#the entire rest of the year raised such hell that we had to be taken out of class several times as a whole year group for it to be addresse

[burnthybread]

being the quiet nice girl pays off sometimes!

[sectumsempraaa]

More Than a Gut Feeling

Pairing: soulmate!Theo Nott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Based on this request! :)

TW: none, just unlawful amounts of fluff

Featuring: Theo, Draco, Mattheo, Pansy, Lorenzo, Blaise

Summary: Transferring schools in your fifth year is overwhelming enough. But when you find yourself seemingly tethered to a Slytherin boy, you start to wonder… Did you come to Hogwarts by choice? Or did someone lead you here?

“And there was fog, and dust, and all I could see was this hand reaching out for me-”

“Bloody hell Theo, please, we get it. You smoked before bed and had trippy dreams,” Pansy complains, cutting him off from his hazy explanation. She turns to you and rolls her eyes, expressing her disdain.

It’s a typical Monday breakfast in the Great Hall for the Slytherin lads, except they have you now. They’ve recently (and graciously) taken you under their wing after you transferred schools in your fifth year.

Though you’re still adjusting to your surroundings at Hogwarts, your new friends have made the transition easier.

“I didn’t smoke before bed, bastardo,” he replies, lunging slightly towards her in annoyance.

Your eyes linger on Theo for a moment, his dream piquing your interest for some reason. There’s something about it that feels… familiar.

But you shake it off as deja vu in order to move past it. The last thing you want right now is to stand out amongst your new peers.

It’s only been a week since you arrived, but the connection you have with Theodore is unlike the others, and they are starting to notice.

Like when you first met, and the both of you were each holding a hardcover copy of your mutual favorite poetry book.

And a couple days later, when you turned your head to greet him as he was several yards behind you in the hallway, before he even called your name.

And yesterday, when you watched him win the first quidditch match you’d seen because the golden snitch hovered over you the entire time.

“I wish I could remember my dreams like that,” you respond, adding a touch of understanding to the conversation.

Theo’s head turns in the direction of your soft voice, like his gaze is attached to it somehow.

Blaise looks between the two of you, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Suddenly and smoothly, Mattheo nudges you with his elbow and leans in close to your ear.

“If you dreamt of me, you would.” He smirks, laughing to himself and earning a light smack on the chest from Lorenzo. You notice Theo’s expression turn a smidge darker, something new looming in his eyes.

Lorenzo comments. “You really do ruin everything. You’re like, the king of ruining everything.”

Draco scoffs at Mattheo’s quip and places his hands on the table to signify that it’s time to leave for class. “Come on, Mattheo. Let’s not traumatize the new girl.”

Draco throws an apologetic glance your way.

“Please don’t listen to this child.” He spits out the last few words with haste.

When you look at Theo, you find him still staring at you with a hint of wonder and confusion.

You blush, feeling the crimson warmth spreading from one cheek to another. You reach down to grab your bag and make your way to potions class with the rest of the group.

—

Today’s lesson is, surprisingly, something you’ve already learned at your previous school. And thank the gods, because something about Theo’s dream has your attention caught like a fly in a web.

You imagine his vision, the fog and the reaching. You look down to your own hand, your brows furrowing as you continue to rack your brain. The longer you look at your hand, the more convinced you are that…

No. You just met him a week ago… there’s no way.

But that’s not it. It’s the other dreams he’s mentioned in the past few days, too. One where he’s at Durmstrang looking for someone, another where he’s trying to find them on the Hogwarts Express, but he doesn’t know who he’s following.

Who he’s looking for.

You can’t help but compare them to your own dreams, strikingly, eerily similar.

You recount images of them, scouring through empty train cabins and following the sound of alluring footsteps in your former school.

A tug on your ponytail pulls you out of your distraction, the slight pain guiding your stare. A sea of giggles spreads through the class as you watch Professor Snape’s hand return to his side.

“Miss Y/L/N, I suspect you were the potions teacher at Durmstrang with the way you ignore my curriculum.” Snape retorts, his stern voice closer than you were expecting.

But one particular laugh catches your ears, the corners of your mouth turning up at the sound of it. Your eyes land on Theo, and something about his expression makes your heart skip a beat.

“Tsk tsk, bella,” He whispers, and you bite your lip in response, turning back to your textbook as that damn blush creeps back onto your face.

There’s no denying how unfathomably handsome this man is when he smiles at you, because of you.

Your desk partner, Draco, looks to Theo and then back to you in bewilderment.

“I can never get him to joke around like that,” He says to you. “I’ll be damned if he fancies you more than me already.”

You smile back to Draco, returning the playful demeanor. “Oh, I bet he just adores you.” You respond loud enough so Theo can hear behind you.

You don’t have to turn around to see the bashful smirk on Theo’s face.

—

That night, you toss and turn more than usual. A wild dream keeps you trapped in slumber, unable to relinquish you from it until your roommate, Pansy, physically shakes you awake.

