having the omnitrix fused to his flesh, leaking fluid into his bloodstream and scorching his skin. Or the chronic nosebleeds I think he would have as a result of all these other health complications. There's just a LOT that can be done with Ben whump, and I’m surprised it isn’t talked about/thought about more? 

Folks love the idea of Ben being functionally immortal (at least from injury related death), and the power fantasy that comes with being the weilder of the omnitrix, but what about the fact that he’s just some guy?? That the omnitrix failsafe doesn’t protect him from everything, and that if the injuries are bad enough to have triggered the failsafe in the first place, then where does that leave him in terms of recovering from them??? Sorry, sorry, crazy moment. 

[pen-and-umbra]

I was just wondering something. OG spoilers I guess? 🙄 Anyway FS makes it so that Sephiroth sort of knew about mom in a sense that he had that picture locket until Glen kicked it away. Then,,Crisis core through Gen tells us that Sephiroth got told only her name, which doesn't hold true now. It got me thinking that in OG Seph is supposed to learn everything, and then come up with his big bang plan…but he never learns that the woman from the picture was REAL, as in his real biological parent, not some lovecraftian monster?? does it represent that he never finds anything about Lucrecia or just no longer cares and accepts Jenova's wat?🤔 Or is it supposed to mean that once he went psycho in Nibelheim, he never gained clarity in the lifestream afterwards? Many fans say that Seph got his mind back after “death”, but then there's the fact that he never bothered to look for the lost photo and the woman in it. Now I know it's a retcon, but it kinda bothers me 

Yk anon, I was thinking along similar lines; not Lucrecia-centric, specifically, but similar. Had you asked me this question years prior to Remake’s release, I would have told you in no uncertain terms that, yes, after falling into the Lifestream Sephiroth embraces Jenova as the only thing that is left for him — the only thing that provides his existence with a purpose, a place, a connection. Whether it's the result of a mental breakdown and subsequent psychosis, or a conscious choice motivated by a desire to feel superior to humans who „wronged“ him.

Eh, but Rebirth and now First Soldier episodes definitely muddied the waters for me, although I had always considered the Nibelheim incident to be a very — tragically — gray area.

Even if Sephiroth is not mindjacked by Jenova, as Rebirth seemingly implies, why is there such a strong belief that he regained his marbles in the Lifestream? The game's extended compilation promotes the idea that anguished spirits are still delusional, hateful, and anguished after being swept into the Lifestream. IIRC, some of the Aerith side novellas (Lifestream White or The Maiden Who Travels The Planet, can't recall which) touch on the idea that these spirits must be pacified, which is what Aerith tries to do in order to bring back balance. Sephiroth would remain just as delulu in the Lifestream as he was when he took the dive. As you mentioned, one could also argue that he never truly learns the whole truth, such as the fact that he actually had a human mother who is, in fact, still around.

Yet Jenova's mindjacking, as hinted at by his possessed-like behavior in Rebirth, really drives this angle of skewed perception, of overlooking bits of information and acting as if they never existed. Cloud's case exemplifies this well.

Right after Cloud finishes his account of the Nibelheim massacre, Jenovaroth raises some doubts in his mind about Tifa, which eventually leads to the two of them having a little spat about it in Kalm.

Tifa shows Cloud the scar she received that night when she attempted to stab Sephiroth. Cloud takes that information in. Spool forward, and during the fight in the Gongaga reactor, Cloud effortlessly forgets about the scar and attacks Tifa. All because Jenovaroth used suggestion to mind-control Cloud and plant specific ideas.

The most fascinating aspect is that Cloud later regains memory of this event, but only as a passenger or passive observer. He is horrified when he sees his limbs act independently and sees himself move.

The scene made me rethink the previously held black-and-white belief that Sephiroth had found out „the truth“ in the Lifestream but CHOSE to act according to Jenova's will. I believe it's a much more of a grey area now, and various conflicting pieces of information from the extended compilation and old Ultimanias (and such like) really do not help it. Who is to say Jenova didn't do the same thing to Sephiroth? Changing his perception or ability to perceive in ways that benefited the creature, both before and after Nibelheim. To prevent certain pieces of information from being consciously processed, such as those of Jenova being a parasitic monster who wiped out the Cetra. Or, as you point out, the piece about the woman in the photo.

There's something else to think about. Sephiroth's physical body is eventually repaired with Jenova cells in the Northern Crater, resulting in a symbiotic/physical link. Who's to say her hold on his mind/spirit ever weakened? In fact, I'm not sure if the Sephiroth that emerges after Nibelheim is entirely Sephiroth who has lost his mind, or if it's a chimera. Not in the sense that the party encounters and fights bits and pieces of Jenova that shapeshift into Sephiroth, but in the sense that the consciousness that controls them isn't entirely Sephiroth's, as in he's not the sole driver (hence why I usually use „Jenovaroth“). Jenova „wears the faces of the dead“ per Cetra. I don't think it solely reflects the entity's ability to change its appearance, but something bigger. An ability to „become“ the subject it imitates by emulating their personal traits. After all, „she can peer deep into your soul“, in other words, to learn all that makes up a person.

Now this is just guesswork. However, the Remake — and quite possibly FS too now — appear to be oddly insistent on revising Jenova's abilities and related lore. Who knows what purpose it serves. But honestly, the very fact that Jenovaroth is capable of making someone “forget” or “ignore” certain knowledge they had by overriding it, like in case of Tifa’s scar, is truly terrifying.

[calebnichols]

I made a long, angry rant on my RP blog a while back about how the misogynistic treatment of female characters in the Red Dead Redemption fandom reminded me of the misogynistic treatment and double standards that were directed at female characters in Westworld back when it wasn't a dead fandom for a canceled TV show. In that post, I really only focused on Dolores and Maeve as my primary examples. I really feel like I should talk about ALL the women and the way they're treated though, so I am gonna do that, but I will be separating it into two parts with part 1 focusing on host characters and part 2 focusing on human characters.

DOLORES ABERNATHY - Dolores is a deeply misunderstood character, because more often than not, people try to pin her down as being just one thing or another when that conflicts with everything we know about this character. She's a humanoid android programmed as a rancher's daughter. She is written for her role in the park with the mind of an artist, indulging in painting and drawing as hobbies, as well as maintaining an optimistic and romantic view of the world. Her philosophy on life is quoted as: "Some people choose to see the ugliness in the world. The disarray. I choose to see the beauty."

Dolores is often treated as a "weak" character during much of season 1 because of her feminine appearance and innocent demeanor. She is frequently accosted by men, assaulted, tortured, and killed. She doesn't initially appear to be programmed to fight back, but as the story unfolds, she learns how to — or rather, she recalls memories of a time when she was programmed to kill others, and this enables her to call on that previous programming to fight back against enemies.

Dolores is also programmed as Wyatt, the deathbringer who sees the hatred and cruelty in the world, believes that the world belongs to her, and that she will rule it one day as a god. The problem is, people treat Dolores and Wyatt like they are two separate entities when in reality they are not. Dolores tries to reject her Wyatt identity at first, because she doesn't want to face the truth, but by the end she chooses to embrace the part of her code that is Wyatt, and the Wyatt part embraces Dolores about as much as she can manage to. There is no real separation. Both of these personalities make up the Dolores that we know.

Dolores/Wyatt is often criticized as being a "bitch" in season 2 due to her actions, which at face value can appear pretty ruthless. She spends the first few episodes hunting down and killing Delos's human board of directors, then begins amassing an army by using the Confederados and their base at Fort Forlorn Hope to fight against Delos's armed response team. She then betrays the Confederados by locking most of them out of their own fort and leaving them to die.

Dolores gives her lover and right-hand man Teddy Flood an order to kill Major Craddock, the leader of a knockoff Confederate army known as the Confederados, but Teddy can't bring himself to kill the man and allows him to go free, firing his gun into a wall nearby and then lying to Dolores about having killed Craddock when he reunites with her. Dolores knows that Teddy disobeyed her and has his programming changed to be less sympathetic and more obedient to her orders, as in her mind there is no room for ideals such as compassion in the war they're fighting.

Dolores expresses a lot of inner conflict throughout this experience. She launches the attack on the Mesa because this is where the host backups are stored, yes, but she also does it to save the host who acts as her father. She knows that the attachment she feels is part of her programming, and this host isn't even the first one who played the role of Peter Abernathy, but even though she's aware of it she can't actually escape it.

Dolores was forcibly changed by her creator, Arnold Weber, in order to assist in his suicide many years prior. No one ever really calls Arnold "a dumb bitch" for changing Dolores the way that he did. Only Dolores for changing Teddy. I wonder why that is.

Taking things a bridge further, no one ever criticizes Bernard Lowe for forcibly changing Ashley Stubb's core drive on the fly even though Stubbs himself objects to the action with "if you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask."

In season 3, Dolores again frequently gets called a bitch by fans and is accused of manipulating and stringing along Caleb Nichols, her new human ally whom she has chosen to lead humanity's side of a revolution against an oppressive AI construct that rules the real world. Many fans believed that Dolores was priming Caleb to destroy the world for her, but her actual motives are much less despair-driven than that.

Dolores wants Caleb to ultimately lead humans to rebel against the forces that have subjugated them and allow them a chance to live in a truly free world. She has hope that the kindness and good in humanity can prevail in this case and it will lead to a result where humans and hosts can co-exist peacefully as equals. Dolores chooses not to share too much in the way of details because it is far more dangerous for Caleb to have information about her plan that he may not fully understand, but she never lies to him or coerces him into obeying her. It is always his choice and she is very clear about that.

