#she possesses knowledge and senses that literally no one else around her shares

[mmelolabelle]

Helaena didn’t fight back or try to stop Blood and Cheese because she knew it wouldn’t make a difference, the same way you or I know that the sky is ‘up’ and that if you let go of an object from a great height it’s going to fall to the ground and break. Not because they were two men and Helaena’s a young woman with no weapon and no fighting experience, but because she’s a Dreamer.

This poor girl has been seeing cryptic visions of terrible futures and hearing prophetic riddles in her head her whole life — whatever specific knowledge she may or may not have had about what “the rats” were going to do, she knew it was going to happen (because what she knows always happens) and that she couldn’t stop it (because she has never been able to stop it).

“They killed the boy.” Not “They killed my son.” Not “They killed Jaehaerys.” It might not even register as something personal that those two men have done to her and her baby. Helaena experiences her son’s murder as a horrific forgone conclusion; ‘the boy’ was always going to be killed.

[erabundus]

@drolliic &&. said... It's not an uncommon sight to see the Kabukimono sitting on the beach and staring in the direction of the Tenshukaku. If he can't be found anywhere else then more than surely that's where he is. Which is how Niwa finds himself walking along it, pace quickening when the other's form does indeed come in sight.

"I was looking for you. You've been coming here almost every day so I figured you must be here." hummed as he takes a seat as well before presenting the other with something "This is a starconch. It is said that if you put it up to your ear, you can hear the sound of distant seas." and then, holding it out "Go on, do it."

the  puppet's  head  swivels  at  niwa's  voice  —  a  set  of  eyes  (  large,  bright,  painfully  transparent  in  all  their  raw  emotion  )  peering  up  from  his  seat  at  the  water's  edge.  ❝  oh ...  ❞  his  brow  pinches;  a  flicker  of  uncertainty,  of  embarrassment crossing doll-like countenance.  he  is  just  as  quick  to  turn  away  —  as  though  the  tenshukaku  possesses  some  magnetic  hold  over  his  attention.  not  an  inaccurate  description;  the  sight  surely  tugs  at  something  within  his  heartless  chest.  a  yearning,  a  need  —  though  for  what,  the  kabukimono  lacks  the  knowledge to properly convey with words.  

he  finds  joy  in  tatarasuna  and  its  people.  they  are  his  friends,  his  family,  his  entire  world,  as  close  to  literally  as  one  could  possibly be. yet  it is  perhaps  because  of  that  LOVE  that  he  finds  himself  so  rooted  in  place. returning day after day after day to the same spot on the beach.  he  is  afraid.  the  creator  across  the  glimmering  waves  has  already  REJECTED  him  once  —  but  he  witnesses  mothers  embracing  their  children,  drying  their  tears,  speaking  in  gentle  tones  and  that  yearning  is  sparked  anew.  does  she  know  of  him?  that  he  left  his  place  of  birth,  that  he  wanders  among  her  people?  ( would she be angry? proud? or worse, would she not care? ) does  she ...  think  of  him? he wants to know. at the same time, he is also too terrified of what threat the TRUTH may pose to his simple, gentle life to pursue it.

he  drags  a  finger  through  the damp  sand,  and traces a  mitsudomoe. it feels almost heretical to draw it in such a temporary medium.

❝  i'm  sorry  for  any  trouble  i  may  have  caused  you.  ❞  the  kabukimono  says,  earnest  as  ever.   ❝  i  didn't  mean  to  make  you  worry.  ❞  he  tugs  his  knees  up  to  his  chest  as  niwa  takes  a  seat.  ( curling up small, smaller than usual. ) however, a  flash  of  blue  then catches  his  attention,  and  the  puppet  looks  back  —  yearning  overridden  by  his  ever-present  sense  of  curiosity.

eyes  go  wide,  lips  part.  the  sound  he  makes  is  nothing  short  of  DELIGHTED,  and  he's  quick  to  take  the  starconch.  he  loves  all  manner  of  seashells  and  rocks  and  pretty  things  —  it  isn't  an  uncommon  sight  to  see  the  puppet  toddling  around,  eyes  diligently  scouring  the  ground  on  the  hunt  for  more  would-be  "treasures."  (  sometimes  he  shares  them,  excitedly  pressing  stones  into  his  loved  ones'  hands.  )  this  one  is  especially  beautiful,  and  the  kabukimono  cradles  it  as  though  its  been  carved  from  the  most  precious  gems in all of teyvat.  he  traces  the  stripes  of  alternating  blue  with  a  thumb  and  asks,  ❝  distant  seas?  how  is  that  possible?  ❞

curious to find out, he holds it up to his ear and waits. a few seconds pass.

❝  ...!  ❞  suddenly,  the  puppet's  eyes  go  wide.  he  jolts,  scrambling,  kicking  up  sand  as  he  suddenly  swaps  to  a  kneel.   ❝  niwa!  ❞  the  kabukimono  lifts  the  conch  to  his  ear  once  more  —  just  to  be  completely  sure.  he  makes  a  surprised  little  hum.  ❝  niwa,  it's  true!  look  —  no,  listen!  ❞  the  puppet  holds  it  out,  flailing  a  bit  as  he  nearly  drops  it  in  his  enthusiasm.  ❝  there's  an  ocean  inside  the  shell!  ❞

[yanderechuu]

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent. 

 You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat. 

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger. 

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day. 

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship. 

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

[scarletslippers]

Now the other man that holds space for Nancy is Carson.

Carson knows her better than anyone, and it really shows in their last conversation. It’s a nice contrast to her conversation with Ace, because as soon as he gives her the opening, “If there’s anything else...you need to talk about”, she starts crying. Here’s the space for her to be vulnerable right now.

She’s been walking around with the knowledge that she can’t have the man she loves, fighting to keep him alive and she’s about to crack. So when her father, whom she trusts so much, gives her an opening, she’s going to take it. Because she can’t talk about it with the one person she really wants to.

There’s also a whole parallel here to Nancy choosing Ace in 2x12, compared to choosing him here and then realizing she can’t selfishly prioritize him and them over the whole town and going back on her choice. Given his reaction in 2x12, if he knew the choice she’s making, I think he would be proud. (Cut to Nancy asking more than once, how many people died in the tidal wave.)

Its so much. She’s been carrying this alone, for a month, trying to preserve this gorgeous future she got to see for everyone else, even if her own piece of it is gone. “In order to save the town I gave up control of my fate. And I lied to the man that I love to save his life. And now I have to spend the rest of mine paying this terrible price.”

Now Nancy’s still grieving. Grieving Ace, grieving her future, grieving the honesty and openness her and Ace share. Because even if she had chosen Ace, if they had survived the veil opening, she would have been wracked with guilt. And at some point Ace would have asked and she would have told him. So she made the right choice, and now it’s going to haunt her forever.

She’s not in a place to problem solve yet. And Carson meets her where she is, trying to provide comfort, but he’s also not entirely sure what’s going on. “I’d say there’s so much in life we can’t control, but there’s so much we can. And sometimes things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

Which is kind of a platitude, right? But he doesn’t have much to go on. And while Nancy’s remark is clear to the audience, it’s not super clear to Carson. He doesn’t know that this is an ongoing lie. That this is a forever lie.

Until Nancy compares it to Kate. Carson still doesn’t have the facts, but he understands the gravity. And the first thing he does is explain to Nancy that even knowing the ending - which in hindsight he does, and which, in the present, Nancy does with Ace - it was still worth it to fight. “I don’t regret trying. And I don’t regret loving her, even if it meant having to lose her.” It was still worth it to love her.

Now he probably could have been a little more explicit, but this is Nancy. And she’s being pretty darn vulnerable right now. So if he comes out swinging with a well-meant you and Ace are meant to be together, or just go talk to him, it’s probably not going to go well.

Not to mention that Carson, as a lawyer, knows he’s not in possession of the facts here, so making an argument right now isn’t in his best interests, or Nancy’s. He doesn’t really know what he should be persuading Nancy of. All he knows is how to meet her in her grief. Which he didn’t used to be able to do. But now he does.

Nancy is the one to bring it up. She’s grappling with the idea of soulmates, because that’s very much what this is, her and Ace. The writers are calling them star-crossed, and they are. But it begs the question, if you lose your soulmate, what then? Shouldn’t that be it?

But maybe it’s not? Because she has this real, personal, example of soulmates in Carson and Kate to look to, to follow. Now, maybe Carson uses the term soulmate in more of its colloquial sense, as a connection, rather than Ace/Nancy’s we’re literally fated (and now we’re doomed). But it’s simple and personal and lovely, and it’s the road map Nancy has for love.

So after Carson talks about how worth it it loving Kate was, how she was his soulmate, he has to bring up the elephant in the room. Jean. Because he’s not living life alone. He’s trying to find happiness again. Nancy doesn’t explicitly ask, but it’s implied.

So he sticks to to the question she’s really asking - what does this mean for me? What does a future look like if it’s empty of love? How do you face a future, knowing you’re going to live it alone?

And this is his answer: “I choose to believe it is possible to live a good life, even without a soulmate.” Which is really beautiful advice to give your daughter, when she’s telling you she might have to lose how you lost. To tell her that life can still be full and beautiful after loss and grief.

It’s devastating to hear as a viewer, because obviously I do not want to imagine Nancy being happy after Ace dies. But for Nancy as a character in this moment with her father? This is what she needs to hear.

And again it’s Nancy that brings it up. “Maybe we get more than one?”

Is she already looking ahead for a replacement? No, obviously not. But for the girl who has been “alone her whole life”, who has been left time and time again by people dying, often because of her, she’s terrified. She’s terrified to live a life alone without Ace, dooming him to death because she loves him, and being forced to live with that crippling grief and guilt the rest of her life.

She’s not looking for a Plan B. She’s looking for a spark of hope.

And Carson gives to her. Nancy asks “Maybe we get more than one?” and Carson says “Yeah, maybe we get more than one.” It’s a quiet reassurance passed between them. It feels very much like Nancy reassuring Bess in 3x07 that “goodbye doesn’t mean you’re going to be alone.”

And when he says it, Nancy crumbles. She’s devastated at the prospect of it. At the idea that she will lose Ace, will be forced to face the world without him, and will have to look for happiness all over again. She’s afraid. And she’s looking for something. Some kind of reassurance that her life could still be good. That it could still be happy.

But Carson ends on the call to action. He’s assuaged her fears a bit, and now he’s reminding her of who she is — Yes, Nancy, if things fall apart, your life could still be happy. But you still need to fight. You are still in control and it’s not like you to roll over and just let things happen.

It’s a call to arms, to action, that reminder that “you control your own fate. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

And she’s going to do just that. The whole ending scene in the cemetery was my girl. Blue roadster, black beanie, flashlight. She’s been knocked down, but not out. She’s going to remind herself of who she is.

And it’s going to give her strength to fight for the man she loves. To fight for his life, and to fight for their future.

See Part 1 for how Ace will fight.

Thanks @flythesail for her contributions to the soulmate thoughts.

[lailoken]

“The idea that associating faeries and Witches with the dead related to an initiatory phase of the faerie encounter makes sense of why faeries are often confused with the dead, and why Witches are relentlessly associated with death. The Witch as poisoner of the well and bringer of disease is much like the apples of the Underworld upon which the Queen of Elphame claims "all the plagues of hell are upon," which could even be taken literally as diseases.

There is a risk in passing through the realm of the dead to get to the Crooked Path, there is a risk of an incomplete initiation that brings back demons of madness and disease instead of healing powers. For this reason many of the motifs of Witchcraft have to do with initiatory death and the Underworld, even though it is as much about the realm of Faerie as it is about the world of the dead. What we see in Witchcraft are images of blackness, skulls, bones, poisons and narcotic ointments, curses, animalistic transformations, cannibalism, perverse sex, and sorcerous tortures. This is all the uninitiated or partly initiated ever get to see. Our faerie light, the cunning fire, is hidden from view, but hidden in plain sight.

Initiation in other shamanic cultures involves things like dismemberment, eating of the flesh and blood by demonic entities and heating and forging symbolism. Eva Pocs talks about the way something was often removed or put in during a Witch's initiation in the Balkans. She says the removal of a bone or even the little finger was required in some parts of Europe. Just as Witches sucked illnesses or fairy darts out in the British Isles so did other Witches remove a bone from the body of an initiate, scratch them and take their blood for a pact or take something else from them that would serve as a relic of their personal power. The procedures of healing and the processes of induction into the cult resonate profoundly, and initiation can be seen as a form of drastic healing.

Things may also be inserted into people's bodies, both by faeries and Witches. You can see in the following charm that way back since the dark ages both faeries and Witches have been linked together in the practice of throwing elf shot or "witch shot" as it was also called.

The tenth century metrical charm “Against A Sudden Stitch" (WiÐ fœrstice) offers remedy against sudden pain (such as rheumatism) caused by projectiles of either ése [gods], ylfe [elves] or Witches (gif hit weere esa gescot OÐÐE hit wœre ylfa gescot 0ÐĐº hit wære hægtessan gescot) “be it Ése-shot or elf-shot or witch-shot." This brings to mind the physical ways in which Witches are renowned for putting things in people, such as pins of blackthorn into the heart of a poppet doll. The bewitched were sometimes seen to vomit up pins, and the tangled hair of the one who had hexed them. In this way both for good or ill, Witches and faeries were united in being held responsible for either removing strange body parts like an extra unnoticed bone, or instead inserting magical objects into the body of either a victim or potential initiate. As we have seen, when it comes to the realm of Faerie and humans the only difference between victim and initiate is a strong familiar spirit who acts as a kind of bridge and guide between the worlds.

Eva Pocs gives an account of how death and resurrection experiences were part of becoming known as a woman or man of Faerie. Lady Wilde also spoke how Irish Faerie Doctors often acquired their trade through having spent time in Faerie following abduction. Pocs tells us in her Fairies and Witches at the Boundary of South-Eastern and Central Europe that the living ones, as in people who had not passed through the initiation trauma, were not permitted to gaze upon the Otherworld in Balkan traditions. But the light-shadowed people who were either faerie already, or who had been taken away and "changed" were allowed to know it. The light- shadow was perceived as an aura around the person's head like a halo.

"As far as 'transitory death' and temporary soul journeys are concerned, they, according to several beliefs, mean initiation; if someone has ever looked into that other world,—eg. Has seen the fairies who must not be seen by a living person,—from that time on he/she is considered initiated." Or as another account from the area puts it: “The faeries killed him but revived him, giving him power." 

During these abductions the iele takes out a piece of bone and replaces it with a stake or wheel spoke. One year later in the same location they put back the removed bone. This trope of something being removed or inserted into the body of the initiate is found in many shamanic cultures throughout the world. In some cases the shaman is believe to be in possession of an extra bone that must be counted by the spirits.

These faerie motifs of abduction, initiatory death and repatriation into the community with altered status, and the insertion or removal of body parts and blood are all clues to better understanding how Witchcraft flows forth from the Faerie Faith. Eva Pocs points out the following similarities. Just like faeries:

"The witch, for instance, flies in the form of a crow or a whirl-wind, sits in a swallows nest, where she seems to sometimes be little, sometimes big, and sometimes disappears, she walks on the top of trees as quickly as the wind; or the whole witch company 'transforms into crows and alights on wil- lows'. They travel in green coaches on the top of the trees..."

Of course this close connection between the Faerie Faith and Witches was muddied by persecution of the Craft. The faerie practices were increasingly assimilated into the household and moved away from the wilderness, with Sicilian Fairie Witches going from house to house, rather than out into the forest. Meanwhile Witchcraft was given all of the dangerous Otherwise characteristics, the ones so crucial to initiation that were slowly being stripped from the faerie narrative. In the process the realm of Faerie was losing its teeth and claws, and Witchcraft was being vilified almost out of existence.