“I’m right here, you oaf!” Pansy yells, her hands squeezing your shoulders as you urgently sit up in bed.

“What? What are you doing? Why are you yelling?” You ask, genuinely lost. The beads of sweat trickle down your temple.

“You don’t remember just now when you were asking ‘Where are you?’ a thousand times in your own sleep?” She responds, her eyes widening with each word.

And then it hits you, the images of your dream. That laugh, a gentle breeze, and a-

“Paper crane?” Pansy asks, looking down into your lap with eyes like headlights.

You slowly look down, afraid to reveal to yourself what lays in your grasp. In your palm is a small, crumpled paper crane. Your baffled stare freaks her out, her hands retracting from your sides.

“What the filthy fuck is that?!” Pansy yells, but her voice sounds quite distant to you as you try desperately to get a hold on reality.

But you know. You know what this is, and you know how you got it. Accepting this fact is like swallowing glass.

“I brought something out of my dream,” you whisper, your breath picking up in pace and weight. The thought is sending you reeling, your brain suddenly racing yet devoid at the same time, unwilling to connect the dots.

“How is this even possible?” You ask yourself.

Pansy continues rambling on, asking you endless questions.

But you can’t seem to shake the idea that this item didn’t exist before you fell asleep last night.

—

After long deliberation, and a real pull back to reality, you manage to get yourself dressed and out the door. But the mental picture of this thing takes up most of the space in your mind that day, haunting you each time you think of it.

It’s not until Divination class, your last period, that things somehow become even more unsettling.

Professor Trelawney begins a lesson about the influence of dreams in real life and the messages they can send to the dreamer.

“Dreams, they can be so powerful. They can point you in specific directions, impact your decisions, make you see the truth.”

Her shakey, ominous voice echoes through your head, her words bouncing off the walls of your skull as you feel around in your pocket for the mysterious object. When you feel the edges of the paper graze your skin, you gently pull it out and place it on the corner of your desk.

From the table over, Theo absentmindedly observes you, your movement guiding his trailing eyes. He sees the object in front of you, but it takes him a second to register what it is, that curious little thing.

He squints, then performs a stunning double take. And when he’s finally able to identify it…

Everything changes.

“Oh… my… god…” Theo whispers, his heart dropping into his stomach like an anchor. His body goes into a state of utter disbelief and stillness. His eyes piercing white and his face ghostly pale as he struggles to grasp the scene in front of him.

Mattheo notices Theo’s knuckles white against the desk and chimes in to check on his friend.

“Mate, you alright? You look like Enzo after a Friday night at the Three–”

But before Mattheo can finish asking, Theo suddenly stands up and gains the attention of everyone in class by the sound of his bench skidding backwards on the floor.

Professor Trelawney’s gaze shifts from Theo to you as she locates the focus point of his unrelenting stare. She offers to take him to the infirmary as he looks “unwell.”

But Theo shakes his head, places his hand over his heart, and silently dashes out of the classroom.

Pansy’s head slowly turns to you with a look of complete perplexity.

“Better go check on Rome, new girl,” she mutters under her breath, referencing Theo’s hometown. She gestures her head in the direction of the door.

You nod hesitantly, soon following in his footsteps and ignoring any questions from your teacher.

—

When you make it to the hallway, you find Theo pacing back and forth, his hand still placed over his heart as if to stop it from exploding. But when he sees you, it only gets more difficult.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off before you can even inhale.

“Where in seven hells did you get that paper crane?!” He asks, stopping in his tracks. The conversation continues in bouts of interrupting each other.

“Theodore, I-”

“Don’t call me that, that’s not what you call me in-”

“In what?”

“In my-”

Then a pause. A tense, incredible pause. A stare down.

He continues. “Nothing, it’s mind numbingly mad,”

You take a step towards him, but something in your chest suddenly becomes achingly heavy. In response, you place a hand over your heart, just like Theo is.

In your free hand, you unfold your fingers to reveal the paper crane. His eyes land on it, the shock of it still trapping every fiber of his being.

“You…” you start, the weight in your chest transforms from a brick to a block of anvil with each word.

When you’re within arms length of each other, he manages to reach out, the struggle evident on his face. He fights to finish your sentence for you.

“Made this. Gave this… to you, last night.” He explains, his voice dragging as you notice his hand now gripping his shirt in a fist from the sheer pain in his chest.

“Theo… I think we aren’t dreaming of each other,” you suggest, taking time to breathe between thoughts. The weight on your heart is now seemingly unbearable.

“We’re dreaming with each other,” you say, and just as you finish the thought, Theo’s fingers touch the paper crane in your hand, a graze that feels like lightning.

And just then, as the object fuses the touch of two destined souls, a small clad of thunder emits from between you that only you two can hear. The pains in your chests implode, a knee-dropping sensation of light and warmth replacing it.