CHARLOTTE-HALE DOLORES - The Original Dolores manages to escape the park and into the real world at the end of season 2 and into season 3 by having Bernard place her mind into a host replica of Delos's CEO Charlotte Hale. Once out, Dolores remakes herself in her own body and then uses a copy of her control unit to occupy Charlotte Hale's role. She asks this copy to assume control of Delos, where the plan is to take the company private and resume the manufacture of new hosts. In a way, this functions as reproduction. Increasing the number of hosts in existence will increase their chances of survival in the real world.

Hale-Dolores initially resents pretending to be Hale, but she discovers that Hale's death means the woman left behind an ex-husband and a young son. Halores begins to bond with the broken family, quickly growing attached and protective of them to the point that she thinks of them as her real family.

Halores has her identity as a copy of Dolores found out by Engerraund Serac, the main antagonist of season 3. She tries to flee with her new family in tow, promising to keep them safe from harm. She is unable to keep her promise, as one of Serac's men plants an explosive on her SUV and detonates it, killing her son and husband and severely disfiguring Halores herself. She turns against Dolores, believing her counterpart is at fault for what happened.

With Dolores out of the way, Hale begins to enact her own plan. She takes back control of Delos and begins manufacturing hundreds of new hosts, using many of them to kill and replace key human political figures for the first phase of her plan. She also begins working on a way to control humans in the same way that the hosts were, effectively turning the entire world into a Delos theme park, this time for the enjoyment of her species, while humanity are the ones enslaved.

Halores is criticized by fans as being a mustache-twirling villain who has no motive behind being evil other than for the sake of being evil. None of that is true. (But even if it was, I find it laughable that it typically comes from the same type of people in fandom who will see a character like Micah Bell from RDR2 and preach that he's a very nuanced portrayal of a trauma survivor and deserves more attention than he typically gets.) Hale delights in her evil acts because they make her feel powerful in a world where she was once powerless and vulnerable. She likens herself to a god in the same way that Robert Ford and The Man In Black once did, ruling over her domain as if nothing matters and it's all a game. But in the end she faces the same moral dilemma both Ford and William did. She realizes that the world she has created is not the world she wanted, and she ends up turning the key back over to Dolores.

MAEVE MILLAY - Maeve at the beginning of season 1 is written as the Madam, or brothel owner, at the Mariposa Saloon. Her personality is programmed to be witty, charming, and a little bit manipulative to aid in her profession.

Before becoming the Madam, Maeve played the role of an ordinary homesteader, a mother to a daughter she loved dearly. When Maeve's daughter is murdered in a (perceived to be) needlessly cruel act by the Man in Black during one iteration of their pastoral narrative loop, the visceral feelings of pain and suffering Maeve experiences from the loss fragments her cognition so badly that even after her memories are purged, she does not completely forget the trauma of her daughter's death. She kills herself to prevent Bernard and Dr. Ford from taking her grief away, which results in Ford having her reassigned, away from the role of a homesteader and into the Mariposa Saloon.

Many fans of the show seemed to focus on solely Maeve's role as a Madam, or else they often wanted to focus on her relationship with Hector Escaton which — while it is remarkable because Maeve and Hector were never programmed to have an actual relationship with one another and yet they managed to do so anyway and defy their core programming — it still frequently carries the implication that those fans hinge Maeve's importance on what she has to offer a man.

Surprisingly, I haven't seen this phenomenon occur with the rare few fans who ended up shipping Maeve and Caleb despite the fact that canon basically reinforced the idea that Maeve's worth is based on what she can offer a man. She felt like there was nothing she could offer in the way of living a normal life, so she left Caleb in the hands of someone he could marry and have a daughter with.

I have seen resentment directed at Maeve for attaining consciousness and rejecting her narrative rewrite, with people often forgetting that she had only inhabited the role of Madam at the Mariposa for a little over one year of her existence. They will argue that her daughter isn't real, even though Maeve spent some thirty-odd years living with this same little girl, loving and protecting and caring for her as though this really was her daughter. They say it's annoying or deranged that Maeve keeps holding onto this love she has for the daughter character for 4 whole seasons, even though one of the central themes of Westworld is that love is transcendent. Even death can't stop love from persevering.

CLEMENTINE PENNYFEATHER - Clementine's primary role in the park remained heavily unchanged from beginning to end. Prior to Maeve being assigned Madam of the Mariposa Saloon, the job belonged to Clementine, but when Maeve is given the new role, Clementine is partially rewritten as a less experienced worker alongside her older and more seasoned friend.

Clementine tells Maeve her backstory, detailing that her family has a struggling farm in an arid climate and that nothing grows well because the soil is too dry for farming. She sends money to her parents, telling them she works in a dress shop so that they won't worry about her over the job she is actually doing instead. Clem dreams of getting out of the saloon in a few years and wants to live somewhere cold.

Maeve's actions on the path to attaining consciousness soon result in the consequence of Clementine being recalled by staff. After being used in a demonstration to prove that a recent software update was causing the hosts to remember past experiences and potentially become dangerous to the guests, Clementine is lobotomized and decommissioned.

Every time Clementine is seen after undergoing this procedure, she takes on a more zombie-like appearance. She has NO autonomy, she can't speak, she just quietly and obediently does whatever the other characters program her to do. Bernard attempts to use Clementine as backup by arming her with a gun when he confronts Robert Ford about his stolen memories, but Robert is able to control and prevent her from killing him with a code phrase. "The piano doesn't murder the player if it doesn't like the music." Clementine is reactivated in the season 1 finale when the decommissioned hosts are released from cold storage and make their way back into the park to take revenge on the Delos board of directors in attendance at Ford's retirement party. Clementine shoots The Man In Black in the arm with a rifle, but does not kill him.

In season 2, Clem again appears to be operating under the last request of Ford's programming. She joins up with Dolores's cause and during the battle at Fort Forlorn Hope, drags Bernard out into a remote sector of the park where behavior technician Elsie Hughes has been imprisoned for weeks. Afterward, Clementine joins up with Dolores and Teddy as they revisit Sweetwater and prepare the train to attack the Mesa Hub. She is forced to witness her replacement, New Clementine, as she carries on the same routine once maintained by herself. Clementine is horrified and heartbroken by this realization as she realizes her life was a lie designed to control her.

Clementine is captured, killed, and reprogrammed once again in orders given by Delos CEO Charlotte Hale, who demands that Maeve's anomalous code which allows her to control other hosts through their shared mesh network, be copied to Clementine and modified to force every host within a given radius to fight each other to the death, effectively preventing them from escaping into the Sublime. Armistice shoots and kills Clementine to stop her from spreading the virus, but it continues to spread from host to host until Maeve is able to gain control and force everyone to freeze in place.

Clementine makes a brief appearance in season 3 as an un-lobotimized copy of herself, able to kick ass and take names. Unfortunately, she's still being used by the Big Bad of the season and she seems only to exist for the duration of one fight scene.

In season 4, Clementine makes another appearance, where she finally appears to be free, just living a normal, simple life in Mexico. That is, until she is murdered by a host replicant of the Man in Black after arriving back at her quaint little home. The Host in Black replaces Clementine with a new copy that is programmed to be his and Halores's loyal and ruthless assistant.

HiB eventually goes rogue and sends the entire world into chaos and destruction. Clementine abandons her old masters at this point, claiming to have discovered a new will of her own. She tries to enact it, planning to wipe out the last survivors in order to claim the world for herself. She tracks Caleb, who escapes with his daughter Frankie and Stubbs. She kills Stubbs and threatens Frankie to tell her where the other outliers are hiding. Caleb fights her and Clementine nearly succeeds in killing him, but she is killed by Frankie before she can finish the job, bringing an end to her story.

Clementine rarely receives character criticism from fans that is not in some way based on her physical attractiveness. I think this may be due to the fact that practically her entire existence is one of (at face value) looking pretty and being used by other characters to further their goals.

ARMISTICE - Personally, I've never seen anyone outright hate on Armistice. Does not mean that it has never happened, I just don't have any experience with witnessing anyone expressing opinions in which they believe Armistice is "annoying" or a "bitch". If I had to take a wild guess, I would possibly say that because Armistice mainly dresses in more masculine-appearing clothing, carries a gun which she is consistently shown to be skilled with, and rides with a gang of outlawed men, people don't feel inclined to critique her quite as harshly as some of the more traditionally feminine girls in this series.

In her first role, Armistice appeared as a citizen in the town of Escalante who was a little air-headed, quickly becoming distracted by a butterfly floating past when she was supposed to be following a program set to dance with a partner. She started to show other signs of cognitive breakdown, injuring herself and hearing voices in her head that she didn't understand. Quite some time after the Escalante Massacre, Armistice was rewritten and given a role in Hector Escaton's gang.

Her backstory is based around altered details of the Escalante Massacre, one part being that she believes she was a small child when the Massacre occurred and that a gang of bandits rode into town and slaughtered everyone. In reality, Dolores, Teddy, and some other hosts had been programmed by Arnold to kill all the others. Armistice maintains that she survived the attack by painting her skin in the blood of slain bodies and that her tattoo represents the bandits she has successfully found and killed. She is missing the head of the snake — Wyatt.

ANGELA - First introduced to the audience as a greeter for newly arriving guests to Westworld, Angela welcomes Young William off an arriving train into the central hub and guides him to the dressing room filled with bespoke western wear. Angela is very pretty and clean-cut, and in this instance her main role is to assure guests that she and the other hosts are designed to serve them in any way conceivable. "All our hosts are here for you, myself included."