All of the negative or dark attributes of the faeries, which were originally part of their primordial ambivalence, were gradually settled on Witches. Cunning practices became strongly associated with Faerie, and Witchcraft with demons, even though originally it is almost impossible to make this distinction in a meaningful way. In this way most forgot that Witches serve with the right hand as surely as they blight with the left, a characteristic shared with the fées of Brittany. Faeries throw darts and blast crops as surely as they bestow blessings and cure the diseases they cause.

LOnce faeries, and the human practitioners of magic who had faeries for familiars, both shared in those characteristics, including the ones that do mankind good, and those that do mankind ill. Faeries, and the Witchcraft that grows forth from it into the human side of the hedge, carry with them all the plagues and poisons of the Earth, and also the potential inoculation and medicine that affects every cure.

Only those who have passed through the world of the dead are offered access to the Third Path. Only he who has walked that path and come back wearing the virid doublet of Faerie and learned to keep silent, can now come back and eat of the fruit upon which all of the plagues of Hell alight to find the secret of their cure. In the Underworld, the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life and Death are the same tree.

Even in Britain where we don't find the bone tak- ing motif and only occasionally see an explicit spiritual death followed by resurrection, we do find the passing of the breath, where a Witch's shadow is able to enter someone else, giving them soul, through the breath and mouth, or illnesses is sucked away with the mouth. Witch teats also allow something to be sucked away as a form of nourishment to the familiar, who also sometimes drank the Witch's blood drops. Familiars were sometimes put in another person by blowing them into someone's mouth and we may conjecture during sexual encounters with faerie beings where vital force was being taken out and inspiration put in.

The relationship between faeries and Witches is as much peppered in the language of consumption and assimilation through eating as it is in sexual ex- pression. Witches and their familiars live off each other, eat of one another. Here do we perhaps find the origins of the "eat of me" theme behind the Housel or Red Meal. Where some Witches consume the body and blood of their Devil and his Dame, just as the Christians consume Jesus Christ.

In this natural religiosity of consumption and mutual nourishment we see the foreshadowing of all such edible sacraments. The spirit world is understood to enjoy blood. As early as the 13th century in Ireland Alice Kyteler sacrificed a black cock at the crossroads to the spirit Robin Artisson, her spirit lover and familiar—himself a man of Faerie, a dweller at crossroads.

Jeffrey Burton Russell says of Robin Artisson: “As much like a faerie as a witch's familiar, Robin appeared in a number of shapes, a cat, a shaggy dog or an Ethiopian."

Alice was also said to gamble about on a salve-covered broom (no talk of flying on it only of putting ointment on it mounting it and moving around) so perhaps something was introduced into her body via the salve. Even if the straddling of the broom does not suggest intimate applications of the unguent, flying ointments, regardless of how they are administered are always an herbal formula given to them from outside the hedge, which is put into the body via the pores of the skin.

Another Witchcraft tradition, prominent mainly in Britain that involves taking something out, is the practice of taking blood above the breath. This procedure, where one suspected of bewitching someone was attacked and scratched badly enough to make blood flow, usually above the nose and mouth, was believed to neutralize their power for a time. We can conjecture that the reason has to do with the way power or Virtue is considered to be stored in blood and breath and is connected via an invisible thread to the power of the familiar spirit nourished by these two things. The Witch's power and virtue is expected to leak out in great glut in blood above the breath because so much power lives in the skull. Drawing the blood above the breath can be seen as an attack on the Witchs familiar as well as herself. It is quite illuminating to look closely at the scratching attack on Joan Guppy, whom we have mentioned earlier in relation to Faerie Doctoring.

"They scratched her face with overgrown brambles, saying that Guppy 'was a witch and they came for the blood and they would have it and her life also before ... they left her." Not just blood but "the blood" — witch-blood. This statement is reminiscent of the sweet blood faerie Witches were believed to have in Sicily. We can conjecture that when they say they came for the blood and would have "her life" before they left, what they actually meant was her soul force or magical virtue, as they didn't actually kill her. Witchblood, sweet blood, the power that holds a tenuous thread, like a bridge made of one hair, between this world and the paradise of Elphame—a thread that must cross the abyss of Hell and is like-wise just as capable of unleashing it.”

—

Sounds of Infinity

Chapter 9: ‘Faerie Doctors and Magicians’

by Lee Morgan

[echotzzz]

Elain and The mother

This could be a crack theory but regardless i want to share about what i feel about this matter and i’m sorry if it sound really off or unjustifiable. Again this is just a theory and from my own interpretation.

I truly feel that somehow Elain have some sort of connection with the Mother, but not like how Nesta was. We know about the Cauldron where it determines fate from the eddies of its swirling fluid but what about the Mother? Does it truly exist and have her own power or just an idea to the faeries.

So my theory is that what if the Cauldron chose Elain as the representative of the mother. What if she was the one that whispered to Nesta and prevent all of her power taken by the Cauldron.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

I believe the rose will represent Elain’s journey in the next book. But is it coincidence that the rose eventhough hidden in shadows were place beside the mother figurine ? Nesta even feel the need to put the rose in that position.

Is this the foreshadowing sjm used that the shadows would represent Elain’s love life and the mother as the arc for her power?

We don’t know what are the whole scope of power Elain possessed and how powerful she is but the thought that the Cauldron itself BLESSED HER with such gift must have some sort of meaning and reasoning and not just because it found Elain to be lovely. There must be something beyond that.

The voice

If i’m not mistaken, Nesta started to hear this voice after Elain volunteered to search for the dread trove and reacquainted with her power.

For Nesta

The voice was female, gentle. Wise and serene.

The gentle female voice in her head pleaded, Run, run, run.

A soft, familiar voice whispered the words. As they had been whispered to her long ago. As it had warned her in Oorid’s darkness. A lovely, kind female voice, sage and warm, which had been waiting for her all this time.

For Cassian

His stomach twisted. Instinct bellowed at him to wrap himself around her, to comfort and soothe, but another voice, an ancient and wise voice, whispered to keep going. One more mountain, that voice said. Just one more mountain. He trusted that voice. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

After read the description of the voice, i couldn’t help myself to relate it with Elain. Sjm also in this case, purposely gave us a really detailed ass description about the voice.

The voice was described as Female, familiar, gentle, soft, warm, serene (calm), lovely, kind, wise and ancient.

Let’s take a look the way Elain was describe throughout the books

Gentle and sweet

Nesta hadn’t wanted any dealings with the Fae, and Elain was so gentle, so sweet … how could I bring them into this?

Elain, who had been gentle and sweet.

But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart …

Warm

Nesta met her sister’s warm brown eyes.

Serene ( calm)

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

Soft & Lovely

Beautiful—she’d always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.

Kind

Something in my chest broke at Elain’s voice from the hall behind her. At the sweetness and youth and kindness, untouched by Prythian, unaware of what I’d done, become—

To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind.

Wise and sage

“It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” “Wisely said,” Mor offered,

For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she’d spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression.

Ancient

With Cassian the voice was described as ancient and wise. It remind me the time Feyre and Cassian met the bone carver in acowar and he talked about what happened in Hybern

“How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.”

At first i thought the bone carver talk about Nesta but the word lovely,fawn and sunrise(dawn) really associated with Elain

“I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Elain stood by the rail, the breeze caressing her hair. “She’s not getting any better. She’s not even trying.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the distant sea.

Could it made sense that Elain as a seer have knowledge that are as ancient as the sea.

The dread trove

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. “Either of you.”

So, since Elain was also made by the Cauldron she will not be influenced by the power of the trove. But it strike me as odd as why does Elain froze as well when Nesta use the Harp to stop time.

Is it so to give opportunity for Elain to use her power to whisper as the voice to Nesta ?

Do you see how it might be? that soft female voice whispered, What you might do?

The voice talked about the vision of Feyre’s death and what Nesta could do to prevent it. Seer abilities??

Even the things that hurt and hunt you? Only curiosity laced the question. [...] That wise, soft voice whispered, So live, Nesta Archeron.

Pain slowly washed over Elain’s face. And understanding. “Is that what this is all about? Father?”

Other than Cassian, Elain is the only person that knew the thing that haunted and hurt Nesta was her father’s death.

The Cauldron

So, Nesta bargained to give back what was stolen in return to save Feyre’s, Nyx’s and Rhys’ lives. But somehow, someone had prevent the Cauldron to take all of the power

“But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.”

This person literally stopped the Cauldron. The Cauldron have every intention to take it all back but stopped because of this someone.

Remember when the Cauldron came for Nesta in Acowar but retrieved as it saw how important Nesta is to Elain and it also purr in her presence as if Elain has a certain influence towards the Cauldron.

What if Elain persuade the Cauldron to not take all of Nesta’s power. Maybe from her seer abilities, she saw that it is vital for Nesta to have some of her power for the upcoming war?

Invisible hand

And a soft, invisible hand brushed her cheek in answer.

The sun was a warm hand on her shoulder, like the one that had prevented the last of her power from vanishing, as if telling her that the apology, the begging for forgiveness … it was no longer needed.

Nesta described the hand as warm coming from the sun. Is it coincidence that Elain also often describe as sunlight🤔

Yes, they’d have to figure out what to do with the entire Dread Trove now that they possessed all three objects. How Nesta had summoned it despite the spells Helion had placed on the other two … He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp. And that she seemed to have some sort of connection—or understanding—with the Mother. The Mother.

Notice that Cassian mention all of this to be done in the future. Since Nessian will not be the MC in the next book, it is obvious the next book’s MC will be the one that handle it.

they’d have to figure out what to do with the entire Dread Trove now that they possessed all three objects

The 4th dread trove object is still a mystery and only the one that was Cauldron made can find it and who is the remaining Cauldron made? Elain. It’s obvious enough that the DT will still play a major role in the next book

How Nesta had summoned it despite the spells Helion had placed on the other two

“In the end, Helion created the wards and keyed them to Nesta’s blood.”

“Once we leave this room, no one shall be able to enter it. Even you, if you do not unlock my wards, cannot enter.”

We have no idea how Nesta could actually summoned the objects despite Helion’s spell. And only Rhys and Helion the one who know how to unlock the spell.

I don’t want to be too reaching but what if Elain was the one that unlock it. Nesta’s blood run through Elain’s vein and maybe her seer abilities that provide knowledge as ancient as the sea could be the reason she knew to unlock the spell. ( again this is just my interpretation)

In conclusion

Is it coincidence that Nesta connection with the mother will still be a topic in the next book and at the same time there are foreshadowing mention the wooden rose was put beside the mother figurine?

Is it coincidence that Sjm never mention about whether Elain do reacquainted back with her power? Amren whom really eager for Elain to start finding the trove could have train Elain herself especially when she frequently mentioned how Elain should not be underestimated.

Is it coincidence that Elain is mentioned to even beat Azriel in secrecy that Cassian sometimes suspected Elain early dismissal was not to tend some elderly fae garden but what if she’s on the roll to train for her power. When sjm mention ‘secret’ it was not only to reflect the forbidden love but also Elain true power.

Is it coincidence that we only knew the surface of the seer abilities and somehow sjm haven’t elaborate it much further. As an Elain stan, i admitted that i actually know little of her as sjm never provide Elain with her own pov. Its like if we enter Elain’s head, there will be a major spoiler considering she will be the next MC.

If this theory turn out to be true, do you think that the Cauldron use Elain as his messenger or a puppet by giving her vision and image? Remember when the IC were lost and suddenly Elain were given image about Vassa. When Elain could search for the Suriel with only one try.

Why was Elain captured by the Cauldron when it clearly mentioned that the Cauldron will never harm her. It was as if in order for something to happen, Elain must be captured. What was the outcome:

Trigger Feyre to fly where she only have been training for a short time.

A human girl name Briar were saved. Will she be important in the series as her character were given a name?

To alert that Tamlin was in fact on the good side

When Elain was captured, she was lured by the image of Greysen offering her safety and protection but who was the one that rescued her?Azriel. Like she was expecting Greysen to come but instead it was Azriel. Was the Cauldron use this to show Elain who will matter to her the most?

“Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made.

And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.

[novantinuum]

Trollhunters alt timeline AU concept:

Okay, so since I’ll never have the emotional energy to Write It in full, I just want to share my wild ass Trollhunters alt timeline AU, inspired by that chaos ride of a movie.

Disclaimer: Personally speaking, I actually enjoyed the RotT movie for the absolutely absurdist, emotion-murdering storyline it was. I can certainly say that it... (and in fact, Wizards too) most definitely doesn’t follow the ToA personal canon I hold in my heart, BUT- I don’t consider my idea a “fix-it” because I strongly dislike using that term myself. In all its imperfection, canon simply is what it is, and thus my idea is instead just a wild little AU concept, because thinking about what-ifs is fun. However, given that self-indulgence is a hoot, this is also my way of molding a plotline where some of my favored elements get to play in to everything.

Beginnings:

This AU diverges from the very end of the RotT movie.

So… from my reading of the last scene, one could argue that Jim’s canon decision to return to before he picked up the amulet and avoid picking it up again was born out of a sense of failure… a feeling that he failed as a hero because he wasn’t there to save his best friend from dying. He kinda wished himself (as he is, as the Trollhunter) away in a “It’s a Wonderful Life” type manner, hoping that by simply allowing someone else to take up the mantle, maybe things could end up better.

In this AU, instead of sending himself back to before he picked up the amulet, Jim’s last spoken desire before he uses the time crystal is a stubborn, confident assertion. Not doubting his own ability as the Trollhunter, but resolving to save all his friends in whatever way he can.

And he’s going to do this starting from Draal.

However, there’s a catch. This time crystal… powerful magic like this always poses consequences. And once he uses it, he discovers that the terms of this second chance are that no one can ever find out that this previous world ever existed. Jim is alone in his knowledge. He must tread carefully. Should anyone ever discover this secret… cataclysm will occur.

Time will shatter.

No pressure, or anything.

Timeline 2.0:

Future Jim is shucked back to his old body somewhere amidst early season 3. His first goal is keeping Draal alive. His foreknowledge of Angor Rot’s involvement in Merlin’s tomb will aid them greatly in how to better protect his friends.

His second goal... is one that he’s kinda of two minds about, but knows is desperately necessary for the fights he’ll face in the future. He’ll of course have to become a half-troll again. Thankfully, this go around it’s entirely his choice, and he knows it’s coming. That transition will be easier. Along with this... he knows he’ll have to somehow manage to keep ahold of his amulet. He can’t let the Arcane Order destroy it, and he can’t let them take control of him. If he stands any chance of being on top of his game in the early stages of their eventual fight against the titans, he’ll need to keep both that AND remain half-troll.

His challenge early on: Jim is stuck in the very awkward position of having to play chess master with events that he’s already lived through, so as to attain the same old victories WHILE ensuring all of his allies come out alive this time around... and WHILE not cluing anyone else in on the fact that he knows their futures. The stress involved with that is immense, and there’s bound to be instances in which he’s very clumsy with how he manages this. One of the largest early consequences of this second timeline is that he grows more emotionally distant from his friends and allies, especially those who had died in the original timeline... because after all, it’s almost as if he’s walking among ghosts, right now.

I honestly don’t know exactly how Wizards would shift because I haven’t seen it in eons, but Jim still has to ensure they end up in the past, right? Since he knows they’re a part of the past for better or for worse. He isn’t injured this time around, he likely has been hiding his amulet while back there, and there’s no beast Jim situation because the Arcane Order hasn’t wrest control of him. That’s all I know at the moment.

