#so i guess ill just ignore her and hope she takes the hint?

[red-velvet-0w0]

"is there something i can do to help?"

yes there is and its you stopping trying to talk to me and stopping reaching out to me and just leaving me alone and giving me space like I asked you to weeks ago

[ihfmseatsoch]

go ahead and ignore it if it makes you uncomforatble, ill get the hint

but uummmmmm maybe something from jimmy's pov where he finds a girl at the bar, gets her drunk, has sex with her, and chokes to death? corpsefucker jim is my hyperfixation rn not gonna lie

aaaa sorry this took a lil while ! ive been sick and very sleepy

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 2.2k

warnings/content: dead dove, noncon, coercion, manipulation, choking, murder, necro, jim being misogynistic

—

It was almost embarrassing, how easy some women are. At least their willingness to spread their legs for any man that came their way made it less of a hassle to get in their pants, Jimmy thought.

Pussy is pussy, no matter how you get it, or how many men have had it before you.

That's why he's not very particular when it comes to choosing some trashy whore to spend the night with. Looks, of course, is the main factor he pays attention to, but that's about it. Doesn't matter if she's annoying, unwilling, or bitchy; he'll never see her again, anyway.

He takes interest in a young girl sitting in the corner of the shitty bar he regulars, a drink in her hand and an aura of innocence surrounding her. She's alone and out of place, eyes darting around the room like she's overwhelmed by all the different noises, and the pungent scent of alcohol pervading the stuffy air. Plus, she's not bad looking, pretty by any standard.

Could the opportunity be any more perfect?

Jimmy gets up from his barstool and approaches her, leaning against the counter, a little too close to her for comfort, not that he gives a fuck about how she feels in the first place.

"Hey. You alright?" He feigns concern, "Ain't never seen you here before."

She has the demeanor of a frightened rabbit, ready to scamper away at the slightest sound or sense of danger. The girl's got pretty eyes, he notices, as she looks up at him with apprehension. He bets her daddy at home warned her about all the dangerous men that want to take advantage of a sweet thing like her. Jimmy almost pities the man that raised her.

She explains that it's her twenty first birthday. Ah, so she's one of the ripest on the branch, it seems. That's how he likes 'em. The younger, the dumber. Her friends are already plastered, throwing up in the bathroom. In harsher words, she was ditched.

Jimmy pretends to feel some kind of sympathy for her situation, while he's already coming up with a plan on how to steal her away and tarnish her purity.

"Your friends are a buncha assholes then. They just leave you high and dry like that?"

With a shake of her head, she smiles a little, already looking at him with complete trust. "They're usually nice... just not when they're drunk, I guess." She defends the very people that selfishly abandoned her. He can tell this won't be hard for him at all.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, a little too sweetly for someone with such vile intent.

It's obvious a man has never spoken to her like this. Flirtatiously. Her flushed cheeks give away that she's either a virgin, or just very inexperienced. Cute. She tells him her name, but if he's being honest, he forgot in about five minutes. Her name doesn't hold much significance to him, anyway.

Introducing himself was the first step. Now, onto the second. Buy her a drink. Alcohol will loosen her up nicely.

"What kinda drink you want? I'm buying."

She orders something sweet and fruity. It suits her. He flags down the bartender, hoping the drink is strong enough to give her a good buzz. In other words, easier to take home.

When their drinks are ready, he clinks the rim of his glass to hers. "To your first legal drink." He says, his smile deceptively warm, tipping the glass back and downing the whole thing in one go. She takes a little longer to drink hers, drinking in small, irritatingly cautious sips. That won't do. He doesn't want to be here all night.

"You're doin' it wrong," He invasively grabs her wrist, "C'mon, you gotta drink it all at once."

He guides the glass to her lips, coaxing her to take his advice. He watches her hesitate, before she mimics him and swallows it all down in one gulp, wincing as the tart liquid burns going down her throat, the flavor lingering on her taste buds.

Jimmy is a more than pleased at her obedience.

"There ya go. Atta girl." He praises, intentionally making her feel proud of herself so she continues to crave his validation and listen to his every word. He orders a round of shots, moreso for her than for himself. He needs to be sober enough to drive her back to his place, after all.

Jimmy intently observes her as she takes shot after shot, becoming increasingly more drunk. She's a giggly one, blathering about every thought on her mind. Jim nods and hums absentmindedly, not having any interest in actually conversing with her.

"Alright, I think you're done for the night. Time to get you home." He pulls her up off the stool and wraps an arm around her waist to support her weight.

Confused at his sudden insistence on leaving, she places her hands on his chest, stopping him from dragging her any further. "N– No, I'm good! I can handle a little more..." Her words slur, eyes glazed over. This will be a little harder than he initially thought. He has to repress the urge to roll his eyes.

"You can barely walk. C'mon, I'll drive. You'll thank me in the morning."

To her drunken mind, what he's saying makes sense. "Oh... M'kay." She mumbles, too intoxicated to question how he knows where her house even is, and in truth, he doesn't, but he's not taking her home.

She's going to his.

Jimmy keeps a tight grip on her as he leads her out of the bar towards his parked car. She's stumbling the whole way and leaning against him far more than she should. "Whoa, whoa. Careful, now." He says, though it lacks any sort of real concern for her well-being.

The drive back to his apartment feels longer with her babbling to him about pointless stories that he can hardly comprehend because she's recalling every event out of order. Jimmy has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her to shut up. He'll get plenty of use out of her mouth soon enough.

"Yeah, yeah. That's great." He says absentmindedly as she babbles on. He makes a show to listen, adding an occasional hum or wordless response to her ramblings, but he's only focused on getting her to his door. Finally, he parks the car and cuts off her incoherent chattering. "We're here."

It took her until now to realize she's not where she's supposed to be. "Umm... That's not my apartment." She points out, as Jimmy helps her out of the passenger seat, grabbing her arm to lead her along with him, leaving no room for her to protest or pull away.

"I'm takin' care of you tonight. Can't leave you home alone, you'll end up doin' something stupid." The way he lies without flinching is convincing enough to the inebriated woman, allowing him to drag her to his floor, and into his home.

The interior is messy, empty liquor bottles and cans laid on various surfaces, not excluding the floor, either. Half-smoked cigarettes fill an ashtray on the coffee table, a variety of trash littered in every corner. He won't bother cleaning up, of course. She's not here to judge how he lives.

"Sit." He gestures to his ratty couch. Jimmy speaks more like he's ordering her, rather than offering her a place to rest out of the kindness of his heart. She obeys nonetheless, collapsing onto the torn cushions. Fortunately, she can't properly notice the filth with double vision. Unfortunately, she doesn't know what she's in for.

He sits himself down next to her, too close, invading her personal space. He takes her chin in his hand and tilts her head around, studying her. "You're a pretty little thing, ain't you?" His arm snakes around her shoulder, pulling her close against him.

Lacking her usual judgement and reflexes, she let's him run his hands all over her, albeit confused as to why he's touching her like this in the first place. "Uhh... My boyfriend's not gonna like you doing that..." She tells him, inarticulately.

Jimmy laughs dryly, "Aww, your boyfriend wouldn't like it? And where is he if he cares about you so much, hm?" He lets his hand continue downward, tracing the curve of her ass. She recoils slightly, much to his displeasure. "I don't think I should do this..." She attempts to back away from him, but his grip is stuck firmly in place, her body forcibly pressed to his.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disappointment, "And here I thought you were a good girl. I've been so nice to you, haven't I? You should be thanking me." He gruffly tells her, his fake compassion long gone.

Jimmy pushes her to her back carelessly rough, grabbing her wrists in one hand to pin them above her head. He utilizes his free hand to pull her skirt up, bunching it at her waist. Thankfully, she's too stupid to fight back right now, her mind barely processing what's happening to her, unable to understand the danger she's in.

He takes two fingers to rub her pussy through her underwear, feeling her clit twitch at the contact. She squirms ineffectively, trapped under him. "N– Nooo..." She whines, kicking her legs weakly, yet despite her resistance, her slick begins to dampen the fabric. He hums in satisfaction at the sight of her body betraying her.

"If you don't want it, why's this little cunt all wet for me?" Jimmy pulls her underwear to the side, uncovering her glistening folds, spreading them to get a better look at her. She whimpers, ashamed that she's enjoying the way he toys with her pussy, as if it's not even attached to a human being.

He pinches her swollen clit just to watch her jolt. She attempts to close her legs, but he pins down her thighs with his knees, trapping her under his weight and keeping them spread apart. "You're not gettin' away from me," he grunts, "Not after I've put in so much effort gettin' you here."

Jimmy unzips his jeans, slipping his cock out through his open fly. He's already hard. He's been hard since the moment he finally got his hands on her. He runs his girthy, flushed tip up and down her wet slit, making her whine every time he repeatedly nudges against her rock hard bundle of nerves.

"Y' like that, huh? You're all the same once you get a bit of alcohol in your system. Just a bunch of cock hungry fuckin' sluts." Jim presses into her hole without warning, eliciting a gasp from her at the sudden intrusion. "I'll tell you what, though," he hisses through his teeth, "You've got one of the best holes I've ever felt."

Jim rams into her, his pace already relentless, and he's only just begun. Her body jerks at every brutal thrust, the sound of his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against her ass, along with his heavy breathing and the occasional grunt filling the room. "That's all you're– shit– good for though, isn't it? This little pussy's the best thing you've got goin' for ya."

Both his hands find their way to her throat, squeezing uncomfortably tight. She tries to wriggle her way out of his grasp, or at least into a more comfortable position, but he firmly holds her down in place, supporting more of his weight directly onto her windpipe. She tries to gasp for air, claw at his arms and shoulders to get him to stop, but nothing works. Ice cold fear washes over her body when she realizes she can't breathe anymore. She can't even scream at him to get off of her, let alone speak.

"Sorry bout' this. I was tired of your fuckin' whining. You don't mind, do you?" He chuckles lowly to himself, leading her to believe that this is what he wants. He's intentionally trying to kill her. That only makes her panic more as she becomes lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, her limbs weakened and unable to properly writhe underneath him. Not that it'd help her anyway. All she can feel is his hands on her, cutting off her airway, lungs burning and eager for oxygen, and his cock pounding ruthlessly hard into her, bruising her insides.

Even when she falls unconscious and limp, her face turned a light shade of blue, he doesn't stop. "Better finish up while you're still warm, huh?" Jimmy huffs, fucking into her like he hates her, although he has no real reason to. "Cold pussy doesn't sound very appealing."

She's much more likeable when she's dead, he thinks. Quiet, laying there like an obedient little doll, her only purpose being to take his dick. He's not sure if she's actually dead yet, but taking the time to check her pulse doesn't exactly cross his mind.

He finishes inside her, a deep growl ripping from his chest, hot spurts of cum filling her hole to the brim. He finally removes his hands from her throat after he catches his breath, a ring of fresh, fingerprint shaped bruises around her neck. She's not breathing, her eyes still open, wide with the same fear she felt before he killed her. Jimmy pulls out of her with a sigh, like she's inconveniencing him by being dead.

"Fuck. You're gonna be a pain in the ass to hide, ain't you?" He grumbles, lighting a Newport and taking a long drag. "There's a... forest or somethin' a ways away from the city. That'll be a good spot for ya."

Jimmy himself is unsure if he's speaking aloud to himself, or the lifeless corpse laying on the couch beside him.

—

[collapsedglasshouses]

WOULD YOU SAY I'M WORTHY || FOUR

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x OFC ; slight Nick Folio x OFC

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY: When Eden meets Noah, her life is anything but perfect. Her heart is far more broken than Noah can even guess at this point. Will he be able to mend the wounds he hadn’t caused?

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, eventually smut, mentions of grief/loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of illnesses

A/N: This was sitting in my drafts for way too long, bc I kept editing and editing... But we're gonna ignore that c:

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @lma1986 @missduffsblog @cookiesupplier @thescarlettvvitch @bngurngheart @dream-machine-love @arkiliastuff @vinyardmauro @lacktoesandtoddlerants @princessmarshmallowx @circle-with-me @thisbicc @xxkittenkissesxx @malerieee @smoke-in-diamond-shape @thatgirlforever5 @veronicaphoenix @justeli6

If you wanna be added to the story's taglist or to my taglist in general, leave a comment or message me privately!

MASTERPOST || MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: THIS CHAPTER DEALS WITH THE LOSS OF A LOVED ONE! PLEASE DON'T READ IF IT BOTHERS YOU TOO MUCH. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF AND WE SEE EACH OTHER IN ANOTHER CHAPTER/STORY! ♡

When Eden woke up on the couch in Nick’s room, it took her a moment to realize where she was. Her consciousness snapped fully into focus when she heard Nick turn in his bed, now facing in the direction of the couch. Sitting up slightly, she glanced at him. A strand of his dark hair had fallen onto his face as she gazed over his sleeping form. She was aware that it might have seemed a bit odd to be caught staring at the boy in front of her, but there was something about his presence that eased her. She didn’t know if it were his reassuring smiles or the casual chats she had with him over the last weeks at work, she just really liked being around him. Perhaps that was why she had agreed to go to the party, despite her aversion to such gatherings, especially since it happened to fall on her birthday, a celebration she typically hated too.

As Nick stirred, Eden instinctively shifted in her position, wary of being caught in her reverie.

“Are you awake, Eden?” Nick's voice broke the silence.

“Yes,” she replied, faking sleepiness.

Nick propped himself up on his arm, smiling warmly at her. “You know, I’m proud of you.”

A blush crept on Eden’s cheeks. “Why’s that?”

“We may not know each other too well, but it means a lot to me that you came to the party,” Nick explained.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Eden replied, a hint of falsehood in her words. “I actually quite enjoyed it.”

She wasn’t entirely lying; despite her discomfort in large crowds, she had found solace in her conversation with Noah outside.

“That’s actually nice to hear.” Nick answered her with a bright smile that she could just mirror. He was so sweet, she didn’t even know how to act.

Right as Nick was about to say something else, there was a knock on the door next to Eden that Nick answered. One of Nick’s bandmates, Jolly peaked inside the room with closed eyes. “I hope you all are clothed, I’m coming in.”

“Oh shut up, man.” Nick answered him and let his head fall onto his pillow, but Eden caught how his cheeks turned a slight pink tone.

“Good morning, love birds.” Jolly said with a grin on his face, but Eden came to the rescue. “You realize I’m laying on the couch about six feet away from Nick.”

“Doesn’t mean you slept there, darling.” Jolly answered with a wink in her direction that made her roll her eyes.

“I just wanted to know if you want something for breakfast, Noah and I are heading out to get something edible.” He continued but right as Eden was about to answer her phone rang. She recognized the ringtone and almost fell of the couch grabbing her phone.

“I need to get that.”

With that she slipped out under the blanket and left the room.

“So, when are you finally confessing that you are head over heels for that girl?” Jolly teased his friend that was still laying in his bed.

“Could you finally stop? I do not have a crush on her.” – “So, you just stop by a random bar multiple times a week because… you’re an alcoholic?” Jolly wanted to know but Nick simple rolled his eyes and got up from the bed.

“Get out of my room and get me a coffee or I might kill you on the spot.”

Jolly just giggled before leaving his room again. Nick’s thoughts shot right back to Eden. She looked stressed when her phone rang.

Nick quickly got ready and headed downstairs. First, he was met with Noah, already wearing a jacket and ready to go out.

“Have you seen Eden?” Nick quickly asked.

“She’s outside on the phone.” Noah answered him honestly. Noah had thought about following her outside since he saw the worried expression on her face but when he dared to give her a second glance and she was on the phone with someone, he kept his distance. He caught himself sometimes staring outside the window. Eden looked stressed. Worse than she already had been. Noah knew something was going on inside of her, but he also knew he didn’t know her well enough to get into her business.

“Maybe, you should wait for her.” Noah suggested and Nick nodded heavily.

“I’ll bring you a coffee and a croissant or something.” Noah mumbled before patting his friend on the shoulder and heading out with Jolly.

It didn’t take long until Eden stepped into the house again. Nick noticed how glossy her eyes were.

“I’m really sorry, but I need to go.” She mumbled under her breath, scared to let her new friend know she had cried.

“Are you sure, you can drive?” Nick asked with a caring voice while Eden hugged herself.

“Yeah… Everything is fine, but it would be nice if I could borrow some clothes. I can’t go back home, and I don’t want to wear that dress again.” She really tried her hardest to not let her emotions show. She was slowly going insane.

“Sure!” With that Nick ran upstairs and searched for a pair of joggers that she could wear and her purse. When he came down again, he saw Eden biting her nails in impatience.

“I know they are a tad too big, but I don’t have anything else for you.” Nick said while handing her the clothes.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Eden whispered and ran into the bathroom downstairs to get dressed. As soon as she was ready, she came back and stood in front of Nick for a second, awkwardly looking towards the door.

“Thank you for having me. I guess, I’ll see you at work sometime.” She mumbled before hugging him tightly. She wished she could stay, she really did. But reality called.

When Eden stepped outside, she took a deep breath. The cold November wind was howling as she walked to her car. She tried to block out any negative feelings that started to come up as she started her car. It took her about an hour to reach her destination but when she was there, she felt nauseous. She knew she should have come here more frequently but her heart just couldn’t take it.

She walked through the entrance of the hospital and was quickly met with the girl at the reception.

“Uhm… I’m here because of Dylan. Dylan McAdams.” She said, her voice not more than a broken whisper.

“Oh yeah, we called you about an hour ago right?” – “Yes.”

“Follow me, I’ll get you to his room.” The woman in front of her told her with a faint smile on her face. Eden knew she tried her best to keep a positive attitude. She knew this was all a façade. It was bad.

She walked behind the nurse that didn’t walk into the intensive care unit, to Eden’s surprise. Her heart sank with each step. Before they could even reach his room, they were met with another nurse.

“Eden! It’s good to see you again.” The nurse said calmly and touched Eden’s shoulder for comfort. She was here so many times they were on first name basis.

“Layla.” Eden only answered and forced a smile on her face. Layla noticed and her smile dropped a little.

“We need to talk to you about something.” The nurse said and Eden closed her eyes for a second. She didn’t know what to expect anymore.

Layla guided her to a room that had a desk and chairs in it. A simple office. Dr. Johnson was already in it.

“Is he dead?” Eden blurted out before Layla could even close the door. She needed to know.

“Please sit down, Eden.” The doctor in front of her said calmly, while Eden was starting to panic.

“Please tell me he isn’t dead.” She pleaded with the man, and he sighed.

“You know, Dylan has been in a coma for a long while now.” Eden nodded at the doctor’s statement.

“We’ve been checking his brain functions daily.” The doctor continued. “We need to inform you that we sadly haven’t been able to track any brain function for the past 30 hours. Dylan is brain dead.”

Eden’s breath caught in her throat. It felt like her soul left her body and she was now staring at the scene from above. Everything felt unreal. She felt like someone put cotton wool in her ears. She saw the doctor spoke up again, but she couldn’t hear it. This couldn’t be real. She forced her eyes close for a second, hoping when she opened them again, she would wake up on Nick’s couch. This wasn’t happening.

Layla noticed how stiff Eden became and grabbed her shoulder softly.

Eden couldn’t hear a thing the doctor said. Everything that happened in the last couple of months playing in her head. She gave everything up to be here. To care for him. Everything started to feel useless. She knew he wasn’t in the wrong. He was ill. He was so ill. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. Like Dylan gave up on her.

“Can I see him?” She blurted out, stopping the doctor’s monologue about how to continue, mainly because she couldn’t even hear it anyways.

“Of course, Layla can discuss the formalities with you.” The doctor answered. Formalities. As if Dylan was an object.

Eden felt numb when Layla directed her out of the room.

Machines beeped softly in the background as Eden entered the room. The setting casted a sterile glow over the scene. When her eyes met Dylan’s frame, she couldn’t hold herself together any longer. Tears started to run down her face.

As Eden stepped closer to Dylan’s bed, she tried her hardest to suppress her cries. There was a mixture of hope and reality in her eyes. Dylan laid there, motionless. He was hooked up to various tubes and monitors, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmical pace that wouldn’t be possible without the assistance of the ventilator.

“Oh Dylan…” Eden cried out with a trembling voice and reached out for his hand, gently taking it in hers. Her fingers traced the familiar contours of his palm as guilt washed over her. She hadn’t been to the hospital in quite a while since Dylan had fallen into a coma. She was distracted with moving to California to be closer to him and since he wasn’t even conscious, she had tried to get her life together for some time. She regretted not visiting him more frequently.

She leaned in close, her breath hitching in her throat as she studied his still and pale face.

“Can you hear me, love? It’s me… Eden… I’m here… Please, wake up and tell me this is a joke, Dylan.” She whispered as tears ran down her face.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, her touch tender yet desperate. But Dylan didn’t move. He didn’t open his eyes and smiled at her like he used to. He remained unresponsive and she started to realize she would never see his smile again.

“Dylan, please. I can’t do this. Please come back to me.” She exclaimed, her voice broken, and her eyes fixated on his closed eyes. His expression was empty.

Eden’s heart ached with longing as she gazes down at him, grappling with the harsh reality of their situation. Slowly but surely, the realization dawned upon her, and her grip tightened on his hand as if she searched for a flicker of light.

Eden knew he was gone. She knew the Dylan she had met in Highschool, the Dylan she fell in love with, the Dylan that was by her side for the last decade, wasn’t here anymore. She knew the only thing bonding him to this world was machines attached to him.

She wondered how it could come to this. She wondered how they ended up like this. In this nightmare.

She was reliving the day of the diagnosis like it was her personal living hell. She remembered how his headaches started and how they were slowly but surely getting worse. She remembered how his demeanor shifted. How he became darker and more aggressive. She remembered how she begged him to get it checked out by a neurologist. She remembered how he cried in her arms for hours after they told him he had brain cancer. She remembered every surgery he underwent. Every chemotherapy. Every sleepless night in that hospital. She remembered how mad her parents were when she told them she sold her and Dylan’s home to move to LA to be closer to him. She remembered the last time he kissed her and told her it was going to be fine.

Nothing was fine. Dylan was dead. Her husband was dead.

“Eden?” Layla asked carefully, causing the woman to jump a bit. Eden nodded.

“I know this is incredibly difficult for you, but there are some decisions that need to be made about Dylan’s care.” Layla’s voice was soft. She was good at her job, Eden knew that. Layla was by their side the whole time. Every time Eden accidently fell asleep on the hard hospital chairs, she would wake up to a coffee and wrapped up in a blanket. She knew this had been Layla’s work and she was thankful for every second with her.

“What are the options?” Eden asked, her voice almost being gone from crying.

“The machines are keeping Dylan’s body functioning, but there is no hope of recovery. We need to discuss the options, such as withdrawing life support or considering organ donation.” Layla informed the woman in front of her. It broke Layla’s heart. She had seen a lot of things during her time as a nurse, but Dylan and his wife had grown close to her. She knew Eden avoided the hospital in the last couple of months, but Layla couldn’t be mad. She wanted nothing but for Eden to move on. She hoped Eden could move on from this.

Eden’s breath caught in her throat again, her mind reeling with the enormity of the decision before her. She looked back at Dylan again. His face peaceful yet devoid of life and she knew that she couldn’t keep him dangling in this world for much longer.

“Thank you, Layla. I understand… I need to make a call… Can you leave me alone for a second?”

“Of course, take your time.” Layla answered Eden before quietly leaving the room.

With a heavy heart, Eden leaned in close to him once more, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before letting go of his hand for a final time to make the most difficult decision of her life.

She needed to call his brother. She needed to call Ryan.

PART FIVE COMING SOON

[fluentmoviequoter]

Okay my first prompt for Victor!

➣ breaking down mid-hug because they needed this so much

Idk how this can be in not ooc I'm sorry but hear me out!! He said he doesn't like physical touch but I hc it's because he never got enough as a kid so he's unused to it, and people NEED touch fundamentally. So he must be so touch starved. So once he finally gets a warm loving hug from someone he cares about it's just so overwhelming.

Anyways if this is too ooc for you that's totally okay to not write this one, I will have more ofc!