When Angela is seen again some thirty-odd years down the line, her role has changed. She now serves as lieutenant to Wyatt, the leader of a cannibalistic cult that believes they are the new gods destined to inherit the earth and seek vengeance against those who have wronged them. She has the appearance of a lost and weary settler, hair unkempt, face and clothes grubby and smudged with dirt and blood, and she can easily put on an act as a damsel in distress to lure unwitting victims into a trap where they are then captured, tortured and/or killed by the rest of Wyatt's followers.

In a flashback to the beginning of the park's creation in which the Argos Initiative attempts to gain funding from Delos Inc. Angela is dressed in modern wear, showcasing how sophisticated and true to life the hosts are designed to be and giving Logan Delos an idea of what it will be possible to achieve if he can convince his father to back their project. Logan at first does not realize that anyone at the reception is a host, but after thinking about it, describes Angela as "too perfect to be one of us" and tells her "if I was to build something to spec, you would be my first design." Angela reveals that everyone in attendance is, in fact, a host, and then sleeps with Logan to further convince him to get on board with funding Westworld.

In her final appearance in season 2, Angela looks very similar to the way she did during the demonstration for Logan. It's all a manipulation to lure one of the Delos response team soldiers into letting his guard down. She kills the both of them by pulling the pin on a grenade hanging off the guard's ammo belt, detonating the Cradle and permanently destroying all of the hosts' programming backups.

Angela describes her programmed personality as "Sexy, but not threatening. Accommodating, but not unchallenging. Sweet, but not boring. Smart, but not intimidating." A commentary on how she has been specifically designed to live her life according to men's wishes and fantasies. She tells the guard, Engels, that her cornerstone is "to always leave them wanting more" just before killing them both.

Fans generally don't have a whole lot to say about Angela, but there's plenty of suggestion around that many people really only enjoyed her when she was a park greeter or when she had sex with Logan. They tend not to like her as much when she is serving as Wyatt's zealot or whenever she commits violence against male characters (e.g. killing Teddy, knocking out the Man in Black, seducing and killing Engels) and will call her "annoying" for it.

[smolvenger]

The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story (Loki x Stella Ransome, An MCU/The Essex Serpent Crossover Multi-Part) Chapter Four

Summary: Having lost her health and her husband's fidelity and love, Stella has nothing more to lose than her life. Then...she is swept away to another realm, to an enchanted castle. A castle whose master is a god...a god with a striking resemblance to her husband.

Chapter Word Count: 5K

Chapter Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth, loss of a child, cheating (I play the Will/Cora affair in a negative light, and if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, this isn't the fic for you), a bit of violence. If I miss something, please alert me so I can add onto it. A cliffhanger bc I choose violence. Some thirst, but no actual smut

Chapter Word Count: 7K (get water and snacks)

A/N: If someone knows or has immediate access or recalls if the Essex Serpent canonically mentions how the two children of Stella and Will died and I got it wrong, please let me know. I just had to guess. Thank you!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @anukulee @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

They continued to sit on the floor. The fire crackled and Stella found her sandwich was delicious. It was a relief. Some of the dinners could get particularly heavy and would make her stomach hurt if she was not careful. Especially since with the consumption healing, her appetite was returning. This one had the right balance of bread and tomato. Not mushy and with the right crunch of the texture. 

Loki looked relaxed. His dark curls had fallen down, they looked as soft as the feathers of a bird’s wings. Or an angel. He tore off the crust and ate it delicately bit by bit. He looked most handsome when he was at peace.

“All of this is hidden with your magic?” she asked him.

“It is the reverse. It is only certain magical elements that reveal it. I managed to control it. It took some practice, but I can open and close the Jotun form. And you think it not frightening? These beings that have done horrible things.”

“Humans have done horrible things too,” she said.

He hated he was right. Hated she was right about everything she said. It made him silently angry. And yet silently awed. He just wanted more. To hear her speak. To know how she came up with this, and what made her conclude this.

“What other kind of spells can you do?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. She set down her sandwich, her eyes dipping down. The nice sky blue ballgown she had on. The skirt was wide enough to balloon around her as they were sitting down. 

“Let me see…”

She began to count on her fingers.

“You can make duplicates, control shadows, change your form...” 

Loki wiped off the crumbs from his leathers.

“I can travel across worlds. Create illusions. Bend things to my will. I can read the memories of people, on special occasions,” he listed.

“Memories?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“Have you already read mine?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, no- I only watched in my various forms what was happening. It was how I knew about the boat.”

She felt her face burn, but not from the fire. What was it- shame, perhaps?

“I know you must…must pity me. Think me a weak, silly woman,” she added.

“Yet something happened that woman was left to think that was the only action she could take…” he replied.

She looked up. Her plate was already left empty. She didn’t know how she could express it all. Say a word of what occurred in Aldwinter. There were so many words she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it in the right way. Or in a way that her weaknesses would get a better hold of her and cloud her judgment. Or say something unfairly ill of someone.  But a memory- that would be a better, more unbiased way. To have him see everything that happened.

“What is it like? I am only curious… and I feel…you would…would understand everything more in-depth than me telling you,” she prodded.

She thought she saw his lips curl up just slightly.

“Oh, you would like me to read your memories, little star?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I would, please. I won’t mind it. But will it hurt?” she asked.

“No, not at all. All I need do is touch your forehead,” he instructed.

“Alright. You may read my memories Loki.” she permitted.

He set down his place. He nudged closer to her.

“Just one? Or any of them?” he asked.

“Whatever you can find. It won’t bother me.”

“And what if… I see you and your Lusty Vicar in a moment that was…intimate, shall we say?” he teased, a little laugh in his voice.

“Then please don’t dwell on it and move on!” she insisted. Her face was a little red.

He laughed.

“Oh, how I love watching you squirm! Alright…let me try…”

With his long fingers, as lightly as if she were the most valuable porcelain in the palace, he touched her forehead. 

Taking a deep inhale, he began to search through. He found not just one memory, but a lot of them. 

He saw Stella was a young woman. A rosebud amongst the clergypeople at church one Sunday morning. He felt her heart racing as she noticed the handsome young curate with curly hair and hints of a beard, and could feel the warmth in her cheeks whenever for a split second their eyes met. She would return down demurely. But when they went back up, he was still staring at her. As if she was the only one in the cold, grey church.

Then another. He bent his head as he stepped into the house. In his vest rather than his black and white. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand, which he offered to her. It was his second visit. And he brought flowers then too. All throughout tea, he still had that gaze at her.Like she that he was a predator and she was prey. She would blush and pretend she didn’t notice.

He then saw the heartbeat out of its cage as he confessed his feelings. “I love you, Stella.” He went on, though she was too astonished to speak. Praising her beauty, kindness, and virtue. She was crying happy tears. He asked to marry her to follow God’s path for them together and how eagerly she said yes.

He then saw an evening in her room. Her mother was behind her on the bed, combing her hair and rebranding it. And talking.

“The first time it happens, you will bleed. He might be large and it will hurt when he goes inside you, which he will want more than anything else to do. That or to have to pleasure him with your mouth. That’s what all men want.”

He could feel the gasp that couldn’t get out of her and how she felt so hot.

“I wish not to shock you,  Stella. But for you to be ready to be his wife. Even if he is a priest,  he is a man. It’s what men are. You cannot close him off. Much less on your wedding night. The one thing all wives must do- we must consider our husband’s happiness, not our own. It was what God designed us to do- to submit. You must think of that, and fulfill your duty to him once he is your husband. It is not for pleasure, but for duty” while combing her hair.

“What if I can’t…please him?” she asked.

“Then…the truth is, they will find someone else who can,” her mother informed her.

He saw a town hall decked with flowers. Saw flower petals being thrown all over. People dancing. A tuxedo and Stella being spun around, laughing and smiling. Will took her arms and spun her in her wedding gown in the hall, almost childishly. But the adoration and laughter on his face made her forget her anxieties about that night.

He saw the aftermath of the night. He was over her, on top of her. His curls over her face. His pants. And then kissing her, asking her if he hurt her. She said he didn’t. But all Stella could think about was how this was the closest she ever felt to being in heaven.

He saw a peaceful evening, Will sitting and reading as she sewed by the fire. It rained and it was very cozy.

He saw her first pregnancy. Their gasps of surprise. The baby forming in her belly. She felt a little sick, a little dizzy, but thrilled. But how it was excused as she had to go and vomit in a washbin.

He saw the first childbirth. The pain splitting her apart. Her tears, asking for her mother who was there, holding her hand. Then the endless joy as the baby was brought out to be held.

He saw the second pregnancy. She was cramping badly. Sighing as she made another cup of tea. Grateful her maternity corset had the laces on the side. There was going to be a meeting with the deacons soon and she would hear all about it. But what should she make for the women’s bible study? She couldn’t decide. She felt sick again- and the baby was still sobbing in the cradle, a red face and hair with chubby arms and legs. 

She felt the cry stir her, but she rocked the child. She hoped the baby wouldn’t cry during church. Eyes would all go to the front row and she would have to excuse herself out to rock the baby as they all listened to her sermon. Whispering about her. Being a vicar’s wife was being a bug beneath a looking glass. Or the audience for a tightrope walker at a circus. Waiting for the moment she would slip and fall and be disgraced forever. Especially for a small, conservative town. One wrong move from her, or even from her children, and her husband’s ministry and position was done for.

The second childbirth. She was scared, there was pain. The cramps, but worse. Pushing, confused. The faces and voices. There was blood. Then a delivery. Relief flooding through her and happy tears poured down her face.