Like dynamite in your hearts.

“Bella,” Theo’s hoarse voice is laced with a sincerity that sounds like liquid gold to your ears. There’s no way to describe the feeling inside you right now, this fantastic blend of energies and desires.

The only thing you do know is that it’s burning at both ends, like a charring rope.

“I think… I was meant to find you, cara mia. Gods I sound mental,” he shakes his head, embarrassment written all over his face. To his surprise, he finds your hand gently caressing his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“Then maybe we both need to visit the infirmary, because I’ve only just arrived here and for some reason I can’t fathom a minute away from you.”

Relief washes over him as he drinks in your words, and the stunning sight of you confessing the very same sentiment he, too, harbors.

Your heart rate quickens as you feel an arm snake around your lower back, out of your line of sight. This feels strangely comfortable, like you’ve felt it for a lifetime already.

“Y/N…” he beckons, his forehead dropping to rest on yours. “I can’t ask you to be mine, because I think someone, or something, else already decided that.” He jokes, the huff from his laugh hitting your face.

The sight of both your smiles is what shifts everything into place. Everything, all at once. And then, your fists are the ones gripping his shirt, pulling his lips onto yours.

The paper crane falls to the ground between you as your lips move against each other, his hands exploring your back like they’re hunting for treasure. The magnitude of this kiss surpasses any other you’ve shared in the past.

Chills run up and down your body, like it’s finally found its home. Its match. His fingers grasp your hair lightly, keeping you in place as he kisses you with vigor.

He pulls away, looking at you like you’re his most prized possession.

“You’re more than a gut feeling, tesoro.” He confesses, earning another kiss from you. This one feels like an aftershock, the aftermath of the impact of your newfound, yet momentous intimacy.

You nod your head in understanding, barely able to form a coherent sentence at the moment.

“Did you… feel that, Theo?” You question, sending a glimmer of hope his way.

“Yes, like… fireworks?” He asks back. He takes your hand and places it on his chest once again, and you swear you could feel the butterflies erupting from inside.

Behind you, a mess of rushed footsteps make their entrance, accompanied by a couple of stern voices.

“These two, I swear…” Blaise complains, shaking his head and catching his breath.

“What in the Merlin-loving fuck is going on here?” Lorenzo sneers, his expression a mix of urgency and frustration.

But you two never broke that stare, that ruthless, solid stare. Instead you beam at each other as you scramble to put the answer into words.

“Fireworks.”

—

That night, you wander the grounds of Hogwarts together as Mattheo, Draco, and Pansy watch you from the Astronomy Tower. The three of them convene to discuss.

“You reckon she used a love potion?” Mattheo suggests, earning another smack on the arm.

“No, you bloody fool. They’re like, tethered or something.” She attempts to convey the notion to the boys, but they just don’t get it.

“Are we tethered then, doll?” Draco jokingly asks Pansy.

“In your dreams, mate.” Mattheo responds, taking a drag from his cigarette. She responds while picturing the paper crane she found in your lap that one fated morning last week.

“You’d be surprised how accurate that is.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[ditoob]

Something I find makes the life and death of Achilles far more tragic is the fact that all he is is the Trojan War. His parents’ wedding begins the conflict, and he dies before the end of the war. His entire life was spent in something he had no control over. Did he know Helen? Paris? Hektor? The Trojans became his enemies only when he reached the beaches of Troy.

Hell, if we go by the Achilleid, Achilles didn’t even know what the war was about until he was sailing to Troy. A young boy whose birth produced an unjust prophecy that dictated the rest of his life: Live long and die in obscurity, or die in war and live in the minds of the people forever. No greek man of his time could bear to die in obscurity, but it was especially impossible for Achilles to do so. His father Peleus, a legendary Argonaut whose adventures would be remembered for millenia, his mother Thetis, a towering goddess raised by the queen of the gods herself.

Their child had to be known.

At Aulis the greeks call for Achilles, a legend before he even steps into the battlefield, and he is forced to go to war. And he fights, he kills, he ravages the city of Troy. A boy who has never even seen a battle in his life, living in peaceful Pthia and later protected by mighty Chiron in Thessally, becomes a machine specifically created for one purpose: To destroy Troy.

This is the reason why Achilles refuses to fight after the taking of Briseis. Unlike Agamemnon, who lived before the Trojan War, who had a wife and family before the Trojan War, who will leave Troy. Or Odysseus who will tell his tales to his son and wife after 20 years away. Or Menelaus who after years regains his family and rules Sparta in peace. Achilles has no life, no future, he IS Troy, more than even Hektor, Paris, and Priam are. Thus, when his honor is threatened, everything he has ever lived for has been taken away from him. Realize that before the taking of Briseis, Agamemnon mentioned takingthe “bride prizes” from the other greek kings and despite this not going anywhere none of them attempted to argue. Would Odysseus attempt to kill Agamemnon if his bride prize were taken? Would Diomedes or Greater Ajax?