I love this! He's definitely OOC, but since you gave me permission I'm going to run with it. Hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: hints at child neglect/abandonment (Victor's parents), spoilers for Vicious and Vengeful, I made some things up about everyone

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Victor doesn't remember the last time he was hugged. He has no memory of his parents hugging or touching him, aside from the occasional hair ruffle before they left for what seemed like forever. Eventually, he stopped waiting for his parents to come back and found new ways of being comforted. His expensive nannies were too busy sitting alone as they read his parents' books or forcing him to study to show him any human affection or comfort. So, it has been years since Victor was hugged or touched without ill intent. Now, he convinces himself and others that he doesn't like touch, although he barely remembers what it was like.

Sydney watches Victor with furrowed brows as he runs his hand up and down his forearm. Mitch enters the room and pats her back on his way to the kitchen, but he only nods at Victor. It's a hard life that Sydney has found herself in; basic human needs must be met, whether on the run from EON or simply tracking down possible leads on what really happened to Eli. Touch is one of those needs.

"Victor, what was your life like? Before everything?" Sydney asks.

Mitch glances up from his drink, looking between Sydney and Victor before shaking his head. Sydney thinks it might be a warning but elects to ignore it.

"Everything meaning powers or Eli?" Victor clarifies, dragging a black marker across yesterday's Merit newspaper.

"All of it."

"Well," Victor begins, pausing as he scans the page for a word or letter, "not much different. My parents weren't around, they were always away writing a book or promoting a book. Interestingly enough, half of their parenting books were written while they were in the Mediterranean and I was at the house with a nanny. I never fit in anyway, so I guess being alone as a kid just prepared me for the rest of my life."

"What were the nannies like?"

"Over-payed and essentially worthless."

Victor begins dragging the marker again as Sydney looks at Mitch. He walks to her side and lays a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not very often that anyone gets the life they deserve, especially when it's up to others," Mitch says quietly.

"Why do you ask? Thinking about Serena again?" Victor asks.

"Yes, but I was just thinking about how different things are. Like, Serena used to hug me three times before bed. Once for my mom, then my dad, and then one from Serena. It was weird at first not to get hugs," Sydney explains.

Mitch's hand squeezes her shoulder twice before he turns away, letting Dol take his place as he climbs into the chair beside Sydney.

"Some researchers think you need four hugs a day just for survival. Personally, I think that is entirely dependent on the person. Some of us just don't like to be touched," Victor says, finally looking up at Sydney and Dol. "And what are dogs for?"

Sydney nods, wrapping an arm around Dol's neck as she lays back with him. Victor needs a hug, but it would probably hurt everyone involved if he did get one.

✯✯✯✯✯

"I don't know what you're talking about," Victor says, unflinching as a knife is pressed to his neck. "There's no kid with me. I'm just traveling before I start my new job."

"And what job might that be?" the man asks.

"Head of surgery. I'm a neurosurgeon. Not a dad, not a kidnapper, just a doctor. That's all I will ever be."

The knife falls away as Victor takes his chance to overload the man's central nervous system with pain, not even registering the small slice made by the sudden removal of the knife.

Victor exits the dirty warehouse, blinking in the bright sun before he hears Sydney yell his name. He's been gone for two days and has no idea how they found him with nothing but a missing trench coat to go on.

"What happened?" Sydney demands, panting as she slows to a stop, her warm breath fogging in the cold winter air.

"EON had some questions, but I got answers," Victor answers with a shrug.

"No, you're bleeding."

Victor raises his hand to his neck, following Sydney's pointer finger. He pulls his fingers away, shrugging at the sight of the blood.

"You scared me," Sydney says under her breath.

"I won't let anything happen to you, you know that."

"But you'll let something happen to yourself in order to keep that promise! I need you, Victor."

"No, you don't, Sydney."

Sydney watches Victor's arms move up slightly and seizes her opportunity. She slips her arms under his, pulling herself to his chest in a tight hug. Their warmth joins and makes the cold more bearable, even as Victor freezes. He doesn't move as his skin tingles and burns where Sydney's arms lay over his clothes. The symptoms of touch starvation are a list that Victor knows well, but while part of him wants to pry her off and tell her not to do that again, another part whispers that he needs this, that he needs Sydney, too.

Victor's arms raise slowly, moving around Sydney's back before dropping his head. She tightens her grip on him, and he closes his eyes. Mitch turns a corner, and when he sees them hugging, his eyes grow wide, and he stops to watch what happens next.

Victor shakes slightly in Sydney's hold, and she knows he needs a hug even more than she did.

"Thank you," he whispers, his head tilted toward hers.

"We need it," Sydney answers quietly.

Victor keeps his eyes closed as emotions he hasn't experienced in years threaten to reveal themselves. He can enjoy a hug or two without looking too soft or like an easy target, he decides. But crying and showing just how much he is falling apart would ruin that resolve.

"It's okay to need a hug, Vic," Sydney says, pulling him from his internal battle. "Sometimes Dol's hugs just aren't the same."

Victor nods, his skin less tingly and warmer now that he's getting used to the contact.

"You were right," Victor concedes, his eyes watery as he sniffs. "But it's cold," he deflects (lies), "so we should get going."

Sydney squeezes him once more, her own version of a promise to make up for all the hugs they've missed out on. Victor blinks several times before ensuring his facial expression is blended between unreadable and impassive. He steps back at the same time as Sydney, their arms falling to their sides as the cold seeps through their coats again.

"Ready to go?" Mitch calls, stepping into view.

"Yep. Dol needs food while we're out," Sydney answers, skipping toward the car.

When Victor reaches Mitch, he sees the playful glint in his eyes.

"Is it my turn for a hug?" Mitch teases.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Victor responds. "Let's see if I ever recover from that one. Then we can talk."

"You mean, 'then we can hug.'"

Victor sighs, shaking his head as his hands clench into fists by his sides. Sydney was right; Victor does need hugs, even if they overwhelm him to the point he can't think straight. Mitch, however, might crush him if given the chance.

As if Mitch reads his mind, he says, "I promise to be gentle. You'd be a little too easy to kill with a strong grip."

"I'd like to see you try," Victor retorts.

Mitch smiles just as Victor realizes it sounds like an invitation. He rushes to the car and tells Sydney to trade seats and sit by Mitch. The appeal of touch is growing on Victor, but not at the risk of broken ribs.

[elliepassmore]

And the Sky Bled review

3.5/5 stars Recommended if you like: multiple POVs, climate fiction, political intrigue

Big thanks to Bindery Books, Netgalley, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review!

This book just didn't do it for me. It had elements there that I liked and that should've made this a higher rated read, but it just wasn't working for me. That being said, there's not really a lot wrong with the book, it just ended up not being for me.

One of the things that bothered me was the secrecy around how our three narrators--Zain, Iravan, and Anastasia--are connected. It's pretty obvious from the get-go that it's related to the fire that happened a decade prior and, imo, it's also pretty clear how each character is connected to the other(s) through that fire. But the characters don't start saying it more explicitly until around 40% of the book, and the so-called 'big reveal' about the fire happens in the last 90-95% of the book....and I called it around 10-15% in. The characters validly make a big deal about the fire, but it's cloaked in so much insincere/flimsy secrecy that I got over hearing about it well before the characters were willing to stop talking about it.

Then, the 'big reveal' about the fire was a little...iffy feeling to me. One of the narrator's reveals two somethings that, again, I guessed pretty early in (and, to be fair, one of which was almost explicitly stated a few chapters prior), and two of the other characters react in the way you'd want them to react, but it has an almost choreographed quality to it and doesn't feel natural. Especially considering the character narrating that chapter insinuates that there were hints ten years ago that everyone ignored. If the character narrating the chapter is correct that 'everyone' picked up on things and chose to overlook it, then just because one of the other character's reacts correctly now doesn't mean they're absolved. Anyway, the whole thing just felt a little off.

In this world, the environment has been ruined by the harvesting and usage of something called calor, which can be used for all sorts of useful things from electricity to medicine to fertilizer. Tejomaya is the last place it can be harvested, where people get it from the blood rains. But there are also whispers that the rains have turned poisonous and that there's a 'soul-sickness' making people ill. Despite that, the plans to harvest calor are still in full swing. It is, essentially, the folly of man in pursuit of money and power. Why care about the environment when they won't be the ones reaping the consequences?

All three narrators come into the story clearly carrying baggage. Zain is particularly secretive about hers, but we're able to glean that it has something to do with why she disappeared from the slums during the drought despite the fact that she clearly cares deeply for the people there. Zain is someone stuck with really no good options. She even notes the fact that every time she tries to do something to make up to the ghosts in her past, something else goes horribly wrong. The poor girl really needs a break, and I'm glad that she has some people around who can comfort her and provide her hope for a better future.

Iravan is much less secretive about what bothers him. His daughter died in the fire and he's been haunted by that and everything that happened after. I liked Iravan and it's clear that he's trying to make the best of dwindling options. He cares about the people of the slums and genuinely wants to try and improve their lives, but with limited calor to go around and the soul-sickness taking ever more victims, there's little power to be had. I will say though, Iravan is a bit blind when it comes to his business partner and friend, Dev, and it isn't until close to the end that he realizes his friend is not a good person.

Anastasia is the last narrator and she falls somewhere between Zain and Iravan in terms of how much she shares about the fire. Imo it's clear pretty quickly what happened with her, but she doesn't mention it for a while. She's not the most likable of characters. She's the type who doesn't fully see her privilege and who lashes out majorly in her grief, even ten years out from the event. She doesn't really stop to consider all sides, she just wants what she wants. She's blind to her friend Charvi's opinions and needs solely because she's driven by a desire for revenge. That being said, while she's not likeable I can kind of understand how she got to be the way she is, even if I disagree with her. She does redeem herself toward the end and comes to realize some things about herself, the people she used to care about, and the world.

Theron...not really sure how I feel about him. I did end up liking him by the end, but he does some stuff at the beginning that I don't really like or agree with. Zain obviously has some trauma/issue/etc. with Dev, and Theron elects to essentially call her a coward and useless for not wanting to get anywhere near Dev without stopping to think that maybe she has a good reason for acting that way. And then later, once he becomes more tolerable, he doesn't apologize or anything.

Charvi had some hard decisions to make in this book. She's definitely a catalyst for a number of things that happen, both past and present, and I don't envy her the position of being caught between conflicting loyalties (and worlds). If Anastasia had just listened things might have turned out differently, but she didn't and so Charvi makes her decisions based on what she thinks is best for her, her daughter, and honestly for the world at large. Not all of these decisions turn out well, particularly for her, but she's definitely one of the movers and shakers of the story.

Overall this is an interesting read, but I just don't think it was for me. The characters were interesting and nuanced, and I would say they're all morally gray.

[angeldcgs]

it was nothing to be embarrassed about, but his observation made her blush nonetheless. books were a lot safer than people. everything had been pre-determined before she even started reading them, they told her exactly what she needed to know without her having to do any guess work, and if they ever became too much for her, she could simply close it and walk away. not to mention that they'd been a great comfort to her all throughout her life, as she could always count on them to be there for her when no one else was. "not always..." one of the nuns at the orphanage she'd grown up in had warned her that she couldn't spend her life with her nose buried in a book, but god, did she wish she could. unfortunately for her, at some point she had to lift her head and engage with the world around her, which was just as scary as it was confusing. "i don't know... i think, um... maybe... it might not be so good for us to be alone together like that. i don't want people to think something's going on..." she was hoping that if she just kept repeating her uncertainty, he'd take the hint and give up, but she should've known by then that he wouldn't give up so easily. it seemed the more she tried to pull away, the harder he clung onto her, becoming more determined to find excuses to be near her, pulling out all the stops to try and convince her why they should spend time together, and she just wasn't strong enough to resist him. she was beginning to doubt whether she could even trust her own judgment. at first she'd believed george to be nothing but friendly, seeing that she was clearly in need of companionship, but she'd come to suspect that he wanted something more out of her than just friendship, and now she didn't know what to think. when she'd gone to their priest for guidance, he'd assured bernie that george was a good kid, and one in need of her friendship just as much as she was of his, so maybe she really was just being paranoid. he wouldn't lie to her, and he knew george even better than she did, but she couldn't ignore that feeling of dread she'd begun to feel in the pit of her stomach every time she saw him. "y-yeah, i suppose... it couldn't hurt to have a check up." faking an illness wasn't a bad idea, actually. her issues were mainly psychological, but they had begun to manifest into physical symptoms. for the past week or so, she'd woken up every morning with her stomach in knots, so overcome with nausea that she'd occasionally skip breakfast and spend all day feeling faint. her nerves had always been fragile, but they were now threatening to seriously impact her ability to function properly, and it wouldn't be too long before others around her started noticing something was off. the problem was that pretending to be sick in order to hide in her room all day was a temporary solution. at some point she'd have to get better and go back to her routine as usual, and her extended absence might only make george's yearning that much stronger. "you don't need to worry about me," she assured him. "i don't want to be a burden, i'll be alright." despite her discomfort, bernadette tried to force a smile, though it was tight lipped and didn't meet her eyes. hopefully he wouldn't notice, seeing as he'd been so oblivious to all her other subtle cues.

"you're always reading." george poked fondly, that same dopey smile plastered across his face. it wasn't like there was much else for them to do, recreational activities were few and far between and anything group-orientated wasn't something either of them would find comfortable. it was sweet how much time and effort bernie put into her studies, the validation she got through being a good student was clearly important to her but it wasn't everything, she had to allow herself time to have fun or else she'd burn out and be unable to do anything. he was just trying to help and it didn't occur to him that she'd never asked him for any. "come on, we have time. it'll be nice." it would be good for both of them, an opportunity to catch up on whatever had been missed in the couple of days they hadn't spoken. it wasn't like anything all that exciting could've taken place but he was still interested in anything that bernie had to tell, she was always so quiet that anything she said came to be like gospel to him. he should've been more careful about touching her in public, even such a platonic, gentle touch could be seen as inappropriate and cause them both a lot of unnecessary trouble. even with the risk of someone catching them, george's concern for bernie was too strong to resist. she didn't feel overly warm, maybe a little over average but he had discovered that she ran hot anyway. any time he touched her, all gentle, nonchalant gestures, her skin was aflame like a furnace. "you should go see the nurse if you haven't already. you don't want to get sick, it'd be awful to have to stay in bed all day." more importantly, it'd be awful for him not to be able to see her while she recovered, boys weren't meant to be in the girl's dorms and while he'd make an exception on that day to check up on her, he knew that he couldn't make it a regular occurrence, lest someone find out and force distance between them. "of course, it's no problem." she still seemed a little off, no doubt a symptom of whatever was making her feel strange. it bothered him that he couldn't do more to help, as had he the opportunity there wasn't anything he wouldn't have done to make her feel better. that was what friends were for and with no one else to share his attention with, bernie was forced to suffer the brunt of his dedication. "whatever you need, i'm here. it's not a bother, i'm happy to help." whatever it took to get their friendship back on track. it had only been a few days and yet not having bernie around had felt like a special kind of torture, it reminded him of how lonely it was at the seminary and even his visits to their priest couldn't fill in the gaps. only bernie could do that, that's what he was told at least on those late evening visits and who knew better than a man of the cloth?

[rezzyromance]

Idk if this is how you request things or if it's just asking, BUT-

How would the Lords react to an S/O that's usually the chillest person that you will ever meet (not to be confused with a pushover because they are not), they've never seen them even mildly annoyed when something bad happens. But then something happens and, turns out, the S/O is utterly TERRIFYING when they're mad.

Hope this makes sense!

Aw man I'm gonna feel awful scaring Moreau and Donna :(

Alcina

You're relaxing on a beautiful morning. The sun is shining through the window just enough to warm the room but not hurt your eyes. You hadn't even changed out of your sleep wear. "How are you feeling, my dear?", a sweet voice rang from the doorway. You were sitting in your favorite chair near the window. You turn and smile at her. She walks over and rubs your face in her large hand before leaning down and giving you a soft kiss. "I'm feeling amazing. And you?", you grab her hand before she pulls it away and you place a kiss on her knuckles. "I'm feeling alright. There's a new maid here. She's a bit slow. I'm giving her until tonight to finish dusting the entire castle or else she won't see another sunrise." It was almost comedic how dark her words were as you both stared out the window and gazed at the beautiful scenery. "Come on Alcina.", you stand up and place your hands on hers, trying to hold them despite the size difference. "Give the girl a break. It's a huge castle AND it's her first day.", you knew your words would probably change nothing. Alcina was rather cruel, but you looked past it. You tried your best to make the nervous maids comfortable whenever they arrive.

"We'll see how she does." She gives you one more kiss before leaving the room. You sit back down in your chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun for a little while longer. You lose track of time, minutes maybe even hours go by. Suddenly, there's a crash not far from the door. You jump and stand up, no longer comfortable after being startled. "What in the name of Mother Miranda?!", you leave the room and look down the hallway. The new maid stood there with a terrified look on her face. In front of her was one of the paintings Alcina had on her walls, now with a broken frame and a hole punctured. Your blood began to boil. It was a painting of you, her, and the girls all together. It was your favorite. "How in the hell did you manage to do that?!", you begin to stomp towards her. She cowers and struggles to find her words. "I-I-I was just dusting! It fell and I-I didn't mean t-", you cut her off. "How the fuck did you knock such a large painting over just by dusting?! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ALLOWED TO MAKE SUCH STUPID MISTAKES HERE?!", you unravel. "I-I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!", she almost begins to weep. "SORRY ISN'T GONNA SAVE YOUR ASS!"

"MISS DIMITRESCU PLEASE HELP!", she cries out. You freeze, realizing that the lady herself is right behind you. You turn to face her. Her eyes are wide with shock. She has never seen you like this before and never even knew you had this type of side to you. She was impressed as much as she was terrified. "(Y/N)? Are you alright my love?" She had no idea what to do as your seething slowed down. "Why don't you go back to the room, yes? Settle down a little and deal with her later.", she places a hand on your back helps walk with you back to the room. Once you're there, she bends down to whisper in your ear. "I don't know where this side of you has been this whole time, but I am so amazed by you. And also a little frightened."

Donna

The Beneviento house was usually a calm place despite its creepy aura. You and Donna are both quiet and chill people. Never once have you fought or even raised your voices at each other. It was pleasant.

You had planned a nice dinner for the both of you. You wanted to try out a new recipe and surprise her, so you made your way to the kitchen to get started. "Okay, what first? I guess I'll need a pot.", you go rummaging through the kitchen and you find the pots stacked within each other inside one of the top cabinets. You groan and stand up on your toes, grazing the pots with your fingers. It didn't take much to cause them to tumble down, crashing on top of you with a loud sound that followed. "Aw shit.", you sighed and picked up the knocked over pots. A small but annoying pain began to throb in your head from where it made contact with a pot. What you didn't notice was you forgot to pick one of the pots up. It remained unnoticed. "It's fine.", you say to yourself as you maintain your composure. Next, a cutting board and knife. You turn around and begin to walk forward to find the cutting board, but you slam your toe into counter. You wince in pain and grab your foot. "SON OF A BITCH!", you yell.

You calm yourself, still wanting to have a pleasant meal with Donna. "Alright. Everything's fine." You step forward and kick the pot that you had forgotten to pick up. It caused your freshly kicked toe to ache even more. "OH COME ON! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!", you scream and swear as you throw your arms up in pure rage and shock.

"...(Y/N)?", a gentle voice whispered from the doorway, causing you to whip your head in that direction. It was Donna. She looked absolutely horrified and almost looked like she could cry. "Is.. is everything... are you alright?", she worried. "Yes. I'm sorry. Just got a little pissed off.", you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, feeling bad for scaring the poor girl.

Moreau

You were sitting on the dock together, looking into the water as your feet swung back and forth above it. It was a sunny day and you two decided to spend it outside. Your hand slowly made its way over to his. His feet stopped swinging for a second as you entangled your fingers. "I don't know what I'd do without you, (Y/N)." his words were bitter sweet as a gentle smile formed from his lips. "Oh, Sal. You don't have to think like that. I'll always be here for you.", you kiss his cheek and continue to relax as you sway your legs.

"There it is! There's the beast!", a voice yelled from not so far away. You both look in the direction of the voice and see a few young village boys. Possibly between the ages of 13 and 16. Moreau had become some what of a scary story for the villagers. A tale that kids spread on school court yard and bring up during dares. But, you've never seen a kid brave enough to actually make it far enough into the reservoir to actually see Moreau. Now, there were about 3. All of them stood and pointed, shocked and terrified.

"Hey beast! Come get me!", one kid teases. You glare at the kids as a newfound rage begins to boil inside you. "Let's go back inside.", Moreau says before standing up from the doc. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, one of the children gathers the guts to pick up a rock and throw it as hard as he could. His aim was off, but not by much. It slammed into the wood near Moreau's feet, startling him. "Take that you devil!", he laughs. "THAT'S IT YOU LITTLE SHIT!", you begin sprinting in the direction of the immature brats. Two of them run from the direction they came from while the one who threw the rock was frozen in fear. You took the opportunity to grab him by the collar of his shirt. "Listen here you little waste of space. I'm gonna give you 3 seconds to turn around and run for your goddamn life. If you or any of your little snot-nosed friends come around here again, they'll be goddamn fish food. Do you understand?" The kid was too scared to speak and instead began to nod rapidly. You let him go and watched as he ran as fast as he could, screaming the whole way.

You walk back to the shack and find Moreau standing in the same place he was when you took off. His mouth was agape and he looked almost as scared as the kids. "You alright Sal? I made sure those little shits won't be coming around here anymore." "Yeah... I didn't know you could be so... scary", he says. "I'm sorry. But those kids were being cruel. I had to do something.", you say. "Well... it was awesome!", he smiled. "But also very scary!" You laugh which helps sooth him a little.

Heisenberg

"Screw driver.", is all Karl said with an outstretched palm. He was working on some type of mechanical heart for his experiments. He wanted you to lend a "helping hand" even though he could easily do it all by himself. He did this because he wanted to be around you, he was just too stubborn with too big of an ego to simply say it. So here you were, handing him every little tool he asks for.

"Do you want the big one or the little one?", you say with a hint of boredom in your tone. "Aw c'mon don't sound like that! Isn't this exciting? It's like you're working on it with me! Also, hand me the big one.", you do as he says and hand him the big screw driver. "I just don't get it. You literally have powers. You can easily do this by yourself and have been for so long. Why do you need me to help?" He pauses for a second and looks over towards you, his brow slightly furrowed. "I don't NEED you to help. I just thought it would be nice for you to help out. Plus, you're the one always bitching about me constantly working. Well, here you are! Helping me work! So, either suck it up or you can leave." His harshness had no real ill will in it. He was just confused and a bit too ignorant to consider his words. But, he was testing your patience. He continued to use the screwdriver until handing it to you without saying a word.

"Hand me a screw.", he demanded with his hand facing palm up again. "Which size?" "They're all the same sizes, dumbass." You feel your blood begin to boil. "They're different fucking sizes! This one is smaller than this one!", you hold up two screws that are obviously different sizes. This makes Karl angry. Not because you were right, but because you seemed upset over something that seemed so insignificant.

"If you came here just to yap in my ear, then I don't think I need your assistance.", he huffed. You put the selection of tools and supplies he was making you hold on the table he is working on and ball your fists. "You're the one who told me to do this in the first place!", you yell. "Yeah, because you won't stop bitching! Non-stop you're always compla-" you cut him off before he can finish. "SHUT UP!", you yell. The room goes silent. "YOU SAY I'M BITCHING? HAVE YOU HEARD YOURSELF? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KARL YOU BITCH AND MOAN ALL THE TIME! I'M DONE TAKING SHIT FROM YOU!" He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He felt something much more overwhelming. Was he.. intimidated? He didn't move from his seat. All he could do was look up at you with a confused expression. What now? What is there to do? If he pushes you further, what would happen? He was actually too scared to find out.

You take a deep breath to calm down before speaking. "Now, if you want me to help with your shit, I'll stay as long as you keep your mouth shut. Can you possibly manage to do that?" He gulps nervously. "Yes ma'am."

[n0tamused]

Hello! Hope you're doing well! So I saw that your requests were open so, may I request something about Kakashi's gf being pregnant but being afraid of telling him? (because he lost so many loved ones, she doesn't want to pressure him into being a father idk if that makes sense) Like she's pregnant but it's not visible yet but she as some symptoms already? Kakashi didn't really noticed until someone mentioned it?

