#she is not immune to freaking out over her wife and he is more than willing to play impulse control for a few minutes

[laswells-ashtray]

One day, someone makes the mistake of mentioning Kate's wife when she's on the field and Gaz, Ghost and Soap expect her to be fine.

John knows better.

It takes John, Ghost, and Soap between them, with Gaz holding a hand over the guys mouth to stop Kate from genuinely being at risk of killing him. John actually lifts her off of the ground and walks out with her kicking and fighting to get out of his grip.

Ghost has to guard the door when he drags her out, Soap and Gaz can be heard getting a little hands-on with their interrogation. John’s grip on Kate is so tight that she'll undoubtedly bruise, but she'll forgive him when he stops her from losing her job.

"Kate- Kate, stop fucking- CALM DOWN- Think about it, it's a scare tactic. Sarah is at home with the cats, and she's fine, he wouldn't tell you about it if he wasn't going to touch her. She's alright."

"You don't fucking know that, you've seen the pictures, John. You know what he does to people-"

"Kate, calm down. Call her, phone Sarah right now and listen to her voice. She's fine, you'll be fine."

Even Simon has an undeniable picture of Laswell in her head. She's unshakeable, she's calm and she's fucking funny when she feels like it. But he's never seen this before, she's downright vicious and he can't help but watch with wide eyes as John grabs her phone out of her pocket and forces it into her hands. Can't help how his lip twitches into a frown that none of them can see as her voice shakes when she talks down the phone to her wife. How she slumps against Price and he holds her up, muttering quietly to her as her wife's voice speaks through the phone.

"She's fine. You're fine. He's a lying git, Kate. Nothing's going to happen to Sarah, you'd never allow it and neither would I. Hell, neither would Nik. The big bugger loves her."

Simon knows better than anyone that they're all human, despite all the rumours and the hero worship everyone gazes at them with. They're people. But sometimes even he forgets that Kate Laswell isn't a Station Chief, she's a woman with a wife at home and a group of cats that John likes laughing at pictures of. It's for that reason that he looks away, offers her the dignity of calming down in peace and slipping back into the Watcher persona without his eyes on her.

He pointedly ignores the grateful look John shoots him.

[seresinhangmanjake]

I've Promised You Forever

Dad!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female reader

Summary: Jake and his Honey are married!

Notes/Warnings: None, really.

Words: 2454

Oh, Baby Series

---

“You’re less nervous than I expected,” Rooster said, his eyes meeting Jake’s in the mirror as they adjusted their bowties in sync. 

They’d been up for hours, the whole house alive and bustling as people put things in place. Phoenix, his mother, and Gram stayed by your side, but the rest of his team set about accomplishing their own tasks. Coyote was on decorations. Payback on flowers. Fanboy on the cake—probably not the best of ideas if they wanted it arriving without a bite taken out of the side. Bob had Eve. And Rooster, with the exception of occasionally checking on the others, had remained with Jake. 

“Am I?” Jake asked, but in truth his friend was right. He wasn’t nervous. From all that led up to this day, he found no reason to be.

“For this being the day you marry the love of your life? Yes, I would say you’re surprisingly calm.” Done with his tie, Rooster turned to eye the side of his friend’s face. “I mean, I know this is literally happening in your own backyard, but it’s still a big deal.”

Jake finished messing with the bow and his hand landed on Rooster’s shoulder, giving it a few pats. “Of course it’s a big deal. I’m not denying that.”

“Ok, then why—”

“How is she doing?”

Rooster paused at the sudden shift, but adaptable as he was, he adjusted quickly to the randomly tossed question. He thought over his answer, then his brow lightly pinched, his head tilted to the side, and he said, “Actually…no more nervous than you.” He shook the confusion off his face. “I don’t get it. I’d be freaking out right now, but I guess I’ll chalk it up to you two already facing such a hefty amount of trials and tribulations together that you’re numb to nerves.”

Jake chuckled. That hefty amount was no joke. Nothing about you and Jake managed to edge along the conventional route. Not how you became a family. Not how you developed as a couple. Not how you chose to marry. Your relationship was forced through more than most, and at the end of the day, it was being one another’s rock in a sea of utter chaos that made it all survivable. 

More challenges would find their way to his family, Jake knew. No one was immune. But come hell or high water, you and Jake proved to be unbreakable, and that wasn’t going to change. 

“She looks incredible, though,” Rooster continued. “You’re going to lose your mind.”

—

“How do you feel? Are you nervous? Can you believe you’re finally going to be married?” All questions shot from Jake's mother as she straightened out the veil attached to your loose bun. “It feels so different being a wife. But I know you’re the best possible woman for my son.”

You turned your head to meet her eyes and you smiled. “Thank you, Eliza.”

She rounded you and took your hand in hers, lightly squeezing. “I know you and Jake have had a rather unique journey, but if anything, I believe that proves how much you are meant to be together.”

You grinned and nodded in agreement. Unique was right. In every way. From the moment you met, you knew your path together would not be straight. It would have its twists and its turns, as it eventually did. But that jagged road the two of you had wobbled along trained you and Jake to accept being different. And in being different, you were more than happy to throw out rules and expectations, instead choosing to do exactly as you wanted whenever you wanted to do it. 

That habit was demonstrated perfectly the night prior when Jake snuck back home despite his mother’s and friends’ insistence on not seeing his bride before the wedding. He’d waited until his team fell asleep at Rooster's, then drove back to his house, kissed his daughter’s forehead, and snuggled up to you in bed, not caring about the scolding once his absence would be discovered come morning; a scolding that came in the form of his Gram's small hand smacking into his shoulder. 

A sudden knock at the door was followed by the peeking of Nat’s head into the room. “You ready?” she asked. “Rooster is about to go down the aisle with Eve.” 

You grinned at the thought of the job you’d assigned your friend, which he’d accepted with an unexpected excitement. And thankfully you’d enlisted Payback as photographer so you’d get to see for yourself the six-foot tall wall of a man holding an infant and a basket of flower petals in his arms as he made his way towards Jake. 

And then it would be your turn.

"Ready," you confirmed. 

—

Under any other circumstances, Jake would’ve chuckled. He would’ve taken the opportunity to tease his friend the way his friends so often teased him. But as he watched Rooster carry his baby girl down the aisle, doing his best to hold her close and help her drop light pink petals along the pathway, Jake couldn’t help but smile. 

Eve was content in his arms. She was peaceful, as if she knew it was a joyful day over anything else. She hadn’t cried without Mama and Daddy, Bob informed him. She didn’t fuss when made to put on her white tulle dress or slide the headband into her wispy hair. So when she reached the end of the aisle, in appreciation Jake bent down to place a kiss on her forehead before Rooster took his position to the left of his shoulder. 

“Deep breath,” Rooster muttered as everyone in their seats stood and turned. 

His mother’s arm was linked with yours while she guided you past your friends toward him. The smile you displayed was ear to ear. Bright. Vibrant. But his mother’s took up nearly half of her face; wide with lips pulled back so far the corners caught her tears before they could reach her chin. 

She’d thanked him a million times the week before. Despite becoming so prominent in Jake’s life, she had the lingering sense that at any moment, he would cut her out again. She felt it an honor to be at her son’s wedding, to walk the woman he loved down the aisle and hand her over so he could call his little family complete. Though, rings on fingers and vows from lips were not a symbol of completion, not for him. He’d been complete from the moment you came back into his life with his baby girl strapped to your chest. 

Jake’s eyes remained locked on you as you neared. Each of your steps came with a matching thump of his heart. He’d never tire of seeing you come to him; the anticipation of having you close and holding you in his arms, even when simply being greeted after a long day at work. Still, this was a bit more—an acknowledgment in front of everyone he loved that he could officially call you ‘wife’ whenever and wherever he wanted—and he pressed his heels into the ground to keep from bouncing on his toes. 

Once you were close enough that he could catch your flowered perfume, Jake took your hand from his mother and raised it to his lips to brush a soft kiss over the back. “Hi, Honey," he whispered, intertwining your fingers. You gave your bouquet over to Phoenix then took his other hand, mirroring the weaving of fingers. 

A subtle pink tinted your cheeks. “Hi."

“Alright,” Gram clasped her palms together. “You kids ready to be married?" 

Your teasing smile sent a zing down Jake’s spine and he returned it with a wink. 

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, then called to the small crowd, "You can all be seated and we'll get this show on the road."

His ears felt full of fuzz as his grandmother began to speak her practiced lines; the ones she’d run over with him a hundred times to make sure they suited his wishes, despite him telling her just as many times that whatever she would say would be perfect. Jake knew he’d be solely focused on you anyway, taking away from his ability to fully absorb her words. 

Her voice was a consistent humming in his ear, and not until she lightly nudged him in the arm did he snap out of the glowy haze you’d surrounded him in to realize it was his cue. 

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. When you giggled his lips curved upwards. “Honey…” he started but then paused to stare again, just for another moment. At how amazing you were. At how beautiful, wrapped in a dress that hugged every dip and swell of your figure, with the soft style of your hair, and the red shade painting your lips. He was already imagining the marks of your kiss all over his body. 

Then sensing the flush of his skin and the sting of oncoming tears, he swallowed to try to hold himself together. His fingers squeezed yours tighter. 

“Honey, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it forever,” he began. “I love you. I love everything you are. Everything we are. I love the work and the struggles and the progress we’ve made to have what we have. I love our baby girl.” A tear slipped down your cheek that Jake reached up to brush away with his thumb before taking your hand again. “The two of you are my gift. My world and my heart. You own a piece of me that I never want you to give back,” he continued. “And I wake each morning thankful that you were so strong when having our Eve. I thank you for being so brave when you chose to come back into my life," he said. "You’re everything and all of it, Honey.”

Your thumb stroked over his, then you pulled his hand closer to press a kiss to the digit. “Jake,” you sniffled. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it forever.” He snickered at the familiar line before allowing a smile that matched yours to take over his face. “We were never a mistake. We weren’t a matter of convenience or simplicity. We weren’t a shot in the dark,” you said. “I believe that someway, somehow, this is where we would have inevitably found ourselves. Standing here, with our baby beside us, husband and wife. This is how it was always meant to be. And I know that in my soul.

"I love you," was a clear statement from your lips. "You are mine, Jake Seresin. You’re everything and all of it.”

Your radiating love filled him fully and he settled comfortably into the warmth that spread through his veins. Then he heard another sniffle, just to his right.

“Goodness,” Gram breathed as she wiped at a fallen tear. “You two…” She shook her head; took another breath. “Rings?”

Bob reached around Rooster to hand your ring to Jake as Phoenix slipped his into your palm. The exchange of bands rebloomed the flutters in his stomach. Then before Gram could get out her next instruction, Jake framed your face with his hands and joined your lips in a long kiss. 

“I love you, Honey,” he muttered between one soft kiss and the next. “Always.”

—

The evening had passed in the blink of an eye, but you didn’t miss a single detail of how the day unfolded. Each bit of it utterly perfect. Each moment more precious than the last. You couldn’t say you woke that morning with any expectations other than to enjoy your friends and family, but now that it was nearing its close, you realized everything far surpassed what you could’ve ever hoped for. A wedding had the potential to bring some chaos, as did most things during your and Jake’s relationship, but it was nothing other than smooth and easy. Everyone you cared for was by your side. Your daughter was happy in the company of those who loved her most. And you and Jake were together. All as should be.

Under the low glow of the fairy lights woven through the trees, you and Jake swayed to the gentle music. With your head resting on his shoulder, your arms around one another, you watched your friends and family enjoying themselves. Laughing, joking, teasing each other. They took turns dancing with your daughter in their arms, dancing with each other, or their dates. Rooster’s in particular–your friend and coworker—had her eyes glued to him and a blush across her cheeks as he rocked Eve back and forth while slowly moving about the installed dance floor. 

"You still feel alright with not telling them?" Jake’s voice was suddenly low in your ear, far from able to be heard by your guests with you being off to the edge of the wooden flooring. 

"That we've been married for months?” you asked. “Yes, I imagine it's still best we keep that to ourselves."

“I agree,” Jake said with a chuckle. "Think of the drama we'd face from our devastating betrayal."

"I know. I can't believe how selfish we are." 

He hummed. “You know, if you really think about it, by not telling them we are actually sparing them the pain and trauma.”

"That’s very true."

Jake chuckled again, a vibration from his chest to yours, and hugged you closer. A moment later you lifted your head to meet his eyes and smiled at your husband. The man who had been your husband for one hundred and twenty-six days, officially tied exactly three days after he slid that engagement ring onto your finger. You’d planned on waiting, but not seventy-two hours later, as you laid beside one another in bed, skin still damp with sweat and chests rising and falling in heavy breaths, Jake suddenly flipped on his side, cupped your cheek, and said: ‘What if we do it tomorrow?’. The rapid expelling of the question made you realize he had been thinking about it as much as you had. You’d instantly agreed, smiled, kissed, and spent the rest of the night wrapped around one another. The next morning you were married, and maintained the agreement that no one else needed to know. The two of you would know. And that was enough. 

"No,” you reaffirmed, brushing a stray lock of his blond hair back into place. “I think I like having our little secret."

Jake paused the movement of your bodies and, with a grin, said, "So do I, Honey." Then he placed his hands on your cheeks, just as he had earlier in the day, and once again drew you in for a kiss.

---

A/N: I hope it was ok :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @mayhemmanaged @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie

[katerinaaqu]

Epic the Musical:

Circe: Oh my! He cannot be transformed by my powers! What do I do?! What do I do?! Think think I need to protect my nymphs! Oh I know! He's a man after all! I'll seduce the hell out of him to get my power over him back! He clearly can defeat my entourage of wolves and lions all by himself! I mean he's damn immune to my magic! I am sure he can do anything with his sword!

Circe: *aggressive flirting*

Odysseus: Oh my gods oh my gods she is hot...what the hell?! Oh I am just a man! Forgive me... No! Wait! J can't! I love My wife way too much! Please let us go home! I miss my wife!

Circe: Awww that is so sweet! Of course darling. I was always a sucker for a good soap opera. Of course I'll help you free of charge and here's some useful tips for your trip! Drive home safely!

The Odyssey:

Circe: Oh my! This man actually had the AUDACITY to come in my home and threaten me! And he took all precautions (a God helped him no doubt). Finally a man I can consider worthy of standing by my side and not bad looking either!

Circe: Come on, darling. Remove your clothes and let's get down on it! Let's see what you've got!