But yeah, those earlier battles end in victory (or partial victory, since of course the Arcane Order are a slippery bunch)... all allies are still alive... Jim remains half-troll by the beginning of the events of RotT in timeline 2.0...

HOWEVER.

Because of Jim’s extreme focus on keeping his friends- Nomura, Nari, Strickler, Toby- alive... because of how bonds within the group have weakened from his emotional distance... his second go at trying to stop complete armaggeddon is an entire failure.

Nari is saved, but they fail at stopping the other two titans. The world is set to be reborn in ice and fire. Jim has failed, once again. It’s at this moment that in a fit of frustration and rage, he lets his secret slip... accidentally reveals what was supposed to remain hidden... that this is his Second Time experiencing this.

Time shatters.

And then, the whole of creation falls silent. On pause, for Jim’s eyes only.

At this point in this AU story, since I am super self indulgent, I want to do a literal God from the Machine. Because I had a concept flash into my mind... a concept of a literal ancient deity rising from a deep sleep to set her attention upon the mess these mortals have created. All she appears as is bright, blinding light, and an echoing, sonorous voice.

When Jim asks her identity, she simply replies that she is the First Spark. The origin of all life, light, and magic. She has many names… names that countless souls have used to name their young in unknowing reverence… but one in particular that he might recognize.

Deya.

This goddess is the embodiment of daylight and creation, and the sword Jim wields? The armor? It is essentially made of her body. Her power. Her essence. Stripped away and used for whatever purpose mortals desired whilst she slept. How egotistical, she thinks, that Merlin directed all glory towards himself, rather than to the deity that allowed for his use of magic in the first place.

And so Deya reveals that she aims to clean up this cataclysm by returning the world to its original state. The original timeline. The one where this world hasn’t been destroyed in a horrible cataclysm. Jim, of course… immediately protests. Brings up all the hard, desperate days he lived just to get this far, just to save his closest friends and family. Begs her to do something, ANYTHING to help.

And eventually… the goddess offers up a choice. She’ll agree to restore the individuals who were dead in the original timeline, weaving the living souls of those in the second timeline into the first… but. To provide consequence for the disastrous mess mortal kind made, she refuses to use such power of resurrection in a “pick and choose” sort of manner. If she’s going to resurrect Jim’s allies, then she’s going to resurrect his enemies too. Everyone who has died throughout his journey will be brought back, no matter their alignment with the Trollhunter team.

Now, in order to save everyone, Jim must once again risk re-igniting the same conflicts with many of these foes all over again... except this time, in new paradigms and patterns that even he cannot predict. Is it worth it, for his friends? For the ones he loves?

Endgame:

Jim makes the deal. All the dead are restored. As time begins to flow again, they stand in the rubble of the titan they destroyed in timeline one. Jim feels great anxiety at the thought of the last two members of the Arcane Order being alive once more, but at very least the titans they piloted are no more. They’d have to come up with a new plan of attack now, if they had their hearts set on the same goal.

Toby is alive. So is Strickler, Nomura, Draal, Nari... Those who were dead, however... quickly realize that they remember dying. Those who remained alive in both timelines realize that they possess memories of both. Certain relationships will likely be rocky and strained for the first while.

Somewhere on this planet, old foes, old allies, and unpredictable agents alike have returned from the cold grasp of death with a shock. It’s anyone’s guess what new rivalries, alliances, and driving plans will emerge this time. At the very least, however... team Trolhunters is intact... and they’re more than willing to face this new, unpredictable future once more, wherever it leads. Together, hand-in-hand.

Fin.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Niecest? With yandere!Huaisang?

Silver Mist - part 1/3 - ao3 

According to Nie Huaisang’s teachers, there was a small voice in people’s heads that told them what was good and what was bad, and that voice was called the conscience.

Nie Huaisang concluded, after some observation, that this was true – for other people, that was.

Nie Huaisang himself did not appear to suffer from this particular affliction.

Which was not to say he didn’t have a small voice in his head, of course he did, only he was pretty sure it wasn’t actually telling him the difference between good and evil. When he was very young, he thought the voice might be his mother, who had died (or possibly disappeared) when he was born – it sounded a bit like the way people described her, witty and enchanting, with a fox’s face and a fox’s mind.

A poisonous beauty, they called her, and they sounded almost afraid.

His mother’s voice might not have much to say on the subject of morality, but it had plenty to say on the subject of people: how to study them and learn the weaknesses even they didn’t know of, how to flatter them and lower their guard, how to deceive their eyes and minds until they did everything you wanted.  Men or women, it didn’t matter much – they were all there for the taking, ripe for the plucking, prey waiting for him to hunt them down. All he needed to do was want it and he’d be able to feast upon them at his leisure, harvest their desires for his own, eat their hearts out of their chests and pick his teeth clean with their bones.

Possibly literally.

His mother’s voice wasn’t very clear on that.

(How did a no-name no-family girl from nowhere marry a prestigious sect leader to become the second Madame Nie, a new disciple asked, laughing, not noticing how the others glared at him, what was she, a man-eating nine-tailed fox in human guise?

He didn’t last long.)

Still, no matter how much Nie Huaisang’s mother’s voice – or possibly his own – entreated and enticed him, Nie Huaisang didn’t go around convincing people to jump off cliffs or murder their spouses out of love for him, not even if he did secretly think it would be a bit funny. He might not have a little voice that told him right from wrong the way other people did, but he still had something to show him the way – something better.

He had his da-ge.

Nie Huaisang loved his da-ge.

Other people said that Nie Mingjue, the great and fearsome Chifeng-zun, was not easy to love, but what did they know? Nie Huaisang had never found it difficult. Sure, his brother was often angry, intemperate, volatile – prone to lashing out and then making it up later – cold and standoffish with those he did not trust – stern and unyielding in his righteousness, convinced of his position and unwilling to compromise – but that was all for other people.

For Nie Huaisang, his precious didi, Nie Mingjue bent his unbending spine, relaxed his rigid standards, denied his obdurate instincts, strained himself almost to the breaking point. He spoiled him and scolded him and believed in him when no one else would – he gave Nie Huaisang his heart, full and entire, laid it bleeding in his palm, before Nie Huaisang even knew that that was something he might want.

The sky could fall down, but his da-ge would still hold it up for him if he could.

And so Nie Huaisang did not, in fact, go around eating the hearts of unwary cultivators, neither metaphorically nor literally – except for a few times when he wasn’t paying close enough attention and let a little bit of that fox-face he’d inherited from his mother slip out, a handful of people falling madly in love with him and pursuing him until his da-ge beat them black and blue and kicked them out of the Unclean Realm, but no one could be held accountable for a few tiny slip-ups, surely. Nie Huaisang did not become everything that he could be, neither great nor glorious nor terrible, but rather stayed lazy and indulgent and indulged, luxuriating in his brother’s attention, whether positive or negative.

And then there was a war.

His brother was gone for months and months and months. He sent letters when he could, asked his friends to check up on him, worried endlessly about his precious little brother – but he was far away and could neither return nor allow Nie Huaisang to come to him.

It wasn’t fair.

Nie Huaisang got bored.

Maybe he also fucked his way through the Cloud Recesses, but he didn’t eat anyone’s heart in the process, so it was still mostly fine, he thought. According to the adorable stuttering version of the talk his da-ge had stumbled through for him at one point, long after Nie Huaisang already knew all about it, sex was something natural and wonderful that two people (or more) shared to express their affections for each other, nothing to be ashamed of, but also please don’t overdo it or do anything that would result in children outside of marriage, as that was more trouble than it was worth – just look at the Jin sect.

Nie Huaisang had a lot of affection to share, and avoiding by-blows was easy, with a bit of creativity; besides, there was a war on, and all those people didn’t really need their virginities, anyway.

It wasn’t enough, though. It didn’t make up for not having his da-ge.

It didn’t make up for not knowing how his da-ge was doing, because obviously he wouldn’t include details in the letters he sent and the people at the Cloud Recesses were inclined to think that Nie Huaisang didn’t need to know about the brutal realities of war, when all he wanted to know was if his da-ge was eating properly and sleeping properly and not working himself up into a stress migraine from unvented rage.

It didn’t make up for hearing that his da-ge was missing.

(He’d fucked that one out of Lan Xichen, who wasn’t supposed to say, on one of his frequent visits, licking bits of knowledge out of his mouth through grunts and thrusts and starry wide-eyed stares that seemed to be mostly puzzled at how he had been so thoroughly charmed by him.)

It didn’t make up for the sudden and horrible feeling of fright, of concern, of fear – the abrupt realization that his brother had been in danger during all this time, not merely called away by duty – the notion that he might not return – that Nie Huaisang might have to do without him forever.

And then his da-ge came back.

That was when Nie Huaisang abruptly realized that he was just too greedy to give up either his da-ge’s affection or sex, and in fact would ideally like them both at the same time.

(His da-ge had come back from the war injured. His robust spiritual energy had been drained from overuse, his strong body broken and beaten down by a force greater than him, broad shoulders bowed; his lips were pale, his limbs weak, and he clung onto Nie Huaisang as if to a savior, refusing to let him go even when urged.

Nie Huaisang liked that.

He liked that a lot.)

There was really only one problem with this little realization, beyond the obvious disappointment awaiting all of his previous lovers: unlike Nie Huaisang, Nie Mingjue really was possessed of that little voice that said do or don’t do, and he heard the sound of it loud and clear, even clearer than most. He was a righteous man, an upright man; even if he were to develop a sudden passion for his younger brother, who he had raised, he would die rather than act upon it.

Right, there was that bit, too – they were half-brothers, sharing the blood of the same father, but Nie Huaisang didn’t see that as a real issue. His mother’s voice laughed like a jackal when he mentioned it, and all the history books were full of salacious tales of noblemen who took twins as brides into the same bed or married someone who fell a bit too close on the family tree; the erotic works he collected as a hobby were stuffed full of such tales, and they were often among the most hotly requested for borrowing. The number of times he’d been asked to play the little didi, asking for his dearest darling gege or jiejie to give it to him hot and hard… if he had a coin for each instance, he’d be a rich man.

He already was a rich man. Maybe he ought to use some other metric.

No, the main problem was the righteousness that Nie Huaisang so admired when it was aimed at everyone but him. His brother had been making exceptions for him since the very first – why not this, too?

Still, sex was such a tricky subject for some people, and thinking back to the way his brother hadn’t looked him in the eyes for nearly a week after that initial talk, that was probably applicable here. Nie Huaisang loved his brother far too much to wish him any real harm – his brother had only the single heart, fragile and precious, and if it broke there would be no recovering it so he had to be careful – and some initial explorations, done under the guise of drunkenness, confirmed that Nie Mingjue had never considered the possibility of the two of them together in that way and almost certainly would be horrified and upset by the suggestion that Nie Huaisang had.

Forcing the issue might win him some small and temporary pleasure, since his brother didn’t know how to deny him anything, but it would shatter his brother into a million pieces to give up something so fundamental to his sense of self as his sense of righteousness.

Perhaps for someone else, that would be enough to convince them to stop.

Not so Nie Huaisang.

He was too greedy, too spoiled. He wanted what he wanted – his da-ge, in his bed, wanting him – and he’d never been denied anything he really wanted before, least of all involving his brother.

He went to his brother’s room at night.

“Da-ge,” he said with a smile. “Let me brush your hair.”

His brother grumbled something about being tired but acquiesced at once, accustomed to Nie Huaisang’s petty dictatorship of their household. He sat in front of a mirror and Nie Huaisang settled behind him, slipping his fingers into his brother’s hair and rubbing against his scalp until he could feel the tension in his brother’s body start to dissipate. He chattered as he worked, speaking of nothing and everything, and his brother at first responded with grunts and hums and occasional comments but soon enough succumbed to the feeling of safety and security and home, slipping as he relaxed into a state not unlike meditation.

He’d trained his brother well.

Normally, Nie Huaisang would only take a little advantage of his touch-starved brother’s torpor, which rendered him so very agreeable, asking for favors or presents or excuses – he’d won his first visit to the Cloud Recesses in just this way, not to mention authorization to start his aviary. In normal times, he couldn’t push too far, since what Nie Mingjue might agree to in a daze might not survive his temper when he’d returned to full sobriety, but Nie Huaisang had recently been watching his brother’s new sworn brothers using musical cultivation to soothe his brother’s ever-present temper, and it had given him all sorts of ideas.

It was easy enough to adjust his voice – Nie Mingjue wasn’t really listening to him anymore anyway – and to modulate his tone into something very near to a melody, the cadence quickening and slowing, rising and falling, infusing it with his own very special cultivation, and it wasn’t long before his brother began to instinctively incorporate the music into his own cultivation just the way he did when it was his sworn brothers who were playing for him. The situations were largely similar, after all, what with there being meditation, music, and a younger brother he trusted.

The fact that the melody was different from what Lan Xichen played, the instrument a voice rather than a guqin, was unimportant; as Nie Huaisang had hoped, his poor nearly tone-deaf da-ge either couldn’t tell the difference or didn’t care to. Nie Mingjue’s own talent took care of the rest, spreading the effect of the music through his entire body at double-quick pace, sinking him deeper and deeper into his pleasant, comfortable rest.

Nie Huaisang smiled down at his beloved brother, his fingers still deep in his hair even though the braids had long ago been fully taken out.

He leaned down and whispered in his brother’s ear, “Wake up.”

His brother’s eyes opened – but they were glassy and blank, unseeing and empty.

Nie Huaisang’s smile widened, and in the mirror he saw a grinning fox’s face where his own ought to be.

“It’s me, da-ge, it’s Huaisang,” he said, voice coaxing, his tone still half-singing. “You love me, don’t you?”

Slowly, as if his head were terribly heavy, his brother nodded.

“And if you love me, you must trust me.”

Another long, slow nod.

His smile widened still more, and the fox’s face gave way to the fox’s voice, which, it was said, could stir up the hearts of men and lead them to their doom.

“Because you trust me, you will listen to me, believe in me,” he crooned in his brother’s ear, watching in delight as the words were carried by the unconscious habit of cultivation straight into his brother’s core. “Whatever I say is how things are. Whenever you hear me hum this tune, you will remember that, won’t you?”

His brother’s brow wrinkled, just a little, instinctively fighting the spell for a moment, but Nie Huaisang pressed harder, with his cultivation and with his fingers digging into his brother’s temples, and after a moment habit kicked in, the tension released, the words accepted, the trance state complete.

His brother was as docile as a doll, as impressionable as wet clay.

His beautiful, wonderful da-ge.

For this first outing, he would not push too hard. His mother’s voice urged caution, care – the prize could not be won in haste, and if there was one quality Nie Huaisang did not lack, it was patience. He would move slowly, gently, and in the end he would get everything his black little heart desired.

Just like his mother had.

“Your didi, Huaisang, is special,” Nie Huaisang murmured in his brother’s ear. “He needs special care and love from you. You know that already, don’t you? That’s why you’re always so permissive with him, so indulgent. That’s why you let him touch you, even when you don’t let anyone else. Even where you don’t let anyone else.”

He let his fingers slip down his brother’s chest to settle into his lap, tracing lightly over the outline of his cock, even though he couldn’t really feel it through all the layers.

“You let him touch you here, sometimes,” he whispered, and the words flowed in with everything else. “And sometimes, as a treat, when he’s been good, you touch him back, make him feel good. It’s not wrong. Not when it’s Huaisang. It’s normal, natural, as easy and unremarkable as breathing – you don’t say anything about it to anyone else, but why would you? You don’t tell people about ruffling his hair, either.”