And yet, after Achilles lives his entire life for war. After he struggles and suffers so much at the face of adversity. At the loss of his everything, Patroklos. At the slight to his honor. He spends the rest of eternity regretting everything he had ever done. Perhaps it is a mercy to Achilles that shades forget their life on earth

[pileofboneswrites]

TAILSPIN_oneshot.sonsofanarchy

SUMMARY — after receiving an unintelligible call from jax, your rush back to charming to discover your son, abel, has been kidnapped by camerson hayes, and worst yet, he also killed your younger brother that you practically raised.

PAIRING — exhusband!jax teller x fem!halfsack'ssister!reader | juice ortiz x reader

WORD COUNT — 3.8k

WARNINGS — established relationship(s), kidnapping, murder, death, past child neglect (about reader and her brother), divorce, premature birth, pregnancy complications, agent stahl, swearing, fighting, angst, loss of loved ones, suicidal thoughts, contemplation of suicide, cheating, allusion to smut but no description, no use of y/n (she's actually only outwardsly referenced 2 times and is referred to as miss epps or epps).

AUTHORS NOTES — just to clear somethings up; jax married reader instead of wendy, and instead of drugs being the reason abel was born early it was just due to pregnancy complications.

MASTERLIST

your heart was slamming rapidly into your ribcage, panic rolling off your skin in waves. you push the pedal to the floor, the idea of a speeding ticket not even remotely close to crossing your mind. this was your fault, it was. leaving charming, even for a few hours always felt like it had consequences. something bad always seemed to happen the moment you crossed the county line. your tires squeal as you peel into the teller-morrow parking lot, slamming your car in park as you jump out, only barely remembering to take off your seatbelt as you go. clay, piney, and opie are standing by the entrance to the clubhouse, sad expressions creasing their features.

"what happened?!" you ask, your voice loud, panicked and harsh.

the surprise on their faces from your tone has silence ringing in your ears. you'd known them for years, opie, jax and you being quite the troublesome trio through most of your youth. they'd never heard you raise your voice before, let alone the venom behind your words.

"someone answer me!" you shout, your entire body vibrates from the panic working its way down to your stomach.

you're going to puke if someone doesn't tell you what the hell is going on, and soon. you'd received a rather frantic voicemail from jax last night and hadn't been able to reach him since, which is what made you turn your car around and head for the clubhouse. his voice was shakey, and you couldn't hear a damn thing that made sense. but you know jax, and jax doesn't panic. he's dealt with and seen it all through the years, he's not easy to shake. so hearing your husband–well soon-to-be ex-husband–in that state had your mind reeling.

"kiddo, you need to take a deep breath." clay starts, attempting to sling an arm around your shoulders.

you shrug him off, "no! you need to tell me what the hell is going on, and why jax called me in a panic, and where the hell he is!"

it comes out as one rushed sentence, barely comprehensible but opie steps towards you. he rests a large hand on your shoulder, a distraught look on his face.

"we need you to take a breath, seriously, epps. i'll tell exactly what's happening, but you've barely taken a breath since walking over here, and you look like you're going to passout."

you nod, sucking in some extremely needed air. you take a second to just regulate yourself, and in that time, opie steers you over to one of the picnic tables. you sit down, back to the table and once you've calmed a little, you cross your arms and look up at him expectantly.

"alright, now, tell me."

he glances back at clay, and at his dad, before looking back to you. they turn and walk into the clubhouse, giving you two some privacy.

"cameron hayes killed your brother because he thinks gemma killed edmund,"

"w-what?" you ask, bottom lip wobbling, your head is spinning

your baby brother is... dead? eddie is dead? cameron hayes killed your brother? you shake your head, wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your flannel. you'd practically raised eddie. your mom was a drunk, and your dad had left long before you could form any memories of him. so, from ten on, you were big sister, mommy and daddy all rolled into one. you taught him manners, how to use the toilet, how to cook, how to flirt with girls, and so many more things. you'd been there for every step of his life, cheering loud enough to drown out the naysayers.

when he left for the military you were terrified that you'd get that call every parent dreds. sure, you weren't really his mom, you couldn't be with the five year age gap, but in all the areas that mattered, you were. eddie was your first kid in a twisted sense, and knowing that he'd made it all the way home from iraq, only to die at the hands of someone affiliated with the club that he loved so much shattered your heart.

"n-no, that's not possible, i-i just sp-spoke to eddie, we-we just spoke this morning. h-he said he and-and-and-and," you're spiraling, mind and heart racing faster, and faster before your expression drops, and your mind clears. "abel. he was taking tara back to jax's to get some of abel's things. where is my baby? where's abel, harry? where is my baby?"

you're sobbing uncontrollably, your entire body shaking as you slide off the seat of the picnic table, onto the concrete. opie pulls you into his chest, and you sob into his shirt. it's another first for all of them, watching you breakdown, watching you cry.