Odysseus: (oh my! Forgive me Penelope that is the only way to save my men! Hermes told me not to refuse her a thing! She is a freaking goddess that commands all these wild beasts! Power over me or not she's a force to be reconed with!) F-Fine but I cannot do what you ask before I ensure my men are safe. Please release them first and then I will (gods gotta buy myself time! Ain't prepared!)

Circe: *does that*

Odysseus: *sighs* I guess we're doing this...

*A year later*

Odysseus: Okay men you had your fun but I can't keep entertaining her forever! We must go home!

Odysseus: Please Circe let me and my people go! We have to go back

Circe: Oh but can't you stay a bit more?

Odysseus: No...I miss my wife and son

Circe: Fine, my dear, if that's what you want... Your happiness is more important than my satisfaction and I love you so I shall let you go. You paid your price fully. Here are some useful tips for you, some provisions and good luck...

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 2)

Rhys x reader

A/n: First off, I am so sorry this is months later. I did not realize I wrote part 1 in freaking October until I reread it for a refresher. Like no wonder so many of you asked me about part 2! There will not be a part 3 (so sorry if you have your hopes up for that after reading this).

Warnings: blood, violence, and eventual fluff

The throne room filled quickly. You couldn’t pick out faces even if you wanted to. Looking down you see the unlucky prince you had grabbed in your rage was Eris. The only surprise you showed at his fear was a raise of your eyebrow.

Seeing ghosts scares people. Eris isn’t immune to that.

The crowd parts, letting Beron. When he sees you with a sword to his heirs bleeding throat he pales. “Everyone out!” Beron roars. The room empty’s in seconds. Leaving the three of you alone.

“You,” Beron says cooly, raising a shaking finger at you. “You, are supposed to be dead.”

——

Rhys hasn’t broken his stride or acknowledged his family since the cemetery. Ripping open his closet door and donning his leathers Cassian finally grabs him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall. Everyone waits with bated breath at the threshold of the bedroom. Azreil stands between the family and his brothers to absorb any fallout.

“Rhysand! Stop! By the fucking Cauldron, what do you mean she is not dead?” Cassian’s booming voice causes even Azriel to take a step back. But Rhys stands strong. Mirth dancing in his eyes. “The bond never broke,” he said with that haunting laugh and even more troubling smile.

“I have felt nothing since Hybern. The bond it…it’s just been waiting for y/n to wake up.” Cassian let go, his face pale. Instead of being angry he wanted answers. He was beyond confused at how you could possibly be alive. They saw your body, watched as your coffin was buried!

“What’s the plan Rhys?” Azriel asked, a slight shake in his usually calm voice. Another haunting laugh leaves Rhys’ lips. “Eris has been screaming in my head for an hour. She went right to the Autumn Court. My vengeful wife, HA!” Azriel and Cassian look at each other. Then it clicked.

Beron had found your body.

He had been the one to alert everyone, even brought Rhys over to you.

As if he was reading their minds Rhys began to voice their train of thought, “Beron saw an opportunity at the end of the war and took it. The instability of everything. He needed to take me out of the equation first before taking out any of the other courts. ‘Killing’ y/n was the way to go. Smart. He wants Prythian. Wants to be High King and for that he needs all the courts to rely on him. He has been creating problems that only he and his court can solve.

“I’ve been in contact with Kallius and Helion over the last few weeks. After Amren’s last meeting with the governors I knew it was Beron. Without us and trying to keep their courts alive it’s been a mess.” “So you are aware the court is struggling?” Amren interjects. Anger rolling from her tiny body in waves. Rhys turns to look at her. His face sympathetic and guilty. “I know you’ve been doing everything I should be. And I am so sorry. I should have never shut down like that. But I couldn’t…”

Cassian claps a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “We understand, brother.” Had it been any of them Rhys would be doing the same thing his family was doing.

“I’ve reached out to Kall and Helion. They are meeting us in Autumn soon. Get ready to go.” His brothers nod, leaving Rhys to prepare for what awaits him in Autumn.

——

Back in the throne room you stall Beron. You want him to continue his tirade, letting all his anger out so you can deflect it right back at him. When he paused you dug your blade deeper into Eris’ throat. He held back his wince. Knowing the punishment from his father would be worse than loosing his head.

Before you could open your mouth to retaliate the bond in your chest stirred. You felt everything all at once. Anger, relief, love, and grief.

Rhysand.

He knows. He came for you.

Surprise shines in your eyes. Looking down at Eris he meets your gaze, his own amber eyes screaming ‘I did this. I told him. Please let me go.’

Dropping the sword from his neck Eris breathed out a sigh of relief. “Go,” you growl at him. He scrambles off the dias, deciding that leaving you and his father alone would be best. He dashes for the large double doors. Your eyes never leaving his back until Eris disappears from view.

You need to stall longer. Although you can feel Rhys again he’s far. Probably just winnowing to the border of the court.

Making a show of bringing your sword up to your eyes to inspect Eris’s blood slowly dripping down the sharp edge. You wipe it off on the skirt of your dress. Looking down at the swishing black fabric you notice how dirty and tattered it is. You don’t know if it’s from being buried for so long or pulling yourself out of your grave. Maybe it’s both.

The memory of waking up in the pitch black and digging yourself out flash through your mind. You want to drop to your knees and cry until you have no tears left. A pulse of love comes down the bond full force. It gives a you a renewed strength as you stare down Beron. Soon, it promised. Soon you could do all of that in Rhys’ arms.

Lifting your sword you point it at Beron. “We have a score to settle, asshole.” He smirks at you. Reaching out he pulls his sword from thin air. Sweeping into a ready stance. Beron curls his fingers, beckoning you forward. “Let’s see if the dead can fight.”

You run toward him, letting a cry rip from deep in your chest. You are going to kill this motherfucker.

The two of you keep clashing. Metal against metal ringing throughout the throne room. Slash after slash you finally feel the adrenaline wearing off. You’re weak and can feel he’s gaining the upper hand. Beron backs you toward the dias.

With a mighty swing Beron has you down. Your back hits the wooden stairs. Wasting time trying to recover, Beron stomps over, kicking your sword from your hand. Beron pushes his heavy boot against your open hand. You scream at the feel of your fingers cracking between his weight and the wood. He lets out a cruel cackle. “This time, I’m going to kill you for real.”

Beron raises the menacing blade. Ready to strike right through your heart. Closing your eyes you brace yourself for impact. It never comes.

The doors explode. You take a risk and move your eyes off Beron to see who has barged in. Rhys, those gorgeous wings on display. He’s flanked by Azriel and Cassian. Kallius and Viv with Mor at her side. Helion and his general. Beron must’ve done something to really piss off three High Lords while you were buried.

Everything went by in a blur. All you could do was watch. Rhys could’ve easily fought Beron on his own but it seemed like they each wanted a piece of him. Near the end Eris comes racing in, his neck bandaged. It’s an easy fight in the end.

Eris brings his father to his knees. Broken and bruised, he surrenders. Eris takes control, ordering Beron to be sent to the dungeons and watched at all times. His execution would come soon. Eris didn’t want him escaping.

You feel arms around you. Jumping, you look to your side and see Rhys. You almost didn’t recognize him with the beard. There was hope twinkling in his eyes. Silver lining them as he stares at you in disbelief.

A loud cry escapes your lips as you put all your weight on your mate. Rhys says something that you don’t hear, your ears are still ringing from the explosion. Darkness consumes your vision as the throne room falls from you. You cower into Rhys’ chest hoping the light comes back.

When you feel a floor beneath you again you pull away from his chest. Looking around you find you’re back in the Town House. Home. You are finally home.

You see the family behind you, not wanting to scare you. Tears fall freely down your face. When you woke up in that box you never thought you would see them again. By some miracle the Mother decided you weren’t done living yet and gave you back.

“I knew you weren’t dead.” Rhys whispered, kissing your forehead. “I could never leave you.” You say softly, looking up at him. He smiles at you. Tears falling down his face into his beard. Bringing a hand up you run your fingers through his beard.

For someone who has been depressed it’s very well kept. “I like the beard.” Rhys laughs as he pulls you into a hug. After embracing on the floor for what feels like hours Rhys shifts so you are looking up at him again.

“I want Madja to look you over, then we can get you into a bath my love.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across your cheek. Wiping away dried mud and blood. You won’t argue with him. You can tell he just wants to take care of you. “Sounds perfect.”

[kurithedweeb]

An idea I had last night: Jacob survives.

So, instead of the amulet just making everyone drop dead, we're going with the curse being a plague. (Thank you @irenes-journal for turning the plague amulet idea into what it is today.)

In canon, the amulet kills everyone save the person holding it, so the plague amulet would theoretically grant one person immunity, or at least resistance. How it grants some kind of immunity/resistance is by releasing antibodies for the plague, slowly at first to acclimatize the body a bit before it floods the system, and Jacob got some of the antibodies before he gave it to Aaron.

He was the first to fall ill, and he took twice as long to succumb to the illness than anyone else infected did. The town doctor died before Jacob did, so when he fell into a coma that looked a whole lot like death, he was mistaken for dead.

Lily was barely holding on herself at this point, and Aaron came back from burying the day's dead to find his wife and son dead in Jacob's room. Lily worshipped Menphia and some minor gods, being from Tu'la, and raised Jacob to do the same since Aaron's side of the family doesn't worship any recognized religion (Ultima stuff is for later), and there was a small tomb previously made for when Lily and her children died according to Tu'lan burial practices. Which gives Jacob some more time than he'd have in a grave to get out before he runs out of air.

Aaron goes on burying bodies and surveying the sick while he mourns his own family's loss. Jacob wakes up maybe a day or two later in the dark with what remains of Lily. Obviously, he freaks out, crying out for help, and no one comes. Fueled by adrenalin and fear, he manages to open the tomb door just enough for him to squeeze through, and he finds the streets covered in graves. He has no idea what's going on, no clue how long it's been, but he runs home and his dad's not there and all the streets he's run down are empty and stinking of rot. He needs his dad to not be dead, so he comes up with this idea that obviously Aaron thought he was dead like everyone else and left.

And so Jacob packs a bag and sets out to leave Falconclaw, and he leaves barely an hour before Aaron gets home. They just miss each other.

Jacob isn't well. He collapses on the road and wakes up in a merchant caravan bound for some village way North. He asks if any of them have seen his father, says he's the son of the Lord of Falconclaw, and one of the mercenaries hired to guard the caravan sees an opportunity. By the time the caravan reaches its destination, Aaron is already in O'khasis being groomed by Zane to become a Juror.

Jacob is snatched off the street by the same mercenaries who were guarding the caravan and sold to someone visiting from Tu'la, and he winds up a servant boy for one of the king's vassal clans. Maybe Nana's, maybe the one his mother escaped from. The plague left him incredibly scarred, so for a long time he's a faceless, bandaged figure in the shadows of the house, all this anger and frustration building up inside him at not being able to figure out a way home, until one day the master of the house thinks it'd be funny to match a servant boy against one of his soldier-apprentices.

And Jacob wins. No training, having thrown away his weapon and beaten the other boy with his bare hands until they were dripping in blood. He's sent to the gladiator pits, maybe the same ones Liochant grew up in, and as long as he has his anger he dominates. His contract is bought by some wealthy noble with a penchant for collecting pretty, broken things, and on the road he kills them and flees into the night.

By the time he gets back to O'khasis, Aaron's time on the Jury is over and he's disappeared completely, having forsaken his own name and become The Stranger. This is when Jacob finally hears about, finally confirms, the fall of Falconclaw. He goes to Zianna, waiting for her to be out in town before he approaches her. She and his mother considered themselves sisters, once, and Zianna had been an excellent spy in Tu'la, if anyone would help him it'd be her. All Zianna has to give him is rumors, but anything is better than nothing.

He takes it, he thanks her, he goes on the road trying to find his father, and gets waylaid a bunch on the way by saving people and taking out the mercenary company that sold him to that Tu'lan visitor and into years of servitude and gladiator rings. He had a number of names in Tu'la, but he goes back to the name from a lifetime ago, introducing himself everywhere he goes as Jacob Lycan, son of Aaron Lycan, last Lord of Falconclaw, in an effort to see if his father will be drawn to the man using his son's name. By the time he makes it all the way around to Phoenix Drop, it's the middle of the Irene Dimension time skip, and since no one knew who The Stranger was or ever really saw his face, they don't realize that that's exactly who Jacob is looking for.

He goes back to Falconclaw, thinking maybe he can find some clues where this all started. It's practically the same as he left it since everyone thinks the land is extremely cursed, and in looking through their home he finds books on the teaching of his father's faith. He fits his father's old clothes, his old faith. He takes whatever he cares to keep from the Lycan estate and visits Lily's tomb before he leaves, and not a day later he comes across Abby, who's taken to the road hoping to find a lead on the woman she believes killed her father, Lady Katelyn the Firefist, who disappeared without a trace years ago about the same time High Priest Zane Ro'Meave and a few other Jurors did. She and Jacob agree to help each other and become good friends, and eventually they round back to Phoenix Drop.

A week after Aaron died.

Jacob introduces Abby first, notes that the Lord, or maybe she's the Lord's mother, seems to know who Abby is, and then he introduces himself. As Jacob Lycan, son of Aaron Lycan, last Lord of Falconclaw. And the look on this Lord's face is indescribable. She asks to speak with Jacob alone.

She tells him about his father in the last part of his life. She tells him how he saved her several times, taught her to fight, saved her guards, those two over there. That one he sacrificed himself for just last week, when he saved the man from another realm and finally got vengeance for his family and village. How he once said that when his journey was done, when he had taken the life of the man who cursed them all, he would finally be at peace with his wife and son.

Then there's a child's cry, and suddenly Jacob is being introduced to two little girls who his father helped raise. To his sisters.

He can't even process it properly before he hears Abby scream, and suddenly he is running to pull her off a blue-haired woman and holding her, thrashing and spitting vitriol, yelling how she thought of Katelyn like her mother, as Katelyn explains what really happened that day, and everything Abby has been keeping inside her for years spills out in wave after wave of tears. She clings to Jacob, and he finds himself crying too. If only they had known the truth earlier.

If they'd only learned the truth earlier, Abby wouldn't have spent so long hating an innocent woman she once adored, and Jacob could have seen his father again. Maybe if he'd known Aaron was The Stranger, if he'd known to wait in Phoenix Drop, Aaron would be alive. He would have had his son to live for.

They can't make themselves stay there once they know the truth. They're not ready. Abby tells Katelyn she'll be back to catch up later, and Jacob tells the Lord he'd like to meet his sisters another time, and with Jacob's quest over they go to hunt the Jury of Nine for Jeffory Goldenheart.