His da-ge’s eyes stared blankly into the mirror. He did not object.

“You’ll forget about this conversation when it’s done,” Nie Huaisang told him. “Every time I hum this song for you, you’ll return to how you are now, nice and relaxed and quiet and listening, and when you wake up you forget it, every time. That’s normal, too, and nothing to worry about.”

That should be enough for today, he thought. A small adjustment, yet well within the realm of what he could play off as a laugh if the spell didn’t take – and if it did, it would edge his da-ge’s mentality a little closer to what he wanted, to a world where his righteous brother didn’t perceive that there was anything wrong with bedding his own half-brother, his little spoiled fox that he loved so much.

Each future time he took his da-ge down into the quiet, he would reinforce the command, move him just a little closer to there – it would be like replacing a single item in a room at a time, moving so slowly and delicately that the person in the room didn’t ever realize that the room had completely changed.

“Time to wake up, da-ge,” he said, and snapped the connection between them.

A moment later, his brother’s eyes cleared up.

“Are you still not finished?” Nie Mingjue complained, as Nie Huaisang had all but expected. “Some of us wake up early, you know.”

“I was being thorough!” Nie Huaisang protested, rolling his eyes at the mirror and watching his brother smile at him. “You’re always telling me to be! It’s all ‘work on your follow-through, Huaisang’, ‘don’t give up halfway through, Huaisang’, ‘finish what you set out to do, Huaisang’ –”

“All right, all right. Off with you. And go to bed this time, I don’t want to see you at breakfast with circles under your eyes because you stayed up until dawn again, you hear me?”

Nie Huaisang raised his hands in surrender. “Da-ge’s so mean,” he pouted. “I do all that hard work for da-ge, working until my hands hurt, and da-ge just sends me away to bed?”

He got an eye roll in return. “You’re the one who barged in here and insisted on it!”

“I still did it! That means I deserve a reward,” he insisted, leaning back on the bed, spreading his legs.

A hint, although it could be laughed away as innocent if needed.

“You’re so spoiled,” his da-ge complained, but he stretched out his arms high above his head, twisting and cracking the air out of his back and neck, and seemed pleased enough by his improved flexibility. “All right, all right. You big baby. You can’t do anything yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” Nie Huaisang said with a grin, watching as his da-ge climbed onto the bed next to him, his expression open and free and relaxed, and started to open Nie Huaisang’s clothing as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do, his hand sliding down to wrap around Nie Huaisang’s cock as if he’d done this a hundred times before – although the clumsiness of the action suggested otherwise. “I depend on my da-ge for everything.”

“You really do,” Nie Mingjue grumbled, starting to pump Nie Huaisang’s cock firmly. Nie Huaisang made a happy sound, bucking his hips up encouragingly – he’d been hard since he first walked into the room, and honestly the feeling of a plan working out just as he’d intended was very nearly as good as the actual physical pleasure of having his da-ge’s hand on him for the very first time. “What am I going to do with you, Huaisang?”

“Many things,” Nie Huaisang giggled. “Many, many things.”

[chat-noir-always-here]

I rewatch miraculous—Rogercop

Once again–this post uses screenshots from the French Dub version of Miraculous, translated by the good people at MiraculousSubs on tumblr. Yeah, I like the French version. FIGHT ME!!!!

Nino winking at Marinette is cute :’). Also Alya’s proud smile makes my heart  💞💞💞

Marinette and Nino noticing Adrien’s loneliness🥺🥺🥺

Alya’s mom: “Unfortunately i have no dishes to share. But maybe mister Buregouis will invite you all to the hotel! And treat you to lunch!”

....I seriously doubt it.

Not that i agree with how she reacted, but i can see how Chloe would suspect Marinette for stealing the bracelet.

 Chloe had it in her bag.

 Everyone else is in their seats or standing against a wall.

 Marinette is the only one who is walking/moving and able to take it. 

its not as if Chloe’s aware there’s a little flying devil who lives in Adrien’s shirt, mistook her bracelet case for a camembert box, started playing with the bracelet and got his head stuck in it.

HOWEVER 

it’s revealed later on she never bothered to look through her bag properly before she started throwing accusations around.

Marinette’s right--it COULD have easily rolled away somewhere. 

No one notices Plagg rolling around between Adrien’s shoes either, so it’s clear they never bothered to look on the floor or search under the desks.

Chloe: “Let’s call Ladybug! Im sure she’ll actually do something!”

Ya just accused Ladybug.

Don’t give Ladybug extra work. 😒😒😒 That goes for Plagg too, since his hijinks are what caused this mess in the first place.

Hawk Moth: “Parent-child relationships can be so complicated.”

Oh ARE THEY?!

Hawk Moth says parent-child relationships are COMPLICATED guys!

Cuz ya know hawk moth is the FLIPPING POSTER-BOY for complex parent-child relationships.

Tom is a good dad. 😏

Mrs. Bustier: “please gentlemen! This is a school here. Think of the children.”

Mrs. Bustier is a good teacher.

Plagg: “if by big you’re referring to my rock hard abs well thanks for noticing!”

2021 goals: attain the confidence of Plagg.

Adrien: “what do you mean i can’t transform?!”

Plagg: “if you transform the bracelet will get absorbed with me and damge your powers!”

...Yeah, NO. I shudder to think what Adrien would do with a damaged Miraculous. 

Tom: “Marinette let the adults handle this.” Marinette: “Papa! She called me a thief. I’m just defending myself.” Tom: “You’re also accusing all of your friends just like Chloe’s doing to you.”

WHY THANK YOU TOM. You’re a good dad. He defends his daughter but he won’t allow her to do wrong by others either. 

Tom, Tikki, Chat Noir—its a good thing Marinette has so many people who can/will tell her when she’s in the wrong about something. Not that I don’t trust queen but everyone needs sound advice from trustworthy partners/mentors every once in a while.

Sabrina: “I’m Chloe’s BFF. I wouldn’t steal from her.”

So you would steal from other people then? And do you even CARE your dad just lost his job? 

Kim and Max: pointing out Adrien’s a suspect too

Marinette: immediately wrires Adrien off as a suspect because FAVORITISM

UGGGGGHHHHHH

Don’t talk as if the entire class is suspicious and then immediately excuse Adrien from any possible suspicion the minute you’re reminded he’s apart of the class too.  That’s literally no better than the stunt Mr. Damocles pulls in Despair Bear--even if he was caving under duress and Marinette is acting on favoritism.

Have I mentioned how much I hate it when the akuma is in the school???

This whole scene is actually so nerve-wracking to me. And just goes to show how freaking courageous the people of Miraculous Paris are. 

I mean

These are the people who live under the constant threat that any intensely negative emotions could cause them to be possessed and brutally attack/ capture/ maim/ kill their loved ones. This can happen to anyone, anywhere at any time. A place like school or even a highly secure building is nowhere near as safe as ordinary people would usually believe it to be.

Also take into account that by this point in the show (going by the netflix order) five of the students at this school have already been akumatized so it’s more than clear that Hawk Moth isn’t above akumatizing children. 

So parents are literally sending their kids off to school with this knowledge. Of course they believe/rely on Ladybug and Chat Noir to protect everyone but still. People can (and probably have) die in akuma attacks. People (kids!!!) did die, or at least nearly died, in Timebreaker when an akumatized Alix took their life forces to travel back in time. 

And here we have an akumatized person in the school.

Not for the first time. Nor the last.

Not to mention this is Adrien’s school. Hawkmoth knows his son is here. He knows akumatizing someone in this place at this time could easily kill his son. But he’s not concerned with that since his “wish” would “fix everything.” 

Hawk Moth just does not value life in the slightest. 

Meanwhile LB and CN do. Even if the magic ladybugs will fix everything and bring back those killed in akuma attacks (as it states on the MLB wiki) they never hesitate to protect and save people who are in danger during these attacks. Even if it would be more expedient to leave some people behind/sacrifice some people so they can get to the akuma quicker and easier. They never allow anyone to die for their cause.

Meanwhile Hawk Moth is just a bit too ready to break everyone in Paris.

Really, if Hawkmoth wanted to win all he had to do was actually put the akuma INSIDE a person. If that’s possible. I honestly can’t see LB and CN going so far as to kill someone to get the akuma. I’m not sure the babies have that in them...

Rogercop: Mayor, you’re under arrest for abuse of power.

Mayor B.: Hah! Look who’s talking.

He has a point.

Both of them.

Mr.  Bourgeois: flees from Rogercop in a hurry.

....Did you just leave your daughter behind?

 What's wrong with you?

Or is he trying to lead Rogercop away from the school...?

Okay but Ladybug was actually able to reach an akumatized victim by mentioning their DAUGHTER. 

LB: gets yeeted over building by a supervillain.

I sense memes.

CN: is a tad panicked over Chloe when she gets in a car with a supervillain. 

I actually love their friendship, precisely for little moments like this.

This little moment here is so cute. The way she gently helps him back on to the car, keeping her hand on his shoulder as he climbs. Their eyes are locked, too <3<3<3

Lets take a minute to appreciate CN’s initial reaction to LB getting knocked off the car versus his final reaction.

Chloe: is in handcuffs

Good job giving Rogercop a hostage, Chloe.

Chat Noir: So now we’re the nations most wanted felons???

Technically you guys ARE vigilantes.

 Vigilantes who are being allowed to do as they please as they have the trust of the civilians and government not to mention ordinary people wouldn’t be able to handle akuma attacks well, as seen in the Origins special.

Chat Noir: We should go and defend ourselves in the court of law!

Chat Noir is pure.

I love this transition so much. He goes from “whoops I’m caught” to “haha so are you” in 0.2 seconds.

.....

...........

...............He’s not wrong.

All in all a good episode with a few faults. 

[daydreamrry]

However, Styles and Wilde have not commented on the real status of their relationship. In fact, the rumored couple never confirmed that they are dating in the first place// YES! They were just really hungry in Italy and there was water everywhere and nothing to eat so they were tasting each other's lips in desperation. Harry hated the taste of O's mouth (he claimed it tasted like Oyester pee, yes, we don't know how he knows what that tastes like) so he went for a swim and even threw up underwater, insiders claim.

Them dancing together on the yacht? No, he was just trying to push her off the boat but then he noticed the cameras and held her hands instead and pretended to start ball dancing to avoid any complications with the law system.

Also, Harry's just awkward and doesn't know what to do with his hands while walking so that explains his arm being around O's all the time. He insisted putting his hands in his pockets instead but then O started sewing shut the pockets of his pants suddenly, so he stopped.

Olivia doesn't really like Jeff so she comes to H's shows and flaunts her awful dance moves so Jeffery happens to see it and gives up faith on humanity and resigns and take off to live in the mountains with the sheep so he doesn't have to view Olivia's unsuccessful attempts at dancing ever again.

Harry doesn't even invite O to his shows, she simply lies to the security that she is Camille Rowe and the album is about her (which is popular knowledge) and she's let in, thus explaining why she dresses like C. The security probably don't see much in the dark and just trust her.

They were holding hands at that wedding because poor Jeff doesn't have a lot of friends so H took pity on his manager offered to take O along with him so the venue didn't look empty, and on the way there O got some superglue on her hands and H was trying to get the substance off but instead got his hand stuck with her's in the process.

Truly unfortunate.

What else? They were sharing clothes because Olivia simply doesn't have a decent sense of fashion and Harry felt embarrassed to be associated with her but he's too kind to say it so he offered her some of his own clothes and she in turn gave him hers, and Harry's been having nightmares every time he's reminded that he has to wear O's stuff.

Why is his whole family and friends following her? Oh, well she gave them a follow for follow offer but never completed it, and now they're all stuck following her because being related to Harry has made them too nice to unfollow her.

They like her pictures? Well, Olivia has threatened to dance infront of him if they don't like her posts so they're simply scared for their lives and are ready to do whatever it takes to keep her away at this point.

Harry included, but he's just pretending to be friends because he's just really polite.

She left Jason? No lmao, it was actually the other way around, she started talking to her apple watch one day and started referring to it as "Harry" but that apple watch was literally a half eaten apple stuck on a wrist band and Jason found this behaviour incredibly concerning, and was convinced that O was possessed so he left her.

But Olivia simply did what she does best, she got to the tabloids and fed them false info to publish and Jason who's more relevant and doesn't need any dirty publicity tricks to stay relevant didn't protest and was simply happy to get away from her.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

The Mask of Death - Fairy Tales and Waking Nightmares (aka Vader obliterates a Rebel unit in typical, spooky fashion)

He wasn’t real.

He couldn’t be.

When Viola Perry had joined the Rebellion, he had been entirely prepared for all that entailed. He despised the Empire and its government, despised its regime and its knack for exploiting the weaker star systems and depleting them of their natural resources for the benefit of the elite. Even as a chancellor, Emperor Palpatine had tended to favour only the worlds and civilizations he considered useful and worth a damn. As Emperor, he had doubled down on that mindset - and while the planets of the outer rim were falling into a lawless haven for criminals, while the Moffs extracted every ounce of goods, riches and pleasure from the worlds they had handpicked and settled down on; Perry saw her people waste away. True, she had been raised coruscanti, on a mid tier level by a single father who laboured day and night as a mechanic. His life had not been aided by the Empire’s rise to power, instead, he had been pushed out of service by official Imperial service systems requiring customers to pay a higher amount of credits for a lesser amount of expertise. Like so many other things, there was a penalty to disobeying and neglecting the restrictions and guidelines.

As soon as Perry was able, she fled. She joined the Rebel Alliance, seeking justice for her father who had died impoverished and imprisoned for conducting and encouraging illegal behaviour - apparently, doing a greater job as a mechanic than the Imperial forces was a crime and a felony - and she had been with the organisation for four years now. Four years of fighting the good fight, winning small victories and taking back the autonomy of the galaxy little by little as hope spread like a wildfire amongst those already saddled with doubt and distrust. Chancellor Palpatine had failed to live up to his hype, why would Emperor Palpatine be any different? Perry had seen firsthand just how far the Empire was willing to go, in order to eradicate the resistance fighters and downplay their growing masses as a trivial and unimportant wayward attempt at terrorism. Only the rebels themselves knew that they were slowly but surely becoming a legitimate threat.

Perry had, as had most rebels she had fought alongside, been wary of any information spread by the Empire from the start. Propaganda and deliberate misinformation were only a couple of the tools used to lure the populous of the vast galaxy into some sense of security. As such, she had laughed the very first time she’d heard the tall tale of Darth Vader. Apparently, a mole within the Imperial ranks had shared the myth as a warning. By most of the Alliance, it had been taken as fiction sold by the Imperial sovereigns to saw fear within their resistance. Vader, as the story went, was a seldom seen assassin of the Empire. The tale painted him as clad entirely in black, seven foot tall and wielding mysterious and invicible powers. He could kill with simply a look, or a wave of the hand. At first, the story had begun as such - vague, raising more questions than it answered about this fantastical and implausible boogeyman. Perry had concluded Vader could be little more than a false narrative, invented to instill doubt within the hearts of any nervously inclined resistance fighter.

But, as time went on, more and more stories with a similar twist kept turning up. Every now and then, a delirious dying fellow rebel with haunted eyes and baited breath would ramble about a monster clad in black. Eventually, the concerns grew to a point where even figureheads of the Alliance such as Mon Mothma and the Organas would openly discuss the matter. Rumours said viceroy Bail Organa in particular was inclined to believe the stories, and while Perry viewed him as level headed and logical - that was one leap of imagination she wasn’t willing to trust him on.