It can be a one shot or a drabble, i'm leaving that to you. But I would like it to be fluff if you don't mind 👉🏼👈🏼

It's really specific i guess and I hope ypu don't mind! If it's bothering you in any way feel free to skip it 😊

Have a nice day/night and take care!

Warnings: pregnancy, throwing up, a hint of angst

Words: 2.406

Kakashi Hatake x Reader

The cashier held the packed groceries for Y/N to take. A polite smile ever-present on her face. "Have a wonderful day!"

She managed to smile back and take the bag into her arms. It wasn't the need for groceries that got Y/n to the store, but another item that got her mind running a few nights ago.

The realization hit her then. She didn't even have to take the test to know it was true. A gut wrenching feeling broke throughout her as she was just passing through an alley, a shortcut to Kakashi and her's shared home. Frozen in place, eyes glued to the floor, she felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. Vision getting cloudy and blurry.

She knew Kakashi wouldn't react in a way that would harm her, not in any way, shape or form. But it was hard to deny the fact that it was anxiety inducing, this wasn't something to be taken lightly. Neither of them were planning on kids any time soon. Not to mention the sad history of the Copy-Nin. Even in the beginning of their relationship it took time for him to finally warm up, to really be comfortable with the new intimacy. With receiving such love and care, to finally be safe to be vulnerable. To feel protected and loved and to form an attachment.

The walk home from there felt slow and the wait for the test to show the results was even worse. Nausea raked and coiled in her gut as she sat beside the toilet, having thrown up some time ago. How much time has even passed?

The woman looked forlornly up at the sink where the stick laid. The tiles were cold under her, yet she found herself glued to them, letting the coldness of them seep into her flesh and bones. But eventually she had to get up.

Fear now started to rampage in her system, mind spiraling as her nimble fingers took hold of the test. An unfamiliar haze was brought over her eyes, it made it hard to see but she soon realized that she was staring at two prominent red lines on the small window of the test. Shock. The fear suddenly gone and was replaced with a hollow feeling deep within her which felt even worse. Tears began to sting her eyes again and they came pouring out like a waterfall, in large beads and onto the sink. Cold hands gripped the edge of it for some stability as the woman hunched over it, the test abandoned as the other hand came to knuckle and wipe away the ongoing stream of tears. Silently she let herself cry it out, she couldn't bottle it up any longer. Kakashi wouldn't be home until the sun was already set, and now the sun was still high in the sky.

The woman couldn't look herself in the mirror after that. Hiding the test in her room she decided that it was best to tell her beloved the sooner the better. Hiding it from him would only prolong her fear and anxiety, and she didn't want to imagine the reaction he would have after hearing the news and how much she just waited to tell him. Not to mention it would be quite a task to hide something like this from someone like Kakashi. The evening was spent with a poor attempt to make some food, something to fill the gaping hole in her gut, something to make her feel warmth again. Filled with the vast expanse of helplessness she barely made anything in the end.

When Kakashi arrived home he was met with coldness. Something he became familiar with when Y/n wasn't in the best of moods. He padded through the hall quietly, listening for any sounds that may come, but all he heard was the sound of shuffling. Pushing the door open it unexpectedly creaked, a long cry of the old worn door caused the woman on the bed to startle. Body twisting around like an eel to meet his confused stare.

"Hey, it's just me, love.. What's the matter..?"

He felt worried immediately, he was used to sadness and gloomy moods but he wasn't used to her being so frightened. Not around him. Not on the battlefield and definitely not in the comforts of their shared house.

"Oh I didn't hear you, that's all.."

Came her reply, yet she found yourself moving into him, arms embracing around his middle in a desperate need of comfort. Kakashi didn't hesitate to return the hug, nuzzling his cheek into the side of her head for a moment. Mind running laps in an attempt to figure out what got his belovee like this, but it all came back blank.

"Kakashi I have to talk to you."

The sentence made him stiff, but he nodded and let her lead him to sit on the bed, one arm loosely wrapped around her tense shoulders.

All words that came to her died immediately on her tongue, and swallowing hard her gaze fell to the ground. Eyes threatening to spill tears again but she pushed them back.

"I…"

Y/n tried, but it all felt like bile in her mouth. Not having rest properly,the stress of missions and now this too. It was all catching up to her now. From her peripheral vision she could see the brows of the silver headed ninja furrow in confusion and worry.

"Did something happen? You're looking sickly, are you feeling ill?"

"No."

Her response came a bit too quickly, head shaking before she took a deep breath, exhaling before she looked at him. His eyes searched hers as if he could find the answer that way. Y/n felt horrible. He had gone through enough and all the attempts of telling him about it came to a halt. She couldn't do this to him, not now, he had to rest. She could tell him some time during the week, she told yourself.

"I just… it was a long day, I barely got any rest last night too. I missed you Kakashi.."

His expression suddenly lightened but it did not lose its worry and confusion. She had slept alone the last few nights before work prevented him from coming home at all, so he understood. Yet he couldn't help but feel something was amiss. A small voice at the back of his head whispering something incoherent.

"I missed you too."

He replied and pulled her into another embrace. Sighing out his worry he focused solely on caressing her, hoping that would ease the stress and worries of that day. And it seemed to work. For the rest of the night they both rested in each other's arms, leading a small talk about random things, it eased both of them and even made them forget about worries and fears. In the morning, when Kakashi was getting dressed and Y/n, watching him with sleep heavy eyelids, he came to crouch before her and kiss her on the forehead. Telling her something about how he'll leave Pakkun with her that day. Smiling when he saw you blink at him, trying to grasp at his words. In the end she only nodded and attempted to wipe away the sleep from her eyes as he left.

And as promised, Pakkun remained at her side. He would occasionally chip in to say something, and even the nin asked if she were alright, saying how something felt off now. Y/N only nodded, everything was fine.

Y/N missed going on missions but ever since she started feeling so ill, she was given several days off, not that she had any choice but to accept as even Kakashi was fussing that she couldn't fight in such a condition.

In the middle of the day the nausea returned. Y/N have just eaten freshly prepared lunch and it all came back up soon after. Toppled over the toilet seat she took in a mouthful of air when she finally felt her gut settle down. Pakkun sat at the door to the bathroom, worried look plastered on his canine face.

"Hey, you should really go and visit a medic. This has been going on for a while, it can't be any good."

She heard him say through buzzing ears, a static feeling coursing through her as an after effects of having thrown up. Pushing herself away she stood on shaky legs, feeling a tad bit better but awfully tired. Only a nod came in response to his words before she padded into the living room to sit down only to end up passing away on the couch. Head feeling heavier and heavier until she felt the plush material of the couch press against the side of her face. Hands curled around a pillow she placed over her stomach, some semblance of comfort and warmth coming from it.

Meanwhile Pakkun slowly waltzed into the bedroom, hoping to find a blanket he could drag back to Y/N. Taking the corner of the folded blanket in his maw he moved back, paws pushing into the slippery surface of the polished wood. Groaning he forcefully pulled, the blanket now flying out from under the rest of the folded sheets, making Pakkun fly back and hit the work desk. If it weren't for the clank of something falling from the top drawer, the ninken would've ignored it. But the item that fell at his paws even made him stop in his tracks. His ears pinned back in surprise. It fit like a puzzle piece, the girl's weird illness finally made sense. He figured Kakashi didn't know, otherwise he would've said something along the lines of that his partner was pregnant.

Nonetheless, Pakkun figured out why that was the case too, he knew Y/N well enough, but seeing how things were going he decided to tell Kakashi on his own. To spare her some of the stress of it all. Before he took his leave he did manage to drape the soft blanket over the woman's figure, having had to jump on the couch and do quite some pulling to get it over her all while staying silent.

Pakkun found Kakashi just when he was heading home, in one of the paths between two houses that he called a shortcut. Abruptly halting the ninken panted, his gaze narrowing at Kakashi's figure.

"Hey boss. I have something to tell you."

Pakkun started, perched up on one of the roof ledges where he stared down at Kakashi who didn't quite expect him to see him there. Exposed eye widened at the sight of him, the worst coming to his mind.

"What are you- is Y/N alright?"

The silver head blurted out before he could think of anything else, hands falling out of his pockets. Kakashi already felt a small tightness in his chest, anxiety creeping up on him.

"Y/N is just fine, but why I'm here does concern her."

Pakkun responded as he made his way down from the roof, hopping from ledge to window and window and to the ground. Now standing in front of Kakashi he huffed and looked up at him.

"You really should look into bigger homes, you're gonna get a small addition soon."

At that Kakashi looked at him, guffawed. Silence followed soon after Pakkun spoke, Kakashi at loss of words as he still tried to make out the riddle the sentence represented. "What..are you saying?"

Kakashi looked at Pakkun quizzically, even as the puzzle pieces slowly fell in his head as well, he was still slow to fully process the information.

"Y/n is with a child, Kakashi."

---------

When you woke the next time the sun had already been setting, only the small arch of the sun was visible on the horizon. The sky painted in warm and vibrant colors of orange and red. Your head swam with the unconscious, still not grasping the sensation of being awake yet. Eyes blinking lazily at the bedroom window. Wait…

Finally breathing in you felt the blanket tucked around you. Yet Kakashi was not there with you. A small sense of panic grasped you as you sat up, looking around. Sleep hazed mind sent you into a frantic state and almost instantly you found yourself searching for the pregnancy stick where you hid it. It wasn't there. It was not there. Pushing books and papers aside you still couldn't find it. It was not there.

"Y/n."

Kakashi's voice rang out and you turned around. He wasn't wearing his uniform, nor his mask. A simple gray shirt clung to his figure along with some black sweatpants. He held the door open with his hand, a small hint of worry was present on his face. His lips pressed together in a thin line before he approached you and pulled you into himself. You now knew that he knew. A shaky breath escaped you as you still waited for him to speak up first but that never came. He just held you there, caressing up and down your back.

"Kakashi… "

You started but your voice soon trailed off.

"I know. Pakkun told me today." He stated simply, nose brushing against your hair and inhaling your scent.

"Oh… I was planning on telling you myself.. I just didn't...I didn't know how to tell you last night.. I'm sorry."

You felt him nod against you, humming in response. And to your surprise, you felt him smile.

"It's alright. I'm not angry… It is a bit surprising but I could never be angry at you, not for this.. Please do not feel afraid anymore, it's alright."

Kakashi reassured, pulling away just enough to move his hands to cup the sides of your face. Looking into your eyes he saw the anxiety you held melt away, his own anxiety disappearing as well. He felt nothing but pure love for you. He wouldn't like anyone else to start a family with but you.

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone and then he leaned in and pressed his lips to your temple, holding you like that for a moment before he pulled away. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, a smile you soon mirrored when you saw it. Leaning down slowly he pulled you into a kiss, you meeting him half way and smiling into the kiss.

[pretendingboyfriends]

A/N: it’s finally finished!! after over a month!!! i’m so sorry this has taken so long but y’all know me, i’m terrible at time management and i’m mentally ill so nothing is ever consistent <3 BUT it’s here now and it’s finished and i hope u love it. thank you to @sunflowers-styles​ and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ for beta reading and giving me ideas for when i was stuck. i’m nothing without my betas <3

Warnings: explicit language & sexual tension

Word count: 6.5k+

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Your heart is racing in your chest with every lingering moment that passes as you watch Deidre finish getting ready for the day. Her plan is to spend the afternoon with Jeffrey and then the two of you would meet back up and have a movie night (plus Harry, if he’s up for it). And you, well, you have your own plans.

“Do you think this looks good?” She asks, spinning herself around in front of the vanity mirror in the corner of the bedroom. 

You glance up from the book in your lap to see that she’s wearing a loose, white spaghetti strap dress that reaches just below her knee, pastel pink bikini peeking from beneath the fabric. You smile, “I think it looks great! What shoes are you wearing?”

She bends down to the floor, quickly grasping a pair of tan, strappy sandals. “These?” 

“Yeah,” You nod. “Those are perfect.”

“Okay,” She smiles, leaning down to slide her feet into the sandals and strap them securely onto her feet before she grabs her tote bag from the bed with a sigh.  “Okay, I’ll see you later! Meet back here at 5:00?”

You nod in confirmation, giving her a small smile and wave as she nearly skips through the bedroom door and down the hallway. As soon as she’s out of your sight you freeze, waiting for the familiar rumble of Jeffrey’s car to take off down the road with Deidre inside. Once the glorious sound kisses your ears, you’re leaping from the bed, frantically tearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants you’ve been wearing from your body to change into a tank top, loose-fitting jean shorts, and a pair of Doc Martens (bathing suit underneath, of course). 

You’re brushing a few coats of mascara onto your eyelashes after taking a record breaking 2 minutes to change into your clothes and shoes when you sense his presence in the doorway. 

“You look nice.”

You slide the applicator into the mascara container and screw the lid shut, turning your head to look at Harry as he leans against the doorframe with his hands behind his back. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, framing his face and shoulders in thick, shiny curls. Your eyes travel south, dropping to his floral, short sleeve button up, unbuttoned partially to expose his inked chest and then flickering down to his skin tight, black jeans and tan chelsea boots. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He smiles in response, dimples sinking into his blushing cheeks. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” You sigh, grabbing your bag from the floor and walking towards the bedroom door. He allows you to pass him, following closely behind you through the house before tugging the front door open for you and beckoning you outside. The air is warm and humid as you make your way towards Harry’s car, the wind whipping against you gently. 

Once you reach the car, Harry quickly beats you to the passenger side to open the door for you, flashing you a gorgeous smile as you slide into the seat. The expensive leather of the seat immediately sticks to your bare legs from the heat and humidity and you huff, lifting your legs to peel them from the material. 

Harry slides himself into the driver’s seat, immediately cranking the car and fiddling with the air conditioner knobs to blast cool air into the stuffy, hot vehicle.

“So, where are we going?” You ask once he pulls onto the empty road lined with palm trees. 

He keeps his eyes trained to the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on his jean-clad thigh. “I was thinking we could get coffee first and then I could take you to a bookstore I saw on my way in. But only if you’re okay with that,”

You smile to yourself, “I’m more than okay with that.”

A soft blanket of silence falls over both of you as Harry drives and you allow your gaze to wander his figure, from the god-like curve of his jaw to his perfectly chiseled hands. The sparkling glint of his rings in the noon sunlight catches your eye and you tilt your head slightly to get a better look at them. On his left index and middle finger are two silver rings, one with a rectangular, teal gem embedded into it, the other with a line of tiny dancing bears carved into the metal. Then, on the middle finger of his right hand, a lone silver ring with the word “peace” etched directly in the middle. They are simple pieces of jewelry, but enticing nonetheless.

Your mind wanders as your gaze does the same, falling to the curve of his plush, pink lips. It’s been a few days since you’d kissed him on the beach, tumbling into the sand like children, and you’re slightly embarrassed to admit that you haven’t stopped craving his lips since you parted ways that evening. The agreement you had made was to wait until after at least a few dates to kiss again (mainly to keep yourselves as contained as possible) but both of you are finding it increasingly hard as the time goes by. You just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

After a bit of light conversation and a 10 minute drive, you’re finally pulling into the parking lot of a little coffee shop named “Bikini Beans”.  

You chuckle as Harry parks the car directly in front of the small building. “Quite the name, huh?”

He breathes a chuckle to himself. “It was the only coffee shop I could find within 30 miles of the beach house.”

You sigh sarcastically, “I guess it will suffice,” Harry shuts off the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition before jogging around to your side of the car to, of course, open the door for you. You smile at him as you step onto the pavement, tugging your bag from the floor of the car and slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks.”

The two of you step into the quaint coffee shop, your senses immediately overwhelmed by the pungent odor of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a hint of sugary baked goods. Taking a moment to observe your surroundings, you find that the shop is nearly empty, save for the girl sitting in the back corner typing frantically at her laptop keys, brow furrowed, hair up, coffee cup empty. You follow Harry to the register where a young boy stands, waiting for the next customer to approach the counter, which just so happens to be you and Harry. 

“Hi, welcome to Bikini Beans, how can I help you!” He smiles, placing his hands on the edge of the register as he looks up at you. 

You smile back at him, shaking your head and motioning to Harry. “He can go first. I still need a moment to decide.”

He nods and looks at Harry. He clears his throat, “I’ll just have a small, iced black coffee,” The words roll off his accented tongue like a sugary glaze. “And a blueberry muffin.”

The boy takes a moment to type his order into the register and then looks up again, “Will that be all for you today?”

“That’s all for me, but make sure you include her order with mine.” He specifies, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. 

You smile to yourself as you peruse the menu, quietly mouthing the names of the different kinds of coffees and treats before deciding on what to get. “I’ll have a small cold brew with almond milk, sweetened with vanilla, please.”

“Is that all?” He quickly types your order into the register before glancing back up at you. You nod and he presses a few more buttons. “Alright, so I’ve got a small, iced black coffee; a blueberry muffin; and a small cold brew with almond milk and vanilla sweetener?” He looks back up at the two of you and both of you nod to confirm. “That’ll be $9.23.” 

Harry – having already taken a few bills from his wallet – hands the boy a crisp $10 bill and then promptly shoves another $10 into the tip jar beside the register. The boy smiles and thanks him for his generosity as he gives Harry his change. Without hesitation, Harry drops the remaining coins into the tip jar, thanks the boy, and stands to the side to allow the people behind you to step up to the register and order. 

“Trying to impress me?” You smirk, nudging your shoulder against his. 

He smiles, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

You chuckle and shake your head as you follow him to the end of the counter where another barista quickly prepares your drinks, sliding Harry’s muffin towards him. 

You turn to him,“I’ll go save us a table, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles, watching you walk off towards the small table by the window, dropping your bag into the seat across from you to save it for him. 

Within five minutes, Harry is walking towards you with both your drinks in one hand and the giant mountain of a muffin in the other. 

“Was not expecting this muffin to be so big,” He chuckles as he hands you your bag and slides into the seat across from you. “You wanna split it?”

You take a sip of your coffee through the straw, the sudden grumbling of your stomach interrupting your train of thought. You hadn’t realized how hungry you are. “Oh, sure.”

He nods, slowly peeling the paper cupcake holder from the edges of the pastry before attempting to break it in half with his hands. “I guess that’ll do.” He chuckles at himself, dusting the crumbs from his fingers.

The silence that falls between the two of you is filled with nervous glances and flustered smiles as you sip your coffee between every few bites of the muffin. Your hands graze against each other occasionally when both of you reach for the muffin at the same time, causing breathless giggles to emit from the backs of your throats.  

After a brief moment of silence, you drop your hand on the table in front of you with your palm facing  up. “Give me your hand,”

“Quite demanding there, babe.” He chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee.

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring the flutter in your tummy that’s caused by the casual use of ‘babe’ in regards to you. “Just- I wanna look at your rings, so can you please give me your hand?”

He smiles, placing his large hand into your palm which allows you to lean forward and take a closer look at the rings adorning his long fingers. “Where’d you get them?” You ask as you gently brush your fingers against the cool metal. 

“Mm,” He grunts, squinting his eyes in thought for a moment. “A few friends have gifted some to me, but I also bought some myself.”

You nod, humming in acknowledgement. “I would’ve never guessed when we were younger that you’d grow up to be a jewelry guy,”

He chuckles, “And why’s that?”

You drop your hand away from his, leaning back in your chair, “I don’t know. I mean, I thought you were cool, but I didn’t think you were really capable of being this type of cool, you know? I’d always known you as just ‘Harry’, my best friend’s kinda dorky older brother who’s also good at singing.”

“You thought I was cool?”

“Yeah, sorta. You were cool in the sense that you were always so kind and loving towards Deidre, even when you were trying to be annoying. But then you became famous and this whole new level of cool happened that made me kinda sad, if I’m being honest.” He frowns at that, sipping his coffee once more. “I mean, it wasn’t necessarily a bad type of cool, but it just made me realize that you weren’t just my best friend’s older brother anymore. You were Harry Styles, heartthrob of the century, everyone loved you and nearly everyone knew who you were all of the sudden.”

“Do you think I’ve changed a lot?” He asks after a brief pause. 

“I thought you did for a while. I’d see tabloids about you every week talking about how much of a ‘lady’s man’ you were and who your newest ‘fling’ was and I didn’t know whether to believe them or not because from my perspective of you, you weren’t like that, but I also hadn’t seen you in quite a long time so I thought that maybe it was possible that you really did change that much.”

He shakes his head. “I hate how they’ve portrayed me. I hate that they’ve made me out to be some bloke who’s only in it for the money and the girls because it’s really not true. I especially hate that you’ve had to see me like that because I don’t ever want you to see me that way.”

You smile to yourself slightly, “Don’t worry, I don’t see you that way. Not anymore, at least.”

“Good,” He sighs, smiling shyly as he takes the last piece of muffin from the plate in between the two of you and pops it into his mouth. 

“I do think you’ve got a bit of an attitude problem, though.” You hum sarcastically, watching his expression twist into feigned shock.

“An attitude problem??”

“Mhm,”

“I resent that.” He huffs, pressing back against his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“There it is!” You giggle, tilting your head to the side in a mocking manner.

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, holding back a smile as he stands, snatching his coffee cup from the table along with the plate where the remains of the muffin you’d just shared lie. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got more planned for us.”

The soft jingle of a bell sounds as the two of you step into the small book store wedged between a consignment shop and a beach souvenir shop. The song “Yesterday and Today” by Yes plays quietly in the overhead speakers as the lone employee places new books on the shelves, humming along. She looks up from her place at the shelf and smiles at both of you shyly but doesn’t say a word when you smile back, opting to continue her restocking. 

Your eyes flit around the small space that’s cramped with shelves, overflowing with books and you begin to wander aimlessly. Harry follows behind you quietly, watching as your fingers trace the spines of each book you pass. 

“Do you read a lot?” He asks as you slide a paperback book from its home on the shelf just slightly above your height. 

“I try to,” You hum in response, gazing down at the open book in your hands. “But it’s difficult most of the time.”

He nods, “I understand,” He watches your fingers sift through the delicate pages of the book, the bold, typewriter text of each page, melting into each other to form a jumbled cloud of letters. “What book is that?” He asks, stepping closer to you to get a better look at it. 

“The Philosophy of Andy Warhol,” You smile, glancing up at him as you flip the book over to its cover, displaying the iconic red and white soup can design. 

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Andy Warhol? Really? Wasn’t he a terrible person?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, he was the worst, but he’s dead now and I like to think we can separate the art from the artist, don’t you?” 

“I guess so...” He nods in response, shrugging slightly. “I’m assuming you’ve read this, then?”

You shake your head, “Not fully, just bits and pieces. I can’t really afford to buy books for pleasure at the moment.”

He frowns to himself at that but doesn’t say anything else, just watches as you place the book back onto its home on the shelf and begin to step further into the depths of bookshelves. Harry doesn’t move from where he’s standing, though, he watches you step further away before he takes the book you had just showed him from the shelf and casually holds it behind his back as he steps closer to where you are. 

He follows you around the shop as you slowly and silently observe various different books, occasionally expressing your desire to read them after flipping through each crisp page. And, again, with each book you touch, he takes them from the shelves and collects them in his arms without a single word, hoping and praying that you stay distracted enough to not notice the growing pile of books in his arms. 

Finally, the two of you have made your way through the entire store and are now standing near the register as you bury your nose into another book. Harry mumbles something to you about buying a book that he wants and you barely even acknowledge him, too engrossed in the words that flow across the pages. It isn’t until he’s back by your side that you finally lift your head to look at him, finding his dimpled, mischievous smile reflecting back at you. 

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyebrows lifting in question.

You look up at him with a smile and a nod, closing the book in your hands and placing it back in its home, completely unaware of the paper bag he’s holding behind him. He leads you out to his car, subtly tossing the bag into the back of his car without you noticing before sliding into the driver’s seat and taking both of you to your next destination. 

Eventually, you find yourselves on the beach, sitting comfortably on a blanket Harry provided along with a few containers of food from a local restaurant. There’s a decent amount of people walking around you, yet no one seems to notice Harry. Too caught up in their own vacations to notice the literal celebrity in their midst. You aren’t complaining, though, because after a few girls approached him with a request for a photo and a hug, you’ve started to grow a little jealous. But Harry doesn’t need to know that.  