[speaknow-sw]

Okay so firstly (any typos I make it’s on me I’m wearing acrylics)

So backstory is that reader has been a nun for a few years, she’s been living over in town for just about a year now. Working with don closely at the church, and to input don is married. But he lets his eyes stray to you, and it’s become a habit. Sometimes when no-one is looking he can’t help but undress you with his eyes. His favorite nun was a plump woman in her mid 20s— how could he not stare? little does he know she’s not as holy as she presents herself.

It was mid October and the temp was beginning to drop, he stopped by her house to drop off some scriptures from the church that she forgot to pick up. She answers the door, and he can’t help but notice she has tattoos and a few piercings. And he’s flabbergasted (not very holy is it?)

He stayed and you two chatted for a while, and you ended up offering him dinner because why not? He ate the entire plate, perfect body and you could cook ? The picture perfect Christian wife.

(I don’t know where to go from here but I want reader to be freaked out. Like can we out freak Don just this once. Like showing him stuff he ain’t never seen before freaked out. we’re matching his freak for sure)

— 🫧

I’m just taking it back from here 😏😏

Don was a bit taken aback as he took in your appearance, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the ink adorning your skin and the glint of piercings that caught the fading afternoon light. It was a look that seemed to clash with the pious image he had come to associate with you, the devoted nun he had been working closely with at the church. He felt a flicker of unease, wondering if it was truly befitting for a woman of the cloth to be so... adorned. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside, reminding himself that he was not one to judge. Everyone had their secrets, their hidden depths. He smiled warmly at you nonetheless, his eyes lingering just a moment too long on the delicate curves of your face before he spoke.

"Why, thank you kindly for the invitation, my dear. It's been a long day, and I must admit, I am rather famished. Your offer of dinner is most welcome." He stepped inside, his cane tapping a staccato rhythm against the hardwood floor as he followed you towards the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice the way your hair swayed with each step, the locks catching the light like a flowy cascade. It was a sight that stirred something within him, a longing he had long tried to suppress.

As he sat at your table, he watched in awe as you moved about the kitchen, your hands deft and sure as you prepared the meal. He marveled at your culinary skills, at the way you seemed to pour your passion into every dish. It was a far cry from the bland fare he had grown accustomed to at home, the meals prepared out of duty rather than love. He felt a pang of longing, a yearning for something more than the hollow emptiness that had come to define his marriage.

"You have a true gift, my dear," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours over the steaming plate of food you had set before him. "Not only for the Lord's work, but for nourishing the body and soul alike." He felt a flush of heat creep up his neck, a sensation that had little to do with the warmth of the food before him. He quickly bowed his head, offering a silent prayer of thanks before digging in, his hunger overwhelming his usual penchant for restraint.

As the evening wore on and the dishes were cleared away, you found yourself drawn to Don in a way that you knew was not entirely pure. The way his eyes lingered on you, the soft blush that crept across his cheeks when your hands brushed - it was clear that he was not immune to your charms either. Emboldened by the wine you had shared over dinner and the flickering candlelight, you decided to be a bit bolder in your interactions with him.

Leaning back in your chair, you crossed your legs slowly, deliberately, making sure that the hem of your skirt rode up just a bit to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of your tattooed thigh. Don's eyes flickered downwards, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, before he quickly looked away, as if trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You know, Don..." you began, your voice low and sultry. "I've noticed how you look at me sometimes. When no one else is watching, your eyes linger just a bit too long." You uncrossed your legs, leaning forward slightly to give him an even better view of your cleavage, the top buttons of your blouse straining against your ample bosom. "It's almost as if you're trying to imagine what lies beneath these... holy robes." You let out a soft, breathy laugh, reaching up to toy with the cross that hung around your neck.

Don shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face growing redder by the second. "My dear, I... I don't know what you mean," he stammered, but there was a hint of something else in his voice, a undercurrent of desire that he couldn't quite hide.

You smirked, leaning even closer to him, your lips nearly brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, Father. I've seen the way you stare at me when you think no one is watching. The way your eyes roam over my curves, as if you're trying to memorize every inch of me." You nipped playfully at his earlobe, feeling him shudder beneath your touch. "Tell me, Don... have you ever thought about what it would be like to sin with me? To let go of all those... holy vows and just give in to desire?" You pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his, searching for any signs.

You could sense Don's growing unease, the way his body tensed and his breath grew shallow as you leaned in closer, your words dripping with a honeyed poison that threatened to undo the very fabric of his piety. He was a man of God, a pillar of the community, and yet here he sat, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your brazen flirtations. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his handsome face, the way his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched as he warred with his own desires.

Emboldened by his clear discomfort, you decided to turn the heat up a notch, determined to make this a night he would never forget. You stood up abruptly, your chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor, and began to slowly unbutton your blouse, revealing the lacy black bra beneath. Don's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open slightly as he took in the creamy swell of your breasts, the tantalizing curves that he had only dared to imagine in the dark recesses of his mind.

"Don, I want to show you something," you purred, your voice low and thick.

You turned around, giving Don a perfect view of your back, and slowly unzipped your skirt, letting it pool around your feet. Beneath it, you wore a pair of tiny black shorts that hugged your ample rear like a second skin, and a garter belt attached to sheer black thigh-high stockings. The sight was breathtaking, a far cry from the modest nun's habit he had grown accustomed to seeing you in.

But that wasn't all. You had more surprises in store for the flabbergasted preacher. Turning back to face him, you reached behind your neck and undid the clasp of your cross necklace, letting it fall away. Then, with a wicked grin, you slowly peeled off your bra, revealing your bare breasts, nipples already hardened with arousal. Don's eyes bulged as he took in the sight of your naked torso, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

But you weren't done shocking him just yet. You bent forward, giving him an unobstructed view of your cleavage, and slowly rolled down your shorts, baring the lacy edge of your black thong. Don let out a strangled gasp, his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he beheld the intricate tattoos that adorned your hips and thighs - symbols and words that spoke of a life far removed from the pious path of a nun.

"Don," you purred, stalking towards him with a predatory gleam in your eyes, "tell me, have you ever seen a nun dressed like this before? Have you ever imagined peeling away the holy robes to reveal the sinful flesh beneath?" You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your bare breasts pressing against his chest as you wound your arms around his neck. "I want to show you a side of myself that I've never shown anyone else. A side that craves sin and darkness... and maybe, just maybe, a taste of forbidden fruit." You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "What do you say, Don? Want to be naughty with me, just this once?"

Don sat frozen, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum as he beheld the wanton display before him. His eyes darted nervously to the door, as if expecting someone to burst in and catch them in this compromising position at any moment. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to flee, to put as much distance between himself and this temptress as possible. But another part of him, a part he had long suppressed and denied, thrilled at the delicious sin of it all. It was as if the devil himself had taken human form and climbed into his lap, tempting him with the one thing he could not have.

"Doll, we mustn't..." he breathed, even as his hands twitched with the urge to reach out and touch the soft, supple skin of your thighs. "This is... unholy. It goes against everything I believe in, everything I stand for."

And yet, despite his weak protests, he made no move to push you away. Instead, his eyes remained glued to your heaving bosom, to the tantalizing curve of your rear as you ground subtly against him. You could feel the growing hardness in his pants, a testament to his own battle between piety and primal desire.

"Shhh, just relax," you cooed, running your fingers through his neatly combed hair, messing it up just slightly. "No one has to know. It can be our little secret." You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just a hair's breadth from his. "I want to show you pleasures you've never even dreamed of, Don. I want to make you feel things you've only read about in the Bible... but never experienced firsthand."

With that, you closed the scant distance between you and pressed your lips against his in a searing kiss. Don let out a muffled groan, his resolve crumbling as he felt your tongue slip past his lips to dance with his own. His hands came up to grip your hips, not pushing you away, but pulling you closer, as if he couldn't get enough of your sinful touch.

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him right where you wanted him. The pious preacher, undone by a mere mortal woman. It was a delicious feeling, and one you intended to exploit fully.

Don's breath grew ragged as the kiss deepened, your tongue exploring every inch of his mouth with a hunger that both thrilled and terrified him. He could feel the heat of your bare skin against his own, the way your hardened nipples pressed against the fabric of his shirt, igniting a fire deep within his core. It was a sensation he had long denied himself, a pleasure he had never known in the cold, loveless marriage he had endured for so many years.

As if reading his thoughts, you broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, your eyes glinting with a wicked mischief. "Your wife never kisses you like this, does she, Don?" you purred, trailing a finger down the length of his chest. "She's never wanted you with the same desperate, aching need that I feel right now."

You punctuated your words by rolling your hips against his, grinding your barely covered core against the growing bulge in his slacks. Don let out a strangled groan, his head falling back as he struggled to maintain what little control he had left. "Doll, we shouldn't..." he gasped, even as his hands tightened their grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Shhh, just stop thinking," you whispered, leaning in to nip at his throat, your teeth grazing his skin hard enough to leave a mark. "Stop overthinking and just feel. Feel the way your body responds to mine. Feel the way it craves my touch, my kiss, my everything."

You started to unbutton his shirt, your fingers making quick work of the straining buttons. "I want to see all of you, Don," you breathed, pushing the fabric off his shoulders to reveal the scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms - reminders of the accident that had brought him so close to death. You leaned down, pressing your lips to each scar in turn, as if to heal them with your touch.

Don shuddered beneath you, overwhelmed by the new sensations coursing through his body. It was too much, too intense, too... sinful. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop you. He was drunk on the taste and feel of you, and he never wanted to sober up.

Don's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as you continued your sensual assault, his resolve crumbling by the second. His hands roamed feverishly over your bare skin, mapping every dip and curve, as if trying to commit the feel of you to memory. He couldn't believe this was happening, that he was allowing this sinful indulgence to occur, but he was powerless to stop it. Powerless to resist the magnetic pull you had over him.

"Oh God, Doll..." he groaned, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "We mustn't... but I can't..." His words trailed off into a strangled moan as you pushed his shirt off completely, baring his scarred chest to your hungry gaze.

Seizing the opportunity, you swung a leg over to straddle his lap properly, your core now pressed directly against the rigid length of his arousal. Don's eyes widened at the sudden contact, and he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as you began to grind against him. "That's it, Don," you purred, rocking your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. "Feel how much I want you. Feel how wet I am, how ready I am to take you inside me."

Don's breathing grew even more ragged as you gyrated against him, your barely concealed heat searing him even through the fabric of his slacks. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he buried his face in the valley of your breasts, his lips and tongue and teeth all working in tandem to worship the soft, supple flesh. He nipped and suckled at your nipples, drawing them into stiff peaks before soothing the sting with long, languid licks.

"Mmmm, yes..." you moaned, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him against you. "That's it, Don. Bury yourself in my tits. Hide from the world and just lose yourself in pleasure." You rolled your hips harder, grinding your dripping core against his straining erection, the damp patch on your panties growing with each passing second.

Don could only groan in response, the vibrations rumbling through your chest and sending shivers of delight down your spine. He was lost, utterly consumed by the sinful pleasure of your body, and he never wanted to be found. In that moment, he didn't care about his vows, his marriage, or his reputation.

Suddenly, you felt a surge of boldness and decided to take things to a whole new level. You wanted to push Don beyond his limits, to make him experience things he had only ever dreamed about in his darkest, most forbidden fantasies. With a wicked grin, you reached behind your back and unhooked your garter belt, letting it fall away along with your stockings. Then, in one swift motion, you shimmied out of your soaked panties and tossed them aside, leaving you completely bare and exposed in Don's lap.

Don's eyes widened in shock as he realized your intent, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. "Doll, wait..." he started to protest, but you silenced him by capturing his lips in another searing kiss, your tongue plundering his mouth with a hunger that stole his breath away.

At the same time, you reached down and unzipped his slacks, freeing his throbbing erection from its confines. Don let out a strangled moan as the cool air hit his heated flesh, his member twitching eagerly against your palm. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, stroking him slowly, teasingly, feeling him grow even harder with each pass of your hand.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back and positioned yourself over him, the swollen head of his cock nudging against your dripping entrance. Don's eyes, hazy with lust, met yours, and you could see the internal struggle playing out behind them. The good pastor warring with the man, the husband struggling against his own base desires.

"Shhh, just relax," you cooed, even as you began to sink down onto his thickness, your slick walls stretching to accommodate him. "Let go, Don. Give in to the sin and take what you want." With that, you impaled yourself fully on his shaft, taking him to the hilt in one smooth, relentless motion.

Don threw his head back with a roar of pleasure, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your rear as he buried himself inside you. You could feel every throbbing inch of him, stretching you, filling you, completing you in a way you had never experienced before. It was a delicious, forbidden pleasure, and you knew you wanted more.

His face contorted in pleasure, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as he felt his release fast approaching. His hips bucked erratically beneath you, his grip on your rear tightening to the point of bruising as he chased his long-denied climax. You could feel his member throbbing and pulsing inside you, growing even harder and hotter as the moment of truth arrived.

With a guttural groan that sounded almost pained, Don's body went rigid, and then he was coming, his seed erupting from him in thick, forceful spurts. He lasted for two minutes approximately. You gasped as you felt the first hot blast of his release flooding your insides, your walls clenching down around him instinctively as your own climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. Don's orgasm seemed to go on and on, his pent-up desire and lack of intimacy over the past years leading to an enormous, almost frighteningly copious load.

You could feel your belly starting to swell and bloat with each powerful jet of his essence, the sheer volume of it stretching your stomach slightly. When it was finally over, you collapsed against Don's chest, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath of your sinful indulgence.

After a moment, you lifted your head and grinned down at Don, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Wow," you giggled, running your fingers through the mess on your stomach. "I've never seen anything like that before. You really held that in for a long time, didn't you?" You chuckled, giving his softening member a teasing squeeze.

Don could only stare up at you, his eyes glazed and unfocused, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. At your question, his eyes suddenly bulged in shock, and his mouth fell open in a perfect O of surprise. "Wh-what? No, of course not!" he sputtered, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. "I'm a man of God, I could never... I mean..." He trailed off, looking absolutely flabbergasted at the mere suggestion.

"Have you ever did it in the ass ?" You chuckled, trying to get him to make another face.

You couldn't help but dissolve into laughter at Don's utterly flabbergasted expression, the sight of the straitlaced preacher looking like he'd seen a ghost simply priceless. "Oh my God, the look on your face!" you snorted, tears of mirth gathering at the corners of your eyes. "You should see yourself right now, Don. It's hilarious!"

Don could only gape at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he struggled to formulate a response. Just as you thought his shock couldn't possibly grow any more comical, his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and he slumped over sideways, collapsing against the couch cushions in a boneless heap.