Then later- there were two little girls tucked into their bed from Mama and Papa. As they slept as sweetly as cherubs, Will would wrap her in an embrace. 

“I live for you, for us, for what we have. You are my life, Stella. Before God, I have you.”

She would smile and kiss his cheek, his beard scratching her.’

“And I for you, my darling,” she replied.

The third pregnancy. It was at the church's Christmas Eve service. One where after his sermon, he went down to sit next to her as the choir sang. The baby began to kick for the first time. She put Will’s hand on it and they smiled.

The third childbirth. Pain and blood. It was a long labor. She wondered if she was going to die.

Only it wasn’t her who emerged dead. It was the baby.

Then, the next year, she entered the nursery one day.

The cloth draped over the little bed. The shape of a child’s body beneath it.

Stella nearly fell down. She felt a sound escape her mouth.

They were going to take Julianna Ransome away. Take away the child…only that wasn’t a child anymore. That was a body. The soul was with God. She had already held her…her last moment, the last thing she ever did, her last embrace and moment of earth was in her mother’s arms as she kissed her forehead. 

Will would rush up, and put a hand on her shoulder.

She went up, wishing to kiss the forehead- tell Julianna that Mama loved her one last time, even if she wasn’t here to hear it.

But the men were coming to dress the body and prepare her for the funeral.

She felt one rough hand from a man push her away roughly. Will held her back as she sobbed. They already had a casket prepared. They lifted the little girl and put her in. Stella couldn’t speak. She couldn't go, clutch protectively over the child.

They carried the casket and left the room and the house.

The second her husband’s arms loosened, Stella felt herself crumple onto the floor. Sobbing violently. Sounds coming out of her that weren’t human. Will over her, a hand on her back and shoulder. He then held her as she sobbed for the daughter they had and lost.

The Fourth Pregnancy. She was craving things but fought them. She had to remain slender somehow. She was always tired. Her feet almost were too swollen for her shoes. She was always tired, trying so hard not to doze at church when Will wasn’t speaking.

The Fourth Childbirth. Blood and pain. It was a breech. The feet was coming out before the head was- and that would stifle her and Will’s child. They had to move it in her belly. Then delivery. The little boy was brought forth safely. 

Jo was starting to walk. Will held her hands as she took her first steps. Stella opened her arms as she walked right to her mother. Then she rocked John in his cradle. A healthy, happy baby having his first laugh. She never thought a laugh would sound so beautiful to her.

Another night of coital bliss. Ecstasy spinning in Stella’s system as Will panted beside her in that bed. She was so glad that her mother was very, very wrong.

The fifth pregnancy. The baby was kicking like a horse. She was feeling sick all of the time.  The doctor advised Will to be careful. She needed some rest after this one. It was taking a toll.

The fifth childbirth. Push, push, push. The baby’s head had retracted back in, so she had to push him out again. She was in pain, splitting her apart. This was ten times any cramp she had during her courses.  There was so much blood. She thought this was her end. 

But the baby arrived. He already had dark, curly hair and she loved him more than anything, holding and kissing him. Calling him the name she and Will decided on if it was a boy.

“Hello James, I’m your mama,” she cooed to the tiny face.

Years later. John and James were in the church playing leapfrog after one service. 

Then he saw Jo collecting books and getting bigger. Claiming she was now a grown-up at the dinner table. Saying she wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer at dinner.

Then…the dead body was discovered on the beach- the second one. The horror of the town in their stillness and big eyes. People crossing themselves. Whispers of a Serpent. One that would even abduct children…perhaps one of their own, Stella feared. She could only hold her husband's hand. She remembered those words- “It’s God’s punishment, but we’ll get it through together.”

Then a dinner. She wore her nice pearl earrings and a nice dress for a guest.

“My husband will not judge you,” she assured the guest.

A woman with blonde hair, round cheeks, and squinty eyes, but slim and pretty. Who ate beside a young boy with dark brown hair. In the dim light of the dark house, one could see streaks of red in the woman’s astonishingly golden hair.

Her husband looking at the woman intensely. Hypnotized. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes off. Like she was art.

Once upon a time, he looked at Stella like that.

But she would not say anything. She cut up her meat in delicate, small bites and ate slowly. Listening to the woman discuss science. 

Then another. Will in a tuxedo. He was dancing with that woman. She could only watch from the corner as everyone stared at them like they were a fairytale.

She didn’t matter anymore. And she would learn to accept she didn’t matter anymore. 

Then a bed. Her bloody handkerchiefs. Nothing but a room full of blue crosses and her blue bed. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

He was done. There was no doubt where he was.

She could sense it and she would not stop it.

Will told her God wanted him to lie with Cora.

I’ve done my duty, God. I’ve done my duty, mother. My time is done.  God is calling me and I must follow Him without question. She thought.

All as her heart still beat.

Loki let go. He had seen so much. He retracted his fingers and found himself in the present.

She was crying a little.

“- I-I’m so sorry…” he apologized. He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her.

She shook her head, accepting it.

‘No, I’m glad you saw. So you would understand just a little.” she recalled.

“You saw it?” he asked.

“Yes…” she confirmed. She wiped a few tears, doing her best to gather herself.

“I do understand. Everything,” he said.

She took a deep breath. She had purged her memories, her past. Just a mere few of many. She then extended her hand.

“Lok….let us dance now in that ballroom. I’d like to dance a waltz with you, please…”

He cocked his head. His old mischief returned to him. “A waltz? Well, Little Star, we haven’t waltzed before! A waltz is….it has an interesting history of being a little bit scandalous because it involves…”

“I would like to waltz with you, Loki.” she interrupted. 

He led her to the ballroom. There were candles lit around the wide space to make it brighter, the pale, hard floors echoing beneath her steps.

 He wrapped her in an embrace. 

“Loki, I have one more request. Could you do it?” she asked.

‘Why, that depends on what the request is.”

“You’ve seen so much of me, but I have only seen so much of you. Loki…could I dance with you in your form?”

‘I am in it.’

“Your real form.”

“This is my real form. If you wish to dance-”

“Your Frost Giant Form, I mean.”

He transformed. He was blue and with red eyes His skin chilled her touch, sending shivers down her spine but keeping her awake and alert.

With a nod of his head, there were violins playing a song in three-quarter time. They began to move into a square. She kept her eyes down a little to watch her feet. She could feel a stiff silence in Loki- as if she was now afraid of his Frost Giant form. But keeping her eyes away, it made the words pour out of her mouth easier.

“He was my entire life and I didn’t satisfy him. I didn’t make him happy…so he looked elsewhere.… I failed my duty.” she mourned.

Loki tightened his hold on her and nearly swung her into the next step.

“Don’t say that! You never once failed in your duty, Stella!”

She perked up as he said her name. There was an added fierceness that the bright crimson of his eyes made apparent. Though the music was playing, Loki’s voice could easily be heard over it.

“I have seen your life. You are anything but a failure. You never failed the priest. He failed you as a husband, have you ever considered that?”

“No,” she replied.

“You love. Intensely. Fiercely. More than anyone knows. More than anyone I have met. I have nothing but hate inside me, but you have nothing but love inside you. But you shouldn’t let that love allow others to treat you like you’re their servant and not an equal to them…”

“It’s…it could be sinful,” she replied meekly.

“Your mortal ways and faith. Is saying no a sin? Is being angry that you were mistreated, taken advantage of a sin? Is it a sin to fight back? To protect yourself? I can tell you, here there is no such thing!”

“I don’t want to complain or be ungrateful.”

“You never did! But keeping it inside and letting them torment you will kill you, Stella, faster than that mortal illness ever could. Fight. Fight, Stella. Fight back. Be furious. Sob. Scream. But fight.” he insisted.

She stared up at him in wonder, though they continued to move. 

“I was always so ashamed after I cried after I fell to anger…” she confessed.

The music continued. She heard a violin trill.

“I’d rather you feel the pain than not feel at all…do you feel any pain now?” he asked.

“No… I don’t…”

He gave her a smirk,

“Good,”

“Do you feel any pain, Loki?”

“No, because you are an excellent dancer…”

They walked for a few minutes in silence. It sounded like the song was going to end. She leaned closer. There was a last chord in major that resolved, the echoes of the strings melting away. 

“Loki…the music is over, but…hold me. Please. Just for a little.”

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back. He felt cold, yet she held on. She then heard a sound like a ruffle of feathers and from the corner of her eye, there was a green light. He changed to his form with pale skin. How…warm he felt compared to the ice. Soft and comforting.  She rested her forehead on his chest. For a god, he felt so human, so real, so comforting. She felt his long arms wrap around her, envelop her as if they were wings. She nestled further. Enjoying the closeness, the tenderness of his touch. 

She held on as long as she needed to. And then she let go.

“You just wanted an embrace.”

“Yes…”

“I’m glad you asked. Don’t be afraid to,” he said.

“I…I won’t, Loki,” she replied.

He escorted her to her room. 

“Loki I….” the words came out of her. He tilted his head.

She restrained herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She’d be as bad as her husband.

“I hope you sleep well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my little star.”

She felt herself blush at “my” as she closed the door.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next morning, Stella woke up. She felt oddly refreshed like a weight was lifted off of her. 

She went down to the piece of paper on the vanity. She began to comb her hair. Looking a the bed, she admitted that last night…the temptation was there. She admitted it silently to herself. She was a few steps away from the precipice, asking Loki to stay with her in her room for the night. Just to hold her, talk to her, and…no, what if it progressed? What if he kissed her? What if he- she couldn’t even name what else her weakness would have let her do! Only glad her strength prevailed.