“How far d’you think I’d have to swim until my feet can’t reach the bottom?” 

You turn your head to him as you stab your plastic fork into a particularly juicy piece of orange chicken. “Mmm, I’d say about-” You glare out at the people in the water, holding your hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun, “five feet past that guy in the lime green shirt.”

He turns his head to look at where you’re referring to and tilts his head to the side. “I think it’d be a little further than that, I’m pretty tall.”

You shove the piece of chicken into your mouth as you continue to stare out into the water and shrug. “The only way to really find out is if we go out there,”

He turns his face back to yours, “Let’s go, then.” 

Immediately you drop your fork onto the blanket, frantically tearing your tank top from your body as you stand and begin to unbutton your shorts. “Race ya.” You breathe through a grunt, kicking your shorts off of your bare feet and legs to reveal your black bikini. He scrambles to his feet at that, nearly ripping his shirt from his body, but you’re already taking off in a sprint towards the water. 

Harry is quick to catch up with you after a brief moment of struggling with his jeans to reveal his tiny, yellow swim shorts. He tackles you into the water, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and taking the both of you under in one giant splash. 

“Asshole!” You screech through a giggle once you resurface, swatting at his bare chest as he cackles. You turn around with a huff, trudging forward through the water with Harry hot on your tail. 

“Hey!” He calls after you, nearly hopping through the water to catch up with you. “Hop on my back, it’ll be easier.”

You smirk, turning to face him as he stands almost waist deep in the water. He crouches down to allow you easier access to wrap your arms around his shoulders and you roll your eyes at him, giving in to his persuasions nonetheless. 

Once your legs and arms are wrapped around his waist and shoulders, he stands fully and starts walking forward again. The feeling of your warm breath against his neck causes goosebumps to litter his bare, wet skin and he tries in vain to ignore the feeling of your breasts pressed directly against his back. 

“Feet still touching the bottom?” You ask, leaning your chin against his shoulder. It comes out much shakier than you’d intended, breathed directly into his ear and you can feel Harry shutter beneath you. 

“Uh- yeah, yeah, but it’s starting to get a bit deeper.” 

At this point, you couldn’t care less about the bet you’d made with him, too distracted by the warmth of his muscular back against your embarrassingly sensitive nipples. You can tell he’s partially lost interest as well, judging by the way he grips your thighs tightly as he wades further into the water.

You’ve passed the man in the lime green shirt by now, the water slowly inching up to his shoulders which indicates your possible victory. But suddenly, he takes one more step and the water is at your own shoulders and nearly over Harry’s head completely. He’s sputtering dramatically as he stumbles backwards, finding his footing once again.

“There’s a fuckin’ drop off!” He growls, bringing his hand up to wipe the salty water from his eyes. 

You’re giggling uncontrollably as he coughs and grunts, hands leaving your thighs so that he can push his hair out of his face. You slide off of his shoulders and onto the sand beneath the water, cackling to yourself at his grumpy frown. 

You smile up at him. “I win.” 

He frowns, “Well, that’s not fair! How was I supposed to know there’s a drop off?”

“Doesn’t matter,” You tease, drawing out your words as you turn back to the shore. “I still won!”

He grumbles to himself, turning to follow you. You glance back at him, chuckling at his creased brow and arms crossed over his bare chest with his bottom lip protruding into a pout. “Still don’t think it’s fair,” He huffs in frustration. 

“Okay, well, if you really want a way to redeem yourself,” You start, turning back to him and waiting for him to catch up to where you are. “Race me back to shore.” 

His frown melts into a devious smile. “Oh, you’re on.” 

Immediately, both of you are diving into the water head first, swimming as fast as you can until the water is shallow enough for the two of you to stand and bound through the water that splashes around you. Luckily, Harry’s not much of a swimmer so you’re automatically a few feet ahead of him once you start running and before you know it, you’re crashing into the towel the two of you had laid out earlier, sand kicking up in clouds all around you. 

“And she wins once again!!” You cheer, sprawling out on the towel as he trudges towards you in defeat. 

It’s nearing 4:00 pm once the two of you return back home, stumbling through the doorway giggling and playfully nudging each other with your elbows. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower before Deidre gets home,” You sigh, tossing your bag on the couch and turning to saunter towards the bathroom. Harry catches you by your hand before you can walk away, though, tugging you back to him gently. The suddenness of it nearly knocks the breath out of you as he pulls you into him, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face. 

“I had a really good time today,” He hums, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. 

You take a deep breath, taking a moment to glance down at his lips before speaking. “Me too.”

“S’it alright if I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” You breathe, taking another small step forward so that your chests are pressed together. 

He smiles at that, leaning in and slowly capturing your lips between his own. His other hand finds its place at the base of your spine, holding you against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

The kiss is slow and gentle, his lips suckling yours ever so softly with each tilt of his head. Small, labored puffs of air leave your nose as you stand pressed against each other, each kiss building the fire within you. 

Finally, Harry pulls away, breathlessly grinning down at you and gently brushing his thumb along the skin of your cheek. You smile back, taking a long, shaky breath in an attempt to regain your thoughts before leaning in once more. 

He meets you halfway, tugging you into him again with a surging passion as he presses his lips to yours. He starts walking forward towards the wall, causing you to trip on your own feet a few times before he has you pressed firmly against it, knee wedged between your bare thighs.

“Wanted to kiss you all afternoon,” He breathes between kisses, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips.

You whimper quietly. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to,”

“I always want you to kiss me,”

He pauses at that, pulling away to look at you with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nod, biting back a smile. “Haven’t stopped thinking about the other day on the beach.”

“Me neither.” He huffs, lunging forward to capture your lips again. 

He kisses you for just a moment longer, both hands cupping your cheeks gently as your own hands grasp his wrists. Then, he stops, slowly allowing his lips to part from yours and stepping away from you with a smirk. 

“Don’t take too long in the shower, I wanna take one too.” He winks. 

You watch him walk away after that, acting as if nothing had just happened as he disappears down the hallway. You’re breathlessly leaning against the wall, mustering every bit of strength inside of you to push yourself off of it and walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom. 

What the fuck?

It takes nearly everything inside of you not to scratch the proverbial itch of desire whilst your hands wander your naked form, but you only intended on taking a quick shower and you don’t want to raise any suspicions. So, reluctantly, you rinse yourself off beneath the steady stream of hot water before turning off the faucet and stepping out of the shower to perform your skincare routine. 

Soon, you’re scurrying into your bedroom with a towel wrapped tightly around your body, calling: “Shower’s open!” to Harry before slamming the door shut. 

As you’re pulling an old t-shirt on, you notice a brown paper bag sitting on your bed and you frown, reaching into it. It’s filled with books. A smile brims at the corners of your lips as you take each book from the bag. Every single one of them is a book you’d talked about wanting when the two of you had walked through the bookstore earlier and you can’t help but feel a small tug at your heart at the prospect of Harry actually listening to your ramblings and taking note of all the books you’d talked about wanting. 

You tuck the bag away with your things before tugging a pair of sweatpants on and stepping out into the hallway. You find yourself wandering into the kitchen, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a soda from the shelf before swinging it back closed. Just as you crack open the can of soda, the door opens and in waltzes Deidre, tossing her bag to the side. 

“Shit- Is the shower open? Really need one,” She says to you, running her fingers through her damp hair with a huff. Her dress is thrown over her figure haphazardly, damp from the wet bathing suit beneath it, indicating that she must’ve just returned from the pool or beach. 

“Harry’s in there right now, but I’m sure he’ll be done soon,” You shrug, taking a sip from the can of soda. “Did you have a good time?”

 “I had an amazing time,” She smirks as she tugs her sandals off and lets them tumble onto the floor. “I’ll explain everything later, though.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh?”

She wiggles her own eyebrows suggestively, snickering with a devilish smile before disappearing into the hallway. You saunter over to the couch, taking a moment to grab the TV remote before collapsing into the cushions with your legs tucked beneath you. 

The steady stream of the shower comes to a nearly screeching halt and 5 minutes pass before the door to the bathroom swings open and out comes Harry, soaking wet with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. 

“Y’lookin’ for a movie to watch?” He asks, fingers gliding through his sopping curls as he stands in the doorway. 

“Uh-” You swallow the lump in your throat, trying in vain not to let your eyes wander to the loose edge of his towel. “Yeah. Got any requests?”

He shrugs, “I love a good Rom-Com, but I really don’t mind anything.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

You watch as he steps into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly and leaving you alone in the living room. Moments later, Deidre bounds out of your shared bedroom and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a snorted giggle. 

Scrolling through Netflix on the TV, you land on the Rom-Com section, taking a moment to look through it. Harry’s door swings open and he walks through, towelling off his long, wet hair as he saunters into the living room. He’s wearing a tight, black t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts that allow his tiger tattoo to peek through ever so slightly.  

“Find anything yet?” He asks, wrapping the towel around his neck before plopping himself down on the couch beside you.

You shake your head, glancing in his direction briefly before continuing to click through the limited options. The smell of his shampoo wafts into your direction and immediately you’re overwhelmed with the urge to tackle him on the spot, smothering him with your own mouth against his. His presence brings an animalistic side out of you and it takes everything in you not to give in, especially with the way he’d kissed you only just an hour before.

“You alright?” He interrupts your lustful train of thought, nudging his shoulder against yours. 

You clear your throat quietly, shaking your head a little. “Uh- yeah, sorry. Got distracted,” 

He smirks to himself, staring straight ahead to hide his tickled expression. “You gonna choose a movie or am I gonna have to take that remote from you and do it myself?” 

You whip your head in his direction, gaping at him as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’d like to see you try.”

He giggles and lunges forward, grasping for the remote in your hand but you move quickly, yanking your hand back behind you as you scramble to the edge of the couch. You giggle obnoxiously, kicking your feet at him to keep him as far away from you as you can, but his reflexes are just as quick as yours and soon he’s grasping one of your ankles to allow him just enough leverage to tackle you. 

“Harry!” You squeal as he shoves his arms beneath you in search of the remote in your hand. He chortles down at you with a devilish smile when his nimble fingers find your wrist. Immediately, you tear your arm away from his fingers, throwing it above your head with the remote grasped tightly between your fingers. 

“Fuck- you’re fast,” He grunts, taking a moment to shake his head in defeat. His tone and words prick a familiar nerve within you and you restrain yourself from squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip slipped firmly between your teeth. 

“That’s what she said,” You retort, snorting loudly at your own joke. He rolls his eyes, pushing himself up more so that he can reach your hand, but you outsmart him once again, kneeing him in the hip and causing him to topple off of the couch and onto the carpeted floor. 

“Fuck’s sake, babe. M’gonna be black and blue by the end of this,” He groans, sitting up as he rubs his elbow with a pout on his lips.

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh, please, I was barely even trying,” You allow yourself to relax back against the couch, scrolling through the movie options once again as Harry lifts himself from the floor but before you can even process what’s happening he’s swiftly yanking the remote from your hand and plopping himself beside you. “Asshole!” You gasp, reaching back for it frantically. 

He’s chuckling devilishly under his breath, holding his long arm away from you and moving it every way you reach. “Gonna have to try harder then, I guess,” 

You clamber over him, both knees landing on either side of his legs as your fingers grasp the remote over his hand. The compromising position the two of you are in is admittedly the last thing on your mind as you scramble for the remote, but when his free hand falls to your waist, gripping you gently, a breath catches in your throat and you pause. You make eye contact with him, your faces merely inches apart and suddenly the remote doesn’t really matter anymore. 

He smiles a little, licking his lips when his eyes flicker to yours. The hand holding the remote falls onto the armrest of the couch, causing yours to fall with it. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or just keep staring at my lips?” You mutter, bringing your hand up to the side of his neck. 

“Gonna let me have the remote if I do?” 

“Fuck the remote.” You grunt before charging forward, lips colliding with his in a searing kiss. 

His arms are quick to circle your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as you hold his face between your hands, lips moving together in a symphony of uncoordinated movements. One of your hands slides down to grip his t-shirt, desperate to have him as close as possible and then suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and you’re sent leaping off of Harry, scrambling to the other end of the couch. 

Both of you are breathless and flustered as Deidre walks in, whistling to herself and completely oblivious to the way you and Harry are practically shivering at each corner of the couch. 

“Did you guys pick a movie yet?”

You clear your throat before sighing shakily. “Uh- no, not yet,” 

“Jeez,” she scoffs, “been in the shower for at least 10 minutes what the fuck have you lot been up to?” 

Heat crawls along the apples of your cheeks and you glance in Harry’s direction with a panicked look on your face. He’s flushed bright red, giving you a sheepish smile before you turn away again. Luckily, Deidre has wandered into the kitchen making herself a snack of some sort, oblivious to the way you two are looking at each other, flustered and slightly shaken by what she’d interrupted. 

“I’m really in the mood to watch The Notebook,” Deidre calls from the kitchen, popping her head through the opening and raising her eyebrows at the two of you in question. 

Harry shrugs, “I’m down,” 

“Yeah, same,” You agree, clearing your throat awkwardly as you tuck your legs beneath you. Both you and Harry are suppressing sheepish grins, barely glancing at each other out of the corners of your eyes. 

“The Notebook it is, then.” He concludes, clicking through the Netflix menu to find it. 

When Deidre returns to the living room, she comes bearing a bag of microwave popcorn, a bag of cheetos, and three cans of soda (per Harry’s request). Of course, with your luck, she decides to plop herself between the two of you, leaving you and Harry to give each other subtle looks of distaste from across the couch. And, once the movie starts, you’re forced to act as if you hadn’t just been making out with your best friend’s older brother right on this very couch. 

The movie goes by fast since it’s nearly your 4th time watching it, and for the entire 2 hour film you’re forced to sit across the length of the couch from Harry when all you want to do is cuddle into his side. A few spare glances are shared throughout the time and judging by the way his eyebrows lift, his feelings are similar to yours. Nevertheless, you persevere through the movie until the credits are rolling and tears are streaming down your face.

“You guys are seriously crying? I know you’ve both seen this movie more than once,” Deidre scoffs at both you and Harry as she turns the TV off.

“How are you not crying?” You sniffle, wiping the moisture from underneath your eyes with your hands. You glance in Harry’s direction to see the tears welling up in his eyes as he stares at her in disgust. 

She looks at him and rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off, you’re both just big babies,” She stands from the couch, yanking the empty popcorn bag from the coffee table in front of the couch, huffing, “I’m going to bed. You two are ridiculous.”

You watch as she walks to the kitchen, chuckling to herself before you turn back to Harry who’s laughing through his own tears. 

“We are pretty pathetic,” He snickers, pushing his hair out of his face and shaking his head. 

“No,” You huff. “We just aren’t heartless like she is.” You stand from the couch, crossing your arms over your chest and sauntering down the hallway to your bedroom. 

You find yourself getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and performing your nightly routines just as you would every night. This time, however, the only thing on your mind is Harry. The way his hands held you so gently, lips drawing kiss after kiss from your own effortlessly as if he’d memorized every little thing that makes you shiver. The way he says your name when he speaks to you and maintains eye contact throughout every conversation, making it apparent to you that he’s listening to every word that leaves your lips. He actually cares about what you’re telling him and he speaks to you in such an attentive, selfless way. He makes you feel like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted to talk to. And, as much as you haven’t wanted to admit it to yourself, you’re beginning to think that this is more than just a crush. 

don’t forget to reblog and send feedback if u enjoyed!!

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[miraculouscontent]

Didn’t Need Burrow (May 3rd-May 22nd)

Anonymous said:

Don’t Need Burrow to know that Ladybug’s distrust of Volpina will be played off as though she was simply jealous of her because she thought she was going to steal Adrien/Chat, even though she didn’t like Chat! Oh, but she did, she didn’t know it yet. That’s why she kissed him in Dark Cupid!

Not like she didn’t have a bunch of other reasons to distrust Volpina.

(the show also does this a lot where Marinette has an extra reason on top of “““jealousy,”““ like in “Oni-Chan” where the thing she was concerned about actually ended up happening, but the fandom boils everything down to jealousy anyway)

Anonymous said:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Su Han will take the Miraculouses from all the girls because he thinks girls don’t have the “physical and mental fortitude” to be heroes, giving them tto guys instead. The girls will find out about each others’ identities and join in the battle to get their Miraculouses back without any powers, led by Marinette, despite the fact that the genre of Miraculous Ladybug is supposedly Magical GIRL and thus the girls being powerful should be a given

(there was another part to this but I didn’t get it all so I clipped this ask a bit so it could work alone)

tbh the true ending should just be Marinette and the girls kicking each misogynist to the curb without any powers, and Su-Han goes last.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Luka and Zoe, from their styles and hints like the ice cream Luka holds in Truth and the flower on her shirt.... I'm sure at this point the writers will either send him on a tour with Jagged, or make him Zoe's bf offscreen somehow... Also more torture for Mari mentally :)

Of course. :)

Gotta make sure Marinette doesn’t have any choice but Adrien. :)

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Zoe will be Adrien's new love interest because she's "very sweet". Mari will be okay with it because she feels the Guardian must be alone. (And she's still punishing herself for hurting Luka.) The New-Bee and Chat also bond, making her feel even more alone. (But now Lila can't claim she's jealous and her hold over the class is lessened as Zoe becomes more popular.)

I’m super not here for Marinette punishing herself (and the show possibly presenting it as her “growing up” and “doing the right thing”) and for Ladybug getting jealous over the playboy cat.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Prince Ali/Rose turns out to be endgame, while Rose/Juleka gets Lukanette'd -- their relationship happened mostly off-screen and we only see them pulling apart. Juleka has to let Rose go so she can live out 'every girl's dream', possibly even being put on a bus/written out of the series.

In which the Couffaines aren’t allowed nice things because they’re poor-coded.

Anonymous said:

I can’t believe the Pig’s weapon is ACTUALLY a tambourine. I’ve had that down as my guess for the pig miraculous for ages but I never thought I’d actually be right. On that note - Didn’t Need Burrow: the Ox’s weapon will definitely be a hammer, and the Goat’s might be a shepherd’s crook or grappling hook, and the Rooster’s could be a horn.

Congrats on being right!

We’ll definitely see on the whole weapons things.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: That Rose's mysterious sickness from "Guiltrip" episode will be ignored in other episodes.

Honestly, it was ignored in “Guiltrip” too. Rose’s illness seemed to be related to headaches and then they literally have her headbanging in her transformation.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: After "Guiltrip", the dynamics of Juleka and Rose's relationship will revert to the "romantic standing next to each other somewhere in the background".

Just look at them doing [friendly task]... romantically!!

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Tikki's comments about not really understanding love are later treated as her being in denial about her being in love with Plagg. Because the two of them are 'soulmates' *just like Adrien and Marinette*, and there's no such thing as a PLATONIC bond. Plus, it's denying another feminine-identifying character the right to define and declare her own feelings -- she's not ALLOWED to not love him that way! If she says otherwise, she's either in denial or mistaken! Or both!

[flashbacks to “Animan” where Alya denies feelings for Nino as being “like a brother to her” and then gets together with him at the end of the episode]

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: In the upcoming Mr. Pigeon episode, Chat Noir's behaviour toward Mr. Ramier in Lies will not be brought up at all.

Yeah, this is why I knew writing “Lying on the Job” was the right choice. :P The show wasn’t going to do it.

(part of me hopes that this acts as a jinx but I doubt it)

soap-lady said:

Didn't Need Burrow: It will be revealed Adrien always knew about Mari's crush. He tells Plagg it's because not only would rejecting a friend be hard, her akuma would be even scarier than her dad. He later admits at the end of the episode to Plagg that having an "awesome person like Marinette" crushing on him makes him feel good about himself. The show will frame this as charming rather than egotistical.

wow i hate it

throw the whole man away, Marinette

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: The "reverse love square" will happen as a result of Adrien being drunk on a love potion/under the control of a spell which makes him fall for Marinette. This will result in Marinette being uncomfortable with Adrien's relentless pursuit of her...AGAIN...which is, of course, played for laughs...AGAIN. Her friends will probably shame her, saying, "why are you so upset? You used to like Adrien and now he's returning that affection! What is WRONG with you, Marinette?". Meanwhile, during battle sequences Chat Noir will be less playful and intrusive of Ladybug's personal space because he's in love with Marinette now and not her, which is good(minus the"in love with Marinette" part, obvs), except that it will cause Ladybug to suddenly fall in love with the new Chat Noir who is being respectful(and "just like Adrien used to act"), and she'll act like a giddy schoolgirl over him, which will be used to humiliate her for comedy as Chat treats her like a freak now. And no, the show will NOT "call him out" for suddenly being averse to the affections of the "girl of his dreams" but will treat him as justified, because guys who pursue girls are gentlemanly and entitled to love back, while girls who pursue guys are pushy and obnoxious. There will even be a lesson on how you shouldn't have to put up with unwanted advances. Chat will be the one to learn it. There will also be a lesson on how you can't force someone to love somebody else. Adrien will be the one to learn it.

Wow, how’d you get the synopsis to Season 5? Impressive! (⊙o⊙)

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat will complain about Ladybug not trusting him, so she tries trusting him with further responsibilities which he then shirks, blows off and whines about. Naturally, Marinette is Wrong for DARING to think that her 'partner' should share more of the burden -- no, she HAS to carry everything herself and enable him to keep treating their duty as a game! It's not FAIR for her to expect anything more from him--!

oh my god

he would *gestures loudly to “Lies”*

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir will *deliberately* mess up a vital task that Ladybug assigned/entrusted him with, either to punish her for some petty/imagined slight (which is treated as Incredibly Serious and Deserving his retaliation) or because he simply doesn't want to have to deal with the extra responsibility. Much like somebody who 'never learns' the right way to load a dishwasher/do laundry/other chores so that somebody more responsible is forced to pick up their slack.

Sounds about right.

“Bonus” if Chat Noir is presented as in the right because Ladybug’s task was “too difficult”/”she didn’t instruct him right”/”you can’t expect him to be perfect on his first try,” or Chat Noir’s shirking is treated as “payback” for something she did that he maybe doesn’t even know about.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette gives up on becoming a fashion designer because her duties as Ladybug/Guardian take priority. Tikki protests not for Mari's sake, but because she enjoys her creative drive/justifies it as a form of honing Marinette's creativity. Thus the lesson is not that Marinette was Wrong because she deserves to have things that make her happy/goals outside of her duties, but because she can fold them into her Greater Purpose.

Miraculous: Tales of Marinette Not Being Allowed to Be Happy

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir will be (temporarily) killed during one of his 'Pity/Praise Me!' stints, because he decides that he can't function without Ladybug kissing his ass and she's too busy fighting the akuma to coddle him. Naturally, this is presented as Marinette's F-Up of the Week that she must fix at all costs and apologize for, insisting once more that she 'can't do this without him' despite being constantly forced to do this without him.

It’s Ladybug’s fault that Chat keeps sacrificing himself, obviously! She’s just not telling him not to in the rIgHt wAy, and she should be

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Ladybug will finally learn the truth about how Theo was akumatized, but Chat Noir will insist that he didn't lie and that she really WAS to blame for it. And anyway, that was 'so long ago' that she's not allowed to be mad over it anymore. (Bonus: this or other episodes will have callbacks showing that Adrien is still salty over things like being 'stood up', with HIS frustration presented as perfectly valid, as there's no expiration date on HER screw-ups.)

[flashbacks to “Stormy Weather 2″ where Plagg retcons Ladybug’s avoidance of Chat’s date as her standing him up]

+ Yeah, I don’t see Adrien not having expiration dates on his mistakes, and his are always for the better (i.e: stealing the book in “Volpina,” which was wrong obviously, and then Marinette covered for him immediately to get him back into school).

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chloe is given a 'redemption arc' after all... in the vein of her falling for Kim or some other male character and being convinced to change her ways for/by them. On top of being grossly sexist, this lets them slam Marinette even more, painting her as a failure who couldn't help Chloe despite that never being her responsibility in the first place.