"Don!" you cried out in mock concern, trying to stifle another burst of laughter. "Are you alright? Did you just... faint?" You leaned over him, your bare breasts jiggling with each chuckle as you checked for a pulse, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. Apparently, the mere thought of engaging in such a taboo act had short-circuited the poor man's brain, and he'd simply checked out from the sheer overwhelming nature of the entire experience.

You shook your head in amusement, marveling at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here you were, a woman he barely knew, naked and dripping with his seed, and the pious pastor had not only succumbed to carnal temptation but had apparently short-circuited at the mere mention of a little anal play. You couldn't decide if it was more funny or pathetic, but one thing was for certain - you knew you'd never let him live this down. This was a secret you'd definitely be keeping in your back pocket for future blackmail opportunities.

[carefulfears]

☕️ + 6.15 arcadia (the episode as a whole, the playing house, etc)

imagine you're in love with your partner and you want him to fuck you so bad and you want to have his babies so bad and then you go on a job where you have to pretend to be married to him and the whole time he's just like "mmhm. you want to fuck me so bad. anyway."

happened to my friend dana.

arcadia is the absolute pinnacle of what i call the "twisted fanfic" that is season 6, and per usual, it all hinges on what is unspoken. this is their first assignment back on the x-files. this is their first assignment since "you're making this personal" (how personal is it now?). since the worst fight of their lives was followed immediately by...congratulations. back down to that office. no one but each other. (till death do you part).

"be like the others...before it gets dark"

arcadia is very allegorical, and the horror lives simultaneously in the uncomfortable perfection of tradition, of suburban matrimony, and the dangers of straying from.

there is danger in cleaving to tradition, for mulder and scully. it reminds them of too much. it's something that they don't really actually want, but are shamefully aware that they should. at the same time, in the "american dream" of the arcadian falls, to deviate from tradition is to be hunted and killed.

and they're simultaneously mocking this life, and the intrusive fact that they'll never have it.

the best part of arcadia, is mulder. this is possibly the most top-tier annoying mulder episode. and it is only so because he's doing it on purpose, and it is grating.

mulder's strategy in arcadia? to fuck around and find out.

people who live in the falls are going missing. it seems to be related to the intense commitment and stress surrounding the community's guidelines. so what do you do? stick a plastic flamingo in the yard. kick a mailbox. dig a pool. put your basketball hoop out at 10:30 at night.

(one of my favorite moments of the episode is when mulder is playing basketball on the driveway, and the neighbors are freaking out, screaming, crying. and he goes to check on win's wife and sees the monster come out, as you just hear someone drag the basketball hoop back into the garage. be like the others before it gets dark, you are not immune. arcadia has consequences.)

it has not been that long since scully asked, don't you ever just want to stop?

Mulder, it's the dim hope of finding that proof that's kept us in this car, or one very much like it, for more nights than I care to remember. Driving hundreds if not thousands of miles through neighborhoods and cities and towns where people are raising families and buying homes and playing with their kids and their dogs, and…in short, living their lives. While we...we just keep driving. Don't you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn car? Settle down and live something approaching a normal life?

this is the closest to settling down, to normal life, that they'll ever get, so what do you do? accuse her of just wanting to "play house." tell her she "fit[s] in really well here." crack jokes about "honeymoon videos" and crossing the threshold and being "married now," while arranging the bed to where she couldn't join even if she wanted to.

when asked what he does for work, mulder answers that he works from home, "which is great for laura because she gets me all to herself."

this is their first assignment, since their argument over his relationship with diana. and according to him, she just wants him all to herself.

no one ever asks scully what she does for work, though. every woman is introduced as a wife. every dinner table is prepped and cleared by the women, who are then sent away from that table when discussion turns to the circumstances of their society. they hold no input regarding a monster who will "want" them for their husbands' crimes.

mulder even mocks this dynamic, with his sandwich joke. the horror of the falls is tradition, and tradition is predicated on misogyny, on a controlled deficit of visibility.

be like the others before it gets dark: a "normal life" may be perilous, but they'll still never have it. (even when they have the house and the fence for real, he isn't hers.)

and the final shot of arcadia is mulder and scully getting back in the car. driving off, while scully's voiceover informs that the arcadian falls have been named one of the top planned communities in california, for the sixth year running.

[blueiight]

This isnt even substantitive commentary 85% of this is just quoting what was written bc i need people to know this is out here.

new fent (nat reufriede)

He wasn’t surprised when she refused to answer the question this time, too. “I still don’t understand why Mein Kaiser ” — her voice was a perfect mockery of Reuenthal’s usual tone— “feels the need to uproot the whole government.” She tilted her glass, letting her drink catch the light. “If he’s looking for legitimacy, he should stay on Odin.”

“What legitimacy?” Reuenthal snapped. “What more legitimacy does he need, than what he has?”

“You’re a very stupid man, Oskar,” she said.

“Oh?”

“ Your Kaiser has the legitimacy of holding a gun to the rest of the universe’s head,” she said. “Fine. There’s no point in pretending like he doesn’t, and you claim that’s the only legitimacy you respect, anyway. But you seem to have deluded yourself into acting like He is going to live forever, and that his children won’t need to borrow some legitimacy of their own. Odin is a place used to having dynasties— I wonder if he’s about to discover that Phezzan isn’t.” COOK THAT BLONDE BRAT SHAWTY

The premise of this story being reuenthal with a beard is just tickling my feathers. The imagery of reinhard preserving the iconography of the old dynasty & reuenthal picking a beard (a symbol of agedness, of manliness) and struggling to grow it out, the beard even softening his features is soooo symbolic.

YOULL KILL YOURSELF WITHOUT MY HELP! All i need to do is see it im deaaad

She seemed almost unfamiliar with the weapon, hefting it and turning it over, though she had enough sense to keep her finger away from the safety and the trigger. Had she never fired a gun before? He was momentarily entranced by the way it dwarfed her hands. … She held up his wallet, and he realized that, at some point between the front desk and the room, she had managed to pick it out of his pocket— likely when he was distracted by her trying to undo his belt in the elevator. She went through it, pulling out the cash, then tossed it on the bed.

i am not immune to elfriede. elfriede wanting to gamble v reuenthal not liking that he cant conquer a gamble.. wowthe fact that elfriede is in a big gamble of her own tangled w fezzan + all those shady ass factors still . she loved to gamble indeed

The intent was for him to blow across her fingers and the dice, a rather feminine thing to do, but instead he took her wrist roughly and kissed her knuckles. “Oskar!”

What do i even say man.

this is the first time ive read nat’s freak shit wiaw i read up to so far be fading to black omg this really did hit like fent.

His experience with wives as a species was limited: his mother, Mittermeyer’s wife. Elfriede resembled neither. The person she most often reminded him of was Him , with the wild mane of golden hair, and the piercing, hateful look in their eyes. He didn’t think about that now.

Getting to proxy-fuck ur emperor man crush lord & master…

“A wife is meant to obey.”

“A soldier is meant to obey,” she said. “A wife—”

Even with her movement limited with his weight bearing on her shoulders, she could reach between them and grab his [word i cant say lest tumblr censor me oncecmore] She wrapped her legs around him and tried to pull him down towards her.

“A wife has her husband’s child,” she said. “Is that what you want me to say?”

[passages I cant say lest tumblr censor me once more] She reached up to touch his face, and the feeling of her hand moving through the bristles of his newly-grown beard made him feel ill. It was all wrong— the simulacrum of normality that they couldn’t even play at well.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s what I want.” Or it was what some other man wanted— someone Reuenthal should have been, but wasn’t.

THE SIMULACRUM OF NORMALITY THEY COULDNT EVEN PLAY AT WELL.

She mumbled something half-incoherent, and wholly impossible. “A real family—”

“Better than the one you had before,” Reuenthal said in reply, which managed to get a reaction out of her of some sort, clawing her hands down her back.

“Everybody wants that,” she mumbled.

And nobody gets it , he thought. “You want me to take care of it,” he said. He pressed his hand to her lower abdomen, leaning on it hard.

“Yes,” she said, her voice coming out strangely.

“Then when it’s born, I’ll have to aim higher— for its sake—” He punctuated his sentence with his movement, the white heat growing between them. He moved faster, seeking out the climax. There was only so long he could play this charade before the disgust became too overwhelming.

LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO . Ohmygod. bro. nat. u have rocked my world once more.

AND WHAT SHE SAID RIGHT AFTER. HE’LL HAVE YOUR EYES. TRYNA STRANGLE HER. HER PUTTING THE GUN IN HIS MOUTH and that being what made him cum

Dont even have words.

THEN HE GOES TO REINHARD RIGHT AFTER????!!! Over the cold body of reinrein’s exwife dead husband😭😭😭. THE ROYAL WE!! rein realizing what reue came for on some level… we r two halves of the same battle hungry depraved ravenous thing

Reinhard turned towards Reuenthal at last, looked him over as if he was seeing him for the first time, and reached out his hand towards Reuenthal’s face. He didn’t touch him, but his hand hovered just close enough to his cheek that he could feel the warmth of it, the staticky charge of an almost imperceptible distance. “You shaved that awful beard you were growing.”

“I had wondered if a change would suit me, considering our move to Phezzan. It didn’t.”

“No,” Reinhard said. He dropped his hand and looked back towards the grave. “Change doesn’t suit Us, either.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll be buried here,” Reinhard said.

[the-firebird69]

Now Trump is trying to remove minority morlock and bja and his offspring think they'll be fine it's not really true they know that he plans to and they're just idiots when they're out they'll take it that's what they say so we don't like them we don't like any of these people are such assholes what are you giving them the major treatment and they're going to fall.

-the judge delayed it to hold a hearing in the hearing they plan to say it's unlawful cuz it is in any job any employer has to lay someone off with cause and they're not giving any cause to the employees not even the economic and that's a cause. Robert Shaker fired our son and it was for what other people were doing yeah and he finds it out and he forgets and he's a weakling and we're going to torture him to f****** death everyday same with Jason that weekling and is useless sister wife gross and she's a little urchin she was there at the house when he got abducted said nothing thinking she'll get her stuff is a f****** winner Ellie wants him out there and she won't let him and they're going to have a fight and Lily will lose she's a freaking jerk too and we'll lose our son doesn't want to have anything to do with her and weight lifting or anything and it's all over and the crazy Trump's her b**** on TV not not in Hell's when hell freezes over.

--here's a few other things happening but this guy Trump asked for it a lot

--this repercussions for today's little show and we're starting to get our stuff together to get going on we don't like that guy Jason we don't like him trying to throw his weight around trying to put our son on the street so freaking piece of s*** there's a lot of pieces of s*** around here I'll tell you what we say it every day we need them to start going away is a war on and like nothing's happened and they're still here bothering him pestering him trying to put him in a mental hospital and it's so f****** dumb they can't figure out that they're losing like none of them the numbers are there in the populace they're down to about 10.3% and you send 18% out they did and 17% are gone the circle back and they began emptying the bunkers no. Holding the bunkers no 0.9% 0.1% are holding the bases you reloading and stuff it's a huge war now they sent more back in 8% more to try and take the rest of the Midwest so far they lost 2% you're holding eight bunkers systems. And they're fighting the four remaining. They're going to lose 2% more this afternoon because of their attack and their method they're really quite stupid by tomorrow they will have lost 21.5% of their Force 0.5% would be the Trump's forces mostly duplicates today in the general population they will reduce from 0.4% to about 0.35% no they're going to lose more than that probably the 0.2% or less at this point they're so small in the middle areas that people are getting very sensitive information out of them they're going to fall and reveal what Trump took and what he has and he will start to shut his mouth you'll find these idiots Brad and Jason running around behind him harassing him yeah we're obliged to take from them she goes to threatening our son and daughter and we're going to take quite a bit. This truck incident with him doing that it just got very big people are going after him for what are you saying what he is saying he wants to put a suit together it's like for Comic-Con to walk around in the radiation when it gets very high and pretend that they're our son just trying to show that his fearless and immune to the radiation and is like Trump he only has part of it nobody wants to put him in the mental hospital to do that so we're going to take him down. Because we're posting this they put him in prison in the upper Midwest so Jason drives here for our son and he loses when he goes to prison many times and as he escapes has the worm he becomes one of the worms and it's not chehalude this one with the teeth and he goes for bunkers of the pseudo empire and they wreck him then he goes to Lord of the rings as a worm no but yeah he's a moron in the pig. So our son says to his African grandpa in law the guy is just a big huge worm and he says is that all he is he's a gigantic pain in the ass if you're a big group she's the heart pains. Now this guy is an a****** and he says it probably is true but he doesn't know how to do it and he tries for the entrances and he does find them and it brings a bunch of them in their infighting and it stays huge for a while it is very big and he ruins a lot of the pseudo empire facilities and they hunt them down he goes into blade runner trying to grab Ken and he fails then he goes into starcraft costume for like 10 minutes and guys the story is not so long but it goes hand in hand with Star wars and people think it's Stan who gets hit. We know it actually happens and you can see that Dennis and his wife took over that place and you can see in the scene in Star wars it doesn't seem like Stan and he's repeating simple stuff and it's just not him.

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues Hera

[queenoffishingandcookies]

Since they’ve been consigned to the void for quite some time, started thinking on my Niflheim Royal OC’s. Namely, Iedolas’ wife and son.

I’m not sure that they count wholly as OC’s, since they do exist in FFXV canon - we just never see them as they’re already long dead by the time the game begins.

I Don’t have anything concrete for Niflheim’s Prince, except that his name is Helios, so this post is primarily about Niflheim’s late empress, Celestia.

These are more building blocks of her character than anything really fleshed out, though.

Celestia Aldercapt - Empress of Niflheim (M.E. 695 - M.E. 721)

- She was born into the Niflheim empire under the reign of Iedolas’ father. Her mother was a Duchess of Niflheim and her father was actually a son from a branch of the Royal Family of Tenebrae. He married into her family tree.

- Currently chewing on the concept of Verstael Besithia’s related to her. A cousin or half-brother via surrogacy, maybe (namely because I’m a sucker for the Prince Prompto trope, and the thought of Prompto looking very much like Celestia and freaking Iedolas out humors me).

- As a result, she has similar powers to a member of the Fleuret family. The Oracle is the pinnacle of Fleuret magic, both offensive and defensive powers, but my headcanon is that other members of the family also have magic - they just tend to lean towards on type or the other. It doesn’t always fully manifest the further you get from the main line, but in her case, it was close enough.