It was only when Perry’s closest friend and confidant, Oliwia Blix, was slain on her own home turf - an ambush assault led by what was later revealed to be the 501st Imperial squadron, surprising the freedom fighters she was responsible for - that Perry began to question her conviction. Oliwia had not survived the attack, and her body was never recovered but those who did persevere knew she was deceased - they had seen her there in the midst of the chaos, barking out orders and desperately attempting to call for help through the sliced comlink connections. Out of the handful of survivors, Perry trusted only Juno Eclipse. Eclipse was a young, blonde woman who had once been closely affiliated with the Imperial military but who had become disillusioned one way or another. She never spoke much of her Imperial days. Her insights were always helpful, and she had aided many a favourable outcome in battle. She possessed inside knowledge and codes that were invaluable - and she was firmly decided that the ambush had been a ploy to get her; she was the target and she was responsible for the death of her affiliates.

Eclipse was reasonable, and Perry admired her judgment. That’s why, when Eclipse spoke of Vader; Perry put aside her skepticism to actually listen. According to Eclipse, Vader was the man the Empire sent out when all else failed. He was undefeated, possibly invincible; shrewd and secretive. If he came for you, he would not stop coming until he had carried out his mission. In her case, Eclipse had expected she’d be put on trial for treason when she first broke away from the Empire, but once Vader had been sent on her trail - she explained - she had realized she was no longer worth the hassle. When Vader came to collect, you were as good as dead already. Perry had asked whether Eclipse had seen this infamous monster, and Eclipse had simply chuckled in sullen surrender as if she had already accepted her own fate.

‘He’s not a monster,’ she had said. ‘He’s a man. Or, I think he was a man, once. I’m not sure what he is now.’

Eclipse had said little in addition to that, only that she was certain that he had been present on the planet Cordaan’a where the incident had occurred. Perry got the firm impression that the ex Imperial officer had seen someone or something she perceived to be this Vader, and while she didn’t want to press the already anxiety ridden woman; she chalked most of it up to stress, fear and trauma. Even Eclipse - intelligent, brave and immovable - could be deceived by the rush of adrenaline that came with battle, as her senses were jumbled. That, along with the fact that her life was in jeopardy and that she knew the Empire wanted to see her punished for her desertion, could make anyone hallucinate a phantom such as the propagandistic tale of an Imperial hitman.

That was, until two weeks later. At noon, the base camp of Brakko had prepared for a subtle, incognito transfer. Perry’s unit had been targeted for elimination by Imperial forces, and while there were no signs suggesting the Empire knew where exactly their base was hidden - it was unsafe to stay in one place for too long. As the early afternoon rolled around, every necessary scrap of ammunition, weaponry, rations, credits, and other various equipment had been rounded up and packed away. Only a few chunkier, stolen cannons and proton bombs remained unaccounted for. That was the moment during which the Empire decided to make their presence known. A well aimed rifle shot, and the second largest of the docked freight vessels was blown up in the span of milliseconds.

As its explosive cargo content shattered the clunky ship, the shockwave sent most resistance fighters flying. Shrapnel became deadly projectiles, and as Perry struggled to regain her bearings - the force of the blast had sent her several feet back into the rough, and jagged gravel of the walkway leading towards the underground bunkers - she noted familiar faces; bloodied and beaten. Some unrecognizable, some wheezing as steady streams of red liquid poured out of their nostrils. Perry herself found her hearing was dulled, as if she were underwater - the distant, faraway yells and shrieks of her terrified comrades preparing retaliation blocked out by a loud shrill ringing. She struggled to her knees, instinctively reaching for her trusty blaster where it sat holstered at her hip.

As soon as she looked up, Perry could see the swarm of stormtroopers welling forth from every direction. They were undistinguishable in their white polished armour, black visors covering their eyes. Her legs moved out of self preservation, her chest burning with extortion as she fired aimlessly at her assaulters. A few fell by the wayside, and Perry dove behind the wreckage of one of the smaller shuttles that had been affected by the explosion. Three more rebels cowered there, taking turns firing fervently to keep the troopers at bay - only for the two additional blasters wielded by who Perry recognized to be Admiral Parlak and Sergeant Ilija to be literally ripped out of their grip with no visible cause.

“Come out with your hands on your heads,” said one of the troopers, his cadence entirely void of empathy.

“You’ll gun us down if we do,” Perry snapped in defense, and realized only afterwards that she had spoken at all.

Her hearing was beginning to return, as Perry and her small group peered cautiously over the edge of the ripped off shuttle wing that provided their makeshift shield. Even as her head became fully visible, no additional shots were fired. A platoon of what Perry estimated to be forty stormtroopers stood in a half circle, making three rows with their blasters aimed meticulously at the unguarded hideout. Around them, a few smaller squads mirrored their stance. A good four feet in ahead of the mass, stood a single trooper - his more lavish suit of armour indicating that he was a higher ranking soldier, possibly a commander - with his hand raised to signify cease fire. Perry assumed he had been the one addressing them.

It was only then that she realized how eerily quiet it had become. Her eyes darted around, both relieved and unsettled when she spotted a few grimy, scuffed and fretful faces poking out from behind various chunks of debris much like her and her group. Apart from feeble moans and sobs of pain, and crackling of the fires that had spread from the explosion to the trees and vegetation concealing the base camp - everything was deathly silent.

Silent, until a deep, booming voice broke the impasse.

“Not if you cooperate.”

In one fell swoop, the mid section of the platoon parted like a tidal wave. They made room with no fuzz, moving as one single unit and stood at courtly attention. From the smoke, the ashes and the flames behind them; the shadows of even more soldiers merely silhouetted revealed as a backdrop, came a predator. Even before it could be viewed in all its horrendous detail; its large frame drew all attention. Tall, broad shouldered, chest wide - and with it followed a hissing, mechanical breathing cycle reminiscent of a respirator. At any other time its pathetic sounds may have inspired pity or sympathy, but in this instance; its intervals were decidedly ominous, as this thing traversed the ground littered with fresh corpses in a careless stride.

Towering over and dwarfing the stormtroopers; the looming dark spectre emerged fully from the dust and cinders swirling through the air. Clad in all black; head to toe. Black armour, black cape, black robes, black gloves, black boots, black helmet; black mask covering the monster’s entire face from view. Still, the lenses through which the grim presence viewed the world were tinted ever so slightly crimson. In its hand, the thing clutched the hilt of a saber - its plasma blade red and humming as energy surged through it.

“Please, no,” Perry caught a hitched gasp, frightened disbelief colouring the unmistakable tone of Eclipse - and Perry spotted her pale face off to the side; crouched behind a severed landing hatchet.

“I have come for Captain Eclipse. I have been informed that she hides among your ranks. It is unfortunate for your organisation that she would lead me to you - I, however, view it as a welcome surprise.”

The voice was so deep, it seemed to reverberate through Perry’s very bones - and despite the heat of the flames' licking, flickering nature as they consumed the palm trees with a gleeful greed - the world seemed as cold as ice. Curling in on herself, Perry wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the worst chill; her breaths coming out as puffs of condensed mist. Still, she could do nothing but stare at the empty, hollow eyes of that face plate. The monster turned its head slowly in the direction of Eclipse’s hiding place, tilting it in a disturbingly comedic manner. If she could have seen its mouth; Perry was convinced the monster would have smiled at the collective hopelessness at its disposal.

‘Darth Vader is real,’ so many fellow rebels had insisted - and Perry had disregarded every single one as superstitious and foolhardy.

'Darth Vader is a fairy tale,’ she had stubbornly countered.

Perry didn’t even have the time to flinch as the monster’s large right hand cut through the empty air. The motion was swift, smooth and effortless - and the bulky piece of scrap metal Eclipse had been huddled behind was sent flying as if it were completely weightless. The hefty durasteel went from sitting completely still to hurdling a distance of about thirty yards at an unfathomable speed; smashing right into a tree trunk which it sheared clean off simply by momentum. The monster did not move, even as the tree collapsed and brought another down with it; but Eclipse yelped and covered her mouth. Perry had never, never seen her be anything but resolute - and slightly shaken once, while relaying her tale of this predator whom Perry had refused to believe might materialize. Now, her features spoke only of regret and dread. Her shoulders were trembling, her blue eyes glassy with tears.

“Did you believe the Emperor would not aim to see you destroyed? Did you believe he would forget you?” the monster mocked, and with obvious sarcasm he added, “You must think so highly of the Emperor’s sense of compassion. I am truly sad to say that I must dissuade such unfortunate delusions.”

“Do what you please with me, but spare the rest,” Eclipse blurted out, desperation in her voice as she stumbled to her feet; taking one unsteady step towards the monster and dissmissing his jeering entirely.

‘He’s not a monster, he’s a man. Or, I think he was a man, once,’ Eclipse had said back then; and while her eyes were now still brimming with yet unshed tears, her expression was one of bargaining.

She was attempting to appeal to this thing’s - this man’s humanity. Instead, he simply cocked his head a bit farther to the side as if perplexed by her emotional outburst, regarding her silently with a deliberate intent to unnerve and rattle her. Perry realized only then that she, too, was trembling not only from the cold. It was as if this man’s entire being radiated a dark, black, vicious hatred. A vile, twisted sense of entitlement and disgust alike. It permeated his surroundings, spreading like a contagious disease; infecting everything it touched, tainting and tarnishing anything it could corrupt. His unwavering gaze and dead eyeholes seemed to demand a cruel mixture of respect and fear; and Eclipse clasped her hands in what resembled a feeble prayer.

“Lord Vader. I beg of you. Let them go. It’s me you want.”

A tear slipped down her gaunt face; her complexion ashen and her bottom lip quivering. Her blonde hair fell over her forehead in unruly chunks, a damp patch of dark blood staining the upper sleeve of her jacket. Vader simply raised his hand once more; beckoning Eclipse with his fore and index fingers in an almost gentle manner. Eclipse had no chance to move of her own volition, nor to deny the request before her feet were lifted off the ground and she was yanked unceremoniously forwards. Her motion stopped only when she was mere inches from Vader; her face level with his mask as she levitated freely in the empty air. Vader’s outstretched hand was steady, holding its posture - and Perry realized with horror that the powers all the rumours spoke of were factual, as well.

“While it is a touching sentiment - your saviour complex serves you no favours with me, Captain.”

There was no compassion in Vader’s tone, the cadence mechanical and stilted - and yet, the words came out an overt, obvious commination. Shifting the hand Perry had assumed was efficently preoccupied with suspending Eclipse in the air, Vader gestured at his troopers and they immediately switched into action. Eclipse still hovered several feet above ground; and Perry reared back as Vader’s empty lenses came to rest on her hiding spot. As before, there was no prelude - the torn wing of the shuttle was simply shoved aside in one fluid swipe. The same thing occured simultaneously to any other covers; Perry's fellow rebels attempting to defend themselves in vain. One moment, Perry was fumbling for her blaster with numb fingers; the next, a stormtrooper had her arms trapped behind her back. Some of her comrades attempted to resist the capture, and were subsequently executed on spot with a single blast to the back of their heads. As they were rounded up, only twenty-two of the at least seventy rebels that had stayed behind loading up supplies remained. They were forced down on their knees; hands on their heads. Perry glared at Vader who seemed to eye them all with a disinterested boredom, but her hammering heart betrayed her collected facade.

“I suggest you watch, Captain. Let this be a warning to abide by. I have orders to bring you off world. While the Emperor wishes no audience with you, Governor Tarkin is most excited to have a word preceding your eminent, public execution,” Vader informed as if there were no other witnesses, no further participants to the event than him and Eclipse alone. “You will watch this.”

The final words were sinister, their implication crystal clear and the demand irrefutable. Eclipse’s slumped head was forcefully yanked in the direction of her kneeling coworkers, the men and women she had bravely fought alongside, who had become her confidants and friends. Perry expected to be anticlimactically shot, icy dread churning at the pit of her belly. Still she was transfixed by Eclipse’s horrified; apologetic eyes as they stared back at her- wide and unblinking, as if she could not close them had she wanted to. Holding the stare, a pressure closed around Perry’s slender throat; like an unseen hand encompassing her fragile neck and squeezing her windpipe until she could no longer inhale. She panicked, pawing at her throat as her lungs burned and the edges of her vision began to fade away. Next to her, the choking noises of her fellow rebels rose; all of them clawing desperately at the invisible hand strangling them unanimously. The last thing Perry saw; pure terror coursing through her veins as her pulse slowed to die away and a loud, cracking pop signified the snap of her neck caving under pressure, was Eclipse’s guilt ridden eyes, and the tears now falling from them.

Perry slumped to the ground, and Vader’s large boots stalked past her crumpled body to sear themselves into her minds eye as one final bitter irony.

He was real.

He was real.

Then, she was no more.

---------

Posted a teaser before, but I like this installment so much I felt I needed to post the entire thing so here you go. Link to the full fic below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/79969921

[finalgilmoregirl]

lost love part two (loki laufeyson x reader, steve rogers x reader)

summary: after loki breaks your heart, you find your heart belongs with steve. loki learns to accept what he lost when he sees how happy you are.

warnings: none! the smallest amount of angst but mainly wholesome fluff :)

a/n: i haven’t quite learned how to use links yet so if you wish to read part one, check out my blog!! i haven’t written that many fics so it should be easy to find. also sorry for any mistakes. i hope you enjoy!

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recap : It was around a month later that he saw you and Steve kiss for the first time. He had just returned from a mission with Bucky, a fairly easy one that had him home within hours but he could tell you missed him nonetheless. After kissing him, you pulled him up the stairs, giggling and asking him about the mission.

Loki felt sharp pangs of jealousy. He knew he shouldn’t have. He broke your heart. He led you on and started seeing someone else. It was stupid of him to assume you’d wait for him, and now he’d have to pay the price.

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Things between you and Steve were going great. He was sweet and attentive and funny and everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. You couldn’t believe it took you so long to realize your feelings towards him but thinking of this only reminded you of the reason you two ended up together in the first place.

Loki.

You wouldn’t necessarily thank him for being the reason you and Steve started dating, because his actions that led up to your realization caused you pain. He was the reason you didn’t trust Steve at first.

When Steve told you how he felt a week after the night you shared talking after the party, you thought it was a trick. That somehow Steve and Loki were working together and this was just another plot to break your heart again. You even went as far as thinking that Loki turned into Steve just to mess with you.

“Are you serious?” you asked, staring at Steve with almost no emotion.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve countered. He was confused as to why you doubted him, until he remembered how Loki going after another woman effected you. He’d not only seen you drink your sorrows away from the party he pulled you away from. But he also noticed the way you looked at Loki days following that, almost longingly at first but then you’d shake your head and join a conversation with someone else. It was almost as if he could hear the voices in your head telling you to move on.

Steve had no problem with going slow and doing everything he could to show you he actually had feelings for you, which helped you get over Loki quicker that you thought you would’ve. And soon enough, you were his girlfriend, Which Loki loathed to see. He couldn’t help but glare as they cuddled in the common room, or scoff as he spotted their held hands during meetings. Of course you noticed his reactions to these things, and it annoyed you.

He had no right to be upset, you thought. Hell, he was still seeing the woman from the party.

You saw her a few more times after that, and as you got a good look at her, you couldn’t blame Loki all that much. She was beautiful and not only that, but seemed incredibly smart and clever from the small talk you had one morning, both being the first awake. You guessed she spent the night, which you felt made the interaction between the two of you uncomfortable at first, until she smiled and introduced herself so confidently. Her name was Helena, fitting for someone who looked at graceful as she did. You greeted her back and you realized then that she had no previous knowledge of you and Loki’s short lived relationship (if you could even call it that).