"we're going to find abel," opie says into your ear, trying to calm you down, it doesn't help, you just cry harder.

it shouldn't have happened in the first place! the club was on lockdown. losing eddie is hard enough, but losing your son in the same span of minutes is devastating. it takes you twenty minutes, but when you finally pull yourself together again you pat opie's arm, and stand up.

"where is jax?" you ask quietly, taking a deep breath.

"he's at home, we're heading over there now, let juice drive you, you shouldn't be driving right now." opie says, and you nod.

normally you'd fight him, which he's well aware of, but knowing your son is god knows where has you in an anxious tailspin. you don't have the energy to fight with anyone right now. opie walks you over to your car, tucking you into the passenger seat and waiting by the door for the other's to come out of the clubhouse.

"what happened exactly?" your voice is barely a whisper, and opie looks worried.

"are you sure you want the run down right now?" he questions, and you immediately nod, your eyes on the hood of your car.

"please, ope," its the most desperate, pathetic sound to ever cross your lips, but you have to know.

he takes a deep breath, "what tara says happened, is that gemma took off while they were out, so she sent your brother to watch over her, and she went to jax's house. stahl freaked, shot edmund hayes, gemma shot polly, and stahl pinned the blame on her. half– eddie took off to find tara, and cameron must have followed him from their safe house. cameron was going to kill abel, but your brother stepped in, and got stabbed in the process. he tied her up in the nursery, and left with abel."

"the same man who killed my brother, has my son?" you ask, and he nods. "and tara just let him take my son?"

"well, i wouldn't say that—"

"everyone's ready," juice says, stepping up to the driver's side window, pulling the door open.

"hang tight," opie says, patting your knee before closing the door, and walking over to his bike.

"hey baby," juice says softly, "i'm sorry."

you nod, but don't say anything. you pull your seatbelt on, and lean back. you and juice had been together for a couple of months, with jax's blessing of course. he'd been great, amazing even. part of you would always love jax in a way that juice would understand, and he was okay with that. knowing you would be crawling into bed with him every night was good enough to ease any worries he might have had. juice had been rock solid in your life, a shoulder you privately cried on when jax had initially asked for the divorce.

you saw it coming from a mile away, while you'd loved each other greatly, it just wasn't the same kind. you knew that in the beginning, the middle and especially at the end. you also knew that if you didn't agree, or you tried to convince him to stay, that you'd lose him for real. he'd grow to resent you, and you'd grown to hate him for resenting you. you couldn't live in a world where jax wasn't at least a part of your life in some capacity. so that meant an amicable split, and seeing him when you dropped off abel. despite what most people think about your relationship, things haven't changed.

jax is still one of your best friends, and when you're not working, you're usually at his house. your relationship label may have changed, but your relationship hadn't. opie had been the most worried when you'd told him you were getting divorced. his two best friends splitting? nightmare. but when you told him there were no hard feelings, well, he actually didn't believe you at first. it took seeing you both in action to actually understand that you were serious. then, you found out you were pregnant.

it didn't change anything, you were still getting divorced, but jax was actually really excited. he'd told you about all his worries about becoming a father, and you reassured him that he'd be great. in turn he did the same for you. he joined you at every appointment, and played a very active role in your pregnancy. he helped you find an apartment close to his house, and spent a lot of time by your side helping you with nursery set up, moving, and everything in between.

gemma was probably the most heartbroken over your split. she loved you just as much as (and sometimes more than) jax. she helped you a lot over the years, especially when she found out about her grandbaby. gemma made the transition from wife, to ex and baby momma so much easier. she was a cheerleader for you, and always in your corner. you were incredibly lucky to have them, and be in the situation you were in. tara on the other hand... she was the opposite. gemma clocked it the moment you went into labour prematurely.

you'd been stressed over work, being the only manager on an already understaffed team was difficult but so was being pregnant. you'd never planned on getting pregnant, so there were a lot of things at work you decided were to be dealt with later. the moment you found out, you were trying your damnedest to get things ready. the stress got to you, and manifested itself in making your pregnancy high risk, and then landing you in the hospital way earlier than you should have been. it was obvious to you the moment jax came to see you after abel was born that tara thought it was your fault.

later it became clear to you that she just didn't like you, something you didn't notice in your teen years. you'd never really spent any time with her then, but the more time you spent with her after your son's birth, because lets face it anytime you went to visit jax she was there. all smiles, and cooing at your son until jax left the room, and then a scowl and general disinterest in you reared its ugly head. now things were different. she let a terrorist kill your baby brother, and kidnapp your son. karma was about to take her ass for a ride, and you were going to be driving.