- Had she been born as a Fleuret, it’s very likely that Celestia could have been a candidate for the position of Oracle. The Empress was more inclined towards healing (improving the natural effects of the immune system), but was also capable of imbuing weaponry with light/heat.

-> I think she’d carry a gun if she had to, because it gives distance from the enemy. It also seems to be the primary weapon of Niflheim soldiers, and even in the real world, a lot of royalty in the past kept revolvers or pistols on them for protection.

- She works more from a distance rather than up close, but always has emergency weapons on her as well. The ornaments on the robes she wears are actually blades, similar to pocket knives, because a lot of people tend to want the Emperor and Empress of Niflheim dead.

- The cost for what Celestia had in magic was paid for with the health of her body, though. Celestia herself was prone to high fevers and easily falling sick when she overtaxed her abilities. Furthermore, she had been born prematurely when her own mother had gotten sick with severe pneumonia, so her immune system isn’t the greatest.

- During the periods of time where she recovered from illness, Celestia loved to sketch and paint. Frequently, her paintings depicted ancient legends regarding the Astrals, or her loved ones, or places she’d been/wanted to be.

- She was actually once invited to Lucis to paint a portrait of the young prince Regis Lucis Caelum in M.E. 710 (he was four), before tensions between the nations sunk completely and war worsened. She was fifteen at the time, but her artistic talents were already well-known throughout Lucis.

- Physically, Celestia is very tall. She has broader shoulders compared to most women, and for all that her health isn’t the greatest, she regularly enjoyed exercising and working out. Can and will fight you. And win.

- However, she’s built more for speed compared to strength. Very lithe, very similar to Prompto rather than Gladio, i guess. (Can throw her husband over her shoulder, though. Like he’s a pillow).

- The best way to describe her features is…androgynous, I guess? (The picrew I used for the photograph above is a male body I’m pretty sure, and was the closest I could find to my idea).

- Iedolas and Celestia first properly met at her debutante. They’d seen each other briefly at other events, but in Niflheim, young children generally weren’t brought out to balls and so on. She was eighteen years old, and he was newly twenty.

- Iedolas was said to be a kind and beloved emperor (before the events of the game and general conquest lust), so I like to think he would be soft, a little dorky and clumsy when he was younger, and in private (though, the epitome of grace and well-spoken in public).

- He accidentally spilled his drink on her while she’d escaped to the gardens, avoiding would-be suitors, while he was doing the same. So she pushed him into a nearby pond in retaliation after he kept apologizing, and asking if there wasn’t some way he could do anything.

- She was standing there, slowly grinning the whole time as she didn’t mind the incident, and when he said he’d do anything, she asked if he’d even let her push him into the pond - and wouldn’t ya know, he did.

- It’s like the scenario of “i know I said something stupid, you can punch me if you want”, and you lightly punch a friend on the shoulder or something.

- She helps him out afterwards, and they’re good. (Their parents are significantly less good about the ruined clothes, but the kids themselves are perfectly happy with the ordeal).

- I can not stress how much these two have a dorky dynamic with one another from the get-go, even before getting married.

- I see Celestia having very much been raised with the belief that the Niflheim Empire was, in fact, the greatest nation upon Eos - however, she looked towards the expansionist policy the nation took unfavorably. It led to a great deal of bloodshed on each side of the war, and impaired the ability to see loved ones who had married out of the country and into others.

- Her pregnancy had actually gone fairly smoothly, despite concerns. However, an assassin - disguised to be Lucian to push stagnating war efforts forwards by some nobles who wanted more land, as Iedolas was considering a genuine peace treaty - nearly killed her, and led to an induced labor, trying to save both her and the baby.

- Celestia would develop maternal sepsis, and die from it within three days of giving birth to her and Iedolas’ only son, whom they named Helios.

- A massive statue was erected of her in front of the royal palace, where she was interred in the Aldercapt Tomb, but the structure itself would be sealed from the public once Zegnautus Keep was built, on par with becoming a place to the Astrals with its sanctity.

- Iedolas actually created an imperial order in his wife’s honor, The Star of Empress Celestia. It’s the highest honor for a woman in the empire.

- One notable recipient of the order was Lunafreya, when she ascended to the position of the Oracle.

[milkteahood]

I saw the sick head cannons you did and I started thinking, since Karl’s daughter is like half human that would mean that they wouldn’t get sick as often as a normal kid but they aren’t completely immune either. I’d imagine that their mom would be calmer than Karl cause she would have a better idea of what to do.

Karl would freak out. You know how freaked out Ethan was when Miranda kidnapped Rose? Forget about Ethan. Karl would freak out more. He would actually worry his princess is dying, his wife having to reassure him a lot.

“It’s just a common cold Karl, she will be fine”

“But this never happened before! Not even when she was a baby! And you said it’s normal for babies to get a fever! And and she didn’t have that!” poor Karl would be hyperventilating.

“Yes, that’s true, but this time you guys spent a lot of time outside in the snow. She’s still half human, you know” his wife would try to reason with him.

He will definitely blame himself, for once actually thinking Alcina was right to call him an irresponsible parent. He would also cling to his wife to see if he can help with anything. In order to make him feel less guilty (over something that’s clearly not his fault, but Karl won’t listen to reason in this moments) she will just give him a lot of things to do. Like “bring her this cup of tea while I finish the soup and make sure she’s well tucked in”.

His wife would figure the more he gets to take care of his sick daughter, the better he’ll feel.

“Buttercup, when you got sick I got you meds, shouldn’t we give her that too?”

“Well normally yes, but she’s not completely human and I already called Moreau. He said she should heal up by herself in no time and to just give her some home remedies” his wife would explain “those are your genes Karl, that kid is tough”

“Well of course she is! Little pumpkin is amazing” (extremely proud dad, 100% would recommend)

Once she starts feeling better tho, Karl wouldn’t be so reckless anymore. He would definitely be more cautious about how she feels and wouldn’t let her play in the cold until sunset.

Even if it was just a tiny cold his kid had, it would totally turn Karl into a more mature parent. Well, as mature Karl can get.

[marmolady]

Back to School

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, hints of Quinchelle

Summary: Endless Ending. The Catalysts are heading back to school. Or, at least, most of them are. For Taylor, Hartfeld is a whole new beginning... but the past isn't done with her yet.

WARNINGS: Character death (flashbacks), self-harm.

Word Count: 6348

Chronology: After 'Homecoming' and 'Clarity'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic​

Thanks for reading

“Stay with me, okay? S-stay with me!” Taylor frantically tried to stem the bleeding with the shirt she’d taken off her own back, but it was already stained through. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too. Not you, Diego, please…. P-please…. Please….”

His breath rattled in his throat, strained and weak. “T-tell… tell Varyyn I’m… I… s-sorr--”

“No. No. You’ll tell him yourself, all right? You’ve got to hang on, Diego, please….”

Even as Taylor spoke, she could feel her friend’s fingers growing cold in hers. A distant yell sent a chill down her spine. The Arachnids were closing in. If she was going to get Diego to safety, she had to get him on his feet. Fast.

“...Tayl… you… f-find…” he croaked.

Taylor tried to meet his gaze and failed. He couldn’t see her there before him, though he was trying… he was trying so hard…. Until his eyes were still, searching no longer.

And she shrieked. She screamed into the night, knowing that she was good as sealing her own fate but not caring. How could she care anymore? She was alone. She collapsed into the blood-soaked chest of the best friend she’d ever had… and howled.

“Taylor!”

Woken by a shake, she kept on screaming, her body convulsing with violent sobs. Where was she?

Diego… Diego, no….

Estela cradled her face, stroking tenderly with gentle fingers. But all Taylor could see was a lingering vision of unseeing eyes. Of blood, and death, and….

“Shh-sh-sh-shh…, it’s over, amor. Everyone’s safe….”

Taylor tried to ground herself, to bring herself back, but she was swimming in anguish-- no, she was drowning.

“Diego!”

More urgently, Estela stroked Taylor’s face and hair. Her own eyes were sparkling. “Querida, he’s fine. He’s safe-- I swear he’s safe. Taylor-- Taylor? I need you to come back to me, baby….”

Something about the fear in that voice snapped Taylor to reality. Estela. Estela was holding her. They were… home.

The tears kept coming. Why? Why was she not allowed any fucking peace? She was broken… her head was broken….

She couldn’t stop howling, even as she was held. The blood could still be on her hands… she could feel it there….

“I… can’t… make it… stop…,” she whimpered. Her hands trembled as she lifted them; they tingled with the expectation of what should have been there but wasn’t. Why won’t it stop?  She raised a hand to her head and smacked herself with all the force she could muster.

“I… can’t… make it… STOP!” Taylor hollered, and she slammed her open palm to her head again and again, resisting Estela’s panicked grappling. “MAKE… IT… STOP!”

Then Estela managed to wrestle her way to Taylor’s hands. The grip was like iron, though Taylor kept on struggling.

“Taylor-- Taylor!”

“LET… ME… GO!”

“I’m sorry.… I’m sorry, I can���t. It’s okay that you’re overwhelmed and you’re scared, but you can’t… you can’t hurt yourself like that.”

“LET ME… let me….”

Taylor screamed and sobbed, but she stopped fighting at the sound of the pain in her wife’s voice, and let herself be cradled and gently rocked.

“Sh-shh-shh… I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much…,” Taylor whimpered through her tears. “I--I can’t stand it anymore.”

“I know, mi amor. I know.” Shaking, Estela softly kissed her wife’s temple. “Will you be all right if I let go? I’m just going to grab you a tissue, okay?”

Just then, there was a loud rapping at the door, followed by Quinn’s voice.

“Can we come in? It’s me and Michelle… just a little worried about you guys.”

“Yeah… come in. And if you wanna help, we could use some tissues.”

At the sight of more friends, looking towards her in concern, Taylor cried all the harder, and very quickly she was being hugged by Quinn and Michelle… and Diego, who was also now wide awake and worried. Surrounded by friends’ arms and soothing words, she let her emotions flow forth until she had no tears left to cry.

With the risk of Taylor hurting herself diminished, Estela stepped away to get a hold of herself. “I’ll just get you a drink of water, cariña, okay?”

Taylor blew her nose noisily. “Actually, um, I might get up for a little while. If I try and go back to sleep now, I’m pretty sure it’s just gonna be nightmares all over again.” She shrunk into herself guiltily. This was not the ‘good night’s sleep before the first day of college’ that everyone had in mind. “And I don’t expect everyone to stay up just for me--”

“Oh, shut up, Taylor.” Michelle offered another tissue. “The sooner you let us help you, the sooner we can all get some sleep, all right?”

It turned out-- unsurprisingly, given the noise-- that the rest of the house had been woken by Taylor’s shrieking.

“So, uh… someone getting murdered up there?” Zahra quipped as the group descended the stairs.

Estela gave her a look, but turned her attention quickly back to Taylor. God, she was still shaking like a leaf… and then Estela realised that her wife wasn’t the only one.

Pull yourself together. For fuck’s sake.

If she was going to be any use at all, Estela knew she needed to sort herself out… and it felt like she was on the verge of breaking down sobbing. “I’ll… I’ll get you that drink, Taylor.”

Grabbing a glass from her wife’s bedside table, Estela retreated to the bathroom and collapsed over the basin with her head in her hands.

Taylor hadn’t hurt herself before. The way she’d hit herself over the head, as if determined to pound out a part of her she couldn’t stand… it struck Estela as hauntingly like the way she herself had lost immunity to her own fists in her frantic need to purge the poison. It hadn’t happened many times-- four?-- five at the most-- but Taylor was like a human sponge; it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that she’d been influenced by her wife’s response to trauma and taken it as her own. That was troubling.

Estela felt ill. Sick with guilt. Helpless.

So, when Raj popped his head around the door to offer a hug, she all but fell into his arms, all the bottled-up frustration bursting forth.

“I know it was stupid and naive,” she lamented against her friend’s chest, “but I really thought we’d cracked it.”

“I wouldn’t say you haven’t cracked it,” Raj said thoughtfully. “Taylor used to have these visions most nights, right? If this is the first time it’s happened since you guys moved in here, you must be on the right track… but even the right track’s gonna have a bump in the road here and there.”

“If she’s waking up screaming in the middle of the night, ‘the right track’ isn’t fucking good enough!” To her frustration, angry tears splashed down Estela’s cheeks. Crying wouldn’t do a damn thing to help Taylor. Roughly, she rubbed her face dry. She should have seen this coming; stepping foot into Hartfeld University as a student would be, for Taylor, incredibly significant. Estela had known Taylor was stressed leading up to the start of term. She should have done more….

“Yeah… I know. And it’s not fair at all-- after everything our girl was prepared to do for us, the least she deserves is a bit of peace at the end of it. So, we’re just gonna have to keep on taking good care of her. Like she always does for us. You know-- if relaxation is the key to Tayls’ good night sleep, I’m happy to give coaching….”

In spite of everything, Estela spluttered a laugh. “Raj, if Taylor ever wants to give the getting stoned route a try, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know about it. If I’m honest, some days I could probably use some of that shit myself.”

Raj grinned. “Even just the thought got a smile out of you-- that’s a win! But if a good hug is more your thing, I’m more than happy to deliver on that one too.”

Estela exhaled slowly, her eyes shut. She’d needed that hug… more than she’d known. Those disturbed nights punctuated by the anguished sobs of her poor wife crying out in her sleep, and it had been all Estela could do to stay calm enough to offer any kind of soothing comfort… they’d taken a heavy toll.

“I need to go back to her,” she said quietly.

“So, Tayls,” Craig had been asking, as if it was the most everyday thing in the world, “what’s the worst way I died? Gory details!”

“Craig!”

“I mean, we’re all curious, but come on!”

“What? You know what they say, ‘if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry’-- I mean, it’s not like any of those things are actually gonna happen now. There’s nothing to be scared of!”

Taylor’s mouth hung open. Actually… would that help? It wasn’t an approach she’d even considered. But as her mind flickered back to the vision of Diego dead in her arms… the feel of the weight of his body, she knew she couldn’t do it.

“I, um, I don’t think I’m ready. To laugh about these things. When I have these dreams it’s like… they’re fresh. New and visceral and vivid every time.  I… I can’t bounce back from that and just laugh. Maybe in like… a couple of weeks? That’s if it doesn’t happen again. But it’s like I’m living it. And when I wake up… all the shock, and dread… it’s all still there.”

Everyone was quiet. Taylor didn’t blame them. How the hell could anyone know what to do with this? Estela sat down beside her and offered the glass of water.