After the small amount of time you spent with her that morning, you already didn’t feel any resentment or hurt that Loki had created in your heart. Although that didn’t give his actions an excuse, you didn’t plan to hold a grudge, especially when you were now happily seeing Steve Rogers.

You knew you were bound to have to talk to Loki sooner or later, what with him being a part of the team now. The two of you were asked to go to a meeting downtown, one of the more boring tasks of being an Avenger. The two of you agreed, and were sent off to go attend said meeting in a few hours. Steve offered to go instead, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable in having to be alone with Loki. You held his face in your hands and assured him you’d be fine. And with a kiss on the nose you were on your way.

The car ride to the meeting was filled with awkward tension. You volunteered to drive as a way to distract yourself and not have to look at him. You still peeked at every other red light, noticing how he kept his eyes looking through the tinted window. You let out a small sigh and continued to drive after the light turned green. Yeah, you thought, what he did was pretty messed up. But you were both in respective relationships now and it seemed pointless to ignore or hide from each other. You were friends before, and it’s not as if what happens still effected you, so why couldn’t you be friends again?

So you decided to break the silence. You cleared your throat, and from the corner of your eye you saw his head slightly turn towards you. “She seems nice.” You said. Loki furrowed his eyebrows and after noticing his slightly confused face, you continued. “Your girlfriend. She seems really nice.” He was shocked to hear you speak so sincerely on his new lover. He thought the next time you two would speak it would follow with a slap on the face. He opened his mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. What do you say to that? “She is. I’m glad you like her.” he said quietly. You sensed his nervousness and knew you’d be the one leading the conversation after that.

“You know” you started. “I’m not mad at you anymore. I hope you know that.” He turned to fully look at you and frowned at your words. “You should be.” he voiced. “There’s no excuse for the way i treated you. Or rather, discarded you.” It was easy to spot the guilt in his voice and you hate to say it but it felt nice to know he was really sorry for what he did.

“I know there isn’t. But I’m happy and if you’re happy then I don’t see why we can’t be friends again. If not then at least be able to be in the same room together without wanting to rip our hair out because of the stress we go through to not acknowledge each other. What you did was wrong, yes, but it eventually led to me and Steve ending up together which, I’m honestly grateful for.” you confessed.

He was glad to know you were happy, which lifted the guilt from his shoulders just a little. “Of course.” He said with a smile. “It brings me joy to know you are content with the Captain. And if you’ll have me, I’d be honored to continue our friendship.” You gave him a nod and a smile before he resumed talking. “As for Helena, I’m not sure. I feel for her similarly to what I felt for you, however when she is around me, I feel my stomach turn and when I’m not around I feel a blanket of despondency wash over me and I’m not quite sure why.” he said. He sounded genuinely worried about why he was feeling such a way and you couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh. He tilted his head, perplexed. “What’s so funny?” he asked, almost demanding a reason to why you found humor in his distress.

“You love her!” You said through your giggles. Loki was baffled. “No I don’t.” he retorted, to which you replied a loud “Yes you do!! You literally just described what feeling love is like!” He scoffed. He knew what love was, or at least his version of it, which to him was possessiveness and passion and attention. It’s what he felt with you. But maybe that wasn’t love. Maybe he just liked the attention you gave him. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him or the rush being so close to you gave his body. But that wasn’t love, he realized. That was just longing. He longed for you but he loved Helena.

You took his silence and a sign that your work was done. You weren’t right often but you knew you were definitely right about this. You parked the car outside of the building and turned your head to look at him. He was staring straight ahead now, once again deep in thought. “Hey.” you said, grabbing his attention. He snapped out of his daydream and turned to you too. He seemed worried, maybe even scared. You knew he didn’t experience love much growing up, his mother being the only one that seemed to care. So it was understandable for him to be frightened by the thought of feeling it for another person. You looked down at his hand. Even from where it rested on his knee, you were able to spot the way it shook. You hesitated a bit before grabbing it, which at first made him tense but relaxed when you gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I know love can be a little frightening.” you whispered. “But you deserve it Loki.” His eyes softened at this, and he let out a breath that he felt he was holding for ages.

“Thank you darling. As do you.” You smiled at him and the use of the old pet name and let out a happy sigh, because he was right. You did deserve it.

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heyy!! i know this was shorter compared to part one but i’m honestly really happy with how i wrapped things up. let me know what you guys think and leave a request with what you’d like to see!! :)

[linnea-quinn]

[ EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT VEELA ]

An Informative Research Document Compiled by The Librarian’s Consortium of Higher Magical Theory, Narrative Preservation, & Knowledge Procurement

Shelved in UK Catalogue: Magical Species: Beings: Veela

Edited by: Sr. Librn. Benjamin Arnold, Intake Officer, European Division {editor’s notations in braces}

In Muggle Folklore

Referred to colloquially as samodiva or samovila in the Veelan country of origin, Bulgaria, the Muggles’ perception of the Veelan race has been fraught with misconception. Locally equated with mythology surrounding fae, forest spirits, and wood nymphs, a brief compilation of relevant Muggle beliefs about Veela is as follows:

The name samodiva is formed by combining two separate words, ‘samo’ and ‘diva’. The former means ‘alone’, whilst the latter ‘wild’, or ‘divine’, hence the name literally means ‘wild alone’. The first part of the creature’s name signifies its avoidance of human beings, whereas the second indicates her wild or divine nature. {In truth, the Veelan race are highly secretive in what they share about their kind with magical and Muggle communities alike.}

The samodivi are always described as extremely beautiful women who never age. {Not quite factual; see sec. below: “Lifespan” for facts regarding Veelan aging.} They have long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Their attire consists of a long white gown made of moonbeams. Other legends depict them as ethereal maidens with long, loose hair, and in some cases, wings, typically dressed in free-flowing, feathered white gowns, which give them the power of flight. {Perhaps a historical perception of the Veelan Harpy form.}

Stories about the samodivi often portray them as being harmful towards human beings. Although these creatures enjoy dancing, especially when accompanied by the music of a kaval or shepherd’s pipe, they often either seduce or kidnap a shepherd to obtain that music. If an unfortunate human stumbles on the samodivi whilst they are dancing, he would be enticed to join them. The human, not being able to keep up with their pace, would die of exhaustion. Beginning at midnight and finishing at dawn, their dance symbolized the raw energy of both nature and the supernatural world. {No truth to the menacing intent behind this myth, but the Veela’s Dance has been known to evoke a trancelike response in some humans; see section below: “Active Abilities.” Also calls to mind the ritualistic birthing practices of Veela; see section below: “Veelan Conception & Birth”}

Some legends depict samodivas with an affinity for fire. They have the power to bring about drought, burn a farmer's crops, or make cattle die of high fever. It is said that, when angered, a samodiva can change her appearance and turn into a monstrous bird, capable of throwing fire at her enemies. {Another early reference to the Harpy form.}

They are usually hostile and dangerous to people. Men who gaze upon a samodiva fall instantly in love or in lust. Sometimes a samodiva would seduce a person, commonly a shepherd or a trespasser in her forest, and take them for her lover. However, in doing so, she would take all of their life energy. The person would then become obsessed with the samodiva and chase her relentlessly, unable to think of anything else. The samodiva, fueled by the energy stolen from her admirer, would then proceed to torture the person until he died of exhaustion. {See sections below: “Active Abilities” & “Passive Abilities” for facts which could have inspired such myths.} 

A samodiva's power is believed to come mostly from her long (usually blond) hair. A samodiva would sometimes give a small portion of it to her lover to strengthen her control over him via its magical effects. However, if her hair is damaged in some way, she will either disappear entirely or be stripped of her powers and beauty. {Little truth to this myth beyond the magical properties contained in Veelan hair, which is infrequently used as a wix wand core.}

A samodiva's close connection to the forest makes her knowledgeable about magical herbs and cures for all illnesses. It is said that if a person managed to eavesdrop on a gathering of samodivas he could also gain knowledge of these remedies. In many stories, this is exactly what the hero is forced to do to save a loved one, as a samodiva would never share her secrets willingly. In Macedonian folklore, samovila's are often seen that they have the ability to hurt people or to heal them. {See section below: “Passive Abilities” regarding accelerated healing.}

Veelan Conception & Birth

The process by which Veela bear children is not fully understood, but what we do know is that to become pregnant, a Veela must copulate with Intent, in sync with the Natural Harmonics of the area, and after a ritual involving one full Moon Cycle.

Births of newborn Veela commonly happen late evening or early morning while the moon is still visible. The birth of a full-blooded Veela is a dedicated occasion that involves a number of members of the community at once, as neither the conception nor birth are as typical as Humans. The birth of two full-blooded Veelan twins is a rarity amongst the species, and is a highly coveted, sacred occurrence.

Due to the mishap of the Birth of the Twins, the birth is overseen by members of the community to ensure no nefarious acts are occurring, that those involved are protected, and that the ritual can take place comfortably beneath the moon. The presence of a matriarch for the Veelan bloodline being sired is preferable during the birthing ritual.

Lifespan

A common misconception regarding Veela is that they are immortal; in truth, Veela do age, albeit very slowly in comparison to humans and even wix lifespans. Full-blooded Veela average a lifespan of one thousand years, while a half-blooded Veela will average 500-600 years. 

A Veela will mature at a rate comparable to humans through “puberty”; roughly 12-17 years after a Veela’s birth they will experience the most growth and development of their passive abilities, and after approximately eighteen years, a Veela is considered fully mature in their society, and will not appear to significantly age until the last 20-50 years of their life. It is likely this quality that perpetuates the myth of Veela being eternally youthful.

Passive Abilities

Known for their beauty, a Veela’s allure is in fact biological; most humans are drawn to Veela, and have been often noted to experience lust and desire while in the presence of a Veela at a heightened or even sometimes overwhelming rate. 

Full-blooded Veela possess the ability to transform into a winged, part-bird Harpy-form when enraged, and while in this form they can shoot fireballs from their hands. This shifted form has not been recorded as passed on to part-Veela historically; however, there are several cases of noted affinity to birds in particular, which is theorized to stem from the Veelan Harpy form.

Veelan blood has accelerated healing properties, which means those of Veelan descent heal from cosmetic wounds more rapidly, have difficulty maintaining piercings and tattoos, and are rarely known to contract common illnesses. Historically, Veelan blood was highly sought after by wix, often hunted for and sold on the medicine circuit to aid in healing. Veelan blood is noted to smell irresistible to vampires, and possess a drug-like high on vampires who consume it. Lesser known about is the healing qualities a Veela’s saliva can have on a human wound; in fact, the modern practice of kissing an injury to “make it better” comes from a very old Veelan medicinal practice of kissing an injury to heal it. 

Veela are generally highly in tune with the natural world, including plants and animals, and most report being more comfortable the closer they are to nature. Veela also reportedly possess a latent ability to sense energies that are not perceptible to most humans in a physical way, but it’s a sense that must be nurtured and developed; most Veela have been known to channel these mysterious energies into their own form of wandless magic. 

Active Abilities

The Veela Charm

“You have to feel it. It’s like fog; gentle and delicate, but enough for you to sense against your skin. It has its own waves, its own currents, and you, my darling, have the power to guide it. You can slip it into the minds of Men and haze them, make them believe whatever you desire, and bend them to your will to act however you see fit. Or, you can wrap it around despair and smother it where it stands, press it into wounds to cloud and ease their pain. It is up to you to choose how it is used, but however you choose— do it with conviction.”

Also known as glamouring or charmé, the act of imposing a Veela Charm on a human or Being involves drawing in express emotional energy from another and then pushing it back into the mind of the person being Charmed, along with the power of the Veela’s will. Those that are experiencing strong or otherwise turbulent emotions are significantly easier to Charm, due to the emotional expenditure they’re putting out. This is especially true of emotions related to desire and anger (’passions running high,’ related to the duality of the Veela’s alluring female form and the rage-fueled Harpy-form), but can be true also of jealousy, anxiety, sadness, worry, joy, disgust, fear, hatred, love, etc.

The nature of the Charm causes the person being Charmed to be susceptible to a Veela’s suggestion, to varying degrees; for the average or half-blooded Veela, the effect equates roughly to intense emotional coercion or persuasion, that when administered properly is often indistinguishable from the Charmed’s own wants and decisions. Those under the influence of a Veela Charm are noted to experience rosy vision, and an intensified desire to please the Veela who is Charming them by doing what they suggest. Full-blooded and more powerful Veela are able to gain such control over the mind of the Charmed, however, that they can fully persuade the subconscious to their own will, effectively altering the Charmed’s perceived reality. For all Veela, the ability to generate and impose a Veela Charm is a learned skill that can be developed and mastered with practice and time.

The most powerful among the Veelan race who experience the highest level of control over their abilities are even able to perform a Veela Charm on other Veela, though this practice is highly frowned upon in Veelan society {see subsection below: “Sins”} 

Less common but still practiced amongst some Veelan circles is imbibing non-sentient lifeforms, such as flowers and plants, with traces of the Veela Charm, which causes anyone in near proximity to the item to experience a highly diluted emotional effect based on the will of the Veela who performed the Charm.

The Veela’s Dance

When full-blooded Veela perform together in a ritualized dance, the effect on humans has been characterized as mesmerizing and even hypnotic, in such a way that those watching will enter a trancelike state in which they experience a loss of words, and will sometimes try to impress the Veela in foolhardy ways.

Link of Kin

Originally known as vrŭzka na krŭvta, or “bond of blood” in Bulgarian, the Link or Nexus of Kin is a phenomenon of consciousness connection between Veela in the same bloodline. While Linked, a pair or group of Veela experience an intense magical empathic connection which allows them to feel each others’ emotions on a sensory and telepathic communicative level, as well as share memories. This process is known to be calming and meditative--a heightened zen-like state similar to the ease Veela naturally feel in the presence of other Veela, but exponentially more powerful the more Veela are Linked. The “blood connection” is thought of as sacred and spiritual to Veela, whose long lifespans place particular gravity on family, lineage, and collective memory.

The Link of Kin is a learned process; however, very rarely, a Veela will be a Nexus Born Natural. Such a Veela would, from the earliest development of their abilities, experience an involuntary empathic connection with humans and other Beings, drawing in emotional energy with noticeable physical sensation, as well as sensing the “lifeforce” of the consciousness of others, and sometimes unintentionally mirroring or reflecting drawn-in emotions that are not their own. A Born Natural’s abilities are notoriously difficult to control and require dedicated focus and training to master, lest the Veela become overwhelmed by the constant influx of outside energetic stimuli.

Cold Iron

It’s been shown through some limited study that both passive and active Veelan abilities can be lessened, minimized, and even warded off entirely through the controversial use of cold-forged iron.

A process known only by Goblinkind and kept highly secretive by the same, the cold iron must be forged using a precise process, and then bound to the wix’s aura for the relative immunity to Veelan abilities to be effective. Any slip up in this process can result in disastrous, irreparable damage to a person’s aura. {Recommend further testing and study on the effects of cold iron in relation to Veela and wix.}

Veelan Society

Veelan society is largely matriarchal, with Veelan male offspring being something of a rarity in terms of percentage. Because of the long lifespans of Veela, a Veelan matriarch’s successor is selected prior to their death, and can be chosen from any of the matriarch’s Veelan kin, regardless of their age; often, a new reigning Veela matriarch will be selected based on merit and their contributions to Veelan society as a whole. 