"hey," juice says, his warm hand finding yours over the center console, snapping you from your thoughts. "we're here,"

you turn your head, and see clay speaking to tara in the doorway. your vision goes dark. you don't even remember getting out of the car, let alone walking over to tara and grabbing a handful of her hair. you're yelling is incomprehensible, but it's obvious to onlookers that you're sobbing as you beat the shit out of her. you come to again with juice's arms around you, pulling you into the house, and opie pulling tara inside into a different room. your only injury is three claw marks across your cheek, but tara is quite a bit worse for ware.

"what the hell were you thinking?!" jax snaps at you, upon pulling you away from juice, and into abel's nursery.

"i was thinking about how that bitch let some guy take my fucking baby and kill my baby brother!" you scream at him, breaking down all over again. "my baby..."

his expression softens, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into a hug. you sob into his shoulder, loud, heartbreaking, borderline violent wails.

"i'm sorry about your brother, i really am, but you can't blame tara."

you pull back, weaseling away from his grip, "can't i?"

"it could have happened to anyone, it could have happened to you."

"i would have died, jackson, and i think you better than anyone knows that. i would have died for abel. for eddie. i would not have let that man get away with everything i love." you say, sobering, violent, hot anger courses through you. "i would have died or killed him. i wouldn't have let him walk out the door."

he just stares at you. his once bright blue eyes dark, like the light behind them died. you know he knows exactly how you feel. that he blames tara to some degree. but you don't really care. you're numb. your heart aching in a way you've never felt before. in a way you'd never wish upon your worst enemy. tara included, despite what she did. the worst part is you don't have the one person you want to talk to about it. eddie died protecting her, and his nephew. what did tara do? she let herself get tied up, let cameron take your baby, let cameron kill your brother. tara lost nothing, and once again, you've lost everything.

"i want to kill her jax," you say finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, his sad eyes just staring back at you. "that's not rational, not right. but i've just lost the two single most important people in my life, and i want to kill her for it."

"i understand what you're saying, why you're saying it," he says slowly, "but you're right, it's not rational."

"when abel comes home, she's not allowed to be around him by herself. i don't care what that means. i don't feel comfortable with her being alone with our son." you tell him, fingers grasping the cool leather of his kutte to pull him in closer. "i don't want to see, hear or think about her until then, and you bet your ass, i'm coming with you to bring him home, whatever, and wherever that takes us."

jax briefly looks scared of you, but he collects himself just as quickly as you let him go, and brush past him back out the way you came.

"you're lucky you're not dead," you seeth, flipping tara off with both hands as you walk back out to your car.

worried about your well-being and your mental state, jax sends juice home with you when you leave. the drive to your apartment, albeit quick, is silent. how does one comfort someone who lost both their only child, and only brother in a matter of minutes? besides, juice knows you well enough to know that you'll talk when you're ready. if you're ever ready. and right now? you don't know if you'll ever be. the fear of unraveling that far scares you. so for now, you think positively, and you keep moving forward.

it takes four hours, before agent stahl is in your living room, sitting on your couch. juice stands in the kitchen, watching the exchange from the sink, where he's washing your lunch dishes.

"so, mrs teller, where were you yesterday afternoon?" she asks, and you immediately understand why the club hates the woman so much.

"the divorce might not be finalized yet, but it's miss epps, and i was half-way to seattle."

"ah, yes, i forgot about that... why were you heading to seattle?"

"i don't really see how that's going to get my son back, seeing as you know who took him already."

"we need to get a picture together of everyone's movements."

"i got a phone call a few days ago, my mother's in the hospital there. she wanted to see me, so i was going."

"as i understand it, you aren't close with your mother?"

"no. look, agent stahl, this isn't helping. get your ass out there and look for my son. you're the reason my brother died, i'm not interested in you being the reason my son dies too. do your fucking job." you abruptly stand up, and walk into the kitchen.

you want to throw something. you want to scream. you want to be violent and aggressive. you miss your brother. you miss your baby. you want them back. most of all, you want this nightmare to be over.

when jax tells you they're heading to ireland, you pack light, but take abel's favourite stuffed animal, a white bear with a blue hat, mitts, scarf and booties. you carry the bear with you, hugging it tightly when you worry you're about to fall apart. jax's reassuring hand on your knee, and juice's hand in yours keeps your grounded. you lose yourself a little every time you think you're going to see abel, and then are denied at the last moment.

when father ashby finally drops the bomb on you and jax; that he'd been adopted, sold to another family, you break down. father ashby tries to comfort you, but nothing he says changes anything.