“Thanks, babe,” Taylor murmured. Her throat was parched and sore… she supposed screaming bloody murder could do that. She took a few sips, then let herself relax into the couch, and Estela’s and Diego’s arms around her.

“I think, “ she said, “I underestimated how nervous I was about starting tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen, but I guess it’s ‘cause I feel like… well, a bit of a fraud.”

Zahra scoffed. “Freaking pseudo-humans think they can muscle in on our school. Man, they’re letting that place go to shit.”

Taylor looked at her, taken off guard, then slowly… she started to laugh, until she was near doubled-over. Wheezing, she sat up and wiped away a tear. “Oh my god. It’s ridiculous!”

“Honestly?” Michelle said, “I think it’s going to be surreal. ‘Normal’ is going to be hard, after….” She shuddered, and Taylor knew where her mind had wandered to… the smoldering wreckage that was a past not another soul bar the twelve of them could ever comprehend.

Quinn hugged Michelle tightly. “That’s why we need to keep doing this. Sharing the burden. If we can survive the end of the world that way… well, that’ll be how we survive the aftermath as well.”

Regaining her breath, Taylor snuggled into Diego’s shoulder. She’d been the damsel in distress tonight, but come the next, it could be any one of her friends drowning in the enormity of what they’d survived. And she’d be there, offering a shoulder, as they’d done her. Taylor closed her eyes, and focused on her breathing; slow and deep into her belly. The horrors would fade, just as long as she could keep them at bay for long enough for them to do so.  It wasn’t as if she wasn’t well-used to the challenge; it had become almost routine until she’d thought she’d mastered it. Her friends had gathered around her, offering whatever comfort they could give, and that was the best hope she could ask for.

Raj sat bolt upright, clearly struck by inspiration. Always a worry.

“Guys! Gu-u-uuys!”

Taylor snorted an affectionate little laugh. “Raj! Ra-a-aaj! What’re you thinking?”

He jumped up and began moving furniture out the way.

“This is ominous….” Zahra muttered.

“Okay, doodlejumps, everyone one the floor! Sitting in a nice, wide circle.”

“Yup. I knew I had a bad feeling…. If this isn’t ‘pass the bong’, I’m out.”

Raj was undeterred, in spite of the scepticism shown by a chunk of the group. “Now, lie down, so that your head is resting on the belly of the dude or dudette to your right.”

“Er, okay,” Diego said, angling himself so that his head would fall to Taylor’s middle, “kinda weird, but why not?”

“Is everyone in positio--”

But Craig was already laughing; being sleep-deprived and tickled by the movements of Zahra’s diaphragm, he couldn’t help it if he tried. And Quinn with her head on his belly, found herself jiggled up and down in a most giggle-inducing manner.

“There you go-- you’re doing it!”

Bouncing up and down on Estela’s firm belly, Taylor laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Which made both Estela and Diego laugh more, which made her laugh more…. And so, Raj’s laughing circle worked its magic. It was simple, and silly, but actually… it worked. She was smiling so hard her jaw ached. The genius of Raj had struck again.

She laughed until…. “Okay, okay, I c-can’t breathe! Too much laughing!”

Taylor sat up clumsily, and a rosy-cheeked Estela put an arm around her once more, still giggling herself.

A rather uncharacteristically disheveled Michelle caught her breath long enough to give Raj a look of incredulation.

“I hate the fact that I feel so much better after that.” She collapsed against Quinn’s shoulder and shook her head. “I don’t even want to know how ridiculous we all looked just then…. The things I do for you people….”

“For what it’s worth,” Taylor said, “I appreciate it. More than I can say.”

It would be over an hour before everyone at last trundled along back to bed. An hour that Taylor’s loved ones had filled with chamomile tea, a giggly session of group yoga, a massage with soothing lotions from a talented Michelle, and many, many hugs. She even managed to snag a hug from Zahra; very brief and well out of sight of anyone else, but a hug nonetheless.

Taylor sunk into the mattress with a quiet moan, and curled her body into a ball, soon to have Estela’s wrapped lovingly around it. She was tired… so tired that the weight of her eyelids was painful. But she was relaxed, more-so than should have been possible after the horrific vision she endured, and with something as momentous as her first day as a student at Hartfeld lying ahead.

“Duerme ya, dulce bien; mi capullo de nardo,” Estela sang softly as her gentle fingers stroked Taylor’s hair.

Taylor closed her eyes, knowing nothing but the feel and sound of her wife. The surest thing she could ever trust in.

“Despacito duermete, como la abeja en la flor.

Duerme ya, dulce bien;

Duerme ya, dulce amor

Dulces sueños tendrás

al oir mi canción.”

And Taylor slept soundly, cocooned in love.

_________________________

As she pulled the van up into one of several car-parks on campus, Estela was struck by how right Michelle had been about it feeling surreal to be back in this place. The only reason she’d ended up there to begin with was because she’d intended to kidnap one Aleister Rourke and hold him hostage to gain access to his father. Circumstances had… definitely changed. That she was studying now wasn’t just a means to a probably violent end; it was to equip her to live a life fulfilling and true to who she was.

Her passengers piled out of the van; usually, those without a class first-thing would more than likely take a bus in later, but today felt significant.

“How are you feeling?” Estela checked in with Taylor, noting that she looked rather like someone on the verge of vomiting.

Taylor felt rather like she was on the verge of vomiting. She was a walking jumble of nerves. The smile she gave her wife was shaky. “It’s just… weird. Other than the Lernaean Gate experience, and I’m trying to keep that out of my mind, I’ve never stepped foot in this place. But I look over there, and I know that’s the Humanities building, and the best coffee shop on campus is around that corner, and if I were to bump into another Freshman, I could probably give them accurate directions to whatever lecture hall they were searching for. I know all that, and still… it’s new.”

“It’s okay,” Estela said gently, finding Taylor’s hand and squeezing it. “All the other new students are gonna be freaking out too. You’ll blend right in.”

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” Taylor took a deep breath. This was nothing, nothing that she couldn’t handle. When she stepped back and looked at it logically, there was obviously no threat. All those months of building this up in her head sure had wreaked havoc on her. “What do you have up first? Was it the subject on discrimination and identities?” That sounds right.

Estela nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.” She had just the three classes on this first day; one each for Identity and Discrimination, Conflict Resolution and Peace Building, and Social Development. Having opted to change her major from Business Studies to Peace and Conflict Studies-- something that hadn’t even been an option when she began studying in San Trobida-- she was starting this school year as a Junior rather than a Senior.

She wasn’t alone-- Craig had also decided to change direction, now focusing his degree on Game Development. “Well, uh, that sounds… fun,” he said, grateful that Introduction to Computer Game Design would be his first lecture. It was something he’d wanted to try out back in his Freshman year, before he’d gotten swept up in the popularity that came with joining the football team. Now, his inner nerd wouldn’t be hidden in shame. “Anyways, I’ve got to go-- I actually don’t wanna miss this class. Weird. That’s like… never happened before.”

He shuffled off with Zahra, who rolled her eyes as she swung an arm around his shoulder.

Taylor pulled Estela into a kiss. All too brief, for they had company, and because that Identity and Discrimination lecture wouldn’t attend itself.

“You still on for coffee?” Quinn asked Taylor as the rest of the group broke off for lessons. “Grace says she’s on the way there now.”

With a tight hug goodbye, Taylor let Estela go off to her lecture, and joined Quinn in a brisk walk to the coffee shop.

As with much of the Hartfeld campus, the coffee shop felt as familiar as if Taylor had been there many times before. Rather than feeling odd, in this particular instance it added to the warm and comforting feel of the place…. It was like a hug from an old friend.

And the coffee itself….

“Actually, that’s a nice cappuccino!”

“Good enough that you’ll convince Estela to give it a go?” Grace asked, a twinkle in her eye. She knew well from experience that, as a rule, Estela found American coffee to taste-- to quote her directly-- ‘like ass’.

Taylor snickered. “I could get her to join us no problem, but I’d put money on her sticking to her flask of a superior Colombian brew.”

Whether it was a world-beating cup of coffee or not, it certainly fulfilled the job of giving Taylor the wake-up she needed. It was hard not to keep on apologising for being the cause of a disrupted night’s sleep, but she bit it back. There was no shame in not being okay. Soon enough, it would be someone else’s turn, and she sure as hell didn’t want anyone else beating themselves up the way she did. Estela had always been very quick to snap Taylor out of hypocritical thinking where guilt was concerned, and it was appreciated. So, Taylor just let herself enjoy a warm brew and the company of two of the best friends she could ask for as they pondered on this new year of college.

“Ooh!” Quinn cried suddenly. “You could try ‘Hartfeld Creates’; it’s basically a club for people who are into arts and crafts of all kinds-- well, basically, anything that you create yourself.”

That sounded all right. If she was going to ingratiate herself into the school community, starting with something Taylor already had an interest in wouldn’t hurt.

“Do they take bumbling beginner knitters like me, d’you think?”

“They do a big exhibition at the end of the school year; if I remember correctly from last time, there were definitely a few knitters showing off their work.” Quinn took another sip of her coffee, then looked up with a shy smile. “Actually,” she said, “I’d wanted to sign up, but commitments were always tough for me. I guess… there’s nothing to hold me back now.”

Grace returned the smile. “It sounds like a good excuse for me to really start diving in to fractal art. If you wanted, we could all sign up together.”

“I think I might really like that,” Taylor said, and she licked froth from her lips. Estela was missing out-- this was a good coffee. “At least I’ll know there’ll be two people who will say nice things about my lumpy knitting.”

She brought her mug upwards to chink with her two friends’.

“To new experiences!” she toasted, before hastily adding, “--of the low-key variety!” No more sea monsters for me, thank you.

Before Taylor knew it, the next of her new experiences had rolled around. She’d found her way to the lecture hall for Introductory Spanish without a sweat, as if she had a campus map pre-downloaded in her brain. It was weird, but she did turn up looking less frazzled than a few of her classmates, so it had its value. Taylor took a seat beside a mature-aged student, quietly relieved that not everyone in her first class was fresh out of high school. And, of course, being Taylor, she immediately made herself acquainted.

“Hi,” she said, offering a hand that was gratefully shaken, “I’m Taylor.”

The silver-haired woman returned a smile. “Lovely to meet you. Sue.”

“Is this your first class, too?”

“Not my first class-- I just came from a Molecular Biology lecture-- but it’s my first day, so still getting my head around how it all works. I did try college years back, but, you know… life happened. I can tell you it’s changed a lot since then!”

This was so much easier than Taylor had anticipated. Caught up in her own head, she found herself frequently falling into the trap of underestimating the qualities that had always best served her. She wasn’t just the glue that held the Catalysts together simply because she’d been created as a perfect match to their needs;  it was more than that. Taylor loved people. She was good at people. So long as she focused on her innate humanity and not the part of her that felt alien, she could find her confidence.

“So, Molecular Biology, and Introductory Spanish. That’s broad. I’m guessing you don’t have a major in mind yet? I’m the same.”

Sue chuckled. “Well, I’m not studying for anything in particular. No one strong direction. To be honest, I don’t have a great deal of interest in a career change. I work part-time from home, which suits me fine. Plenty of time for the grandkids. But I have always loved to learn. The way I see it, if I’m to broaden my horizons, I might as well cast a wide net.”

“Fair enough,” Taylor said. “There’s certainly the range here to do that. I found it a little intimidating to have so much choice. I vaguely know what direction I want to take, but really, until I give things a go….” She shrugged her shoulders. “What’s really going to grab me, I don’t know.”

“There’s something to be said for the fun being in the journey. I know I’ve always wanted a university education, and I’ve always wanted to travel. Both things are coming to fruition after more years than I care to count, but I wouldn’t trade any of the stops along the way for anything. That’s what inspired me to take Spanish-- Latin America is high on the list.”

“You should go off the beaten track and give San Trobida a try! It’s really beautiful.” Taylor suggested to an intrigued nod. “For me…. My wife’s Colombian-San Trobidan and my best friend’s Mexican by blood. I’m kinda curious about what they say to one other about me.” She smiled cheekily, had a momentary realisation of ‘oh, I’m not sure how LGBT-friendly this older stranger is’, then realised Sue hadn’t batted an eyelid, and continued. “No, we’re probably going to end up spending a lot of time in San Trobida; my wife’s only family is there.” Well, I guess that’s not even entirely true anymore. “A bit more Spanish will serve me well. Wifey’s teachings have mostly centred around curse words and romantic pet-names… neither of which are appropriate in all circumstances.”

Sue gave a short laugh. “It’s a useful language,” she said. “Widely used. And once you know a bit of Spanish, you find related languages start to make some sense as well. French is next on my list.”

And so, by the time the professor arranged his notes and set up the projector, Taylor had realised that she really needn’t have worried about a thing. She was a social butterfly; on La Huerta, or anywhere else. All she had to do was spread her wings.

_____________________

Estela’s morning had been uneventful. Her classes had basically been introductions to the respective courses; general overviews of what to expect in the coming weeks and months of study. This was just as well, because she found her mind wandering.

The previous night’s events had rattled her. So long it had been since Taylor had one of her horrific nighttime visions-- the last one had been back in San Trobida-- Estela had been caught off-guard. Once again, that helpless feeling was seemingly inescapable.

She sat down in the library and buried her head in her assigned Peace and Conflict textbook, trying to focus for long enough to string two sentences together.

It was just a freak thing because of all the build-up to starting college. Chances are, she’ll sleep like a baby tonight.

Babies sleep like shit.

Who came up with that dumbass idiom anyway? No one who ever met a goddamn baby….

Taylor had always been prone to vivid dreams; dreams that weren’t normal dreams. Actually, on La Huerta, Estela had experienced a few of those herself. But after Taylor released the part of Vaanu that resided in her, things changed. The memories gifted to her by the Endless took over all of Taylor’s dreams. Between the two of them, they’d managed to note patterns; flashes of violent scenes had-- without fail-- been in the wake of a period of stress, while a reduction of Taylor’s waking anxiety led to lighter scenes playing through her head at night. The key, they’d deducted, was to ensure she went to bed relaxed and happy. Estela couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid to think it was a phase that had passed; it had simply been a case of waiting for a significant enough stressor and --whoomp-- back to nightmare city. And once Taylor closed her eyes each night… there wasn’t a damn thing Estela could do to keep her safe from the cruelties of her own mind.

Estela glanced at the clock. It would be three-quarters-of-an-hour at least before Taylor was done with her second class. She should at least take a few notes while she waited.

Then a voice echoed out from behind one of the rows of shelves.