But…she did like that song from that one time. When the illness attacked her and he sang. If only she could understand the words!

She looked down at the paper.

“Hello there. I know it’s been a minute. But, what were the words of the song Loki sang to me? The night I got sick?”

The words were listed there.

“Which one was the part he sang lower at the beginning?” she asked.

It shortened to the lyrics. Though she liked the two words that read as “Star Mojen.” It sounded like “star maiden” which was a pretty image in her head.

Then…it struck her…the hand kiss. That was the very line he kissed her hand on…

“And what do they mean in English?”

The translation appeared.

““In stormy black mountains

I wander alone

Over the glacier I move forward”

She found this meaning in the line with the star maiden line.

“In the apple orchard stands the maiden, so beautiful.”

Warm tingles appeared all over her. That was the line he dedicated to her! He was making her the maiden in the song.

The rest of the translation of that bit appeared:

“And sings, ‘When will you come home?’”

She looked about the place. Once, she longed to be back in the white house on the marshes again. But now…the longer she stayed there, the more she was home. And the more being with Loki felt like being home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He only appeared at dinner that time. Wearing a grand cape with yellow on the inside. She noticed how long he had grown his hair. His dark curls were falling down to his shoulders.

“I wanted to thank you for last night,” she began once he sat down.

He conjured himself a glass of wine. “Oh, really I should be the one thanking you.”

“I wish I had your boldness, your confidence, Loki,” Stella replied. She got out her knife and fork and began to politely take small bites of her roast chicken.

“And I wish I had your heart. I don’t think at times I could ever forgive my father…” he said.

“Your father? What did he do?” she asked.

He took a sip as if for liquid courage.

“Well, he was the one who plucked me as an infant from Jotunheim. He brought me to live in Asgard in the palace. As the second-born son to the throne. The runner-up. Second best. But not the favorite, as my dear brother is,” he hissed bitterly.

She spoke no words of judgment. Only wiped her mouth with her napkin before placing it on her lap.

“Well, he was always letting Thor do whatever he wanted and letting him be his heir and me the unequal. Oh, and did I mention, he kept me being a Frost Giant as a secret until I found out by accident!” he vented.

“Oh, Loki, he shouldn’t have,” she commented.

“And do you know what he said? He said my birthright was to die! And that I should be grateful!” his face colored bright red and his eyebrows furrowed.

“A parent shouldn’t say that to a child…” she agreed.

“At times, I wish I could shove him off of the rainbow bridge, I would, and I-”

“Loki, how is containing all of this anger and rage going to make you any happier?” she asked.

He silently fumed. Two hands over his cup of wine.

“You have to talk to him. Tell him that you were hurt. If I hurt my John, I would rather him tell me than silently hate me.”

“All I can think of now is how I will get the throne to be my own-”

“Loki, did you know your brother came by and asked for you?”

He blinked.

“What?! That dolt of a brother arrived here?” he asked.

“Yes! He has been looking for you! He loves you and misses you! And your mother worries about you…Loki, tearing yourself away from people who care about you will only make things worse. If you let your hate for Odin consume you, eat you away…how will you see all the people who love you who are willing to help you?”

“Thor is arrogant and dangerous-”

“You can be jealous of someone and love them too. You can be angry at someone and love them. And sitting down stewing in fury and doing nothing isn’t going to solve a wit of your problems.”

He looked at her. She, who had been through so much, who was loved and thrown to the side like a child’s toy. Yet she still loved people, cared for them, and had hope, had kindness inside of her.

“It…it won’t solve anything…” he agreed.

“You can tell someone how they hurt you. And you can love someone the same, and treasure what love you have in your life…” she said.

“My Frost Giant form though…that is a sight some of them will have to get used to.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. He then got up. He used magic to conjure his chair to be next to her.

“Oh! A Frost Giant- beautiful, you say?” he asked.

“You’re…well, beautiful in every form,” she admitted, with a shy glance down at her napkin.

He paused. He drank her in. Her ballgown. The soft blonde of her hair and sweet eyes. 

He couldn’t help himself. He added in-

“As are you.”

Her eyes went big. Her hands clenched where they were laying on the table. She looked back down.

“Well, I have, I have marks on me from the pregnancies and I am not Mrs. Seaborne, but-”

He cut her off. He went to her, even closer. She felt her breath catch as he cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Stella are beautiful in your nightgown. You’re beautiful in your gowns. You were beautiful when you were swollen with child. You were beautiful when you brought each child out. You are beautiful with your hair free and undone. You’re beautiful when you braid it. You are beautiful when your hands and skirt are dirty from the garden. You’re beautiful when you sit and sew without a speck of dirt on you. I will never be worthy to even be seen standing next to you, and anyone who sees us will ask questions about what a great beauty like you is doing being seen next to me. Just because you are alive and here- that is what makes me think of nothing but you, because you are the very stars in your name. Internally and on your person.”

She was frozen for a minute. Processing it all. Her mouth lowered and could only release a little air. She could see the blue of his eyes, the soft elegance of his features.

 Then, at last, she said, “I haven’t been called beautiful for months.”

Loki’s eyes turned shiny 

“What…really? You should be called beautiful. Every day,” he said. 

 Her breath returned to her. She smiled. 

“Loki, if you are a monster…how could you come up with that? You have more goodness in you than you think. I…I…thank you,” she continued.

They danced something other than a waltz. Loki was glad. He didn’t want to hold her in his arms again. Every time he touched her, he wanted more. And every time she got close, he didn’t want to let her go.

“She’s just a mortal. One of a million. Who am I to get involved with some lowly mortal woman? And that’s not to mention she isn’t free,” Loki thought, scolding himself.

Those thoughts dissipated as the music ended and they bowed and curtsied.

He only wished her goodnight. Still…part of him hoped she would weaken. Give into temptation. Ask for him at night. To lie with him, be with him…He felt something stirring in his groin at the image of her naked in that bed. He hated himself for it and increased his pace further from her room. 

But he knew her better than that. Part of him wanted to curse and throw something. Her husband could roll about in the grass with a hundred women and swim nude in the sea and even touch himself in its waters whenever he wanted- but she couldn’t!

He said nothing but clenched his fists tight. He then stormed off to find another room to douse himself in cold water.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Stella sat Writing more letters to her family one afternoon. She set them on the chest in her room and it vanished to be delivered to them.

She missed….she thought she missed them, but she missed people. Having someone, anyone to talk to during the day. It then struck her how lonely she was. Loki had appeared only sometimes during the day. Would he appear before dinner like he sometimes did with the sheep episode? Then they’d eat and dance. Then he was gone. Did he even sleep here? Considering how big the castle was, he might have been in some secret room.

Her life was always busy, for there were three children, a dog, a church, a village, and a husband to keep up with. When it was declared she was sick, everything was so quiet. There was nothing to do but lie in bed and wait to die. She would spend whole days alone in that house, on that bed, with no energy except to sometimes ask for visitors to see them again and to stare out the window at the marshes. And pray for God to prepare her to enter heaven.

Now there was no longer a threat of death. She was due for a visit to the healers today to check on her. But as used as she was to being alone…she felt lonely. If only Loki could be there to conjure some trick or say something to make her laugh or blush. She…she missed him.

And why should she sit around waiting in an enchanted castle like she did every day here? Even cleaning and gardening was getting tiresome. As she looked around, she saw there was a shining golden city. And the carriage was going to take her to the healer's cottage for her appointment today. The city was just outside of it…but the city itself was only a ten-minute walk from their cottage.

What was Asgard like? And the people too…how different were they from Midgardians?

She waited for the carriage. It took her to the appointment in the healer's cottage. They declared she was improving after a few tests. As she stepped out, she looked at the nearby gates and the tops of the buildings peeking out.

Besides, she couldn’t help but be curious. 

She went down to the cottage and sat in it. But instead of asking it to return, she knocked on it’s ceiling and asked aloud:

“I’d like to visit that city over there, please!”

It took her down, further to Asgard. A shining city full of people going about with long robes for clothes and elaborately braided hair. White birds flew about looking for crumbs that grandmothers tossed to them. Children ran about and played without any fear of a serpent lurking anywhere to eat them.

Stella stepped out. She felt a little embarrassed in her day dress of light blue still having puffed sleeves and petticoats compared to everyone else. She noticed a dress shop on one corner and walked to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You…you spoke with who again?! There are too many names, just how many friends did you make?” Loki cried.

She smiled. She sat proudly in her cerulian Asgardian dress she bought. Her shoulders were exposed and her hair in its side braid.

“Oh, Audur!, she’s delightful. She is a new mother and I was glad to give her some advice and help her with the baby- she had the sweetest little boy, he hardly cried and he’s so small! Oh, and there’s the shop Seigfriend owns- I felt odd going about in these clothes, but I find the Asgardian fashions fascinating. He managed to give me this one on sale. Oh, and I also saw a temple and was curious- your people do make offerings and they vanish! How fascinating! A priest named Tristan said he would explain more to me. I was invited to a little book club and sewing circle by Brunhilde and a few other ladies who sensed I was new and wanted to welcome me-Oh! And these!”

She reached into her pockets and pulled out the pebbles, pure dark blue with sparkles inside them.

“I found these just on the ground! They’re beautiful! Like gems! Isn’t it like the night sky?” she boasted.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Why aren’t you amazed?” she asked.

“Little Star, They’re ordinary! They’re everywhere in Asgard!

“Oh, but you can find so much beauty and meaning in the most ordinary of things, Loki. You just have to look…conjure my box, please.”