"i don't care about your fucking god, i don't. i don't care about your promise to john teller. i want my fucking baby back. your cousin has caused me enough pain; by killing my fucking brother. don't make the mistake of keeping my son from me." you scream, uncaring who hears you. "i'm sure you know the saying desperate people, do desperate things. desperate doesn't even begin to cover what i am, and what i'm willing to do to get abel in my arms, and back home."

you lay in bed all day, the blanket pulled up over your head, your eyes squeezed closed, the bear tucked under your arm. you've felt sick from the moment you'd heard that abel might be gone. whisked away by some—in their defence, probably oblivious, but lovely—couple, about to be taken god knows where. the very notion, that you could go home empty handed hurts, burns, stabs at your heart. you feel like someone's cut you open, and taken a knife to your chest. poking and proding at all the parts you should never poke and prod at.

you've never felt worse in your life; physically, mentally, and emotionally. you're drained, exhausted, and contemplating ending your life. you've never felt so low. you're almost embarrassed as the idea crosses your mind, but the longer you stew, the longer it seems like a really appealing idea. incredibly selfish, but desperation is like that. you weren't sure how jax was downstairs, enjoying the night, the party, the people... how he wasn't suffocating, like you were. everthing is falling apart, collapsing around you, and he's acting like everything's a-ok.

you don't hear the bedroom door open, but you startle when you feel the bed dip behind you. fight mode activates, and you leap from the bed, eyes scanning for a weapon. then you see jax's face in the reflection of the window, your heart rate slows.

"you asshole, make some noise when you move around. i thought i was about to get murdered..." you close your eyes, hands dropping to your sides. "why are you here?"

"i'm so sorry," his voice is barely a whisper, you vaguely make out the trembling of his bottom lip, and the tears streaming down his face. "this never– never should have happened."

your expression softens, and you sink back down on the small bed. you pull jax in, his head resting on your shoulder as you hold him. you'd only ever seen him cry a few times, but that was usually how you could tell he was past his breaking point. jax always perseveres, pushing forward. you're the slightly unstable, completely unhinged one. he's the calm, rational thinker.

"i don't blame you." you tell him, "i don't even blame tara, anymore. i blame stahl. it's her fault all this shit happened. had she not shot edmund, none of this would have happened."

he nods against your shoulder, then lifts his head. the kiss is unexpected, but not unwelcome or unwanted. the sex is fantastic, it always is with jax, but it just further complicates an already complicated situation. it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened come morning when juice pops his head into the room to see how you're doing. he's hurt, but he understands to an extent. he loves abel. he loves you and by extension abel is part of you, so what's not to love? under normal circumstances, he knows this would not be an issue, but nothing about what's happening is normal.

he knows you're grieving, he knows as abel's father, jax can relate to your struggles more than anyone. what he doesn't understand, is why, even while in the midst of a divorce, the pair of you would do something like that. how despite this, he shoves his concerns aside, and closes the door, banging heavily on it to wake the pair of you. he doesn't avoid your eye, or not take your hand when you reach for his, or walk out of every room you walk into. he instead, keeps his mouth shut, and supports you. the guilt gnaws at you, and you spend the majority of the day avoiding jax, and he you (and juice).

after your night with jax, you brush your hair, actually get dressed, and spend the afternoon playing cards with juice, opie and happy, and try really hard to feel normal. it works for a few hours, until you find out that your son has been taken, again from his new adopted parents, and that they were brutally murdered in their hotel room. discovering jimmy was behind it surprises no one, but sets you into yet another tailspin. terrified of what could happen to him, terrified that jimmy would kill him if he got too annoying.

luckily, your fears never play out, because father ashby trades himself for abel. when jax walks back through the doors of the apartment you'd all been staying in, with abel in his arms you can't help the happy tears. shaky, holding your breath, hand over your mouth, you stare at your unharmed baby in jax's arms. seeing abel for the first time in what feels like an eternity is like a cold water shock to your system. when jax hands him over to you, letting you finally hold your son after weeks without him.

he smiles up at you, cooing softly, and reaching for your hair. it's like every bad, anxiety moment slips away. it doesn't matter that he was gone, all that matter's is that he's home, in your arms, surrounded by all the people who fought to bring him home, his family.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Ten

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This episode was written after episode 7 of Helluva Boss but before Full Moon. Full Moon events have not yet happened. It's also shorter, as some of it was moved to chapter nine.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Ten - Cute

Content Warning: Minors DNI!!!, Smut (let me know if I missed any)

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” The imp dove behind the desk. “Look, I’m sorry! We did everything you asked! Okay! What more do you fucking want!?” 

You appeared in the middle of the office’s conference room, scaring the shit out of Blitz. It was deserted, save for the boss, who had been cleaning his prized horse figurine collection. 

“Mr. Radio Demon sir, please don’t kill me,” Blitz begged from behind the table.

You raised an eyebrow at Alastor, who had taken a seat in a chair and placed his microphone on the table.

“I may have hired him to corroborate your backstory.” The demon purred, his chin resting atop folded hands. Amusement sparked in his eyes.

Ah. Well, no wonder Blitz is terrified - he probably found a whole lot of weird shit. Which meant Alastor heard a whole bunch of weird shit. Which meant Alastor knew you were traipsing around Earth for the past 100 years before "falling" into Hell. Great.