“.…I’m still not convinced scar-girl wasn’t somehow involved. Nine students disappear off the face of the earth and that creeper just happens to be with them? I’m not buying it.”

In an instant, Estela felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks, and her stomach drop. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected much different but… she’d hoped she could get through the first day without… without…. How could it not hurt? Pointedly, she kept looking down into her notes, though any remaining hope she might have had to actually focus on them had fled. Nine students? She didn’t even count; she was an ‘other’. As everyone had always seen her. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let anyone see that it gets to you.

“Oh my god-- right? I can’t believe they let her back here after what happened….”

Another voice cut through, sharp and comfortingly familiar.

“I’m sorry-- are you serious?” Michelle demanded.

“...We didn’t ask you!”

“I know, I know. You’re just too busy making up poisonous gossip about a person who you’re well aware has just survived a traumatic event. Classy!”

“What the fu--”

“I’m sure the dean would be interested in hearing all about your treatment of one of the Hartfeld Ten. Someone the rest of them owe their lives to several times over. Or, you know…. The both of you could just get out of here, and while you’re at it…. Get. A. Fucking. Life.”

There was some rude and clearly embarrassed muttering aimed in Michelle’s direction, the shuffling of feet, then quiet.

Estela realised she’d been holding her breath. Everything was different now. The sting was still real, but coming up behind it was something soothing. And she wasn’t the ‘other’ any longer; not in that moment.

“Michelle….”

And Michelle came around the corner, a look of horror across her face. “Oh, shit--you heard that?”

Estela offered a shaky smile. “It’s okay; I’ve heard worse.”

“It’s not okay! It’s not remotely-- They’re just… assholes. Self-absorbed, ignorant assholes.” Michelle was shaking with fury. And Estela found herself not surprised those students scarpered quickly as they did. “You would not believe how close I came to slapping those bitches just now--”

“No, I can guess. Thank you.”

“I used to be friends with people like that. Or… I thought they were my friends. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that now I’ve got the real thing.”

Michelle pulled off her shoulder-bag and sat down in the chair beside Estela.

“Are any of them still here?” she asked. “The people you used to know.”

“’Know’ is a strong word in hindsight,” Michelle commented dryly. “But, the vast majority graduated when I was meant to, or the year after. There are a couple of girls I was in the sorority with who were Freshmen at the time. I caught a ‘you saw Michelle Nguyen’s gay now?’ ‘thank god we saved poor Sean when we did-- he deserves so much better’.” She rolled her eyes.

Estela huffed. “Ignorant assholes,” she affirmed. She looked back down at her notes. “Too bad, though. So far up their own asses they missed out on knowing the most amazing friend a person could ask for. Sucks to be them.”

There was quiet, and noting the silence, Estela raised her eyes to see Michelle looking at her with the warmest, most appreciative of smiles. Somewhat shyly-- she’d not intended to stir up deep emotions-- Estela returned it.

Michelle glanced around, checking there was no one in earshot. “I was talking with Grace earlier; bringing her up to date on everything that went down last night,” she whispered.

Estela quirked an eyebrow. “Any words of wisdom there?” she asked with a soft sigh. “Anything at all, I’ll take it. Please.”

Sympathetic, Michelle reached out and squeezed her friend’s arm. “We’re going to look after each other. That’s the best wisdom I think any of us has to offer.”

It was hard to argue with that… but it didn’t feel like enough. Not when Taylor was still being wrenched back to the darkest of places, powerless make it end.

“We wanted to float an idea with the others,” Michelle continued, sensing Estela’s helplessness. “Maybe we could get together every month, every fortnight… whatever it might be, and all of us just… talk. Like therapy, but just us, because so much of what’s been the fucking hardest we can’t tell anyone else. I dunno… maybe Quinn will bring cupcakes or something….”

“That usually reels everyone in,” Estela noted, a smile tugging at her lips. It wasn’t a bad idea. For herself, she’d looked at the idea of some kind of counselling, but it had come down to the fact that she’d only really want to do that with a therapist from San Trobida-- someone who understood where and what she’d come from. That was a tall order, even before the challenge of dodging around sensitive La Huerta business was considered. Obviously, everyone else would also need to get help in their own ways, but for some things, they had to be one another. “I think…. I think that might be a really good idea.”

_________________________

“See? You survived two whole classes!” Diego laughed, coming out of a lecture theatre beside Taylor. He’d made a point of choosing at least one best-friend-friendly elective, landing on ‘Gender, Sexuality and the Media’. If the first lecture was anything to go by, they were going to enjoy it. “All those nightmares for nothing.”

Taylor sighed dramatically. “All we’ve gotta do now is hope my brain gets with the programme. She can be tricky, that one.”

With a kind smile, Diego gently bumped shoulders with his friend. The night before had been eye-opening. Of course, Taylor had told him all about the ghastly visions she’d been haunted with, but to be present through the aftermath… it had slammed it home just what she’d been enduring. And he didn’t know she’d kept herself together as well as she did.

“Hey… it’s all gonna get better.” As Taylor met his eye, appreciative but unconvinced, explained. “The way I see it, you’re basically Stitch right now--”

“I’m gonna need you to spell this out for me,” Taylor said with a laugh.

“Ha. Trust me, it’ll all make sense. You know how Stitch had been made for only one purpose, and he felt kinda lost when all that was gone? That’s you.”

“I… guess….”

“Hear me out!”

“Always.”

“Well, when Vaanu left you, there was this big empty space left behind. And The Endless’ memories are basically you clinging to what your purpose always was-- to care for us all. It’s like Stitch; you don’t have your own memories to take up space, it’s just you and your purpose.”

Taylor stopped in her tracks. “Hang on. Is Estela my aggressive, lonely orphan Lilo?”

Diego sputtered a laugh. “I’d like to think Estela and I are both your Lilo. But what matters is that’s not going to last. All that empty space is going to fill up, day by day.”

“I… really wanna believe that.”

“I know.” He put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “You know what else I think? I think the more you see that we’re all okay, the less you’re going to have that protective part of your brain setting off those nightmares as alarm bells to you. And for as long as it takes for you to be okay… I’m here for you. We all are.”

Taylor looked into his earnest face and saw only genuine love and care. And it broke her heart, because she couldn’t gaze into his warm, dark eyes and not see their light going out. A hard lump rose in her throat, choking her, and she buried her face against Diego’s neck, hugging him tight.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Really. Thanks.”

Finally pulling away from an embrace that had been so needed, Taylor and Diego hurried toward the green wooded area of campus where they’d arranged to meet Estela.

She was waiting for them by the fountain, her eyes lit with a smile at the sight of her beloved.

“Hola, mi angel!” she called out as they approached. “Te traje el almuerzo. Quieres encontrar un lugar?”

“Hahaha,” Taylor said sardonically, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly for good measure. “Yes, one lecture and I’m not fluent. Clearly university is money down the drain. Pfft.”

“Joder!”

“That, I understand.” She reached for Estela… the simple feel of her bringing her instantly home. “If we ever have an exam on curse words, you’ll have me on the trajectory for an A.”

What a relief it was to see Taylor happy, joking. Estela wrapped both her arms around her wife’s neck, and just held her. And when she finally released Taylor, it was only for her to move in once more to kiss her.

“Uh, guys? Are you going to do this after every block of classes? I might need you two to get a room.”

“Por favor! You love it. We all know you’re as invested in Taylor’s love life as you are your own.”

“Hey!” Diego exclaimed, hand to his heart as if mortally wounded. “A little rude, but true. But, I guess I can leave you lovebirds to it for a few minutes. Is it sad that I’m dying to see if they have anything new in the food court?”

And so, Estela and Taylor were left to wander a beautiful corner of the sprawling campus. Estela hooked her little finger in Taylor’s, and everything that had once made this world hostile melted to nothing. It was hard sometimes, not to feel like a round peg being forced through a square hole. Somehow, Taylor softened the world’s edges to her… and when she was near, Estela fit. Just as she was.

“Querida?” Estela looked at Taylor, and adored her. She could only hope that in her, Taylor found the same sense of belonging… the kind so strong that it defied all else.

“Mm?”

“I really love you.”

Taylor’s heart swelled. As it did every time she heard those words stated anew. Every time, it was a promise that for all the pain that still lingered, everything really would be all right.

“I really love you, too.”

[paradigmsofbrittaperry]

Any headcanons about Jeff x Britta you haven't mentioned before?

hmmm here's a couple that have been rolling around in my brain lately:

- one time around season 3, Shirley needs someone to babysit Elijah and Jordan so that she can take Ben to the doctor or something. she runs through the entire study group (Annie, then Abed, then Troy, in that order) and figures out that Jeff and Britta are the only ones available. when they begrudgingly agree to help out, she braces for the worst and expects to come back to find her house burned down, but instead comes back to Elijah and Jordan happily having a tea party with them. they have no idea how things worked out so well. they spend the entire drive home staring blankly ahead and trying to figure out what they did right. Shirley asks them to be her new go-to sitters; an offer that they try to refuse, but eventually accept when she has Elijah and Jordan ask them directly. they're not immune to the kids' over-the-top sad looks.

- a semi-related hc is that Britta and Jeff don't really want kids of their own, but both like spending time with others' kids. they like taking care of and going on adventures with Shirley's boys, but enjoy being the cool fun aunt and uncle more than they would like being actual parents.

- they have a running joke where whenever one of them does something stupid or something actually worth celebrating, the other goes "that's my girlfriend!" or "that's my boyfriend!" either sarcastically or sincerely. this changes to "that's my wife!" and "that's my husband!" after they get married.

- Britta has a soft spot for Furbies and Jeff doesn't really understand it, but helps her make a long Furby anyway. he draws the line at letting it stay in their bedroom because it freaks him out and he feels like it's always staring at him.

- Jeff expresses interest in re-collecting action figures from his childhood (G.I. Joe's, Transformers, He-Man figures, etc.) and Britta encourages this by dragging him to flea markets and estate sales so that he can build up a collection. he's a bit insecure about collecting kid's toys, so she makes sure to never make jokes about it and even points him toward fourms for adult collectors. his action figures live on a shelf next to her Furbies and the shelf confuses everyone who visits their house.

- when Jeff proposes for real, he plans a Winger speech in advance, but ends up simply saying something similar to his "you saved my life and changed it forever" from the finale. Britta doesn't immediately react positively, which worries Jeff until she reveals that she had planned on proposing to him before he could propose to her. they solve it by proposing to each other but spend the rest of their lives arguing over who was actually the one to properly propose first.

[madamewriterofwrongs]

Hi! Me again. What say a Lone Star Superhero AU?

Of course!

Owen - Shape Shifter

TK - Anatomical Liberation

Judd - Enhanced Accuracy and Senses

Grace - Psionic Equilibrium Distortion

Carlos - Empathy and Telepathy

Marjan - Electricity Manipulation

Paul - Light Generation and Premonition (unconfirmed)

Mateo - Power Mimicry

Tommy - Sonic Scream

Nancy - Telekinesis 

In a world where superpowers are a part of life, humanity has settled into a steady routine of monotonous daily life that’s almost too normal.

For most kids, their powers manifest around fifteen-years-old. No one knows what sort of powers they’ll get or why. A lot of people go into professions that compliment their powers. 

When Owen said he wanted the best, he meant it. A lot of firefighters have some sort of weather or elemental manipulation but that’s not always what first responders need. He wants people on his team who can read the entire situation - the people, the structure, the danger - and save the day.

............................................................

It’s at this point I realize you asked for Superhero and not Superpower and thus, this scenario is not what you wanted.

However, I put a lot of thought into their powers, so I’m gonna do some rethinking and I’ll get back to you. 

............................................................

And we’re back.

So.

Austin, Texas is a strange place. Crime is up, vigilantes roam the streets, and there’s always some villain with a plot to take over the city as though it’s the natural next step in their plan to take over the world.

Owen, was raised in New York City, where crime stopped being a headliner a long time ago. When he discovered his ability to change his appearance at will, he worked and trained and soon, he was walking the streets at night, protecting the city as best he could. 

When his son was born, he didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know any other powered individuals, only saw them on the news every night. When TK turned seven and suddenly discovered he could detach and reattach his limbs - even tear himself in half and pull himself together again - Owen was more than a little panicked. 

He should have been there for his son, he knows that now. Should have been there to help him learn his powers. But the streets were still a chaotic mess and Owen knew the city needed him. And besides, TK grew up wanting to fight crime just like his father, and he had amazing control of his abilities. It all worked out in the end.

TK grew up idolizing his father as the superhero he was. It wasn’t until he was an adult that he realized how much he missed having a regular dad around. It made him self-destructive. It was like having all of his body parts was too much to handle so sometimes, he would run headlong into a train, or throw his arm into the river, knowing he’d be whole again by morning.

But one morning he woke up, and there was a man knocking on his door to inform him of his death. Or rather, that they’d found part of his body in an alley outside a chop shop and were coming to tell Owen that he was dead.

They left town quickly.

And they ended up in Austin, a small town with impossibly high crime rates. For Owen, it was like Christmas. For TK, it was a punishment. 

It didn’t take long for the pair to find other powered individuals. There was a former firefighter who could see and hear and throw things that were impossible. His wife made people dizzy just by being in her presence. She told Owen that part of the reason she fell for Judd was that his heightened abilities made him “immune to her charms”. 

There was a police officer with the ability to not only sense a person’s emotions, but to somehow speak without saying a word. TK couldn’t help but feel drawn to Carlos, a man who knew his every horrible thought and feeling and still wanted to spend time with him. 

It took some convincing but Owen formed the five of them into a team of sorts, fighting crime and protecting the city as best they could. But he soon realized that they needed more if they were going keep everyone safe. So he made a call out to the superheroes in the world, asking for their help. Five more answered that call.

Marjan was addicted to danger. She called it putting others above herself - and maybe a part of her motivation was to genuinely help others. But Owen clocked her as the adrenaline junking with the power to cause a spark from the moment she walked through the door. 

Paul claimed he had no true powers of premonition, that it was only a sense of what’s to come rather than a vision, but his ability to create sunlight where there was only darkness was more than enough incentive to invite him onto the team.

Mateo was innocent and sweet, still so new to his powers. At first, he had no idea what he could do. After all, he didn’t grow up surrounded by superheroes, how was he to know that he could copy any of their powers so long as they were in the same room? It took a freak encounter with an incredibly flammable man for him to understand that he wasn’t like the other kids.

Tommy’s voice could be heard across a crowded room - hell, it could been heard across the country if she tried hard enough. The point was, when she talked, you listened, or you risked getting your eardrums shattered. Besides, she had a lot of really good advice.