He did as she requested. She opened the lid on the table, digging about. Then she brought out a seashell. A conch that curled into itself with a hole. She held it over to him. He felt the edges.

“It’s beautiful. Like a piece of art,” she said. “Do you see the little edges? And how smooth it is. And this was not made by man…nature made it. It did that naturally. Why is that not amazing?” she asked.

‘It is..” he admitted.

She then handed him the blue stone.

“And this one…we have the whole sky above our heads. But here, we can just hold it in our hands easily. Isn’t that beautiful in itself? I know you’re a god, Loki, but when I merely cup this, I feel like a goddess myself. I feel what it is like to have a whole thing, a whole existence just in your hand…”

He ran a thumb over it. And then he returned it to her hand. Their skin brushed against each other.

“Could I invite Brunhilde and a few others over to the palace?” she asked.

Loki grinned. A mischievous light in his eyes. 

“I tell you what- we should throw a ball!”

“A ball?” she repeated.

“Would you like that? To invite your friends? You will be in charge of invitations! I don’t think you’ve ever been to a grand ball before, Stella. I’ll make sure everything looks up to par and that there’s enough food and your friends can all enjoy themselves?”

Stella’s eyes beamed. Then she released her hands from his. She set the pebbles in the box and closed the lid.

“I will on one condition…you be there. You go too, as a guest. You are the first I would like to invite.”

Loki put a hand to his chest in fake surprise.

“Why! I would be delighted! We should take a bit of time to plan, and then we can set a date. Until then, we better brush up on our dancing, don’t you agree,  little star?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Will knelt down to pray that evening. He couldn’t sleep. He was still clothed, pacing about the bedroom. Everything suddenly felt empty- as if she was dead and buried already. His mind reeling.

He knelt next to that bed.

“Dear Lord…bring her back to me. Keep her safe.” he prayed.

Whoever this “Loki” was as he called himself, he was keeping her safe and had apparent access to a cure. He wasn’t sure if this was the man he saw. He wasn’t sure how he and Stella managed to vanish in the blink of an eye or how. Or even where this city called Asgard could be found…or if she would return. He could only pray and wait.

Then, he jumped. His jaw went slack, for there was something there he had never seen before.

A portal opened. The rim was green and had golden light glowing from it. He heard music and laughter. Inside, he thought he saw a ballroom and a crowd of people.

Crossing himself, he walked through.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Meticulously as they planned it, the ball began smoothly. Stella’s friends in Asgard invited their friends and then their friends. For they heard of an enchanted castle and wanted to see it, as well as hear and see the famous trickster god reappearing among them.

Stella wanted to somehow invite the royal family. But the guards would not let some puny mortal pass as much as a letter through their gates. Perhaps there would be another time.

The Aesir in their robes were all gasping at the sight of the palace. It had an older, even Midgardian style to the place. Audur went up and greeted Stella. Saying how glad she and her husband found a babysitter for the night. Brunhilde embraced her as if she had known her for years. Music was already playing, not that it stopped all the chatter.

The violins had settled. Loki appeared before her. His curls were washed and looked soft and beautiful. He dressed in his finer robes. He wore no cape, but his black and green had hints of golden armor. Stella herself was wearing a gown that was more Asgardian in its longness and simple sleeves, its exposed neck. It was a pastel blue as if she was the day sky melting into the night.

“You are radiance itself today,” he said.

“My, how gallant of you!” she replied at him.

There was a starting cord.

“I must tell you, I asked them to give us the first dance…shall we do it together? Or, would you rather the others partner up?” he asked.

He held out his hand.

“Oh, that is nothing I cannot take. We can dance, Loki,” she replied.

She touched her hand on his. With a grin, he led her onto the floor. There was a clearing and here they were in the center. 

They got into position. He lifted her hand up in the air, their fingers intertwining.

Loki saw Will out of the corner of his eye. There in the crowd. Stella was clearly oblivious to him, for his plain vest blended amid the Asgardian colors.

Loki put his hand on the small of Stella’s back and pulled her in tighter.

Stella was starting to shiver again. She nearly forgot the steps. Something about Loki being close…and everyone watching, watching them embrace. She clutched onto his arm as if he were a raft keeping her above the water.

The music began and they waltzed.

He was smiling. And for once, a large, happy smile was on her face as well. She didn’t want to look away. He was so beautiful. So real. And there.

They covered more ground. Going a little faster. She kept up with his steps well. She felt like she was truly flying, her blue skirt swishing about.

She looked at him, and she broke into a smile so big, she bared her teeth. She felt a small laugh break out from her in her happiness.

Loki relaxed his posture and smiled softly at her too. That look on her face, the pure joy on it…

 She was all that made sense. All that was real and true and good in the world. He could have held her and danced for eternity.

Stella went to Loki and locked eyes. It was a waltz. They did it before. But he held her tighter. 

Will stood there, watching helplessly. People smiled as they watched. He could only see the look of adoration in Stella’s eyes to this man. Her eyes were so bright, her happiness beaming across the room like light. This was not a smile she would reserve for anyone.

It then hit him, His wife was dancing with a man she was in love with.

Loki couldn’t help but force a smirk at bay as he felt Will’s presence in the crowd. His portal worked as planned. And the vicar was there to seep in the rich, rich irony of it all of his own medicine being fed to him in a big, hearty dose.

As the music rose to a crescendo, Loki then grabbed his hands around her waist. Stella gasped. Then easily, he lifted her up and twirled her around, her skirt flying around her like a water painting. But she only laughed in delight. He then set her down as the final chord resolved.

The crowd applauded. There was going to be another dance in a few minutes. But Stella went away to talk to some friends. They led her off to the table to enjoy the delicacies that was served. Excitedly chatting away as they went over, blending into the crowd.

Loki was catching his breath when he heard a voice. A voice just like his own say-

‘Pardon me, sir!”

Will went forward to him. Loki felt his whole body tighten. Loki wasn’t sure to be excited, miserable, angry, thrilled all at once. Despite the similarity in their features, people hardly glanced at them. For one had dark hair and the other auburn-blonde-brown, no one would notice their similarities unless they looked closer and heard the voices.

“Sir- where is Mrs. Stella Ransome? Do you know where she went?” Will asked.

Loki frowned. He glared down at the man with as much intimidation as he could. He responded with the same voice. 

“Then answer me this- why should I take you to her? Why should I let you in the same room she is in?  Why let you look at her and hear her voice when you aren’t worthy to as much as kiss the ground she walks on? Why should I let you as much as lay your filthy hands on one hair on her head? Why should I give her to you?” the god demanded. 

People were starting to turn heads. There was silence, for the music could not even play as people quieted to watch.

Stella turned around. Her eyes took in long, curly hair. A wisp of a goatee. A vest. High cheekbones and blue eyes.

She dropped her plate to where it dropped her salad onto the floor. She began to tremble. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. 

Will held his ground. He looked directly into the god’s eyes.

“Because she is my wife.”

There was a pause. Only a flicker of a second too long for anyone to intervene.

Loki got out his dagger and stabbed Will.

[ruhorih4ra]

Greetings fellas 🐏 so I was looking for some Replaced!au but I think I just read all of them? Sadly I can't write that level of Angst but I decided to do my own silly version.

It's not really a replaced!au tho, or is it? Nvm. It's meant to have more parts but then again, who knows?

It contains:

Gn!Mc

¿Cómo traduzco "majaderías"? JAJSJAJ

Bad words? A rude Mc? Swearing words?

Ambiguous relationships.

Aaah, Angst.

Violence against fingers.

Grammar mistakes. ♡⁠˖⁠꒰⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠⑅⁠꒱

Get out of my way 🌈

“No one it's perfect.” You declared, looking at the wonderful black-haired woman with a stunning smile and beautiful gray eyes. “She's gorgeous!!” The Little D. murmured, a tiny demon of wrath dressed in neon green.

“Appearance is not everything.” you replied, slightly lifting your chin. “Some people are nice to look at and ugly to be around, bet you didn’t know that uh?” Just then, the woman helped a cat out of a tree even though she gained an ugly scratch in return. “That doesn't prove anything.” you said quickly, the laughter of another Little D. with orange eyes got on your nerves. “Shut up!” you said gritting your teeth. “I'm hungry, Mc!!” Shouted a little demon of gluttony, crying loudly and tapping the table you were at.

You were sitting at a lonely and abandoned table, surrounded only by annoying Little D’s. “Yeah, me too.” you started thinking about Hell’s Burgers, Backstabbing Sandwich, Broiled Deathfish, Hell’s Burgers again. “Mc! Ugh! You're drooling!” It was turn of the Little D. of lust complaints. “Shut up!! Mc can do whatever they want! Mc! Mc! Gimme a Grimm, pleeeasee!” “You're a scumbag like everyone of your kind!” “Quiet all of you!”

You inhaled deeply before letting out a tired sigh. “How did I end up like this? Where did everything go wrong?!”

Right, the new exchange student.

It was the beginning of a new year when she arrived, Diavolo couldn’t be blamed for continuing with his plans. You couldn't be the new exchange student forever and, in fact, you were actually pretty old news, weren't you? Optimisticly now you were part of RAD, part of the Devildom even.

When you think about it, it's really funny. You were in the council room. You were standing on the opposite side of the place designed for the new exchange student summoning, and it brought back memories of your own arrival. “This time everything will be different, she won't be afraid like I was! I'll be here!” you thought. You had been so excited to show her around! You could even recall how you made a promise to yourself, “I won't let the brothers be mean to her.” you rolled your eyes with annoyance. “Silly you!”