“Bonus” if it’s Luka who does it.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Rather than confirming Juleka/Rose, CHLOE is officially revealed to be a closeted lesbian, retconning all of her bullying into the tried-and-trite 'They're only tormenting you because they LIIIIIKE you'. Bonus points if this is used to reinforce the notion that Chloe is irredeemable because 'Evil Jilted Lesbian can't be saved by Hetero LI'/she lied about crushing on Adrien/other toxic and heteronormative bullshit. AND her evilness is Mari's fault for not loving her back!

It’s always Marinette’s fault for not loving people back.

Also, this just reminds me of how much I hate the “lesbian bully” trope fdkjgdfgdfg.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir throws another Pity Me Party in the middle of a fight; Ladybug is sniped by the akuma while scolding him to stop fooling around. Naturally, this is presented as HER fault for not immediately accommodating his demands for attention. After saving her, Chat mockingly echoes her words about concentrating and keeping her head in the game.

╰（‵□′）╯

EVERY TIME!!

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chloe gets another chance at redemption by learning how to mimic Adrien/Lila and feign niceness. Whether or not her 'redemption' sticks depends upon her patience level; if she sticks to it and 'grows' into another Lila/holier-than-thou lecturer like Adrien, it's considered good (and Adrien gets full credit for helping her change 'for the better'), but if she goes back to being *openly* judgy and bitchy, it's another sign that she's 'irredeemable'.

Ugh, when Chloe’s options are either to be a Lila or an Adrien. All I feel is disgust.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: The Love Square is reversed when Adrien learns Ladybug's secret identity and decides to focus on pursuing her as Marinette. Mari is put off by his advances/still convinced that she can't HAVE a romantic relationship with all her other responsibilities, and is further distracted and concerned by Chat Noir growing distant (as he's bitter over his failures and taking it out on LB/holding a grudge after learning she confided in ALYA and not HIM).

i hate it

And of course the method of “now she’s not interested so I’M interested.”

Anonymous said:

Didnt Need to Burrow: Despite being 'twins' with Juleka, Luka will never show up in another episode. Ever. And the only mentions of him are only about the breakup. Even in Juleka-centric episodes, Luka will only be a passing mention. Oh, and Juleka will 100% stick to just mumbling outside of episodes where shes akumatized. Because gIrL poWeR

I’m honestly just--expecting Luka to have like one/two episodes, maybe to get a charm, and then he’s gone forever.

I don’t know if it’s a mercy or an insult, but the constant mentions of the break-up between Marinette and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Outside-Of-Spiting-Him definitely are an insult.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: "Gigantitan <insert high number>" episode

NO

NO

ANYTHING BUT THAT.

Anonymous said:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Ladybug and Cat Noir will be able to power up in some way, but they have to form a special bond (this is implied to be a romantic bond). They use this power up to defeat Hawk Moth. bEcAusE tHe pOWeR oF “LoVe” cOnQUerS aLL! Bonus if the characters imply that Ladybug should’ve accepted his affections sooner (Adrien won’t be mentioned at all, i wonder why:p)

I’m cringing so hard right now. I hate everything about this because you sound so correct.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: Lila will be written out/ret-conned from a show because she was only a Unredeemed!Chloe stand-in for time of Chloe "redemption arc". Every speculation about Lila (next Hawkmoth etc) will be applied to Chloe instead as a "plot twist".

I’m half-expecting that she’ll get akumatized as a season finale bad guy, then just immediately move.

Anonymous said:

Didn't need Burrow: Alya is the one who comes up with the akuma repellent charms and Marinette is going to be jealous that Alya is so much a better guardian. Alya'll also probably be able to wrangle the kwamis better than Marinette.

Honestly I might as well just put this one on the card right now. :P

Anonymous said:

Didnt Need Burrow: When Ladybug tells Chat that she told somebody her secret identity, hes gonna be mad, talking about how she broke his trust and the show will portray it as her fault for breaking under the pressure of being guardian. Meanwhile the fandom is gonna be mad at Ladybug. Ignoring, of course, the entirety of the New York Special.

We could sum up the fandom card as just, “Adrien is right and a sad uwu sunshine child, Marinette is wrong and OP and doesn’t give Chat the respect he deserves.”

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Rose's 'mysterious illness' will naturally flare up during times where Pigella might have been useful, with Ladybug getting blamed for her flare-ups/worsening condition.

BANNED

I HATE IT DX

Anonymous said:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Building off of the “Adrien knows about Marinette’s crush and manipulated her for it”, any time Marinette does something Adrien doesn’t agree with or disagrees with Adrien himself, Adrien will play the cute, naïve, sad boi we all know and “love”, complete with Bambi eyes and gratuitous long eyelashes, forcing Marinette to give in to what he wants. This is treated as cute, quirky, and hilarious, never abusive, selfish, or misogynistic.

I mean, considering Chat Noir and “Chameleon,” yeah.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: a) Episode, where Chat Noir is even worse than in "Lies" b) Situation where Chat Noir during meeting with Ladybug is like always (M'lady, Bugaboo, unwanted psychical contact etc.) then Ladybug reveals that she recognized him as impostor because "real Chat Noir never will be so pushy" (bonus points if false Chat Noir is akumatized Felix) c) Writers somehow manage to put both above options in one episode (obviously with real Chat Noir being even worse than his impostor)

“Copycat” but worse

differenttriumphdragon said:

Didn't Need Burrow to somehow correctly predict Zoe's identity as a joke based solely on some blurry pictures and an offhand comment about "secret siblings". Like, a YEAR or two ago.

I’m guessing this is referring to the writers creating her?

Because yeah, probably.

Anonymous said:

Didn't need the Burrow: We will get Lukagami. One of the reasons will be the clash of the Tsurugi-Motto of "No Second Chances" and Luka's snake power of "Second Chance" resulting in some weird sparks flying.

*puts head into hands and groans loudly* kill meeeee

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: The Multimouse!Mylene's model will be based on the Multimouse!Marinette's model (in the same way that the Rena Rogue's model is based on the Volpina's model)

plz no

plz

Anonymous said:

Didn't need burrow: Guilt trip hints at Adrien having actual depression, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but knowing the show, two things will happen: 1. His depression will only exist to make people feel bad for him instead of exploring his mental state and seeing him working through it, and 2. his depression will be magically cured when the LS becomes canon because "true love heals all your mental issues".

All of the above, yes. :|

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Ladybug gets a fresh new look (for the sake of more Real-Life ML Merch), and Chat Noir gets sulky about it. Both because he didn't get an upgraded appearance at the exact same time (despite doing absolutely nothing to earn it), and because he didn't get any input on her new look. So he passive-aggressively complains about the change, saying he preferred 'classic Bugaboo', and Marinette is presented as Wrong for not letting him dictate her power or appearance.

*stares at “Mr. Pigeon 72″* I’m waiting.

Anonymous said:

Didn't need burrow: Imagine after you made that fic where Bustier and D'argencourt get the miraculous they reveal in the show that Bustier's husband/boyfriend/fiance is D'argencourt.

I WILL DIE.

OF LAUGHTER? OF PAIN???

THE ANSWER IS “YES.”

“Bonus” if it’s a DJWifi dynamic where Bustier can get D’Argencourt to do whatever she wants and suddenly becomes aggressive/upset when he doesn’t, which D’Argencourt immediately folds to (because the only “““girl power”““ the show knows is “lol girls are scary when they’re mad”).

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: The Love Square gets 'Reversed' via Alya deciding that Marinette MUST have a crush on Chat as well, since she personally ships LadyNoir. All insistence to the contrary is waved off as denial, and Alya is bound and determined to hook up her BFF with ONE of her crushes, come hell or high water. Thus, Mari gets shoved towards Chat in much the same way she's forced towards Adrien, creating much awkward hilarity at her expense.

Marinette’s entire being: i want to go home

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya learns about Marinette getting jilted by Chat Noir during 'Weredad', possibly from Tom and/or Sabine.  She rubs this into Mari's face as proof positive that she really DOES have a thing for Chat, crowing about how she 'does her research' while teasing her about her awful luck with guys. This casual cruelty is 'balanced' by her insistence that she'll help her hook up with ONE of them by forcing her towards both.

Alya, looking at her plans and just shrugging: Hey, now her odds of getting a guy are doubled as far as I’m concerned.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will insist that all of Marinette's romantic woes are her own fault due to her being interested in multiple guys. (Mainly meaning Adrien and Chat Noir; 50-50 on whether she acknowledges Luka's existence as more than just proof of her 'fickle heart'.) She 'supports' her by shoving her into humiliating scenarios with her love interests, blaming all her failures on her 'divided loyalties' and giving her grief for being a 'dirty two-timer' that can't even get off first base.

Yyyyup.

And of course Luka would only be mentioned to shade Marinette.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Tikki will keep nagging Marinette about her inability to solve her romantic woes until Mari snaps that Tikki doesn't know what she's talking about, throwing her own words about how kwami don't understand love back in her face. Naturally, this is Mari's Mistake Of The Week, as Tikki is driven to tears over the rebuke and all the other kwami get pissed off at Marinette for upsetting her, giving her grief until she apologizes.  Tikki barely apologizes in return, if at all.

Ugh, I am just dreading an almost-inevitable “all the kwami are mad at Marinette” episode, since Marinette literally cannot escape from them since the Miracle Box is in her room.

Anonymous said:

(Mylene's personality anon) Don't Need a Burrow: Mylene's "Marinette's trait" will manifest in Multimouse!Mylene's introduction episode.

Mylene: Soon, I will have successfully swiped a personality trait from each of my friends to form one of my own.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: Characters who are popular fandom choices for alternate Miraculous Holders (Bee!Aurore, Fox!Lila, Cat!Felix etc) are akumatized into evil versions of Core Five Miraculous Team (Ladybug, Cat, Fox, Turtle and Bee)

Season 2462 finale.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: There will be more immediate self-contradictions, where Marinette is berated about how something she's doing/done is Wrong, badgered into following somebody else's 'good advice', and then promptly punished for doing so when the results blow up in her face.  These turnarounds will become so fast that they happen within the same episode.  Naturally, this is treated as entirely her fault.

At the rate her treatment is escalating, I would be 0% shocked. Still disappointed, but not shocked.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: It will turn out that the mysterious future Hawkmoth successor that Timetagger talked about is simply the Shadow Moth.

I laughed at this one so hard because it’s so accurate. I don’t know for sure if it’s a reference to the whole “new villain who’s been around since the beginning who just turned out to be Shadow Moth” thing but omg.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: The akuma-resisting pendants are used as an excuse to push Marinette even further past her breaking point, subjecting her to ever worse humiliations and traumas.  If the fact that she basically NEEDS the pendant to survive is ever brought up, it's in a chiding way; obviously, as Ladybug, she needs to be mentally stronger than this and not rely on a 'crutch'.  Nobody else is insulted for needed the pendants' protection.

Imagine the pendants as metaphors for medication and this takes on a whole new meaning.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: In a counterpart to "Chat Blanc", one episode visits a Bad Future where Marinette was akumatized.  Naturally, this is depicted as entirely her fault, with both Maris being raked over the coals.  No matter what the breaking point was, it's treated as though it was petty and pathetic for her to let it effect her so much.  For bonus points, this was at a point after she got the pendant, but she accidentally ditches or pitches it while reacting to whatever broke her back.

Especially with the reveal of two new seasons, I’m very much expecting Marinette to get akumatized at some point.

“Bonus” for a “Miracle Queen” set-up where Adrien needs to wear the ladybug miraculous and is suddenly good at it despite being awful at it before, ala Snake Noir.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will wind up making most of the anti-akuma amulets.  This is purely so that, when they inevitably fail, she can be blamed for it.

It’ll probably be like--Marinette needed to do something specific to make the pendants and they’re “only as strong as she is.”

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: The Love Square gets reversed when Alya decides she ships LadyNoir more than MariAdri, pushing her newfound agenda over her BFF's protests.  Meanwhile, Adrien reveals that he knew all along about Marinette's crush, starting to pursue her because he just doesn't uNdErStAnD why she's pulling away, feeling entitled to having her chasing after him even if he never intends to actually reciprocate.  Marinette is caught in the middle and blamed for all this drama.

Marinette, counting down the days where she can finally drink alcohol.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: One or some of Adrien/Chat Noir's past lies gets revealed to Marinette/Ladybug... for the sake of a moral about forgiveness and 'letting things go'.  Meanwhile, he continues to grouse and hold grudges against Ladybug for her supposed slights against HIM without being seriously challenged.

I’m seething.

Anonymous said:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette is shown a 'better world' wherein she never developed a crush on Adrien.  In this 'better world', Ladybug and Chat Noir are romantic partners.  Bonus points if this pushes forward the agenda of reversing the Love Square by getting Marinette to start seriously considering Chat as a potential love interest, treating this as her 'missing the point' of what she was shown... even if the goal was rather unclear beyond guilt-tripping her for having FEELINGS and DESIRES.

The true goal/moral is that Chat’s feelings are valid while Marinette’s are not.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: Hawkmoth will somehow get Black Cat Miraculous and attack as Moth / Cat Fusion (Cat Moth?). After defeating this form, Black Cat Miraculous will be taken from him and without any questions returned to Adrien. Whole thing will happen in one episode.

“Bonus” if Hawk Moth just stumbles upon the ring and doesn’t question it.

Anonymous said:

Didn’t Need Burrow: All Ladybug and Black Cat Holders are soulmates/ have gotten romantically involved. This gives Chat even MORE motivation to invade LB’s boundari-I MEAN to pursue her. Also, LB reacts in horror to this (who wouldn’t?) but its played for laughs.

At this point, I feel like this is the only way for them to push the love square as hard as possible. “Chemistry” has just flown out the window and they need a crutch.

Anonymous said:

Don't Need a Burrow: Reveal that Rose has rich parents because ML writers can't make sad blond(e) character who doesn't have rich parents (and also to increase the "You see! They love each other despite so many differences between them" factor of JuleRose)

Zag, “Stop Giving Rich Kids Sad Backstories” Challenge.

Part of me imagined an episode that just shipbaits JuleRose constantly, with Juleka constantly asking Luka and others advice on “getting closer to Rose,” which just ends up being Juleka asking Rose to be best friends.

[macbetha]

below the cut, you'll find an interest check chapter for quatervois, a nancy drew pc fic. it's francy and also my idea of my absolute dream game. please let me know what you think and enjoy!

+++

After Ned breaks up with her and she loses her father, Nancy struggles to find her old vigor for detective work. While on vacation in London with Bess and George, Nancy accepts the urgent invitation to return Blackmoor Manor. Her English getaway quickly turns into an investigation once Nancy realizes the true reason Nigel Mookergee asked her back to the moors. Finding Deirdre Shannon at the manor under the same pretense only sets Nancy’s nerves further on edge. It isn’t until the Hardy Boys show up in Blackmoor that Nancy gets a glimpse of who she once was. With a manor full of suspects and a glass heart cracked open, Nancy is determined to find the truth.

Dear Ned,

How are you? It’s been a while. I’ve always started off my letters telling you about my latest case, but I’m not on one right now. I’m sure that’s hard to believe. Bess and George have whisked me away to London. I’m sure you would love it here. This is the first time I’ve seen Bess and George since I sold the house in River Heights. I stayed with Kyler and Matt in Ireland for a while. I needed a change of scenery. Their daughter just turned two. I’m somewhat jealous I’m happy for them. Anyways, I miss you I hope you’re doing well. I’m sure New York is lovely at Christmas time. I hope Stephanie is I wish Stephanie well How is Stephanie? I hope Stephanie is doing all right. I appreciated the card Stephanie sent when dad passed away. Warm regards, Merry Christmas, Love Nancy

She stares down at the letter as if the red ink were her own blood. It feels just as wounding, seeing her emotions made physical in the words on the paper. Only when a tear splatters on the page does she break free from her trance to the past. Nancy is the only person in her hotel suite, yet she works to rid the evidence like one of her own suspects. She pulls her feet up in the desk chair and crosses her ankles, holding the arch of her right foot – it recently became the victim of her latest culprit. Nancy’s foot got caught under the getaway car’s tire, and she is lucky to even be able to walk after the event. Months later, it’s stiff as hell with the most intense cramps she’s ever endured. Heart racing to forget the night it happened, she focuses on the snowfall out the window – counting little sparkles of snowflakes, though the world blurs when she squints. The doctor thought her failing sight as well as the daily headaches were on account of being hit in the head so many times.

She busies herself with choosing a postcard to send Hannah and Nancy selects one with a cat dressed up as a royal guard. The cuteness puts a smile on her face, however small – she hopes it’ll do the same for Hannah, but there is no telling. Nancy had the gut-feeling Hannah was lying about recognizing her the last time Nancy visited the nursing home. Torment swirls like wind to fallen leaves. She doesn’t have Hannah or Togo to come home to. Togo passed just before Nancy’s thirty-second birthday, and Carson fell ill soon after that. Nancy looks to her hotel bed where Mr. Woogle Woggle sits tucked between two pillows. It seems he is the only one that hasn’t left her. A knock on her hotel door reminds her that is simply not true. Nancy rights herself, fixing her posture to the stance of someone passionate, and she opens the door. Bess and George greet her with blazing smiles; Nancy gives silent thanks for their presence in her life. She would still be in Scotland with Kyler and Matt, had Bess and George not insisted to take her on a vacation. Nancy imagines that their insistence was due to them wanting to keep Nancy from spending Christmas alone on the road again like last year. “Nancy,” Bess stresses. “You’re never going to guess who we ran into in the lobby!” Horror strikes dull and loud in her ears. Surely, it’s not Ned. Please, don’t let it be Ned. George says, “Give you a hint: they were involved in one of your cases.” Nancy’s despair leaves her throat tight. She glances down the hallway, preparing to yank Bess and George into her room and dial her Cathedral contact to get them set up in witness protection.

“That didn’t narrow it down at all, George,” Bess says with a roll of her eyes. “Nancy’s been on hundreds of cases.” Nancy’s strain creeps into her one word: “Who?” Bess and George beam. “Maya Nguyn!” ++

Nancy follows Bess and George to the elevator in a hurried stupor. No thoughts can she conjure as she steps free from the elevator walls which seem to close in on her; Nancy marches into the lobby and notices a woman in the crowd of tourists. She stands with her back to Nancy, her hair drawn up in a bun, and her chin is lifted high with no time for games. Maya turns around and her bright red mouth stretches into a smile. “Nancy!” “Maya,” Nancy huffs in disbelief. She tenses in Maya’s sudden embrace before all but falling into it. This is something good I did; Nancy cherishes with shut eyes. This is someone I helped. When Maya pulls back, Nancy says, “What are you doing all the way out here? You said in your last letter, you were still in Washington.” “My house is technically there,” Maya nods. “But I get to work on the road more these days.” Her brows crease over a sympathetic smile. “Bess and George tell me you’re kind of in the same boat.” Nancy shrugs, struggling to hold Maya’s concerned gaze. “It’s just easier,” Nancy lies. Maya seems to see right through it, but she doesn’t speak on it. Nancy will have to thank her later. George says, “Maya offered us free tickets to a play she’s reviewing tonight and get this – it’s at the Globe Theater!” “Remind me what’s so special about a globe theater,” Bess sighs, checking her nails. “Not ‘a’, Bess, the.” George shakes her head. “The Globe Theater – well, technically it’s a reconstruction of the first one, but it’s where Shakespeare wrote his plays.” “It’s the opening night of a new play,” Maya explains. “And Nancy, you’ll never guess who the star is.” Nancy cannot take anymore guessing games. “Brady Armstrong.” Maya blinks. “Well – yes, actually.” Nancy frowns. “Wait, really?” “Yes,” Maya laughs. “I’ll be conducting an interview with him after the show if you want to go backstage and chew him out for all the stunts he pulled back in the day.” A spark of vigor heightens Nancy’s senses. That doesn’t sound bad at all. Still – “Are you sure we won’t be a distraction or –” “Nancy.” Maya’s hand falls on her shoulder. “You saved my life. You’re the furthest thing from a distraction.” Gratitude floods her before Nancy nods. “All right, then.” +++ The walk to the Globe would be depressive what with the sky being the color of a soaked napkin, but the Christmas decorations lift everyone’s spirits. Nancy limps by a shop playing Christmas oldies through the open door and she is borne back to her father listening to records over cocoa on Christmas morning. She tries to push the memory from her mind, then she thinks of building snowmen with Ned and having snowball fights that turned into the sweetest kisses she’s ever received. The music won’t stop. There are three Christmas trees in the display window and their flashing lights strike pain behind Nancy’s eyes. She pants through a sensory overload before someone squeezes her hand. Maya smiles in understanding as Bess and George walk obliviously in front of them. “It’s hard,” Maya says. “This life on the road. You pick up a few habits.” Nancy squeezes her hand in thanks before tucking her own in her peacoat’s pocket. “I want to enjoy this,” she admits quietly. “But I think the holidays are always hard.” Maya nods. “It won’t be this way forever, Nancy,” she promises. “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.” Cross your fingers, there’s a story behind this door! Nancy swallows around the lump of panic in her throat. She plasters on a smile. +++ The theater is packed with noise and touching and all-around boisterous patrons. They find their seats in the crowd and Nancy doesn’t watch where she’s going – she must keep her eyes on the open ceiling to remember how to breathe. She sits down at the end of the group and Maya passes out programs. Quatervois, the title reads. Bess says, “What does that mean?” “It means you’re at a crossroads,” Maya says. “A turning point.” “Sounds a little dramatic,” George grumbles. Nancy traces the swooping lines of the title with

her thumb, repeating the process until the lights go down. The masked chorus emerges from the shadows and gives a synopsis: Down from Olympus a great hero emerges, Mighty in his strength and courage! A choice he must make Shall he ignore fate? Will he choose love, Or follow his destiny there-of? When Brady saunters on stage in an impossibly short silk chiton, it’s an out-of-body experience for Nancy. He still hasn’t grown his ponytail back, so Simone could very well be in the audience right now. Nancy rubs her aching temple at the thought. Brady begins his journey as the character Diogenes, a demigod that was supposedly – according to the play’s plot – written out of ancient Greek mythos. Diogenes must defeat those who want to leave him forgotten in history, lest he admit that he can’t win this fight and live his life like everyone else. Nancy assumes the play’s ending too soon. She imagines this will be a droll experience written only to paint Brady as a glorious hero that can conquer anything – but she is quickly surprised. Brady is stabbed in the final act and addresses the audience in a wail: And so my story ends a breath too early, No time to even be weary! The moon shall pass over my corpse, And the sun will beat down on my ashes with no remorse. Today, I have failed my quartervois Alone, forgotten, and lost. When the curtain falls, Nancy’s mouth is parted in disbelief as a tear burns down her cheek. They don’t receive a proper goodbye with Maya since the rest of the crowd is bustling toward the exit. She does have time to say that Brady is producing a new television series and will be scouting some locations further into Essex; Maya will be following the film crew there for test shoots. She embraces each girl individually and holds Nancy for a beat longer, whispering, “You’ll call if you need to talk?” “Of course,” Nancy says by impulse. “Same to you.” +++ Nancy is proud of herself for going out, but when she closes the door to her hotel suite, her back thunks against the wall and she must take deep breaths for several minutes. She decides to treat herself to a bubble bath even though it’s nearly midnight. She rolls her hair up into a bun and looks at it in the mirror, how haphazard and messy hers is in comparison to Maya. Nancy isn’t jealous – but she can’t help but notice when people are thriving. She wants to figure out how to do it herself and hasn’t found the cure yet. The bath is claw-footed and deep. Nancy sinks into the steaming water before goosebumps rise on her arms, and her freckled skin blushes in the heat. The water does wonders for her foot. She eases her head back on the lip of the tub and nears a light doze when her cell phone rings. It rests atop a stack of towels by the tub. Nancy wipes her damp hand off before looking to the screen. Frank Hardy. Nancy answers and taps the speaker button to relax back in the tub. “Hey.” “Hi, Nance,” Frank says, his voice a familiar balm after such a stressful time. “What’s going on?” “Things aren’t too different from last week’s call,” Nancy smiles. “But I’m on vacation with Bess and George.” “Oh wow! That’s awesome. I hope it’s been fun.” Nancy’s glazed eyes blink. “Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s nice.” She clears her throat, searching for her old enthusiasm. “But what about you? How’s Joe?” “Same as usual, a pain in my ass.” Nancy chuckles before a distinctive lift raises Frank’s voice. “We’re actually getting ready to get on a plane for a case – but I wanted to make sure everything’s good with you.” Nancy’s hand closes in a fist on her raised knee. “Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a case.” “Not really. You just took a few months off to stay with Kyler, right?” “Yeah, but that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without a case since I started.” “I’d give you ours if I could,” Frank says. “Really not looking forward to such a long plane ride. Oh, they’re calling for our gate – but do you want me call you when I land?” Gratefulness is a warm glow in her heart. “No, that’s okay – but

thank you. Be safe on your trip and tell Joe I said hi.” “Can do.” Frank pauses. “I – tell Bess and George I said hi.” “Can do,” Nancy repeats. She chews her lip. “See you soon?” She feels foolish for saying something when Frank is headed to a case. While the weekly phone calls have kept Nancy sane, it would be even better to see the Hardy Boys. “I’ll make it happen,” Frank promises. “See you, Nance.” After they hang up, Nancy struggles to get out of the tub with her swollen foot. She gets into a pair of sweats and wraps up some ice in a washcloth, then holds it against her foot. Nancy mulls over her conversation with Frank, wondering how much of her poor mood could be due to not solving a mystery. With a deep yawn, she tosses the soaked washcloth in the wastebasket, not able to walk to the bathroom to put it in the sink. She cuddles up to her teddy bear and flicks the lamp off when her phone rocks to life on the nightstand. Bewildered, Nancy turns the lamp back on to look at the screen. The number is unknown; she sees her hand tremble around the phone. She lets the call go to voicemail before the phone vibrates to life once again. Bracing herself, Nancy answers. “Hello?” “Yes, hello – I’m trying to reach a one Nancy Drew?” The voice is British and eerily familiar, like Nancy heard it in a dream. “This is she.” “Splendid! Oh, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve gone to in order to find your number.” “Sorry? Who is this?” “Why, Nigel Mookergee. We met at –” “Blackmoor,” Nancy whispers. “Nigel, hi. What’s going on?” “I’m afraid the manner of my call is not a jovial one,” he says. “How should I explain this? Well, I suppose from the start. You see –” He sighs. “Don’t tell anyone I’m speaking of this, but the Penvellyns have fallen into a bit of… financial trouble.” Nancy says, “’Financial trouble’?” “It’s certainly not my business to spread, but yes. It’s not that they are a poor family by any means, but one diplomat’s salary is not enough to keep up a castle.” Nancy sits up, grabbing a pen and notepad from her bedside table. She jots as Nigel continues. “The Penvellyns began to host historical tours at the manor – much to Mrs. Drake’s dismay, I might add. Jane wishes to expand the business to the paranormal side of things, and I don’t quite agree with the idea myself, but she insists it’s just what the manor needs.” Nancy finishes scrawling and says, “So, you’re working for the Penvellyns now?” “Yes. I’m afraid there’s been some situations – inconsequential events, if you will – that need a glance over.” Nancy arches a brow. “You mean an investigation.” “Ah, such a serious word. I simply want to make sure we are fully prepared to expand the business.” Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Right. When would you need me there?” “As soon as possible -” Nigel catches himself. “I mean, at your earliest convenience.” Nancy glances over her notes, running her hand over the page filled by red ink. She closes her eyes against the sight and says, “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think and stay safe. and please consider following me here and on twitter! xoxo