Similarly, the death of any Veela is considered a great loss to the societal collective, and as such, the death of a Veela is mourned internationally. All Veela are made aware of their passing and permitted a compulsory mourning period for their fallen kin.

Sins

A set of rules taught to and followed by all Veela which, should they be broken, are considered Sin(s);

None should use the Charm against another Veela. Despite being difficult to achieve, if done the consequences can be exile or even death, depending on the nature of the Sin.

No other Beings are permitted within or around the spaces owned by a brood without prior approval by the Matriarch.

Veela & Other Beings

Veela & Were-Beings/Half-Breeds

With their connection to the moon and close relationship with animals themselves, Veela and Were-Beings tend to get on surprisingly well; they manage to find a common ground on many fronts, their Harpy blood lending to a softness and kinship.

Veela & Vampires: Siblings

{NOTE: THIS SECTION HAS BEEN MARKED AS SENSITIVE AND RESHELVED FOR FURTHER ANALYSIS}

...

{For further study, known Veelan Bloodlines, historical succession disputes, or notable Veelan figures and historically significant events, please consult Appendices A-E of the catalogue Magical Species: Beings: Veela.}

[aiorevelations]

A Number, Not a Name: Part 18

Enjoy everyone!

4 months earlier:

Regis scanned the fragment of paper spread out across the table before him. Not even a month ago he was a desperate man chasing the shadows of his lifelong mentor. What he’d found in the jungles of South America had been nothing short of a profound revelation. The ancient words inscribed held the key to changing humanity. From the very beginning, he had believed deep within his soul that what Professor M spoke of was true. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew it. Though he’d never have suspected that the place which possessed what he sought was merely some speck on a map. A hamlet of small-town America. In the end, though the where didn’t matter. What mattered was that he attained his goal. Failure was his greatest fear. After what he’d sacrificed to get this far he wasn’t about to fall short an inch away from the finish line. Like Professor M had. When he stumbled upon he’d found a broken sickly old man barely clinging onto life. Filled with regret and sorrow that though he literally held in his hand the culmination of his life’s work, he would never live to see it. Regis had vowed that would not be his fate.

Fate, however, was a funny thing. Previously Dr. Blackgaard had possessed adequate resources yet lacked the knowledge he required. Now just when he had attained the necessary knowledge his funds were depleted. Alas Professor M had died, weighed down in debt, and without any assets to further fund Regis’ research. Dr. Blackgaard was one to keep his research away from prying eyes. The last thing he wanted was to inform anyone of his discovery. Who knows what might happen. Word could spread to the general public if that happened it was game over. Blackgaard was well aware however that the little venture he was starting in Chicago wouldn’t provide him with the funds he needed. The choice was before him. Either choose not to share his work and lose any chance of funding or take the chance and inform potential investors of his findings. When put that way there was only one option - the latter. “Blast” he muttered under his breath.

He rolled up the parchment and stood up from his chair, grasping his walking stick as he sat up. Pacing back and forth on the wooden floor he tried thinking of someone who would work as a potential investor. Blackgaard’s mind raced. Too many people had their motives and agendas they were trying to serve. The last thing he wanted to be was someone’s puppet. He’d rather give up his work altogether than be a pawn in someone else’s game. It has to be someone who has enough resources yet can be easily fooled. Someone obsessed with power and ambition that they’d do anything to obtain it - even trust a complete stranger. A person who is so full of themselves they’d never think anyone could bring them down. Sasha meowed, interrupting Blackgaard’s thoughts. He stooped down and picked up his faithful feline companion. Softly, he stroked her neck and behind her ears, prompting a deep purr from Sasha. “Oh, Sasha…Now, who do we know who’d be aware of someone like that.” 

Blackgaard had a long list of reliable contacts. Men and women spread across the globe. People who were aware of plots and schemes of power and the people behind them. Blackgaard’s polished shoes thudded on the packed earth as he circled the jungle cabin, left exactly as it had been when Professor M died. Professor M’s research notes and documents were packed carefully in boxes that were neatly stacked. His personal effects and clothes were strewn throughout the room. 

Regis placed Sasha down on the floor and walked to where Professor M’s trunk was located in the corner of the small hut. He opened the lid and searched through it until he found a notebook. He scanned over the pages looking for a particular name. An old contact of theirs who Professor M had known even before he met his esteemed mentor. They had come to value her greatly. Every secret or scheme going on she always found a way to find out. Finally, Regis' eyes landed on the name he was searching for. Blackgaard knew she was the answer. 

…..

4 months earlier:

Liana stared blankly ahead. She was busy pouring coffee yet her mind was somewhere else. Today would have been Erik’s birthday. She tried to push it to the side and carry on waitressing, but the memories would come flooding back. Picnics in the park. Splashing each other in the lake. The way he’d shower her with flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day. 

Liana had known she’d never be able to have peace until her father and all those responsible answered for their actions, but she at least thought with time she’d be able to have a sense of healing. Instead, the more time passed the more angry she became. She should be spending these years with Erik. If he was here she was certain they’d have been married by now probably with children. Living a happy and beautiful life. She’d been robbed of that life and forced to live a cold and lonely one. 

“Liana!”  Hearing her name, she snapped out of her thoughts.

“Uh sorry. Millie. What is it?”

“You’re pouring coffee all over the counter.” Liana glanced down and saw she’d overfilled the coffee cup, causing the liquid to flow all over the countertop. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She set the decanter down and grabbed some napkins from the dispenser.

“Are you okay? You’ve seemed distracted all morning.” 

She wiped up the spilled coffee. “I’m fine.” Liana picked up the coffee cup and walked to a table by the shop window. 

She set the piping hot coffee on the table. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thanks so much” the man graciously responded.

“Would you like anything else?”

“No, this is good for me. Thanks.”

“Of course. If you need anything please let me know.” She forced a smile and began to walk to another table where two women were waiting to order. Halfway to the table, she stopped. Her eyes were drawn to the television mounted in the corner of the room. An image of a man’s face caught her eye. His familiar features, grey hair, wrinkled skin, piercing black eyes, matched the image she’d seen in person on multiple occasions. One of the faces seared into her head for the last nearly five years. There was no mistake, the man was none other than Davit Dalmar. Below his image was the headline “Breaking News: Davit Dalmar, CEO and founder of Dalmar Petroleum, announces run for Krudian parliament.”

Liana found herself chilled to the core seeing his face. It took her back, back to that night. The worst night of life. She holding her dying boyfriend in her arms, knowing there was nothing she or anyone else could do. She bit back her lip and took a deep breath. No, she wouldn’t break down, especially in a Budapest cafe. 

What was that expression? The past has a way of catching up to you. She’d always planned to go back. To go home. Deep down she knew what she had to do. That pain. That anger. That overwhelming feeling of loss. It was still there. Burning in her soul stronger than ever.  She knew she’d never be able to move forward unless she went backward. Nevertheless, when it came to confronting her past she’d find herself paralyzed. Unable to go back. Memories of Krudia, her father, Eric haunted her. Every street or shop in Bulin came with some painful reminder. The very thought of stepping off the airplane filled with her dread and terror.

But now seeing Dalmar had served to remind her of the men she’d left behind. And of what she’d lost. He was a monster. Him and her father both. She felt another wave of anger surge through her. In what world was it fair that Erik was dead and Norvan and Dalmar were still breathing? How could someone be so heartless as to take him from her without a second thought? How could people, like her father and Dalmar, find pleasure in killing others? She may have thought the removal of some malevolent individuals necessary but never took pleasure in their demise only in the justice being served. One thing couldn’t be denied: her father and Dalmar were insane. They had to be brought down. Any reservations or fears she had, Liana knew she couldn’t wait any longer. She was done running from her past. 

…..

Present-day:

Jason woke, tied to a chair. Ropes dug into his wrists. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, or perhaps blood, though he wasn’t sure which one. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He appeared to be in some type of warehouse. Above him, warehouse pendant lights flickered the only source of light in the room. 

It all came flooding back to him—what he'd prayed had been only a nightmare—The car chase, men shooting at them, Tasha slumping forward on the steering wheel ….

Tasha. His heart began to race and a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Where was she? He prayed she was still alive. He frantically glanced around him but saw no one. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if his earlier actions had caused this. 

He struggled to loosen the ropes that bound him. Straining he turned every which way trying to free himself. It was no use. He let out a scream of frustration and lowered his head. A feeling of helplessness and utter loneliness consumed him, His head throbbed but the physical pain he was experiencing didn’t compare to his overwhelming guilt.

It’s my fault. The words stabbed through his mind. I got us into this. I shouldn't have acted recklessly—Why didn’t I just stick to the plan? Why did I have to be so stubborn? He shook his head. I wanted so desperately to prove myself that I ended up screwing everything up. If I get out of this I’ll probably have to resign. The last thing the NSA wants is someone who can’t complete a routine mission, let alone their first assignment. Who knows, maybe that’s probably for the best anyway. Donovan saw right through me. My flaws and weaknesses…how careless I could be…and I proved him right. Now not only is the mission ruined but Tasha’s life is in danger because of me. If she dies I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

He glanced up at the ceiling. Right now he didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere. His whole body felt numb.

There was nothing he wanted to do, nowhere he wanted to go. Nothing mattered anymore, except doing everything he possibly could to right his mistake. To make sure Tasha was safe and if possible successfully complete their assignment.

Whoever was behind this would probably hurt him. The thought barely registered in his mind. He knew he should feel something. Dread. Fear. Anxiety. But he didn’t. All his thoughts were turned to Tasha. They could do whatever they wanted to him. It didn’t matter. He would willingly sacrifice his life without hesitation if it meant they didn’t touch her. At that moment he knew he was powerless. There was only one thing he could do. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

…..

Tasha’s eyes darted around the room, her eyes landing on the metal door to the side of her. She felt something digging into her skin and realized she was tied up. Tasha lay against the wall struggling to recall previous events, how she’d ended up here. Her mind was blank. The last thing she remembered was leaving with Jason for the gala. She looked down at her clothes. Instead of the dark blue dress, she remembered she was wearing light pink pajamas. She looked around the room. The floor was layered with dirt. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the room. Jason was nowhere in sight. Who knew where he could be. For all Tasha knew he could be lying dead somewhere or being mercilessly tortured. 

The door creaked open causing Tasha to look up. An older muscular man entered the room followed by a tall brown-haired woman. 

It didn’t take a genius to guess what they were probably after. Information. Luckily, Tasha thought, she’d been briefed and trained how to resist such efforts. She sat up in her seat and braced herself for whatever was coming, though she couldn’t help the shivers that traveled down her spine. 

Milena’s eyes met Tasha’s. Tasha tried to read them yet they seemed nearly expressionless. The man’s on the other hand were easy to read. They were deathly cold.

Milena spoke. “I have to say that was quite a showing back there. Very impressive. My hired men are known for their efficiency. You and your associate were their hardest targets ever by far.” She crossed her arms. “So congrats.”

Tasha kept a blank expression on her face. "You might as well just skip to the end. I’m not saying anything.” 

“Who said anything about getting information? I’m not so stupid as to waste my time trying to get intel out of an NSA agent.”

Elias walked over to Tasha “Never saw that coming did you?”

Tasha looked him directly in the eyes. “Can’t say I didn’t. If I was in your shoes I wouldn’t waste my time either.” Fear trembled through her, but at the same time, there was a defiance in her eyes. Even in face of danger, she wasn’t one to submit or hold back on fiery comebacks. 

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. He glanced at Milena. “I like this one. Too bad we can’t keep her around.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be the best company anyway.” Tasha glanced at the metal door beyond Milena and Elias. There was one question she had to ask. Though a possible answer filled her with dread. Life had a funny, even almost cruel way of unfolding. Not even a few hours ago Jason and she had been going at it and now here she was worrying over his safety. Though she was still deeply angry and upset at Jason for what he had done, all that mattered to her right now was that he was alright. “Is…he okay?”

“He’s alive if that’s what you’re asking,” Elias replied.

 A wave of relief washed over Tasha. At least she and Jason were both alive. When it came down to it that alone only mattered. A dark thought crept into her mind. But then again who knew what their captors had in mind for them. Perhaps it would have been better for him not to survive, that might have been a merciful fate.

Elias stepped closer to Tasha. Then, from under his black shirt, he unslung a small black pistol from his belt.

Tasha’s mouth began to run dry and her heart began to race. Elias twirled the gun on his finger, only increasing Tasha’s uneasiness.

She ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed on Milena. “You know, you seem like a straight shooter so I’ll cut to the chase. Why exactly do you need us? If you’re not after information I fail to see the point.” 

Milena gave a small laugh. “Aren’t you a fast talker? Trying to hide your fear?”

“No, my boredom.”

Milena clasped her hands. “Let’s just say I need you both for a plan of mine.”

Tasha eyed her confusingly. “What kind of plan.”

“That would be giving things away now would it?”

“What things? Are you working for Dalmar?”

Pain flashed across Milena’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was only there for a second and was gone as soon as it came. Not before being noticed by Tasha. “Dalmar, that monster. Heck no! Your whole plan of bringing him down is still happening. You and Edward are just playing a different role than you originally planned.”

Tasha found herself shocked by Milena’s revelation. However, she made certain not to show her surprise to those in the room. Basic training - never show your opponent what you’re thinking. 

Milena turned to Elias. “Would you give us a moment?”

 He glanced from Milena to Tasha and back to Milena again. He placed his gun back in its holster. “Sure.” The door clanked shut behind him.

“I know what you may think of me and I can’t say I blame you. I’d probably feel the same way too…but I just want to say that I admire your tenacity. I respect what you’re doing.”

Tasha leaned forward. “Really. I would never have guessed. If you respected my mission, why interfere with it?”

“Trust me. I had my reasons. The justice I’d get from your NSA wouldn’t be enough.” She spoke, a hint of sadness showing in her eyes for a brief moment. 

From the first time she laid eyes on her Tasha could tell that the woman standing in front of her wasn’t a hardened criminal. That there was something beneath the surface. It was obvious now she’d suffered some tragic painful event in her life. Dalmar’s doing most likely. Tasha thought for a moment about how to respond. She knew the words she’d say would probably not change her mind or course of action, but she had to try.

Tasha spoke softly. “I know what horrific things Dalmar is capable of…Sometimes it seems that men like him just end up walking away but that’s no ex—”

“Excuse for me to take the law into my hands. Yeah, I figured that speech was coming. Guess what, I don’t have time for it.” Milena said strongly before turning around and walked across the room. Well, that went well but pretty much how I expected. Tasha thought as Milena shut the door behind her as she exited the room, leaving Tasha alone once again. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey Steph! I wanted to know if you knew of any fics that dealt with the topic of consent, and very explicit consent, and not even necessarily for sex, but just, explicit consent and conversations of boundaries in a relationship. "hay can I kiss you? it's ok if I hold your hand? can I hold your hand when we're outside?" people talking boundaries, that type of thing... you know anything like that?

Hey Nonny!!

You know, I ABSOLUTELY KNOW that I do, but I didn’t have the foresight to pre-tag all of them as I read them, so I can’t give you ALL of the ones I have in my bookmarks, but I can definitely give you the fics I do have tagged with “Consent” or “Negotiation”, so I hope that’s okay!!

If any of my Lovelies have any that they remember or have their own fics, PLEASE add them!!

CONSENT AND RELATIONSHIP NEGOTIATION

Personal Space by probablyquantum (T, 1,814 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Cuddles, Nightmares, Awkwardness) – John and Sherlock renegotiate the rules governing personal space. Pre-Slash.

Husband by jinglebell (E, 2,003 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP, Anal, Multiple Orgasms, Fluff, Toplock) – Sherlock orgasms when John refers to him as ‘husband’.