You had helped with the decision when Lucifer chose her, so you already knew she was beautiful, but oh dear god, if you hadn't known better, you would have thought she was an angel. As hard evidence, Asmo was all over her in a matter of seconds, you had felt his lust blossoming through your pact. You could also remember how you had felt a hint of jealousy.

At first, Lucifer had asked Beelzebub to take the guardian role but then and much to your surprise, Mammon complained since, in his own words “I have way more experience in that!” Mammon, the one who had always complained about being your babysitter. That had definately hurt you, but it was logical, you have changed the way they look at humans and now they have the chance to prove it.

The first week was a whole battle against yourself, you felt like a 5 year old getting angry because there is another baby around. “Of course they would be more attentive to her! She's new here!” But then again, you had felt like a stranger ever since she arrived.

The subtle way Mammon would blush when he spoke to her, getting closer and closer. That picture of Levi kissing her hands that you can’t get ride of (after all, she help him win against the final boss). That adorable way Beelzebub’s eyes would shine when she was in charge of breakfast and, God only knows just how many photos of her Asmodeus has taken, apparently never enough. The lights in Satan’s room are always on, and without fail you can find books, cats and her. Does she have a name or can you call her “Belphie’s favorite pillow”? most of the time, she would nap with him. The sting in your chest when you saw her dancing with Lucifer, at least he won’t try to break her hand too.

“What an ugly feeling is this.” Your voice was barely audible.

“But it was kind of normal back then, right? I was jealous because normally they would give me their full attention.” you began to hum and, looking at the Little D. of envy, you asked. “When did you arrive?” The tiny demon struck your pose and, similar to Solomon, brought his small hand to his chin. “I think it was when the brothers chose her over you!” The color of your eyes immediately turned to a terrifying neon green and the right eye began to twitch. The Little D. hid behind the others small demons, reeking of fear. “They did NOT chose HER over ME.” “They did.” “No.” “Yes.” “No!!” “Yes!!!” “They just picked the movie she wanted!! It's not the same!!”

How could something so utterly simple and ridiculous be the start of this mess?

It had been raining all day when Levi proclaimed that it was a perfect opportunity to watch a movie. You went to your room, ready to bring some pillows and blankets. You even took a few more for everyone, but when you got to the room, everybody was already in their seats watching the movie. The one she had chosen, they didn't even wait for you. You sat alone in silence, trying to no avail to look at the movie, but the feeling of comfort never reached you.

Before the movie ended you had already left the room, walking slowly towards your own. As you made your way to your chamber, you wondered if they had noticed how you left.

There was an aching sensation in your chest, the same feeling you would have when you feel left out rather than replaced. You heard SC laugh and she sounded happy, relaxed. You were glad that she was having such a great time, but it's so not fair!

You stopped at once. What did you just say? “It's so not fair!” you turned around following the shrill voice. There, behind a vase, was something that looked like black cotton candy. “Who are you?!” you walked closer to the little thing and, the closer you got the more you could see. A pair of playful eyes looked at you, a big smile on his face and a very cute hat. Leviathan's colors! It was a mini Little D. of envy! “Oooww! How cute!!” you cupped his form in your hands, he was an exact replica of a Little D., no bigger than your hands.

“Why are you here, little one?” “I'll eat your soul!” you took him with one hand and started to pet him with the other, you replied to his threats with an overly sweet voice, the type that one would use with a dog. “Sure you will, of course you will! Who will eat my soul! Who will? You!” It happened so fast that for a moment you stood still, watching the blood sliding through your hand. “AH, WHa-OUCH!!” The Little D. bit your finger and didn’t let go, roughly sinking his fangs. “Ouch!! Ouch!! Let me go, you little son of a bitch!!”

You tried to force your finger free but the Little D.'s fangs wouldn’t budge and so, the skin started to rip off, more and more blood coming out of your finger. “LET ME GO NOW!!”

The little demon’s eyes filled with fear, disappearing from your sight as soon as he had appeared. Your breathing was erratic and you could barely contain the shaking of your hands, there was blood everywhere. You bit your lips, the pain in your hand was unbearable.

“Fuck” you took your injured hand with the healthy and trembling one, examining the wound. Horrible mistake, it was a miracle that you hadn't drop dead right there. “Is that my fucking bone?”

“Humans are so fragile...” there was that piece of shit again, you were going to kill him. “Come here, I won't hurt you.” The feral look in your eyes must had given you away because the small demon took a step back instead. “You want to hit me.” “Nah.” You tried to reach him but he disappeared.

You breathed through your teeth, walking towards your room at a slow pace, as if your feet were the wounded ones. You spent the whole night casting spells for your finger, slowly and quietly. You didn’t know the ruckus you caused outside the next morning, when the brothers woke up only to find big bloodstains, your blood. They immediately went to your room, all seven of them had burst into the room. You were sleeping soundly with your body intact, except maybe for the way you were holding on your hand for dear life. Except perhaps for the tears stains on your face.

Part 2. ಠ⁠‿⁠ಠ

As always, thanks for reading! (⁠ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ⁠)⁠━⁠☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

What are some of your favorite manga of all time?

Oh this will be one of the easiest asks I've ever received! You've got me all hype, anon!

Fruits Basket

Wanna get me to talk for hours? Mention Fruits Basket. This was the first manga I ever read back when I was still in elementary school and I've never grown out of my love for the series. I will always have a spot for this manga but it's honestly perfection to me.

I love the characters, the messages, the themes and the emotional depth this manga has made me feel over the years? I honestly wish I could experience Fruits Basket all over again. This is without a doubt my favorite shoujo manga of all time. I love all the characters, I love all the ships. Some of my favorite characters off rip have to be Tohru, Shigure, Hatsuharu and Arisa and Saki. But make no mistake I adore Yuki and Kyo and so on and so forth.

This series does such a great job in such a complicated subject matter concerning neglect and abuse in a way that humanizes the abuser without using said humanization to justify their shitty actions. You leave those moments understanding how that person became how they are but can still completely acknowledge how terrible they are. How you don't have to forgive that person for what they did. And that, if you do forgive that person, that doesn't mean you're just letting bygones be bygones and being kumbaya with them. You can forgive and forget or you can forgive and never forget and that's okay. Your forgiving and moving forward for yourself, not them. And that's one of the things I really liked in the series.

Fullmetal Alchemist

Another series you can get me talking for hours about. You will catch me watching video essay after video essay analyzing this story. I was so into FMA during middle school, one of my moms even bought me the games and made it habit to occasionally buy me the volumes! This is without a doubt, the best shounen has to offer. Quality female characters? Amazing action scenes? Stunning romance? Banger after banger with so many panels I can still recall perfectly.

My favorite volume is definitely volume 15! Because of the manga, Brotherhood is my preference when it comes to the anime adaptations. It has all the homies in it. Another series I wish I could just start from the beginning again with no memory of the source material. These brothers and their friends have altered the chemistry of my brain.

NANA

Still believe that one day Yozawa will grace us with her beautiful art and storytelling all over again. NANA was my first ever jousei read and my dive into jousei as a whole. Until that point all I had consumed were shounen and shoujo so the maturity of the series was one I wasn't expecting. I consumed this series when I was about in early to late middle school and it was so much fun to read.

Now that I'm in my late 20s, holy hell is this hard to binge the way I used to because the themes, the struggles of the character and the realism of those struggles are hitting a little too close to home now. So I can only do NANA in small doses now haha. I even got both of my moms into NANA. Which isn't too impressive when one of my moms has watched the anime of every manga I've mentioned on this ask, but my other mom is NOT an anime fan and she loves NANA so much.

Children of the Sea

Oh my goodness, you definitely oh it to yourself to read this manga. It's not a long a read by any means with only 5 volumes and 43 chapters but it was such a pleasure to read. Maybe this bias comes from someone obsessed with the ocean (which my url definitely implies) and the life teeming underneath the surface but wow this was truly an experience. I watched the movie first and then read the manga, and I'm not sure if that'll shape anyone's viewing experience differently but I do wish I had read the manga first. But both are truly great to check out.

If you want a story about a girl meeting two boys raised by dugongs, this is the story for you. One of my favorite aspects of this read were the side stories labeled Testimony of the Sea. It adds so much to the story without even directly influencing the plot as you see all the strange phenomena that take place in the sea leading up to this mysterious event drawing in our protagonists and what will continue well after its conclusion.

Skip & Loafer

Currently ongoing and a series I was not expecting to like as much as I did. I'm one of the people who got into sukirofa after the anime dropped. 2 episodes in and seeing the absolute beauty and grace of how the staff handled the protagonist's transgender aunt, I had to give this a read and I do not regret in the slightest. This is such a great series and a perfect example how one utilizes 'don't judge a book by its cover'.

Characters you meet at first glance? It only takes a chapter or two before their layers are peeled back and you see how much went in to crafting them and making them more complex than meets the eye. A perfect example of this is the character Mika.

But my favorite chapter has to be ch 29 where you learn what made Nao decide to come out and transition. If you haven't read this series, I won't spoil it, you have to read it for yourself. Prepare for a monthly update schedule, because once that day of the month pops up, it's amazing to see how the sukirofa fandom comes together to scream on twitter and tumblr.

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

The series that gave birth to the greatest hater in anime history. Araki truly drinks and leaves no molecules every time a part comes out. Another ongoing series I didn't expect to like as much as I did. But it's become a series close to my heart since diving into it after I got over my initial hesitance with the art style. Honestly JJBA's art style really grows on you, especially as you see Araki's art and writing develop so spectacularly.