[moiraineswife]

Jasnah - The Facade Meta

Today we’re going to discuss the stormlight of my life, your life, your cat’s life: Jasnah Kholin. Topics of discussion include (but will likely not be limited to): the face she wears, the effect her childhood and what we know if it has had on her, madness, her mother, her perceived invincibility, and whatever else strikes me as relevant in the midst of this chaotic clusterfuck of yelling tarted up as character analysis. 

Now. To business:

Let us begin at the beginning (of what we know) and talk about Jasnah’s childhood illness, and what this has done to her in terms of her relationship with her mother, her outlook on life, and her perception of, well, perception…

“It’s your daughter,” Dalinar guessed. “Her lunacy.”

“Jasnah is fine, and recovering. It’s not that.”  (OB, 49, Born Unto Light)

Peppered through Dalinar’s flashbacks in Oathbringer are small hints at the dark side of Jasnah’s childhood. We’ve had hints before that Jasnah’s life has not always been...entirely typical for a princess.

Her existence as a radiant was a hint itself, as it's implied most of them are ‘broken’ in some way.

The others are more obvious: Kaladin’s depression, Shallan’s PTSD, anxiety, and DID, Dalinar’s repressed memories, and alcoholism etc,etc.

With Jasnah, you know it has to be there, but it’s harder to see. To use Shallan’s metaphor, she’s like a cracked vase, but the cracked side has been turned to the wall, so the outside world sees only smooth perfection.

This flashback comment is the most obvious indication at what caused Jasnah to break. A fairly shocking one for a reader as 'Jasnah' and 'lunacy' seem to match as well as chasmfiends and tea parties.

It also provides some rather awful context for this segment a few chapters earlier:

“Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

“It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.”   (O, 47, So Much Is Lost)

We know, given Shallan’s research into Taln at the behest of the Ghostbloods, that the current treatment for madness involves confining the person in darkness.

It seems like far too much of a coincidence that Jasnah, diagnosed with lunacy, would have memories of screaming herself hoarse in a dark room that could somehow be unconnected to this.

Based on my shoddy maths, she was around 11 or 12 at this point, which is marked by many, especially Navani, as a turning point in her life. There was a profound change in how she acted with those around her following this.

“She wouldn’t let me be a mother to her, Dalinar,” Navani said, staring into the distance. “Do you know that? It was almost like . . . like once Jasnah climbed into adolescence, she no longer needed a mother. I would try to get close to her, and there was this coldness, like even being near me reminded her that she had once been a child. What happened to my little girl, so full of questions?” (WoR, 67, Spit and Bile)

It seems like too much of a coincidence, again, to assume that Jasnah’s childhood illness and her confinement had nothing to do with her reluctance to allow Navani to mother her any more.

Jasnah herself reflects that her imprisonment, for lack of a better word, taught her that people she loved could still hurt her. It seems very likely that this refers to Navani and Gavilar, as they would have allowed this treatment to continue. It’s also likely the reason for the change in their relationship afterwards.

Navani's presence didn't remind her she had been a child; it reminded her of what had been done to her.

Navani’s little girl was branded insane and locked away in a dark room with her parents' consent. This removed her ability to trust in Navani to mother and protect her. She kept her distance, she kept herself aloof and removed from everyone, and that’s something that hasn’t changed over twenty years later.

She takes no wards, an expected thing for a woman of her rank. She's unmarried, well past the age she should be. She has no friends, the closest she has are both "pen pals" she communicates with via spanreed.

Jasnah, of all the characters in Stormlight, is the one least emotionally connected. She clearly loves her family, and is devoted to them...But again it's from a distance.

She works in the shadows with assassins to protect them. She studies the end of the world a world away from everyone she loves.

When we see her in Kharbranth for the first time with Shallan, she’s alone.

The servants she uses seem to belong to the Palaneum. She travels alone, she researches and works and bears her burdens alone.

The sole exception is Ivory and she doesn't really have a choice with him BUT to have him with her.

I am NOT suggesting that Jasnah doesn’t actually care about her family/Shallan - we see repeatedly that she absolutely does.

Poignantly, the first thing Renarin’s visions predict that turns out to be false is the lack of love that Jasnah has - they claim she will choose logic and kill her cousin, but she chooses to save him instead.

It’s clear that Jasnah cares very deeply...but she also deliberately distances herself, both physically and emotionally, from other people.

(continued below)

Jasnah is so independent that it’s almost a flaw. She’s an interesting opposite to Kaladin, in this regard.

Kaladin defines himself so much by those around him, his family, his men, those under his care and protection, that that almost becomes a flaw in him. He destroys himself to protect them, and every failure wrecks him.

Jasnah keeps everyone away. She operates alone, in secret, and she clearly struggles to let people get close to her.

The reasons for this are twofold, I feel.

The first one is assassins: Jasnah has been ‘killed’ by one such assassination attempt, has survived another, who made multiple attempts on her life in the form of Kabsal, and has almost certainly experienced more beyond that.

Her casual expectation that Kabsal is trying to use Shallan to get close to her, likely, though she doesn’t say it, to kill her - which turns out to be true.

She knows firsthand how easy it is for someone with enough money and influence to place spies and assassins into a setting- she does it herself all the time. And it resulted in the death of her father.

In a lot of ways, she’s as paranoid about assassination as Elhokar is - she just expresses it in a far more subtle/rational way. Where Elhokar rants and panics, Jasnah blocks up air vents and rejects rooms in the 90000 foot, lost for centuries, tower with balconies because they're a security flaw.

The second reason for her emotional isolation, I believe, is what caused her initial withdrawal from Navani.

Being believed mad, locked in a dark room, screaming for help and being ignored, and knowing that your parents, the people whom you went to with questions and looked to for safety and protection are at least partially responsible, all at the age of eleven is...fairly damaging.

Jasnah hides the effects of her trauma far better than Kaladin or Shallan. This is probably partially because she’s older and has been dealing with it for longer.

By this point, her trauma reactions (which went, by her own admission, unaddressed by her family after what happened, which is traumatising in itself), have melded in with her personality/are brushed off as simply Jasnah being Jasnah.  

“I know what people say of me. I should hope that I am not as harsh as some say, though a woman could have far worse than a reputation for sternness. It can serve one well.”  (TWoK, 8, Nearer the Flame).

As a matter of fact, we know full well that Jasnah ISN’T as harsh or stern as she’s claimed to be. Shallan repeatedly affirms to Kabsal, and to a reader, that Jasnah is not what she expected - a stern, harsh mistress. She also notes that Jasnah believes herself to be one - likely due to everyone else perceiving her that way.

I think the perception of Jasnah is one that she’s cultivated deliberately - a stern, aloof, even harsh person. Not one anyone would want to be close to. Also not someone anyone would associate with weakness, or needing to be cared for or protected.

More than assassins, I think Jasnah fears people who love her with good intentions, and the ability to assert those good intentions upon her, because it's "for her own good".

When she was a child it led to her imprisonment, something which still triggers traumatic flashbacks over ten years later. She fears having people she loves hurt her. And so she keeps them away, and cultivates for herself a presence that doesn’t need to be cared for, that almost doesn’t need or want to be loved, so that can never happen again.

She rejects, most notably and strongly, her mother, and any implication of a husband. This has led to speculation about her sexuality - maybe she’s gay - though it seems fairly acceptable in Alethkar for a person to be gay (they don’t even have to fill out social reassignment forms!). I

It might be more frowned upon in noble society, due to the expectation of forming political marriages, and while I don’t necessarily doubt it (give me queer Jasnah, Brandon, I beg of you, I’m a starving lesbian and I need this) the only commentary we have from Jasnah on the subject sems to suggest a different, sadder, motive:

Jasnah relaxed visibly. “Yes, well, it did seem a workable solution. I had wondered, however, if you’d be offended.”

“Why on the winds would I be offended?”

“Because of the restriction of freedom implicit in a marriage,” Jasnah said. “And if not that, because the offer was made without consulting you.

[...]

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Jasnah said. “The idea of being beholden to another, particularly a man?”

“It’s not like I’m being sold into slavery,” Shallan said with a laugh.

“No. I suppose not.” Jasnah shook herself, her poise returning.

(WoR, 1, Santhid).

This is the only time, after an entire book of content in which Jasnah, amongst other things: Soulcasts three men into oblivion, is almost assassinated repeatedly, is betrayed by the first person she’s taken in and trusted in a long time, and is researching the literal end of the world, that Shallan notes Jasnah looking nervous/uncomfortable in discussing anything.

And it’s about marriage.

Jasnah views marriage as being a ‘restriction of freedom’ and finds it distasteful because it encompasses the idea ‘of being beholden to another’.

Anything that even implicitly binds her to another or puts them in her power is something she wants nothing to do with. And, legally, if she were ever to be accused of lunacy again, the two people most likely to have the authority to make a decision on her treatment/send her back to the ardents would be either a parent, or a husband.

The first she’s distanced herself from in pretty much every way since the first event, and the second she’s refused to entertain for years, to the point that high society whispers that she must be gay.

I also think she's uncomfortable because she sees what she did here - setting up a betrothal, which she views as a restriction of freedom - for Shallan, without consulting her, as the same thing that was done to her as a child.

A restriction of freedom for Shallan’s own good. The same justification that was used to imprison her. It's obviously not the same, but Jasnah views marriage as a kind of imprisonment. So in her mind it is.

Jasnah also has huge trust issues. She just covers them with what appears to be personality traits - of being independent, and aloof - but that’s largely just a cover for her own insecurities, and her fear of ever having her freedoms restricted again.

This idea also gives a little bit more of a twist (or dramatic gut punch, thanks Brandon), to her advice to Shallan about perception and power:

“Power is an illusion of perception.”

Shallan frowned.

“Don’t mistake me,” Jasnah continued. “Some kinds of power are real—power to command armies, power to Soulcast. These come into play far less often than you would think. On an individual basis, in most interactions, this thing we call power—authority—exists only as it is perceived.

“You say I have wealth. This is true, but you have also seen that I do not often use it. You say I have authority as the sister of a king. I do. And yet, the men of this ship would treat me exactly the same way if I were a beggar who had convinced them I was the sister to a king. In that case, my authority is not a real thing. It is mere vapors—an illusion. I can create that illusion for them, as can you.”  (WoR, 1, Santhid)

Jasnah is talking here with Shallan about being more confident, assertive, and being able to have people do what you want (Something Navani later notes Jasnah is very good at doing).

But I think Jasnah uses this same idea - the power of perception, as a defence mechanism against her trauma, a way to protect herself.

We dismiss her isolation as aloofness. We dismiss her lack of emotional reaction as a cornerstone of the "strong female character" trope. But I think it's deeper than that. Because Jasnah isn't ACTUALLY like that deep down. It's a perception she works very hard to achieve.

Jasnah uses logic in a similar way to how Shallan uses art and drawing, or how Kaladin uses training with the spear. It’s a distraction, a grounding technique, something she can calm herself with. It’s an anchor and a crutch all at the same time.

Jasnah is logical to a fault, to the point that it makes others see her as a monster lacking empathy. I don’t think, at any point in the last few books, we’ve seen Jasnah genuinely distressed/angry/displaying emotion to the point she’d be considered out of control.

Almost all the other POV characters have had moments of weakness/breakdowns/extremely poignant emotional displays. But not Jasnah. All we ever see from Jasnah is the controlled, cultivated perception that she wants us to see. Something which I think is rooted in her trauma.

Logic is the antithesis of lunacy. Rational thought is the direct counter to madness. If the whole world sees Jasnah as logical, utterly in control of herself, if that is the perception she has everyone believe at all times then she can’t be accused of madness again.

Madness, at least in Jasnah’s mind, is an outburst of excessive, uncontrolled emotion. It is the opposite of logic. It’s acting impulsively, without thought, based purely on emotions. Ivory supports this idea:

“Ivory, you think all humans are unstable.”

“Not you,” he said, lifting his chin. “You are like a spren. You think by facts. You change not on simple whims. You are as you are.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“Mostly,” he added. “Mostly. But it is, Jasnah. Compared to other humans, you are practically a stone!” (O, 39, Notes)

Even Ivory, who has been closer to Jasnah in recent years than anyone we know of in the series so far, characterises her this way.

She rejects this idea, telling Ivory that:

 “You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many.”  (O, 39, Notes)  I think this is true, she does let her passions rule her, but she doesn’t let anyone, even Ivory, see that from her.

That's deliberate. She deliberately makes herself out to be this logic-driven robot, with no feeling or passion.

To the world, Jasnah Kholin is the consummate scholar, the eternally logical thinker, untouched by empathy or feeling. This is how she wants them to think of her.

We know that it’s not true. We know that Jasnah is driven by emotions - her guilt at feeling like she failed Gavilar, her fear for what’s coming for the world, her love for her family, her true passion for scholarship and knowledge.

This is particularly notable when set against a character who exemplifies the opposite in so many ways: Kaladin.

“Yes. The answer is obvious. We need to find the Heralds.”

Kaladin nodded in agreement.

“Then,” Jasnah added, “we need to kill them.”

“What?” Kaladin demanded. “Woman, are you insane?”

“The Stormfather laid it out,” Jasnah said, unperturbed. “The Heralds made a pact. When they died, their souls traveled to Damnation and trapped the spirits of the Voidbringers, preventing them from returning.”

“Yeah. Then the Heralds were tortured until they broke.”

“The Stormfather said their pact was weakened, but did not say it was destroyed,” Jasnah said. “I suggest that we at least see if one of them is willing to return to Damnation. Perhaps they can still prevent the spirits of the enemy from being reborn. It’s either that, or we completely exterminate the parshmen so that the enemy has no hosts.” She met Kaladin’s eyes. “In the face of such an atrocity, I would consider the sacrifice of one or more Heralds to be a small price.”

“Storms!” Kaladin said, standing up straight. “Have you no sympathy?”

“I have plenty, bridgeman. Fortunately, I temper it with logic.”  (O, 39, Notes)

Ah, the old ‘punt the Heralds back to Damnation to buy us time’ argument. Lovely.

Jasnah and Kaladin are at two different ends of the sympathy-logic spectrum and it was kind of inevitable they’d clash. But I think it makes Jasnah’s assertions more...Stark and shocking, when she pitches them to Kaladin.

What she suggests IS logical. And it’s actually the same sort of logic that led the Heralds themselves to abandon Taln to Damnation in the first place: “better that one man should suffer than ten.”

It’s a cold, harsh, brutal logic, and it’s very typical of how Jasnah likes to present herself when she’s speaking to others.

The killing of the footpads in Kharbranth is another prime example - it’s all cold, dissected logic when she reasons through it with Shallan afterwards. (Though I imagine if we saw Jasnah’s POV of it in the moment, it would be very different than what she presents).

Because what I find most interesting about the Heralds argument is that we get Jasnah, just Jasnah, away from anyone who has to view her performance of perception, reflecting on the situation. And her internal thoughts/her private reactions are very different from those she displays in public.

“These words trouble you,” he said, stepping up to her again and resting his jet-black fingers on the paper. “Why? You have read many troubling things.”

[...]

Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.

“Have you ever wondered how it would feel to lose your sanity, Ivory?”

Ivory nodded. “I have wondered this. How could I not? Considering what the ancient fathers are.”

“You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many. In my times of peace, however, my mind has always been the one thing I could rely upon.”

Except once.

She shook her head, picking up the paper again. “I fear losing that, Ivory. It terrifies me. How would it have felt, to be these Heralds? To suffer your mind slowly becoming untrustworthy? Are they too far gone to know? Or are there lucid moments, where they strain and sort through memories … trying frantically to decide which are reliable and which are fabrications…”

She shivered.  (O, 39, Notes).

In an ironic (fuck you Brandon) twist: I think Jasnah knows EXACTLY what she’s suggesting they do to the Heralds. She’s also probably the person in that room who has the most experience with/has contemplated most what they would be condemning them to, and who therefore empathises with them the most.

It’s STRONGLY implied in this passage that Jasnah has experienced some sort of hallucinations in the past. Possibly this is connected to some kind of neurodivergence. I think this more likely than the alternative - that she was seeing into Shadesmar, because I believe that her imprisonment was what caused her to ‘break’ and enabled her to form her spren bond in the first place. But it’s possible. 

Regardless of what’s happened in the past, now, Jasnah’s mind is her sanctuary. If she only ever knows one thing it’s her own mind. She’s a rationalist. She puts her faith in things that she can know intuitively, via logic, like maths - things that exist independently of god, that cannot be doubted. Their truth is tied to their very existence. All that's required to know it is to know her own mind and reason. Losing that is quite literally the worst thing she can think of.

And honestly? Taln’s story probably really fucks with her. Because what he went through is what she went through, too, as a child.

Taln was dismissed as a madman, because no one believed what he said, even though it was true. Truth doesn’t matter; not when it comes to being perceived mad. Nor does being right. Taln was telling the truth. Taln was right. Taln was a goddamn Herald. And they still decided he was mad and locked him away in a dark room, alone, the same way they did to her.

Jasnah knows what that feels like. Jasnah empathises with Taln and the other Heralds more than probably anyone else. But she speaks of condemning these people to that fate, to the greatest hell she can think of, calmly, and rationally. But that’s absolutely not what she really feels/thinks. There is...Such a stark difference, when you really sit and think about it, in the Jasnah that she lets everyone see, and the Jasnah that exists only behind closed doors.

She could see Jasnah’s face, hand against her temple, staring at the pages spread before her. Jasnah’s eyes were haunted, her expression haggard.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. (WoR, 6, Terrible Destruction).

The text itself characterises Jasnah’s mask as a defence. A defence against being known, a defence against being seen as anything other than perfectly logical. Having this mask so firmly and so constantly in place is a lot of work. It’s almost a compulsion for her at this point - the refusal to let anyone else in, the strict adherence to logic, regardless of her own feelings or how it makes others see her. Better to be emotionless and in control, utterly, unquestionably sane and rational, than to ever go back to being considered mad.

This, ironically, isn't rational behaviour. It's a trauma response. I'm stating this, the idea that being emotionless/always rational prevents anyone viewing her as insane again (though, again ironically, this is exactly what Kaladin accuses her of being (OUCH)). But I think these are facts in Jasnah's mind? It's her coping mechanism. It's a really bad one. But that's what it is.

As an interesting side note - I think the only time we ever see Jasnah draw emotion spren is when she’s on her own (or assumes she’s on her own, as in this passage, or too exhausted to keep them away entirely - like the single fearspren she draws later in this chapter).

This feels notable because every other character who features in the books, even minor side characters, draws emotion spren of one sort or another at some point in the text.

Jasnah, for all that she’s on screen, draws very little. This may be a function of her ability to tap into Shadesmar, to keep them away, remove any trace of emotion spren from spawning around her. That or she just has such a tight hold on her emotions that she doesn’t draw them.

Either way, I think it’s (another) sign that her behaviour isn’t entirely natural. Spren are everywhere on Roshar, you draw them when you feel a powerful emotion - that’s a natural day-to-day occurrence there.

Unless you’re Jasnah.

Maybe that’s straying a little too far into the realms of what’s reasonable, but I do still think that Jasnah’s output, especially when it contrasts, often very strongly, with her internal feelings, is a coping mechanism/a response to the trauma she endured as a child.

Madness is a fairly strong theme in Stormlight, a few of the characters discuss it/experience it. Syl asks Kaladin fairly directly what it is:

“What is madness?” she asked, sitting with one leg up against her chest, vaporous skirt flickering around her calves and vanishing into mist.

“It’s when men don’t think right,” Kaladin said, glad for the conversation to distract him.

“Men never seem to think right.”

“Madness is worse than normal,” Kaladin said with a smile. “It really just depends on the people around you. How different are you from them? The person that stands out is mad, I guess.” *(TWOK) 

Dalinar’s TWOK arc deals very strongly with madness and the ability to trust your own mind. Taln is, as has been noted, locked away for being mad. Several of the Heralds and the Fused are described as mad after what they've been put through. It's something I expect to be explored further as the series progresses.

Jasnah, I think, is the character who tries so hard never to seem that way. Never to be unhinged, or unbalanced, or affected by what's happened to her. But of course we know that she is.

I think, though, that it’s easy to write off Jasnah's trauma. The other characters all have flaws that are very obvious/things that make them obviously ‘broken’ in terms of their spren bond and the oaths they need to speak.

Kaladin suffers from depression, and from crippling guilt, and taking on too much responsibility. But also with his anger, and his hatred towards those who have wronged him, and how that can push him to blame them/avoid responsibility for what’s happened to him. Basically, his inability to let go or move forwards.

Shallan has the opposite problem, and an inability to look back/face the past. She repressed memories of trauma, and wove lies over them to protect herself, which she had to overcome to progress.