And last, but certainly not least, Nancy has always felt a little invisible, but the day she summoned a book from the classroom bookshelf without leaving her desk, she suddenly understood what it meant to be seen. Thankfully, she had very supportive parents who taught her to build her gifts but hide them as well. Hearing the call from Owen was her first real chance to use her powers for good.

And they would, Owen promised. As a team, they would work to protect the city - and the world - from those who would cause others harm. He believed they were born with these abilities for a reason and they should do everything possible to help those in need. Together, they would save the world.

Prompt Me with AUs

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Interview // Clairo

For The Guardian. Read online. 

Exuding all the effusive pride of a new parent, Claire Cottrill is showing me photos of Joanie, her rescue dog and the muse for her forthcoming album, Sling. “She’s actually really bossy,” the Massachusetts-raised artist better known as Clairo chuckles over Zoom, holding her phone close to the laptop screen so I can see the Instagram post more clearly. “But she’s so funny. We have such a special bond.”

According to a DNA test, the sandy-furred pup is mostly chow chow and great pyrenees, with a little bit of boxer and lab in the mix, which accounts for the fact she has tripled in size in the six-and-a-bit months since her adoption. “She was a little wolf baby; a peanut!” the 22-year-old singer-songwriter exclaims, mooning nostalgically over one particular image depicting the then seven-week-old puppy peeking out of some bushes.

Dog ownership might have become quite the ultimate lockdown cliche, but for Cottrill committing to a pet represented a rare opportunity to lay down some roots. Certainly, pre-pandemic she hadn’t had much chance to pursue a life of quiet domesticity; not since the autumn of 2018 at least, when the lo-fi bedroom pop of Pretty Girl went viral, just weeks after she started college in Syracuse.

Its winningly DIY video racked up more than 1.5m YouTube views pretty much overnight (it now stands at almost 75m), and Cottrill was heralded as a vital new voice, and part of a wave of creatively autonomous, emotionally articulate Gen Z artists, alongside the likes of Billie Eilish and Rex Orange County.

Cottrill’s rapid rise – not to mention her signing with the Fader label and Chance the Rapper’s management team – was not without controversy. A small but vocal subset on Reddit circulated the rumour that Cottrill was an “industry plant”, a conclusion they arrived at following their discovery that her father Geoff was previously chief marketing officer at Converse and co-founder of its affiliated recording studio Rubber Tracks. She has recently addressed the allegations directly, telling Rolling Stone, “I definitely am not blind to the fact that things have been easier for me.”

Largely though, Cottrill has sought to prove her detractors wrong through the quality of her compositions. First came Diary 001, an esoteric, six-track set mining skeletal hip-hop and the wipe-clean grooves of PC Music-inspired pop. That was followed in August 2019 by Immunity, the full-length debut she co-produced with ex-Vampire Weekend man Rostam Batmanglij. More revelatory than Diary 001, it detailed a suicide attempt (Alewife) and her struggles with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (I Wouldn’t Ask You) with striking candour. Sonically, it paired tender, electronics-tinged introspection with swooning guitar-pop. Sofia, which now boasts 280m streams on Spotify, catapulted Cottrill into another league of fame entirely, leading to collaborations with Charli XCX, Mura Masa and Arlo Parks, plus arena tours in support of Khalid and Tame Impala.

Cottrill was busy with the latter when Covid hit the US. On hearing the news, she headed straight to Atlanta, Georgia, to see out lockdown with family, a period of isolation originally scheduled to last a fortnight but which went on for eight months.

Just how intense was it spending the best part of a year holed up with her parents? “It was awesome,” she insists, now back at the Brooklyn apartment she shares with fellow musicians and former college pals Claud and Josh Mehling. “My older sister came home as well. And I found it interesting that no matter how much you’ve progressed as an adult in your own life, the family roles revert back to exactly how it was as a kid.”

First and foremost, enforced confinement provided the opportunity for Cottrill to deepen her relationship with her mother.

“The conversations I had with my mom about motherhood, and the things she sacrificed for us, are really important to me,” she says. “Also, it’s like you don’t actually know who your mother is before she’s Mom, before she’s Wife, because there isn’t a huge documentation of who she was as an individual. And I realised that I might be in the period of my life now where I’m in my individual phase: before I am Mom, before I am Wife, or whatever I end up being. It was a bit scary to recognise that I could eventually have a family, and then this whole identity that I’ve had on my own for a long time can, in some ways, disappear.”

These existential ideas form the basis of Cottrill’s much-anticipated second album. Recorded in the autumn of 2020 at Allaire Studios – situated on a mountain top in upstate New York – Sling finds Jack Antonoff co-producing. Perhaps more significantly, the record also features backing vocals from Lorde – on Reaper as well as the lead single Blouse – an alliance that led to Cottrill returning the favour on the New Zealander’s latest, Solar Power.

“I met Lorde [when I was] on FaceTime with Jack,” she says of the link-up. “He was like: ‘Hey, I’m with a friend, can we say hi?’, and it was Lorde. And I freaked out, of course, but she’s the nicest person ever.

“We talked a lot about how cool it was in the Laurel Canyon era, where people would secretly do background vocals on each other’s music – like Joni Mitchell with Carole King – rather than as a way to benefit the business side of things. Back then it was just like: ‘I love your voice: will you lend your talent to my song?’ So that’s what I asked her, and I was just lucky enough that she wanted me on hers as well.”

The legacy of Laurel Canyon looms over Sling, which swaps the sparse electronic flourishes of Immunity for lush, acoustic folk, often embellished with swooning vocal harmonies, delicate strings and the warm swell of brass. Reference points for the record included Hejira-era Mitchell, the Carpenters and Harry Nilsson, alongside less obvious touchpoints, such as cult jazz musician Blossom Dearie. Most influential, perhaps, was Innocence & Despair by the Langley Schools Music Project, which features a choir of 1970s school kids covering hits of the day, and has since been hailed as a significant piece of outsider art.

“To me, that record merged my two worlds for Sling,” Cottrill explains. “I wanted that warm 70s feeling, but also I was thinking so much about kids, and especially the clumsy, sweet kid that Joanie embodies.”

There is a darker side to the record too, as Cottrill grapples with the reality of life navigating an industry that she memorably describes – on Bambi – as “a universe designed against my own beliefs”. On Blouse she describes her experiences being sexualised by record execs, while on Management she parodies the industry’s fascination with youth in lines like “She’s only 22”.

“[The attitude is] ‘There’s a lot more that we can squeeze out of her before she’s done.’ Because I think that what this industry does a lot is drain young women of everything until they’re not youthful any more.”

For Cottrill, as much as Sling is an album, it is a document of her endeavours to reassess what it is she wants from life. And adopting Joanie was only the first step: in two weeks’ time she plans to move into the house she recently purchased, in a tiny Massachusetts town in close proximity to both the Berkshire and Catskill mountains.

“It’s so awful that it took something like lockdown happening for me to reevaluate how I wanted to move forward. But it’s now about putting my mental health first, because I deserve to have nice things that I do care about. [Things] outside of music, like a house and a dog.”

As we say goodbye, I get another glimpse of Joanie, who has been snoozing throughout the interview. Sprawled on the floor at the end of Cottrill’s bed, blissfully unaware of her significance in our conversations, it’s a pretty fitting encapsulation of the pace of life that Cottrill has finally embraced.

[ashyblondwaves]

Happy Friday! I hope you’re doing well. I have some fun (I hope) questions if you’d be up for them!!

What are some lines Wanda and Vision use to flirt with each other that are just ridiculous and kind of hilarious but to them it’s totally suggestive?

What are some actual very sexy pick up lines they use?

How do they flirt “in code” around the kids like when they are putting them down for bed or something, how do Wanda and Vision tell each other that it’s on later without being inappropriate in front of the kids?

How do Wanda and Vision try to stealthily suggest some alone time while they are with the team? How obvious is it to everybody else?

What crazy euphemisms does the team use to reference Wanda and Vision having sex? Tony’s “hide the antennae” remark was gold! Absolute gold I tell you.

How did every avenger individually find out that Wanda and Vision were banging on the reg? When did they realize those two adorable cinnamon rolls were in love?

What are some funny/adorable nicknames that Wanda and Vision call each other? Can people around them hear them? Do they gag?

Has somebody ever made a move on Wanda and Vis walked in? How did he react?

What about on Vision? How did Wanda react?

I feel like they trust one another, but when the relationship was still new, like at the compound, did somebody get drunk and make a move on one of them, like a kiss or something?

What are little ways Wanda and Vision say I love you without saying it?

What does a typical goodbye/hello look like in the Maximoff household when somebody is going on a mission? Is it a lot of holding each other and hard kisses and making promises?

Do Wanda and Vision take turns going on missions? Does Wanda ever help from behind the scenes when she’s pregnant if the Avengers need her? How does Vision feel about it?

When she was pregnant did Wanda ever intervene in a battle between the Avengers and whoever they were fighting when she saw Vision was in danger? Did she and Vision have a fight about it?

What do render moments between Wanda and Vision look like? What about angry? Concerned? Exasperated?

How do Wanda and Vision make each other laugh? How do they make their kids laugh?

Lastly, what is Wanda’s favorite thing of Vision’s to wear vs Vision’s favorite thing of his to see Wanda wearing?

Have a good night, immunity queen!

Happy Friday! Let’s get these questions! 

1. What are some lines Wanda and Vision use to flirt with each other that are just ridiculous and kind of hilarious but to them it’s totally suggestive? For them it’s all about the voice. Wanda sauntered up to Vision at the sink once while he did dishes and just whispered “Come here often?” but in a sultry kind of voice and Vision was done. Similarly, Vision has said things in his deep, “What are you wearing?” voice that drives Wanda absolutely wild. 

2. What are some actual very sexy pick up lines they use? The sexiest was when Vision actually managed to get one right. He knows them all but always manages to make them sound a little bland. Poor Vision. But anyway, it was a very simple, classic line: “Want to save water by showering together?” 

3. How do they flirt “in code” around the kids like when they are putting them down for bed or something, how do Wanda and Vision tell each other that it’s on later without being inappropriate in front of the kids? It’s all in the looks they give each other. Vision can see Wanda’s eyes sweeping up and down his body after setting the boys down. Wanda can see the heat in Vision’s eyes. No need for words with them. 

4. How do Wanda and Vision try to stealthily suggest some alone time while they are with the team? How obvious is it to everybody else? Texts. Wanda will always send something really suggestive to Vision and watch him squirm from across the room. The team knows, but they leave it alone. These kids are married with a family now, the days of giving them hell about things are over. 

5. What crazy euphemisms does the team use to reference Wanda and Vision having sex? Tony’s “hide the antennae” remark was gold! Absolute gold I tell you. “Vision is planting his flag on Mount Sokovia.”, a lot of lame computer jokes, Vision’s plugging his USB drive in, that kind of thing. They’re generally pretty tacky but would you expect anything less? lol

6. How did every avenger individually find out that Wanda and Vision were banging on the reg? When did they realize those two adorable cinnamon rolls were in love? Everyone found out after a few months because as always, Wanda and Vision was terrible at being sneaky. They’ve been seen, heard and otherwise busted by every Avenger at different times in different ways. Nat saw them kissing in the yard, Sam heard them going at it loud and clear and couldn’t look at Wanda or Vision for days. They all knew right away it was love. Those two just sweat love for each other. It’s so obvious that you can’t really deny it for more than a couple minutes. 

7. What are some funny/adorable nicknames that Wanda and Vision call each other? Can people around them hear them? Do they gag? They keep it pretty classic, “darling”, “honey”, “sweetheart” and Visions “My little cabbage” which just makes people wonder what the hell that means. Nobody gags, but there’s a lot of eye rolling. 

8. Has somebody ever made a move on Wanda and Vis walked in? How did he react? Vision is cool as a cucumber. He walks up to his wife and introduces himself as Wanda’s husband. That person is never seen near Wanda again. 

9. What about on Vision? How did Wanda react? You know how Vision was cool as a cucumber? Well, Wanda is the opposite of that. She stormed up to the woman and claimed her man. Eyes glowing red and ready to strike. Vision calmed her down quickly, though. 

10. I feel like they trust one another, but when the relationship was still new, like at the compound, did somebody get drunk and make a move on one of them, like a kiss or something? Nah, nothing like that happened, fortunately. 

11. What are little ways Wanda and Vision say I love you without saying it? Small touches and quick looks, Wanda or Vision taking care of something for the other one (”Let me put the boys in their PJS tonight.”) and just their nighttime cuddle sessions while shutting out the world for a little while. 

12. What does a typical goodbye/hello look like in the Maximoff household when somebody is going on a mission? Is it a lot of holding each other and hard kisses and making promises? A lot of hugs and kisses, reminders to be safe, reminders that there are kids waiting for them to come home. Fight smart. Give them hell, but come home to your family after all is said and done.

13. Do Wanda and Vision take turns going on missions? Does Wanda ever help from behind the scenes when she’s pregnant if the Avengers need her? How does Vision feel about it? Who goes on the mission depends on the skillset needed, really. Sometimes it’s Vision twice in a row, sometimes it’s Wanda. It just depends on what’s needed. Wanda is always eager to help when she’s pregnant but Vision freaks out a little and convinces her to stay put while the baby is cooking. 

14. When she was pregnant did Wanda ever intervene in a battle between the Avengers and whoever they were fighting when she saw Vision was in danger? Did she and Vision have a fight about it? No, she respected the agreement she had with Vision not to put the baby in any danger while pregnant. Wanda is a fighter and it’s tough for her to sit idly by, but she reminded herself that keeping her unborn baby safe is a mission in itself.

15. What do render moments between Wanda and Vision look like? What about angry? Concerned? Exasperated? The only time they’re not touchy feely is when they’re angry. Anger is a lot of yelling and staying apart. But everything else? Tender touches, reassuring whisks of fingers across bare skin and kisses. 

16. How do Wanda and Vision make each other laugh? How do they make their kids laugh? Vision is all dad jokes and Wanda is a comeback queen. Wanda will slap you around with her wit and sarcasm while Vision just tends to be a little dorkier. 

17. Lastly, what is Wanda’s favorite thing of Vision’s to wear vs Vision’s favorite thing of his to see Wanda wearing? In my mind, Wanda likes when Vision dresses down and puts on some sweats. He’s always so well dressed and that’s hot but when he’s looking cozy? Hell yes. For Vision, my headcanon is that he’s ass man, so Wanda in shorts? Sign him up. Walking around their bedroom in her underwear? Praise the lord. 

This was fun! Thanks so much for stopping by, love! <3