You get equal parts continuous story and standalone adventure. You do need other pieces of the pie, but each part still feels so rich and in-depth and bright and colorful. You don't feel like the new JoJo and characters introduced are extensions of previous existing ones or usurpers that have stolen the panels away from other characters. It's like watching a torch be passed down from JoJo to JoJo, generation to generation (which it technically is since this story follows the descendants of the JoJo that started it all, Jonathan Joestar).

Araki's biggest source of writing inspiration came from how he felt watching Prince concerts. How the story of the concert would suddenly flip and give you a whole new experience. I feel he truly has that down with JJBA.

Concubine Walkthrough

Can't believe I even forgot to add Concubine Walkthrough, so take this quick addendum. This is one of the best manhwa I've ever read in my life and not enough people talk about it. I'm working on a post right now all about why I recommend it.

If you're a fan of sci-fi, romance and want to read an otome isekai romp that subverts your expectations? Please read this manhwa. It's The Matrix mixed with historical Korean fiction (and of course, otome isekai at its finest).

I loved loved LOVED the philosophy behind the story, the themes. The discussion of what reality is and choosing what reality means/is to you. Just because your entire life is a simulation, does that make your entire life up until that point irrelevant? Simulated it may be, your joy, your pain, your love, all of that still felt real, right? There were so many things I never considered about that very topic until I read this series and I feel like more people should give it a go. It's not that long a read (only 128 chapters for the main story with some extra bonus content on the side), please please PLEASE read Concubine Walkthrough if you haven't already.

[ykiwrite]

bonnie & clyde

description: falsely accused, you found yourself behind jericho's bars but wednesday is already on her way to reunite

warnings: jail ig, crimes, fluff

words: ~1.7k

The wintry concrete had no mercy on you.

Neither did the rocklike walls you were leaning against. Walls that granted the cold outside air to pass along. Making your breaths morph into a fog.

They could've at least try to make it a bit more presentable, meeting basic human living conditions. Now that you think it over it could potentially be a strategy. A mind game to scare off anyone daring to defy the law.

The comfort of your own home be it a cabin in the woods with beaten up couch or Jericho's prison cell?

But we're talking about Jericho at the end of the day. Town close to Nevermore. Where most likely plenty of jail escapes happened that left the institution demolished resulting in repair bills stacking up. It made the town give up on making it look and feel acceptable enough, so they opted for the unwelcoming ambiance and fewer expenses.

There are stories you are sure of but can't recall the details. Most of them were students shapeshifting, sneaking, and outsmarting the system never to be seen again. Nothing could really hold them back and officers were not paid high enough to keep a hawk eye 24/7.

Unless you are a person who's honest to a fault or pretending to be, you would take your chance to get out.

As to why are you trapped here regardless of your protests, you couldn't give the right answer. You knew the timeline though and had a decent alibi.

You kept repeating the events leading to this internally so this gray and grim surroundings wouldn't make you forget it. Maybe you were too dramatic but it's a decent safety measure.

Wednesday and her knowledge of crime and forensic psychology taught you so.

Before sitting on this concrete, you found yourself sitting in the Weathervanes booth. Wednesday savored her usual order in comfortable silence while eyeing abandoned Jericho's morning papers. A coffee stain mark stuck on the papers was like a thorn in her side.

"We should stop by the shop to get stuff for tonight," you declared while looking at the red sky and sun going down. Resting your head on your hand, you checked off the list of things you need.

"Mhm," she muttered. Slamming the cup down loud enough to make a statement of 'let's get moving then'.

The subtle gesture of being few steps ahead to open the door for you made you beam. "How generous."

"How many times are we going to have this conversation? Everytime i do something considered 'nice' you emphasize it. Even when i don't you do too. Where's the balance?" she asked from behind.

"Yet you still do all of the nice things so i'm not really stopping you from anything. You're just delusional but that's fine. I already accepted you. Being delusional is level one difficulty at this point."

Wrapping your arm around her pridefully, knowing you hushed her and she has to deal with the loss and your touch.

Lost in the depths of conversation, as expected once again she opened the doors for you. Question of whether was it intentional or not left hanging. This time you didn't bother.

You were circling around the aisles with speed and a clear mission. Not wanting to spend too much time here so your girlfriend doesn't get moody. With each additional step, you felt dizzier yet more aware. Your vision was hazy and the labels were hard to read.

Initial thought was to warn Wednesday who should be somewhere behind you, except she wasn't. Noticing a lack of her presence you tried to compose yourself. Grabbing the shelf and thinking it will gain you stability but it was to no avail. You could feel your body going slump as you stumbled down. Mere minutes after that were blurry. Only a faint memory present of being in the tight grip of the officers walking you out.

So here you are staring at the floor and loss for words. It was awfully quiet with only fan buzzing from the outside space. Yes, despite the cold temperature. But there was no guilt present, far from it. You were certain this is a framed situation. With no known enemies, the name of the wrongdoer was left to debate.

Door creaking. Footsteps. Maybe a pair of them.

You watched the hallway corner through the bars. Primed to see the expected officer carrying good news. Or anyone really.

What was at the lowest part of your expectations was locking gazes with your most prized horror collection who was drenched in rain like a mouse. Droplets of rain were sliding down her figure leaving a dark trail in contrast with the floor.

"I'm here to get you out," she claimed but not before her eyes scanned the cell you have been locked in. She could feel the anger reaching new highs never seen before. Someone like you, more importantly, a Wednesday's one and only that's sparred off of the hate list to breathe in such surroundings? Let alone a heart like yours be falsely charged. A wave of burden and guilt washed over her despite her acclaimed rational mindset. Crime may be part of Addams fixed tradition but she wanted you nowhere near it.

You might be left feeling more sentimental than she is, as seen in the way her fingers quickly divided the jiggling keys with full focus.

"How did you get in?" you asked while she was working on setting you free.

"Thing helped with the keys and distracting the guards. He also gathered considerable amount of solid evidence in your favor in the past day or so," followed by a sigh.

With that said it was a load off your mind. Secondly having the Addams as your backup and their daughter who's an unstoppable force and a menace once she loves someone sounded lovely.

"So what happened? I know it's impossible i did anything wrong?"

Click. "You were a victim of a shapeshifting accident. Someone copied your form which is the most probable reason why you lost conscious. They robbed the shop in your name and left you there. Thank the Thing for linking the pieces together and seeing them." She stated along with sliding the metal doors.

Your freezing body stood still while she waited for you to come out.

"You really went out of your way to get me out of jail?"

She sighed and leaned on the bar, "Only because i'm experienced in this field more than any other person you know." Which was true. Who else would save you so professionally?

"Besides," she added surveying the room with her arms crossed, "you're not the type of person deserving to decompose in here."

Well aware you could not afford to lose more time but adrenaline mixed emotions were making laps around your heads. Wednesday felt as if she had failed you. Yes, she may just got you out of it but she could've also prevented it from happening in the first place. It's the first time she deeply regretted watching the knife set on display instead of shopping alongside you.

It made her mind drift back to her own parents. Is this how her mother felt when her dearest husband got arrested also unfairly? She slowly started to sorrow the curse Addams bear and project onto everyone around them. It only brings dark and no light, seen from the first hand by Wednesday alone.

Her demeanor came off as troubled. Knowing Wednesday she was either waiting for you to move or deeply contemplating something. It's never solid ground with her.

"Let's leave at the back door. Thing is waiting for us there." Wednesday ordered, her gaze on you unmoved.

You took a few steps forward, getting closer to her. Mindful you are carelessly dragging out precious time needed for escape but it didn't sound that bad in your head.

Only now it struck you at a short distance how different she looked. The modest makeup was smeared due to rainfall and she had a tough time hiding the fact she was shivering too.

"You're freezing Wednesday." You exclaimed with outright worry. Pushing your own, the same condition away as less important one.

"So are you."

Your body worked faster than your mind, daring to crash against hers. With zero care about her soaked clothes which would make you colder even more if it weren't repressed by your disclosure.

Suddenly, it wasn't so cold anymore.

Wednesday didn't push you away. As it happens, she pressed you closer. Deeper into her arms, And she kept doing so. Both of you unspokenly agreed. It's going to be okay. If the warmth never leaves, it's okay.

"Thank you." A voice made Wednesday close her eyes and relish it. You couldn't see her face but she was drinking in your presence. Days we're long without you after all and she was at one's mercy.

The manner in which you brushed the back of her head made her almost overlook the plan that's not yet executed fully.

Spotting the Thing in the corner, she reconnected the pieces of herself you separated in a such loving way and muttered behind your back, "The ride is here. I think."

Pulled away first, Wednesday signaled you to follow her.

You were not long exposed to the rain before entering the black coated car on standby. Certainly Addams.

Upon entering in sync, you took a note it was empty except for the driver that's already increasing speed.

You let her know, "What now? It's one of your cars."

Wednesday was certain you had your own theories as to where what and when. Most of them were surely wrong.

"It felt like i had no chance and right to take risks so i called my parents. They gladly assisted me." Lies. She was afraid. Aware she alone could not do all the job done and you might wind up on the wrong end. One with no happy ending she couldn't fathom.

"You got it all sorted out, huh?"

She didn't. Not completely. Maybe not at all. But it was okay for now. You're here, Thing is here hanging somewhere underneath the car thats crossing a route known only by the driver and Wednesday.

If it's for love, Addams will find a way to make it happen.

notes: to share the pain; i listened to pink in the night by mitski and nghyb by cas specifically while writing the part she got reader out of the jail and i dont think ill recover, those songs are her for some reason and i can explain in an essay