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2,161 w., 1 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Possessive Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Post Mary) – Sherlock hasn’t ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn’t bother him to propose to John even though they’re not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious.

Perfect Solo by Itsallfine (E, 2,384 w., 1 Ch., || PWP, Solo Kink, Fantasy, Pining, Dirty Talk, Sex Toys) – Sherlock couldn’t decide how he wanted to have John that night. (The one where Sherlock uses his box of sex toys to take himself apart in every way John might have him.)

Everything by patternofdefiance (E, 4,409 w., 1 Ch. || Snuggles and Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Vulnerable Sherlock) – John wakes up with an armful of Sherlock. This – situation – is unusual, yes, and definitely unfamiliar, but in no way does it feel wrong. Rather, it feels the exact opposite. Part 13 of I Blame Tumblr

Uninhibited by 221b_hound (M, 4,293 w., 1 Ch. || Bathing/Washing, Naked Cuddling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Big Brother Mycroft, Relationship Negotiation, Massage, Sherlock Has a Low Libido, Pet Names) – Sherlock and John have been apart for the first time since Sherlock returned from the dead. Neither of them has had a good day. John’s gets worse when Mycroft comes to Baker Street in Sherlock’s absence to warn John Watson against disappointing his brother by expecting things to change. Mycroft has misjudged things rather badly. But finally he sods off and leaves John and Sherlock to reconnect, to give and receive comfort, and show each other that they are, indeed, perfectly matched. Part 15 of Unkissed

Beg for Mercy (Twice) by Solitary_Endeavor (E, 7,060 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Bottomlock, Bearded John, Edging, Rough Sex, Idiots in Love, Canon Compliant) – Sherlock hasn’t left the flat in four days, the itch of impatience beneath his skin too great to allow him to suffer interaction with any human being who isn’t John. This is probably a mercy that goes both ways, as he’s driving even himself mad. Sherlock supposes there is a lesson to be learned here about having himself to blame, but of course he blames Mycroft.

The doctor is in by PlainJane (E, 7,581 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sex Therapist, Anal, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock is a young alpha with an aversion to his cycle. John is a gender medicine specialist. Nothing could possibly go wrong… Part 1 of Doctors and detectives

Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures, Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say ‘oh well, at least we tried’. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.” (This one is… REALLY REALLY kinky, heavy dub-con warning)

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

Evening Ride by LapisLazuli (E, 8,632 w., 1 Ch. || Public Sex, Alternate First Meeting, Humiliation Kink, Groping, Frottage, Consent Issues, Come Play) – John has a series of unexpected meetings with a stranger on the Tube.

C. sapiens by patternofdefiance (E, 8,813 w., 1 Ch. || Tentacles Porn, Magical Realism, Bottomlock, Anal / Tentacle Sex, Pheremones) – “A few weeks ago I would have thought you were impossible,” Sherlock begins, walking into the kitchen in his blue robe, and John – not quite catching on – wants to scoff and argue, No, actually, you are impossible, but then Sherlock continues: “But now I’d say you are improbable.” John thinks this might be flattering, if he could wrap his head around it, but he can’t – Sherlock is standing near, steaming his sun-baked-clean-sand smell, like the beach after rain, an alive smell, an other smell. It’s intoxicating, and John has been studiously avoiding it, but he can’t shift away now it’s so near. Now Sherlock’s so near. And then Sherlock ruins the probable-loveliness of his words and the definite-beauty of his presence by saying: “And by ‘improbable’ I mean ‘not yet scientifically acknowledged.’” Part 1 of Gifts from the Sea

John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world’s only consulting detective will be on his own once again…or will he?

Lacuna by coloredink (E, 15,607 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Consent Issues, Drama, Amnesia) – God, it must have been terrible, to think that he would never have this again.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w., 12 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Closeted Bi John, Angst, Miscommunications, Slow Burn, First Time, John’s Blog / Epistolary, Selective Mutism) – John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing…and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes… and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they’re both so very, very rubbish at talking.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal, Autistic Sherlock) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John “Five Oceans” Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

The Gilded Cage by BeautifulFiction (E, 326,887 w., 31 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega Sherlock / Alpha John, Friends to Lovers, Dub Con, Reproductive Rights) – In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate’s secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn’t he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock’s past as events conspire to threaten their future.

[monkey-network]

Why EVE is The Best

Heads up. I’m basically gonna sperg about this whole film, so spoilers for this twelve year old film. Enjoy!

Wall-E is one of my favorite films; I would gladly kill and extort to bring the sequel I had in mind to life in any way; animatics would pleased me if nothing else but anyways. I love this film and one of the biggest reasons for that is the character EVE, a character that stuck in my mind longer than most if you can believe. So, better time than any, Imma just ramble about why I love this character. And, before we begin, I’m gonna say EVE is a girl, Wall-E is a boy due to my brain believing they were respectively female- and male-coded for most of my life but do NOT let this stop you from envisioning them however you please. If they’re both girls or boys to you, all power to you. With that said, here we go...

The Design

Now I’m not saying she has the greatest robot design ever; I don’t look at eggs and remember better days when I got to watch that film for the first time in my old house. But Pixar certainly knew how to make simplicity work to perfection. Simple shape, simple mechanics, simple movements. All feeling right at home with her coming from the more advanced future, especially compared to Wall-E where he’s literally a more grounded looking robot. Thematically, this design is fucking genius. A scouter robot with the ability to fly with ease and yet carries a literal arm cannon with incredible fire power. Both expressing how she can have her head in the clouds, observational when necessary, and yet trigger happy amidst the slightest inconvenience or surprise. *MWAH* What the fuck? It’s a great duality where the hard, more logical exterior possesses a sweet and approachable core just waiting to be shown and it’s wonderful seeing Wall-E, this literal block head, fumble his way into having a simple conversation with her. Now I can’t really disassemble how the programming in Wall-E works where they can behave like humans but follow objectives like a machine... but, I can try. With this scene.

Now take this with a grain of salt, the inferencing is more to the imagination otherwise the fun of this movie is tarnished. But from this scene, it’s clear that in this universe robots can show feelings for one another but can’t be romantic with humans because they can recognize human emotions and reactions but do so in an automated sense. The film expresses their curiousity just enough to where their reactions to human things and functions are within reason and yet doesn’t toy with the viewer’s believability. EVE is capable of responding to Wall-E’s advances but doesn’t 100% reciprocate his feelings because Wall-E isn’t her directive (least not yet, that’s for later). Not to mention, she isn’t that adept at romance unlike Wall-E who, by being alone with Earth’s technology, was able to learn and process human romance through the Hello Dolly VHS and potentially other things over the years. So this conversation works with the two having their limited knowledge, we don’t know how much they know, and the film keeps focus on having a balance between somewhat logical reactions and minor impulsive humane reactions that makes them alive but only just enough so it doesn’t feel like them being robots is pointless... Phew. Speaking of which, you know what isn’t pointless? Her motherfucking buster cannon.

Her whole ass arm houses a gun capable of nuking an entire cargo ship in a matter of seconds and it makes sense that she’d have it cuz how can a scouter robot defend themselves but beyond that, it’s just so goddamn cool. Like yeah, I can express how this symbolizes about America and... how they want to fuck their guns or something but who cares. She has a FUCKING ARM CANNON and it’s badass, end of discussion.

The Hanger Moment

Much as I love the moment where the two are in space flying, I honestly say that this moment where the two are in Wall-E’s house during the darude sandstorm is incredibly important. EVE is reasonably taken to his home and naturally, when the lights come on, she looks through the stuff he gives to her. She gets to take it easy for once, things can be quiet after she blew up a whole ship, have a giggle or two at the trinkets he’s collected, with the cigarette lighter being a good tool that’ll be used for later.

She’s curious, bouncy, still a bit quick on the draw, but is nonetheless taking in a lot this robot on Earth has to offer. It’s this and the small 1v1 they had before that is a lovely seedling to not only their connection but EVE’s development on her own, where we hardly need dialogue to show how she’s feeling about it all. And yeah, I’m with plenty of people to say that if this movie was just about the two of them being on Earth it probably would’ve been the greatest Pixar film of all time for many. Fortunately the plot kicks in when Wall-E shows EVE the plant, forcing her to go dormant, thus pulling Wall-E into an adventure on the Axiom ship. And I say fortunately cuz this is where EVE goes from good to great as a character.

The Axiom

While it’s something where we all wish that this film wasn’t the densly plotted, society driven second half, I say the second half on the Axiom carries the film’s themes and character building for EVE to good heights. We enter EVE’s territory, the slick, iPhoney synthetic world where humans have become literal potatoes and everything’s more or less automated. For EVE, the first half of the film lets us see the more playful side of her and doesn’t mind being around Wall-E, but isn’t immediately won over with the concept of love. She’s still goal-oriented and trying to keep the two stuck on Earth would’ve made her arc as open-ended and ambiguous as The Good Dinosaur. Time on the axiom puts her original sense of thinking to the test when Wall-E tags along.

To share the bigger picture real quick, the human element of Wall-E is complimentary to Wall-E and EVE’s humane behavior. To quote RealJims’ honestly flawless analysis, “What better way to show the humanity in a robot than to be among humans that act like robots?” For Wall-E the robot, this works perfectly as a fish out of water story. His time on Earth affects not only a few humans, but other robots like MO and the secretary machine, as minor as it seems.

So when Wall-E seemingly fucks things up, EVE is rightfully peeved. His slip ups especially with the Diagnostics scene tests her goal-oriented nature and patience, to a tasteful comedic strength. Doesn’t mean they now turned Wall-E stupid, the film makes sure the monkey wrenches are only accidents from someone severely out of the loop of things. This leads them and us well into

The Depths of Space

The scene where Wall-E gets launched in the escape pod thrills me with joyfully painful suspense every time. EVE making a mad dash to him as Wall-E madly tries to get out of the soon exploding pod, leading to it exploding and we get this from EVE. The wide eyes of terror followed by the whispering “No”s gives me shivers every time I see it in full. 

Now one could argue her concern was more for the plant getting destroyed, but I say she was more frightened at the idea of both Wall-E and the plant getting nuked. While Wall-E did make her mad, she nonetheless cared about him and wasn’t expecting the tiny bot asshole to send him to death. So it’s like, “Oh no, both my purpose and the one that helped me are both gone.” 

Luckily, thanks to some foreshadowing, Wall-E made it out alive with the plant in safe keeping and EVE seeing Wall-E actually care about her goal makes her beam with joy, being that reasonable spark that brings the two closer together. I mean if your love interest cheated death to help you out, why wouldn’t it? Everything about this moment is what made EVE stick with me long after I watched the film; the emotional journey the director was able to convey with her is so well-built to this point, it’s still amazing how they were able to do it with little dialogue or facial expressions. I especially love the emptiness we get of the two of them in space, where it adds focus to the two of them especially. But my god, that’s only half of it...

The space dance sequence between the two is still one of Pixar’s most gorgeous scenes. The way Wall-E is able to keep up with the fire extinguisher after having trouble in the film’s beginning, the wide shots of space, the lovely glow of the engines, the music. I especially like to think of this scene as a parallel to EVE’s initial flight on Earth. For her, it was that rite of passage after the touchdown and now she gets to share that same moment with someone she’s grown to like or appreciate. Then again, this isn’t the moment where EVE loves Wall-E. We’re close, but we need that one inch to finally show her the truth. That’s when she sees

The Recordings

The moment where EVE gets to see the memories of her time on Earth, including her dormant stasis, is where shit finally clicks. She essentially gets to know how Wall-E felt not only about her, but about love. Even when she couldn’t be there, she sees now that Wall-E cared about her and is able to process what Wall-E processed when he looked at Hello Dolly at one point. Scene also works because getting her directive, or the plant, was generally done and done with, she finally gets time to focus on something else, on her feelings for someone else. This leads well into... the well that leads to...

The Dumpster Moment

The scene with the recordings is where things finally click, but the moment with EVE and Wall-E in the ship’s dump is where it comes together. After getting betrayed yet again by AUTO, EVE’s concerns are now less with the plant and more for Wall-E and thanks to the moment previous, I can totally buy this. It’s teeth gritting seeing her try to rescue a now broken Wall-E from getting ejected into space and losing his energy thanks to a destroyed chip. So when we see her finally toss the plant aside and says Wall-E is her directive now, I tear up. It feels like a genuine, built up declaration on her part; the moment where EVE can rationally return his feelings ten-fold and truly be there for him. But that isn’t all to it, because Wall-E reasonably struggles his way to the plant to show that to save him, they need to get to Earth which means getting the plant back to the core of the ship.

This gives EVE newfound resolve and puts that to the test, where she has to basically defect against AUTO who’s become the physical antagonist of the film. The escape sequence is a bit of a step down since putting humans in danger doesn’t really affect the film’s themes all that well, but I can’t argue that pitting the captain against AUTO is a bad climax. 

The Death to Wall-E

Thinking about this film after so long, it is still pretty fucking shocking to realize how punishing they treat Wall-E in the final act. It’s even more shocking when you realize how the roles have reversed, where Wall-E focuses more on EVE’s goal with the plant instead of EVE herself and vice versa. Then again, I say it’s fair that they did this, to show how much Wall-E was willing to sacrifice for the one he loves which makes the painful wails we hear from EVE feel all the more impactful. Like you’re serious with her as she struggles to accept his death before they reach Earth. And speaking of Earth...

The Finale

Now, I can’t help but argue it’s an unfortunate plothole that EVE is somehow able to fully repair Wall-E in spite of never fixing anything else in the film. Then again, it’s fucking pumping seeing her move quick to put him back together and it’s that final stomp on the heart when, even when he’s fully restored, Wall-E bares no memories of her or anything. You see her desperately try to get him to remember anything only to be met with an emotionless, reset shell. In finally understanding Wall-E’s feelings of love, she can’t really be with him. Until...

True Love’s Kiss Saves the day

I can get scientific with how getting his memories back was possible, but I won’t because the scene just works. It’s quiet, takes it time, and that last eureka moment with the two truly get to hold hands makes up for any scattered logistics. I’d say this is where Wall-E finally gets the love, but the same can be said for EVE, after everything she went through. I’ve admittedly seen a few talk about how the female lead is only valid through the love of another, typically male, but I believe what works 120% here is that the two characters basically have themselves figured out, Wall-E more than EVE, and EVE’s journey is never hindered for a sudden realization to love. She still succeeds in her mission, but the stakes for her have risen once she comes to terms with her newfound feelings and these feelings aren’t out of pocket. Wall-E has his feelings for EVE from the getgo, but dedicates to helping EVE with the goal, even if it means death. The connection they get to have is earned and is what drives the plot. EVE earns what she realizes she wants and that makes her a great female protagonist in my eye.

The Conclusion

Wall-E is a pretty warm movie; a film how the love of two brings humanity to salvation and vice versa. How EVE and Wall-E’s love is synonymous to the intertwining of modern and older technology to shape the world. But honestly, that probably wouldn’t have worked as well without how great they made EVE as a character. Wall-E is great too, but it’s astonishing to see EVE’s journey with Wall-E and show her natural growth of understanding something as warm as romance. Her journey is pretty synonymous to how I feel with the movie overall. The time we get of them on Earth is symbiotic to the time we get in space; we get an intimate journey that expands to a film about society but remains personal and intimate nonetheless. And with EVE, we get this superbly fleshed out character that’s emotive, understanding, and above all gets a resolves that’s awesome to see every time I catch or just think about this film. What else is there to say?

They’re the Best.