Dalinar had his alcoholism, and prior to that, his ‘addiction’ (which I think is absolutely how it’s written/the parallels are pretty obvious) to The Thrill. He had to accept responsibility, and guilt, and grief, and pain. He had to acknowledge that he had been a bad person, who was not worthy of Evi, but also that he’s capable of change, and improving himself, and becoming a better man.

Their trauma responses are loud, and obvious, and messy. They're aware of them, a reader is aware of them, the other characters are aware of them. "They stand out" if you like.

Jasnah does everything she can to ensure the effects of her trauma never stand out. To the point that other characters fairly consistently characterise Jasnah as perfect/an ideal woman.

I’m NOT saying that the text ACTUALLY presents Jasnah as being perfect/without any flaws (that’s...that’s kinda the point of this entire meta) but the characters gloss over these things/her flaws are perceived as good things?

She’s seen as so aloof, so unflappable, so commanding, and in control. She’s highly intelligent, she’s beautiful, she’s a cunning tactician and politician. Shallan claims that she’s almost always right, which Renarin backs up. Dalinar trusts and respects her, and wants her back at the war camps to aid them. She’s a highly revered scholar, respected, and brilliant. She is, in a way, almost beyond human, let alone being flawed or broken like the rest of them.

Jasnah grimaced at the thought. Shallan was always surprised to see visible emotion from her. Emotion was something relatable, something human—and Shallan’s mental image of Jasnah Kholin was of someone almost divine. (WoR, 1, Santhid).

Shallan reflects that seeing her as divine is a weird way to consider a heretic, and we’re kind of led along into that thread. But it’s also very...Othering?

It’s a “positive” kind of othering: she’s divine/superhuman, that’s great! Only it’s...It’s not? It’s so easy to see Jasnah as beyond human, and that makes us forget what she’s endured, and ignore the walls she’s put up and the profound effect that it’s had on her. And the fact that this is not healthy at all.

It's so unhealthy to be put on a pedestal this way. And it's unhealthy to cultivate a persona that makes the only response to you one that sees you as beyond human/without typical human reactions and emotions?

Shallan can be a bit whimsical and can romanticise/idealise people, but even Navani, another deeply scholarly, rational, and logical thinker, categorises Jasnah in a similar way.

She’s dismissive of the idea that Jasnah can have died. Even when others (like Adolin) start getting worried about the ship’s delay, Navani is sure that Jasnah is fine.

Part of this is, I assume, due to the fact that Jasnah is a radiant and, as the Diagram predicts, they survive when they should have been killed - so Navani has had this idea reinforced with empirical evidence over the years, which is noted in the text.

However, when Shallan first brings her the news of Jasnah’s death she refuses to believe it. Even after Shallan tells Navani she watched Jasnah stabbed through the heart, Navani still refers to her as being ‘unconscious’ (which...is actually correct, in this instance) but that is besides my point: regardless of reason or logic, people presume that Jasnah is beyond such mortal, trivial, human things like death:

‘Though Jasnah had been away for some time, her loss was unexpected. I, like many, assumed her to be immortal.’

If she’s beyond death, she’s certainly beyond something like trauma, or being broken, or damaged.

“You’re still human,” Shallan said, reaching across, putting her hand on Navani’s knee. “We can’t all be emotionless chunks of rock like Jasnah.”

Navani smiled. “She sometimes had the empathy of a corpse, didn’t she?”

“Comes from being too brilliant,” Shallan said. “You grow accustomed to everyone else being something of an idiot, trying to keep up with you.”

[...]

How surreal it was to imagine Jasnah as a child being held by a mother. (Wor, 77, Trust).

More ‘othering’, less positive than the divine, but it clearly categorises Jasnah as something other than human, and in this case, it fixates on her lack of (perceived) emotion.

Jasnah has so defined herself by her lack of emotional response to things that even those closest to her -her ward and her mother - view her as emotionless, like a rock, a corpse, dead. Ivory also says this in a previous quote “you are like spren” / “you are practically a stone.” Jasnah is categorised as strong, invulnerable to emotion, beyond human, something other. 

Though Jasnah, as she herself admits, makes decisions based on emotion.

For all that she says about pursuing the footpads in Kharbranth as purely an act of logic/civic duty, I think you can sense the emotion in that moment.

“Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it? (TWOK, 36, The Lesson)

Shallan can sense it. This is the point where Jasnah’s mask is at its most strong. She defends, calmly and rationally, what she had done. But I think at this point Shallan, and the reader, gets the sense that when Jasnah is her MOST logical and composed, she’s also her most vulnerable and emotional.

She does the same thing in the scene with Kaldin discussing the fates of the Heralds - yet we actually see later, not just through Shallan, the emotions, and the turmoil, and the direct, traumatic flashbacks Jasnah is experiencing in that moment. All covered up with logic and reason.

I think what Brandon is doing with Jasnah is really clever. Because I think media has conditioned us to accept these cold, aloof characters.

Characters who have become hardened to the world, and numbed by their experiences with violence and trauma. So we accept these things more readily as personality traits/a symptom of modern media.

I think especially with female characters. The "strong female character" who isn't allowed to cry lest she be called hysterical, who can't react to trauma or she's weak, who can't have an outburst of emotion or she's mad.

With Jasnah, I think Brandon is continuing to show how trauma expresses itself differently in different people. And I think, once explored more directly, Jasnah will become a condemnation of the easy acceptance/idealisation of these kinds of traits. What she’s doing is not okay. It’s not healthy. It’s as self-destructive as what Shallan, or Kaladin, or Dalinar was doing, we've just been conditioned to accept and even praise it.

Jasnah has so much pressure piled upon her to be perfect. She’s made an illusion so believable even those closest to her can’t see through it. She comes across as divine, as something other than human, as emotionless, and absolute. She’s become a constant in the world of those around her. She’s a law of nature more than a person - like a spren.

Except she’s not.

She’s human.

And she’s broken.

And she’s suffering a trauma that makes her afraid to be even a little bit human - because then they might think her mad again, and she’ll lose everything, and she can’t handle that.

I’m FASCINATED to see Jasnah’s interactions (if we get any on-screen) with Taln and Ash. It will probably give a big insight into her character, her relation to madness/her past illness, and I think it will bring out an interesting side of her, which I’m curious to see.

But I'm also really interested to see how Brandon explores the idea of the "ideal traumatised woman' and how that's absolutely bullshit and completely unhealthy.

Jasnah is, on the surface, everything men demand from a "strong female character". She's been exposed to trauma but she doesn't "let it define her" (ie she doesn't seemingly react to it at all). She's beautiful, and she's intelligent, she's a (literal) Queen, she's a fighter/skilled warrior, she's never "overly-emotional" - she reacts to trauma exactly as she's "supposed" to - as defined by men, she's the epitome of a stereotypical "strong female character".

Except there are obvious flaws in that ideal. The first one being: she does not exist for men. Fairly obviously. She point blank refuses a husband.

Also: it's been implied, as per this meta, that this is NOT an ideal anyone should aim for. It's actually very unhealthy and self-destructive and I really, REALLY hope that when Brandon finally digs into Jasnah that this is something he explores.

Jasnah is not perfect. She is not unbreakable, and invincible, and beyond emotion. And she shouldn't be. She shouldn't be idealised.

She's a person. A human being. And she should be able to express herself and process her trauma in a healthy way that allows her to heal and grow. She shouldn't be forced into anyone's ideal of who or what she should be.

I'm just...Really really excited for Jasnah's arc and what Brandon can say through her and the harmful tropes regarding women's trauma he can explore and god...can I just have the next six stormlight books now please?

[trashiewrites]

The Clueless Bachelor and Bachelorette

(Bruno Bucciarati x Reader)

An: hey everyone, I know this is very different content then CoD but I do want to extend my reaches to other fandoms! I'll still be writing CoD but I'll also reach to maybe other games and anime. I hope yal all enjoy my first published Jojo Fic.

There a lot of responsibility when being a Capo for Passione. Taking orders from the boss, controlling a specific area. The last thing Bruno expected when to deal with constant female attention.

Ahh yes, at the prime age of 20. Perfect age for once to start looking for a partner. Undoubtedly, upon the bachelor's list was his truly, Bucciarati. He really couldn't deny that he's attractive but to say he comes with perks was an understatement. If one was to look at the list it would be quite easy to see that.

Walking down the busy streets of Naples with Girno was even a chore. Next thing a group of young women will be walking down the street "Bucciarati!" To look over at a groupie and see the one that (in his opinion) wasn't very attractive waving at him. He wishes he could ignore all of it, but he has a reputation to keep.

"Girls really have been after you huh Bucciarati?" Bruno look back to the newbie, his brow frowned in the slightest hint of annoyance.

"Tell me about it Giorno... I don't know what happened but I've been getting called at by women all the time now." In the distance again, hearing his name be called. This time he wasn't even bothered to look, he just waved. "I mean at first the attention was nice but I can barely go outside without a woman trying to seduce me."

"I feel that, the curse of being pretty I guess..." Giorno shrugged, Bruno could only sigh. "Let's head back to the others, at least give you a break from outside."

"That sounds like a splendid idea."

As the two walked in the the cafe the gang usually hangs, they enter to see the three huddled. Huddled against a magazine. "Wow, they really have a lot to say about Bucciarati!" Narancia moved his head closer to the book.

"Hey watch it! I'm trying to read too!" Mista pushed Narancia's head away.

"What are you all reading?"

"Oh hey, boss?" Mista closes the magazine and pulls it behind him.

"Mista! What the hell! I was reading it!" Narancia pulled on Mista's arm, getting up and personal.

"Like hell you are! You probably can barely read dumbass!" Abbacchio sighed as the two were two seconds away to pulling out the stands.

"To answer you Bucciarati, they're reading that new Local Bachelors and Bachelorette magazine."

"And I'm in it?" Bruno whispered to himself, "hand it over you two!" Mista seemed hesitant, it couldn't be that bad right? "Now, Mista" sticky fingers began to appear from over Bucciarati's shoulder. He shoved it into Bruno's hands and stormed off elsewhere. Bruno felt bad but was too intrigued by this magazine mystery to pursue it.

He gently flipped to the pages to reach the number 1 bachelor and "This is worse then I thought..." Giorno peered in, looking from the side. He noticed how much was written exactly. And well the pics were certainly something.

"Bucciarati, do you remember taking those photos? How did they get ahold of them?" The be frank, Bruno was busy reading the almost a thirst essay about himself to even notice the picture.

Giving the pictures a glance he was surprised he recognized them.

"I remember these..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight shined softly down the busy Italian streets. Tourist and locals alike enjoying the beauty of the day. Bucciarati took a sip from his glass, "nothing better then a cold glass of wine on a day like this. " he would get the occasional hello from locals he knew as well as glances by curious tourists.

One person, in particular, came up to him. A young women, maybe around her late 20's with a camera around her neck. "Signore, if I may ask. May I take a few photos of you? I'm an artist and I often take pictures of things that inspire me!" To any human being the request would be rather offputting. Indeed it was, at least to Bruno. But a normal person would also decline the offer. Bucciarati didn't see the harm of a few photos, if anything he'd call himself quite photogenic despite his semi-cold demeanor. Plus to deprive an artist of inspiration didn't sit right with him; so he agreed.

~~~~~~~~~

"That artist lied... or she sold my pictures. Either or isn't good, but damn..." Bruno skimmed through the pages. Person after person, some of them he even knew. He stopped on one page and well maybe call it fate but it was the page of the number 1 Bachelorette. Giorno auditable gasped as the sight.

"She's very beautiful... I see why they placed so highly..." Mista and Narancia came from the other side taking peaks.

"Yo, you're right Giorno! She is really beautiful. Father owns a successful flower shop too!" Narancia's cheeks turned slightly red. Mista closed his eyes, humming to himself as if he was fantasizing about something.

"Girl has looks, money, and property. She's a guy's dream girl honestly!" Bruno slammed the magazine closed, proceeding to roll it up. Then uses Sticky Fingers to smack him to the ground. "HEY! WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?"

"How dare you think like that Mista. Loving someone for their 'perks'..." Bucciarati stared down upon Mista, disappointment, and guilt filling Mista's soul.

Bruno just took the magazine and left. He needed time to make sense of all of it... "geeze Mista... nice to know who you really are!" Giorno snickered as he took a seat at a near by table.

"Guys, I wasn't talking of myself!!! Come on, I would never!"

~~~~~

Bruno wondered the town, just processing it all. All this attention wasn't out of the kindness of people's hearts. It was some lousy list that said he had perks... To now have to wonder if he was being used was a terrifying thought.

"Please, let me go... I don't want this at all!" Bruno was returning to reality. Overhearing 2 people talking in the alleyways.

"Oh come on beautiful, I've got a lot to offer!"

"I'm sure you do, but I am not wanting a relationship! Please for away! I don't even know you!" Her hands try to wiggle free but she was what Bruno could assume was pinned.

"Look missy, think about your answer real carefully. If you don't date me ill-"

"You'll what?" Bruno stood firmly at the alley entrance. The man turned to see him, catching a glimpse of the girl as well. (H/c) hair laced with small flowers, (s/t) skin, as well of (e/c) eyes.

"Its none of your business buddy! So how about you leave me and my girlfriend alone!" Bruno continued to walk closer, his expression as blank as he could manage. "H-Hey! I said stay back!"

"You know I find it amusing when scum like you exist in this world. The least you can do is accept the girl has no feelings for you."

"Like you know shit pal!"

"I heard it all, the entire conversation. As well, the fear upon her face right now speaks wonders." Bruno's steps were heavy, each one making a distinct clack.

"I said stay back you bastard!!" He dragged the poor girl by the hair restraining her arms. Sliding a knife from his own pocket, placing it above her throat.

"Sticky Fingers!" The girl closed her eyes as the blue figure hit the man square in the face. Knocking him down the alley. The guy cowards back, confused beyond belief "next time don't try to force yourself upon a harmless girl. Or do I need to beat the lesson into you?"

"No! No no no! I'm sorry I'm sorry! Please spare me!!"

"Then run." The man ran off in a rush, terror riddled his face as the bruises started to solidify. The screams echoed as he ran into the darkness. Bruno turned back the the girl, she stood against the wall paralyzed from fear. "Hey, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" She shook her head. Taking a good look the most harm was some scratches and maybe a few bruises, nothing life-threatening. Bruno tilted his head, she looked familiar.

"Uh.. mister, thank you for your help. I was really scared that guy was gonna hurt me." She clutched to her basket filled with different flowers. She picked out a small white lily from the batch, extending it to him. "Men back and forth have been cat-calling me all day. It's quite overwhelming." Her smile showed a sparkle of pure innocence. Bruno clutched his first, glancing at the magazine he held. It struck him, it was her, the flower shop's daughter.

"I believe I can show you why this is happening. Come with me and we can tend your wounds as well." The girl looked up in admiration. A shy smile as well as heated cheeks. She took his hand as a quiet acceptance. "Pardon my manners, I'm Bruno Bucciarati. It's my pleasure miss?"

"(L/n), (y/n) (l/n). I owe you my life, Signore."

AN: I might make a part 2... not sure

[cupcakemolotov]

When Blood Calls for Blood

Hmm. This was supposed to be a mafia story for the AU Season that @klaroline-event is putting on, and instead descended into the depths of blood magic and werewolves, and some horror. Your guess is as good as mine as how that happened. Anyway. Hopefully this still works for Crime week. People ARE murdered.

Here you go. You can read it on A03 if you prefer.

Warnings: Blood Magic, Werewolves, Necromancy, death, some gore but not a lot, discussion about sex but no actual smut in this.

                                                           -

The brandy in her glass was excellent, but she hadn’t expected anything else. Klaus had come a long way from the boy next door with skinned knees and paint smeared fingers. That it’d been nearly a decade since she’d seen him hadn’t changed nearly as much as she’d have liked. Same tumbled curls, same dimples, same charm that lingered like a second skin over the sharper, harder parts of his smile. But now, his thinness had filled out into lean strength and he’d grown into the shape of his nose, the curve of his jaw. 

Caroline hadn’t expected to like the look of him as much as she did after all this time. Had hoped some distance would dull the want that had once lingered between them. She also hadn’t anticipated the way his gaze could still trace against her skin with the same intensity of a touch, but now with a new, markedly adult male appreciation that hinted at all sorts of fun things. Dangerous things, thoughts she’d pushed away much easier with the naivete of a teenager than she was finding herself able to do as a grown woman. 

Klaus had never been easy to ignore.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” She asked once he’d leaned a hip against the desk next to him when she’d chosen not to sit. She didn’t know this man as well as she once had and she wasn’t prepared to be that vulnerable. Not yet. “We both know what you sent Elijah to tell me you wanted. I want to know why you think I should go along with it.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips. There was a strange sort of affection in his gaze which surprised her, in this childhood home of his, this house of horrors that had birthed monsters. She wished Enzo was there, to tell them if there were ghosts. If the rotting bones of Mikael beneath their feet still suffered.

“I’ve missed your directness, love. Most people are too afraid of me to try it.” His lashes lowered for a heartbeat, and his voice deepened. “And far too terrified to offer such blatant disapproval.”

Caroline gave him an unconcerned look. “I agreed  to this meeting because we were once friends. Not because I bought into the spiel that Elijah was selling. I walked away from this kind of life, and I had very good reasons to do so. You know that.”

A flash of something wolf-yellow glimmered faintly at the edges of his gaze, but she didn’t flinch. Klaus was dangerous. So very, very dangerous. Here, in Mystic Falls where they’d both spent their childhoods, it was almost possible to forget the lessons Chicago and New York had already learned. But Caroline had learned to deal with Klaus and his caustic mix of power and temper years earlier. A little of the wolf wasn’t enough to warn her off. 

Though it did intrigue her. Before, his control had been something held together by tenterhooks, his rage palpable. She had wondered if he’d buried it deep in his bones, left it to fester in muscle and marrow, but that glimmer told her he’d made a different choice. 

She was glad.

“Blood calls to blood, love.” There was something in his voice, a note that was sharp and apologetic both. “And you are Bill Forbes daughter.”

Caroline wrinkled her nose at the reminder. “I’m going to need more brandy if that's the angle you're taking. Thankfully, he only provided half my genetics, and none of my looks.”

The hard line of his shoulders eased, her words answering some unspoken question. “I know.”

Her expression sharpened. She did not like that he was able to read her so well. “If you’re not going to get to the point, I will leave.”

His laugh was soft, and unexpected. And it did nothing to lessen her mad. Reaching up, he briefly rubbed his neck and when his gaze returned to hers. The blue was gone, awash with gold and wolf. Inexplicably, her own tension gave, if just a little. She might no longer know the man, but she understood the wolf. 

“Elijah says you are well informed of my ongoings.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if that’s hard. A werewolf with the bad taste to be born to a witch, and who the poor manners of eating other witches is not, exactly, an unknown creature in the local gossip. Mystic Falls does so love it’s little horrors. It’s not like it’s hard to figure out where you’re going or where you’ve been.”

His dimples creased his cheeks. “That’s true. And yet, here you are.”

The implied threat was said teasingly. Caroline deliberately took a sip of her brandy. “If your wolf had wanted me dead, it would have made the attempt that when I was thirteen and tossed you three pine trees to save Enzo. If the man had wanted me dead, Elijah would never have sworn a binding saying this meeting was done in truce.” Her smile was sharp. “At least not knowingly. My magic is not kind when it comes to broken vows, and he hates me.”

His gaze narrowed at the blunt reminder, but his voice held no hint of anger. Just a hunting triumph. “I found Rebekah.”

And everything snapped into place. Setting her glass down, she stared at him. “And Elijah couldn't have led with that?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t…” Caroline stared at him for a long moment before tossing back her drink and moving towards one of the chairs. Ten years. It’d been ten years, and she understood everything those words meant. “Fine. I’ll bite. What is going on?”

To her surprise, he chose the chair next to her. His gaze holding hers, he deliberately tipped his knee lightly against her own. “Rebekah is in New Orleans.”

Her brows furrowed and her words were honest as she tried to ignore the feel of him against her. That sparking challenge in his eyes. “But you looked there years ago.”

That slow, thoughtful smile curled on his face again and she wished she hadn’t finished the brandy. “You have been tracking me.”

Caroline sighed and for the first time, looked away. She did not want to speak of the need to know he was still alive, to trust that he’d find some kind of reason after the death of his step-father. The wolf could have easily poisoned the man with its hate as the man could have destroyed the wolf with its rage.

“My father… the things he did.” Her words died and she shrugged. “I miss her too.”

They were survivors, her and Klaus. Enzo and Rebekah, though they were missing. Witchborn and powerful, they were the last remnants of bloodlines and blood feuds that should have never existed. Klaus, with his wolf and his rage. Enzo, with his affinity for the dead and his wicked sense of humor. Rebekah, the living embodiment of her mother’s hopes and wishes, but without the same darkness. And she? She was her father’s daughter, for all the Liz Forbes had done her best to temper it. 

“Then you’ll help me.”

And that blatant satisfaction, the roughness of his wolf in his voice warned her that he thought he had won. She let her gaze return Klaus’ face, and the force of temper clashed against his. She did not like being boxed in. He needed to remember that. “Will I? What I owed you was a blood debt and that was paid in full. What my family did to yours was terrible, but what Esther did to my mother was also terrible. There are no debts between us, not anymore.”

Enzo might argue that point, but her wiley best friend had been missing nearly as long as Rebekah. 

“You’ll help me,” Klaus repeated, unbothered by her irritation. Her temper, the surge of power that came with it, had always bothered him as little as his wolf had unnerved her. “And in turn, I will help you.”

“And what,” Caroline drawled, “do I need your help with? I’m perfectly capable of burying bodies on my own these days.” She wiggled her manicured fingers. “I don’t even have to break a nail to do it.”

That flicker of affection again, tempered by determination. He reached for an envelope that sat on the edge of his desk and handed it to her. “I’d have helped you regardless, but this might make things more comfortable between us.”

She snorted even as she opened the envelope to pull out a single sheet. “Things have never been particularly comfortable between us at all.”

Caroline ignored the deeply satisfied noise he made and looked at the picture. Enzo’s face, battered, bruised, stared up at her and she went motionless at the tangle of anger and fear that swept through her. “How…”

She’d looked. 

“It took finding Rebekah.” A bitterness in his voice she understood. “And once I did, I knew where to look. The scattered pieces of our past are not easy things, love.”

Mute with rage, she glanced back at him. 

“When the Witch Council attempted to end the feud between our families, they were not prepared for the realities of what that would mean.” His teeth gleamed behind his lips. “They were ill prepared for our families' hate, I imagine our cooperation never occurred to them.”

Caroline snorted. They should have been prepared for all of it. Feuding witches were no small thing. Though in her more charitable moments, she allowed that some things just could not have been foreseen. Not the fallout from Ester’s affair, not Bill’s jealousy, not Mikael’s malice. 

Rebekah should have been safe. They should have all been safe. None of them had been. 

“They should have done better.”

His smile held teeth. “Yes.”

It had been her and Enzo, who had held Mikael with their magic while Klaus had shifted to wolf to rip his step-father apart. Enzo, who had commanded the dead man to dig his own grave in the study Mikael had been so fond of. Later, Klaus had opened a bottle of expensive bourbon and they had gotten drunk listening to the sound of a shovel moving dirt.

It had taken hours to repair the foundation with magic.

Mystic Fall was full of so many nightmares. 

Her gaze returned to the picture in her hands. And something turned cold and brittle in her chest. “That is the symbol of St. Augustine.”

“Yes.”

She stood then and paced toward the window. When she spoke, her words trembled with magic. Behind her, the desk shuddered. She hadn’t been this close to losing her temper since the day she walked into her home to find it smelling of blood and her mother’s death. Had found what she had been meant to see. 

 “The Augustine Society belongs to the Witch Council.” Her fists clenched. “And have Enzo.”

She knew the Augustine Society. The horrors the Witch Council offered them. She knew, because her father had also belonged to that society before blood madness had taken him. And they had possibly the greatest necromancer of her generation, trapped. 

Fingertips brushed lightly down the bare nap of her neck. The touch was possessive, careful. An old trick, to anchor her. It made it no less personal. “So it is.”

Caroline closed her eyes. She hadn’t heard him move. “What did my father do, that you cannot claim your sister?”

“It’s a blood bind. I cannot break it.”

“No,” she murmured, letting the soft touches of his fingertips focus her. “You wouldn’t be able too.”

“But you can.” His words were lethal in their softness, coaxing in their delivery. “You're more powerful.”

“Flattery,” she said. Then she sighed. “But you’re not wrong. Still, the witches of New Orleans will never allow me into their city.”

They’d never allow Liz Forbes' daughter in their heart of power. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips. So strange, for a city to fear her mother’s blood.

Strange, but not unwise.

“I didn’t plan on asking permission.”

She turned to face him then, letting the window at her spine hold her weight and studied his face. Such arrogance, but not unwarranted. A full coven might face the nightmare he gave shape too with his bones, but perhaps not. Klaus had cut quite a swath through the witch families in the US. 

His mother’s perfect monster. 

“A blood bind will not be easy to break, not after so many years since it was cast.” She considered what it meant, how far gone her father had been in his madness. “I will likely need a sacrifice, and that is a magic I have sworn not to use lightly.”

“You won’t fall to the same madness.” The assurance in his voice was so, so arrogant. “I will not allow it.”

Caroline gave a bark of laughter. “You cannot know that, cannot expect to dictate such a thing.”

“But I can,” he disagreed. “I’ve seen your magic, Caroline. I’ve witnessed the price of it, the horror of it, and justice of it. Esther’s death was not easy. I know what you are.”

“Ester deserved more,” she said. “But we work with what we have. And I am no longer, sixteen, Klaus. What anchored me as a teenager will not work for the adult.”

Then it’d had been enough to cling to his wolf. To bury her face and hands in the thick pelt of his fur while she rode out the drowning horror, the unrelenting ecstasy of her magic, to let the sensation of fur on skin be the distraction from the siren call of endless power. The blood she wore on her skin.

She’d always liked his wolf. 

Blood magic was dangerous. And witches who practiced it always, always lost themselves. Caroline’s father had been no exception. She would likely not be either. Thankfully, she wasn’t just her father’s daughter. 

“And what,” Klaus asked lightly, eyes deepening to the blue of the man, something as dark as the working of her magic coloring his voice. “Do you need?”

Her nails dug into her palms and she lifted her chin. “What are you offering?”

Klaus’ head lowered until his nose nearly brushed hers, his mouth tantalizing close to hers. “Anything you want.”

Her teeth sank briefly into her lip and she sighed. “We both know how my father chose to feed his need and how well that worked for him.”

Satisfaction and a want so blatant and greedy on his face, she struggled to suck in her next breath. “Steven knew what he was doing when he agreed to join your father’s bed. He was aware of the risks. So am I.”

Her voice shook only a little when she spoke. “Rebekah’s temper is no small thing, Klaus. If she wakes up to me fucking her brother, I don’t think she’s going to be pleased.” 

His hand lifted to curve along her jaw, thumb brushing tantalizing across her lips. “Elijah can secure Bekah, once she is free.”

And Elijah would just love that. “So you are planning on telling him you found her.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Both he and Kol will be needed for this. Even if only a mirage, we must show the world where our loyalties lie.”

Caroline winced. “They still haven’t forgiven you for not kiling me, then.”

When Elijah had appeared at her home to request her presence for this meeting, she’d almost hoped. 

“As they are not strong enough to oppose me, their opinions of your magic do not matter.” His jaw tightened. “From either side of your family.”

“Klaus…” She caught his hand. “They are not wrong. Blood magic is an abomination, not counting what my mother left me with her death. Killing me would likely make the world a better place.” 

His eyes flared with his wolf, and his words were near violent with intensity. “I disagree. Am I too, not an abomination? You protested quite viciously when my mother attempted to do just that.”

His voice sounded the same as it always had, when he spoke of her murdering his mother. Delighted satisfaction with a hint of growl.

Caroline rolled her lip tightly between her teeth. This was what her mother had never understood. What Esther had miscalculated. This tugging in her chest, as she thought about a world without Klaus. The way he dared her with his eyes and his worlds to repeat herself, to suggest he would allow the world to exist without her. The thing that had left her walking away from him, uncertain what lengths she could allow herself to go to preserve it. 

The boy who had painted her flowers and the man who understood the depth of what she could become, what she feared. 

But he’d found Rebekah. Enzo.

“You understand that if I agree to this, it won’t end with rescuing Rebekah and Enzo,” she said slowly. Likely wouldn’t end with her willing to walk away from him a second time, and the bloody future that promised. “I’m not that forgiving. If the Augustine Society was part of this, if they supported my father? Enzo will want them dead and so will I.”

“Oh, sweetheart, as if I’d object.” His mouth curved. “But why stop there? Not when we both know the Witch Council had to be involved.”

So much destruction. So much blood. Carefully, she reached up with her free hand and traced the shape of his mouth while he went carefully motionless. “It would be helpful, if the sacrifice had a tie to Bekah.”

His lips pursed against her fingers for a moment before he moved just enough to respond. “The Salvatore’s are in New Orleans.”

And that terrible anger, that thirst she’d managed to choke into behaving for ten years unfurled in her chest. “What a coincidence.”

And Klaus, whose monster knew her own, just smiled. “Isn’t it just?”

“How are you planning on explaining my presence in New Orleans?”

Mischief, sudden and startling, crossed his face. “The witches can hardly object to my bringing a date to Mardi Grais. The same as I have done for the past four years, in fact.”

Caroline blinked, and tried not to think about the twist of jealousy in her gut. “I am not pretending to be in a relationship with you.”

“Who said anything about pretending?” His eyes laughed at her but his words were serious. “Shouldn’t you take a man to dinner before post ritual sex?”

She glowered at him, just to be contrary. “No.”

He shrugged, unperturbed.“We’re still sharing a room.”

She choked on a sudden laugh, at how easy and playful he made this. As they weren’t courting madness and the wrath of the council as they freed their family. As if everything was just a matter of them going out and conquering their enemies with his teeth and their magic. 

Simple, really. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Caroline questioned. “This… this will change everything.”

Klaus lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers and smiled, dimples bracketing a smile made of sin and blood lust that struck her in her chest. The smile of a predator well satisfied.

“Yes, I think it will.”

[feeling-weirdy]

A fluffy prompt, as a break from all the angst! Wanda has a nosebleed? Bc fretting/anxious Vision is really quite endearing, and I can imagine him being the sort of partner who would be catastrophising and wanting to do anything possible to stop it, even if it was actually caused by something quite minor?

TW; mention of blood?  I guess?  nosebleeds?

“Wanda, I-”  Vision turned the corner, walking in through the door to her bedroom to find her hovered over a strange machine next to her bed.  Purified air shot up from the nozzle, spreading a thin mist throughout the rest of the room.  Wanda had herself hovered over it, allowing the air to envelop her face.  “Are you alright?” 

“Huh?”  Wanda sat up, a dazed look on her face as she sniffled.  “Oh, I’m fine.  Sorry, I thought I had closed the door...I just had a nosebleed.” 

“Your nose bled?”  Vision crossed the room with large steps, lifting her face gently with his fingers as he inspected the area.  Her face seemed to be in order, nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him other than the small red liquid trailing down her nose.

“Yeah...It’s the humidity and the air and the-”  Wanda sighed, knowing her explanation was nowhere going to be good enough.  “I’m sorry, it’s just really gross.  It happens, rarely, but...I just have to sit with the humidifier for a few minutes and hope it goes away.” 

“Allow me.”  After learning the intensity of human sickness and the many varieties of it, Vision had quickly spent a good deal of time on how to properly care for those who fell ill.  While this wasn’t exactly a sickness, Vision knew how to help her take care of it. 

Vision knelt in front of her, gently pulling her face in his direction.  Despite the awkwardness of their meeting, it was hard to ignore how warm her cheeks turned as he held her there for a moment.  He forced her to lean forward slightly, tilting her head even more so. 

“W-what are you-”  Her eyes widened as he pulled her forward, her lips parting as she watched him.

“Just trust me,” Vision retorted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he focused on his actions.  Placing his thumb and index fingers on opposite sides of her nose, Vision pinched carefully forcing Wanda to open her mouth to continue breathing.  He chuckled softly, pushing the soft part of her nose towards her face slightly.  “I have to stay like this for a few minutes, but it should help stop the bleeding.”

“And where exactly did you learn this?”  Wanda smirked, trying to keep herself still.  Clearly a difficult act with how fast he could hear her heart beating.

“The internet is a curious place.  I hadn’t expected there to be so much useful information.”  Vision said quietly, situating himself in a more comfortable position.  “Though...I think I prefer books.”

“You’re not the only one,” she snorted.  A hush settled between them as Vision kept his fingers around her nose.  The red hint never left her cheeks as the two sat dangerously close to one another.  His eyes trailed down to her lips, two pink puffs sitting delicately just below the place he held.  This hardly seemed the time to kiss her, but he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked even with the small streak still falling from her nose.  The thought had certainly entered his mind before, but the tension that seemed to develop between the two of them always gave him pause.  Their relationship had undoubtedly deepened since their first meeting, but to push it to that next step...

Vision cleared his throat.  “Just so you were aware...”  He started, desperate to find something different to talk about besides where his mind had been heading.  “Your humidifier helps prevent nosebleeds, not cure them.  You should probably be turning it on before you fall asleep if you suffer from these regularly.”

“Ah...well, I guess that’s why it never really worked, huh?” 

“I’d say so,” he chuckled softly.  His attempt at moving the conversation along faded, inviting the calm quiet to fall back over them.  

Wanda’s eyes fell, her blush fading from her cheeks the longer they sat like this.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t exactly expect you to do all this.”  Her words were quiet, barely a whisper as she peeked over at the still open door.  She must have really wished she had closed it behind her.  Not that a closed door would have stopped him.

“Wanda, I am here for whatever you need.”  Catching her attention, Vision smiled at her.  “I’m not human and therefore cannot be nauseated if that is what troubles you.  You have nothing to worry about.”

Wanda’s face fell, pushing her lips together pensively as she remained silent for several moments.  “I wish you’d stop talking about yourself like that.”

“I speak only the truth.  I don’t see why it shouldn’t be said.”  Vision spoke plainly, curiosity surging within him.  Her face always contorted in such a fashion whenever he breached the subject of what he was.  He never could quite understand why it seemed to trouble her.  The fact remained true no matter how upset she became so worried about it seemed like a waste of time.  Yet here she was. 

Wanda paused, reaching a hand out to trace the lines in his face with a delicate touch.  Her warm fingers ran along the coolness of his cheeks, sending a strange sensation to well up in his cheeks.

“Because you’re more than that and you know it.  I’ve told you that before.”  Her fingers dropped from his face, gripping onto her arms as she forced herself to remain still.  

Vision sucked in a breath, stopping himself before the question breached his lips.  His interest in her answer got the better of him, however, pushing the query forward.  “Does my being not being human bother you?”

“Absolutely not,” she stated without hesitation.  The hitch in her voice caught her by surprise, but the concern that shown on her face remained constant.  “You’re Vision.  That’s all that matters.”

His head cocked to the side.  “Then why does the revelation bring you so much concern?  Wanda...”  Using his free hand, Vision placed it on top of the tight grip she had formed around her elbow.  “I am a synthezoid.  I can try to be human until my systems shut down, but I could never obtain that goal.  I’m curious as to why that truth upsets you.”

“There’s more to being human than what you think."

“Please elaborate,” Vision requested.  Wanda remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip as she scanned the ground for answers and came up empty.  Once it was clear he wasn’t getting an answer, Vision let go of her nose.  Inspecting it one last time, he smiled once more before pulling his hand back.  “I believe enough time has passed.  Your nose should be fine now.  How do you feel?” 

“Much better.  Thanks...”  She trailed off, gripping her hands.  Without meaning, he had upset her.  Guilt settled within his chest as she struggled with the answer to his question that never seemed to come.

“Wanda, I-”  Vision started, immediately getting cut off by her sudden hop off the bed.

“I should probably clean this up.  Could you hold on just a second?”  She trotted off to the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind her.  Even from the bedside, Vision could hear the sink turn on, water running down the drain, and splashing against her nose and face.  Pushing himself to his feet, he walked over to the humidifier to turn the knob causing the mist to fizzle out.  

After a few moments, the water shut off and Wanda walked back into the room.  The look on her face told him she wanted to continue their conversation, but no words came to help her flesh out her thoughts.  

“I should probably get going,” Vision finally said, making his way back to the door.

“Vision.  Wait.”  Wanda grabbed onto his arm, stopping him mid-step.  He turned, forcing them face to face once again. 

The distance between them closed in, leaving them with nothing else to do but gaze into the other’s eyes.  Despite the countless amount of research he conducted as he spent time with her, Vision discovered he still had many difficulties in trying to understand her.  He had hoped with time that those instances would be made clear, but the complications only became...complicated.

The fact that Wanda saw him as something more gave him a great sense of pride.  Their companions saw him as a tool to be used, but Wanda...somehow saw him as an equal.  Almost human.  An intriguing notion that never really crossed his mind outside of her outbursts.

Vision watched her carefully, only being met with her cerulean gaze.  The disappointment in herself for not having the answer he wanted was evident.  Perhaps he had overstepped his boundaries upon asking for more information.  Yet, he couldn’t help but want to prod her mind.  She was the most intriguing human he had come into contact with and he absolutely wanted to know more. 

Finally breaking eye contact, Wanda looked down, fiddling with the edge of her shirt.

“T-thank you,” her quiet voice filled the space between them creating a tension that the pair had become all too familiar with.  The corner of his lips tugged upward as he nodded.

“Of course.”  His chest tightened as he walked out of the room; his curiosity only growing with each moment.

Check out my other drabbles here or feel free to request some!

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame V

Author’s Note: Chapter 5, things take a turn for the dramatic and a bit angsty here. I really am having fun getting reacquainted with this story, and I have a lot planned for future chapters and an ending. Thanks for being such a wonderful audience, your feedback is always appreciated!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2307

Warnings: Master/Servant dynamic, mentions of suicide attempt, blood, angst

Ivar was exhausted as he propelled his way forward through the city streets. He had opted to stay up on the walls with his warriors through the cold night. It had served to enliven the men into a frenzy to have his presence, but he had only done so out of avoidance.

As the days went by, it seemed his little nun had less to say to him. The truth of the priest's death weighed heavily on you, and you carried it around like a sickness. You had lost your desire to argue or even to spare a simple word. Ivar was disappointed. He had given up trying to teach you his language when you had refused to repeat everything he taught you. The only way he could spurn a reaction out of you was to address you as Ólaug, but even that enjoyment had waned.

Thoughts of revenge against Lagertha were never far from his mind, nor was Kattegat. The heathen army was not destined to stay in York, but while Ubbe and Hvitserk were fixated on settling in on Saxon farmlands, Ivar had other ambitions. He was torn by the enticing idea to travel and become a conqueror, or return to Norway and have his revenge for his mother's death. His brothers looked to have abandoned that notion, leaving him alone and frustrated with his hatred. They would say it was because they did not want to fight with Bjorn, but Ivar knew it was that they didn't love their mother as much as he had.

Ivar did not like feeling so lost. It made him feel like a boy again, only now Floki wasn't there to give him guidance. He was certain he was fated to cross paths with the rangy lunatic one day, but what madness would lead them back together was not foretold. Without Helga, Floki had become as empty as a horn with no mead. Ragnar had vanished for ten years, yet Ivar could not recall his mother ever being heartsick over his absence. Not all love was meant to last.

The concept of love and marriage was something he had been considering more often as of late. As a leader to his people and a son of Ragnar, it would be expected of him to have a wife and heir. Ubbe was already married, and Hvitserk likely had fathered a brood of children he didn't know about. Where did that leave him? Even if he took a wife, it wouldn't be long before the people would speak about the lack of an heir. Ivar did not consider himself to be nurturing, but for his own children, he would have tried. Now it seemed impossible that they could ever exist.

"Ivar."

He was broken out of his dour thoughts by Hvitserk. It took half of his own stride for his brother to catch up to him. Even with the braces and crutch, his mobility was limited, but he chose to take the muscles he had built as a victory. Though his legs were useless, they no longer hung from his waist like gnarled tree branches. They almost appeared normal, except that they couldn't bear his weight. 

"You have news," Ivar guessed to Hvitserk, who had slowed to match his pace.

"Our scouting party has returned with word that the Saxons have made camp south of here. They don't appear to have a plan of attack yet. Maybe now is the best time to negotiate for land when we have the advantage."

Hvitserk's tone was pleading, and Ivar was sure he could get him to grovel with the right persuasion. 

"Yes, we have the advantage. So why compromise our position for negotiations that will end in rejection," Ivar said, and he delighted as Hvitserk's face fell. "The Christians do not want us here, brother. If we want land then we'll take it."

"At least let me or Ubbe go. We don't have to give up our position behind the walls, but we can send one of us to negotiate, as a son of Ragnar."

"And risk losing a brother to the enemy? No, that would be foolish and I would appear ill-advised," He said, rounding the corner towards his room with Hvitserk following. 

His intention hadn't been to return to his chamber, but with Hvitserk's desperation and his lethargy, fate had brought him back to the familiar door. Thoughts of sleep were welcome, even if he detested retiring during daylight. 

"This decision should be made with all three of us. We need to sit down with Ubbe first before anything is final," Hvitserk said, not abandoning his cause.

Ivar let out a sigh before casting a long look at his brother. This was important to him, and to Ubbe. He didn't want to continue to have strife with his brothers, even if they didn't share the same aspirations for the army. "I agree."

"Really?" Hvitserk's mouth hung half opened as if awaiting another argument. "Well...then let's do that."

"Yes, fine." Ivar waved his hand, hoping to banish him from his sight. 

Opening the door to his room, he had hoped Hvitserk would take the hint to leave, but instead, they were met with a startling sight. The air stung with the smell of copper, and there was Ólaug, on your knees weeping. The stone floor before you had a puddle of blood, enough to fill a large pitcher, and you were clutching your left wrist. A gash had been cut there, and lying on the ground next to the blood was the weapon. It was a broken piece of a clay plate.

Ivar threw his crutch to the side and dropped to the ground in a heap of twisted bones and metal. His braces were heavy, but he managed to crawl to you quicker than he would have walked. Ignoring any proper thoughts of decency, he pulled you to him to inspect the damage.

"Get a healer, now," He shouted to Hvitserk who had stuck to the doorway, disturbed by what he had witnessed. The order got him moving, and he disappeared to fetch a healer while Ivar tried to stanch the bleeding with his larger hand over yours.

"You stupid Christian, look what you've done," Ivar hissed. He was sitting in your blood, the warmth seeping through his trousers. Your back was held tight to his chest while he tried to keep from jostling you around.

"Forgive me," You uttered over again, and Ivar knew the words were not meant for him.

This was the closest you had been together since the first night you had spoken. You were still devoted to your weak God, and Ivar wasn't certain you had even taken heed of his proximity. To take one's own life was cowardice, and he couldn't understand what had driven you to act on such an impulse. You were pitiful, in need of comfort, and he was enraged. After the courtesy, he had shown you this was how you chose to escape him. His hand clenched tight on your arm, his nails biting into flesh until you whimpered.

Just as he contemplated finishing the work you had started, and it would have been simple to take the clay shard to your throat, Hvitserk returned with a healer.

"You need to move, Prince. I must see what I'm dealing with," said Audhild. She was their most senior healer, a broad woman with wiry blonde hair and shrewd green eyes. With skillful hands, she tended to battle wounds, not Christian thralls. If she had any grievances about being summoned, she hid them behind a stern face of practicality. 

Ivar passed you over to Audhild. You had grown cold and quiet, ceasing your own utterances to your God. Hvitserk was at his side with a hand and his crutch to lift him off the floor. The first thing Ivar sought once he got back on his feet was the bucket of tepid, clean water to wash up. He had been covered in the blood of his enemies before, but when his hands hit the water and darkened it to a murk, he felt a strange sadness.

"What happened to her hair?" Hvitserk questioned, coming to stand at Ivar's side.

"She did that to herself," mumbled Ivar. He wasn't in the mood to entertain all of Hvitserk's questions. "Just more Christian nonsense."

"It could have been worse," Hvitserk intoned in a low voice. "At least she didn't keep this hidden and try to kill you in your sleep."

Ivar looked at the jagged piece of clay in Hvitserk's hand before resuming his wash up. He couldn't make out his own reflection through the filth of the water, but he could feel the frown on his face. The thought had never crossed his mind, and he was certain it hadn't crossed his nun's either. 

"No, she would never risk the wrath of her God by murdering me," He said, drying his hands on a rag.

"You sound confident." Hvitserk's tone lacked the same strength. 

"Yes, here we are," He quipped, tossing the sodden rag at his brother. "This isn't my blood that was spilled."

Hvitserk set the rag aside, along with the makeshift knife. He seemed prepared to argue further but was interrupted by Audhild. She had far less blood on her hands and appeared satisfied with her work. 

"The cut was not deep enough to be fatal. A part of her must have wanted to live," said the healer.

"No, it was fear of her God. Sinners go to Hell." It was utter nonsense that kept you alive, he was certain of it.

Audhild's eyes crinkled to a squint, unsure what to make of this information. "Well, her wound will heal, but she'll need to eat and drink to replenish what she lost."

Ivar peered passed Audhild to his thrall. You were whiter than your old virginal robes, and your head was bowed. Except for the rise and fall of your chest, you were still like a statue. He had no kind thoughts towards you at that moment.

"Take her to the kitchen to be fed. She can remain there with the other thralls," said Ivar, turning away. 

Hvitserk perked up at the remark and came forward. "You aren't keeping her?"

"No, I have no use for a cowardly slave."

While Hvitserk looked alarmed by his callousness, Audhild appeared thoughtful. "Excuse me my Prince, but before you make that decision, might I inquire about her usefulness? If she was a nun prior to this, then she should have skills to aid me. They tend to their sick and dying, not to goats and pigs."

"Fine then, you take her," Ivar huffed. "Just get her away from me."

Audhild said nothing more, taking her dismissal as she went to collect you from the floor. 

You startled from the healer's touch on your shoulder but stood up when you understood you were being ordered away. Ivar fought the need to watch you depart but surrendered to the urge at the last moment. You were looking back at him also, curiosity alight in your sad eyes. And there was fear also. You broke the gaze that lingered between you both, following Audhild out of the room.

"Why did you do that?" Hvitserk asked the moment they were alone. 

"I already told you," Ivar bit back, in no mood to have to explain his rationale to his slow-witted brother. "Go and fetch Ubbe. I want to hear what plan you think you have to negotiate with the Saxons."

Hvitserk took on a concerned frown. He must have known there was little hope for their plan of a sit down with the Saxons now. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as Ivar assumed.

He trudged to the door, halting once he got to the entryway to get the last word in. "I have seen these nuns do this before. You shouldn't have been so quick to release her, brother. Something must have happened to make her act on impulse like that."

Maybe something had occurred to spurn such a reaction from you, but at the moment Ivar could not see through his fury to consider such possibilities. You had tried to use death as a means to escape him after he had shared parts of himself with you. He told you of his parents, and you had spoken in kind of your own. By granting you those stories, he had allowed you to know him. It was more than he had given to another in years, and this was how he was rewarded. The Gods were not smiling down on him today.

"I'm not like you, father," He said aloud, with the hope that his words would reach Ragnar in Valhalla. "I can't befriend a Christian."

He staggered over to the abandoned washbasin. It would need emptying by another thrall now. The broken clay shard remained atop the soiled cloth, and Ivar felt it in his hand. His rage had peaked, and he squeezed the piece of clay until it drew blood from his palm. When the sting of the blade ceased, he pitched it across the room, shattering it to pieces.

The silence in the room made it impossible to ignore that he was alone once again. Ivar collapsed onto his pallet of furs, braces still intact on his legs, and the exhaustion returning along with this new hurt squeezing his chest. He was tired of being let down by others. No one ever remained at his side. 

Hvitserk was wrong. He couldn't keep you after knowing you would rather die than be his thrall. Lying on his side, Ivar could see the dark stain of your blood on his floor, and he turned away. Yes, he was better off without you tearing everything he had built apart.

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