You wondered if he knows about your friend who traipsed with you...

“Hey, Blitzy, why didn’t you tell me someone hired you to find information on me?” You did your best to give a sweet smile. The imp didn’t know you as the Shadow. He knew you as Thestral. Which is why you came dressed in your regular clothes. 

It was now Alastor’s turn to look confused.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” His horns appeared over the table. “It’s the Radio Demon! He woulda killed me on the spot.” 

Hmm. True. 

“Where are Millie and Moxie? You can’t be a third wheel without the other two.” You ran a finger across the desk, feigning interest in the imp's affairs.

“What the fuck is this, a social visit? What do you want, and why did you bring him?” Blitz gestures to Alastor.

“Ignore him. He’s not important.” You think you heard Alastor growl - you did your best to ignore the butterflies it stirred within you. “Your fuck buddy owes me a favor. Where in Hell is he these days? Heard he finally left the bitch, but I didn't know if he got the house or…” 

“Okay,” the imp laughs as if that was the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. “First of all, he’s not my fuck buddy. Where did you hear that?”

“Octavia,” you smiled. 

Yes, the famous Princess of the Night. You just so happened to run into her in the Pride Ring one night she ran away. The responsible thing would have been to return her to the Prince as soon as possible, but you ran into her as Thestral - the piano player at Mimzy’s. She thought you were the coolest. So you two went out, got drunk, and had a fun night. You returned her to Stolas eventually. He was so grateful and none the wiser. 

Octavia has ended up in your apartment a few more times since then. Hence why, you’ve run into the I.M.P. as they were recruited to help find her. 

Stolas loved you, and Octavia loved you. Blitz has mixed feelings towards you. You made his life harder, but you could keep up with his sense of humor, so that made you okay. He also may have made a pass at you, and you rejected him. Not cool. 

Blitz mumbled profanities under his breath before finally giving you an answer, “The Royal took his daughter topside for margaritas.” 

You shot him a dumb look, “Margaritas?” 

“Yeah, she’s been all excited about the human world ever since the fucking Hollywood incident. Stolas takes her on field trips now that she actually likes him again or some shit. I don’t know! It’s her rebellious teenage millennium.”

Great. 

You turned to Alastor, who was thoroughly happy that Stolas was trapped topside and out of reach. Perhaps he thought you would give up now and return to your cage?

But you didn’t give up easily and Lucifer was coming tomorrow. This had to happen now.

“Open it,” you commanded.

“What?” The imp’s voice cracked. 

Alastor frowned, desperately trying to hide his anger. “My darling, I don’t think…”

“Blitz,” you pulled a fat stack of cash from the Void - the remainder of Crim’s money. “Open it.” 

The imp was practically salivating at the sight. 

“Deal!” He swiped it from your hand before Alastor had a chance to protest. You turned to the Radio Demon and stared him down, your eyes daring him to try and stop you. 

Do it. Start a fight right here. You’d take him on. You were practically begging for a fight with the Overlord now. 

No more running, right Rosie? Time to face this head-on.

You were goating him, and he could tell. 

Blitz chanted the spell from the grimoire, and the portal cracked into being. 

“Ready?” You held an elbow out for Alastor, who sat unmoving in the chair beside you.

“Wait, you don’t have human disguises,” Blitz reminded you. 

“Oh, right,” you took the grimoire from his hands and flipped through a few pages before finding the right spell. 

“How the fuck…” Blitz’s jaw dropped. 

The story of this grimoire and you was for another time and another place.

You slid the book over to Alastor and plopped into the seat next to him - summoning a quill and an ink well. You had a human disguise - you had spent nearly a hundred years over there before ending up in Hell - but he didn’t. 

“I need to draw this on your skin,” you pointed to the symbol in the book. “Is that okay?” You asked cautiously. You knew the demon didn’t like to be touched.

His eye’s flit to Blitz. 

Ah, yes, he wouldn’t like an audience. 

“Get out,” you commanded. 

“Yeah, no problem!” He skitted out of the room. 

Your eye’s find Alastors - a deep crinkle weighing down his eyebrows. He was liking this plan less and less by the minute.  

You cleared your throat, the bubbles of anxiety filling your chest. “It needs to be drawn over the heart.” 

There’s no way Alastor was going to…

He stood, took his jacket off, and draped it over the chair. He loosened his black tie and unbuttoned his red suit vest. His eyes never leaving your face, he slowly undid the top buttons of his black collared shirt.

God, you were so jealous of his fingers. They got to undress him. You didn't.

He pulled the clothing aside to reveal the left side of his chest. 

You tried not to gasp, you really did, but the sight was just too shocking. The Radio Demon was covered in scars. You felt the blood drain from your face, the knot in your chest winding itself tighter and tighter until it was hard to breath. 

“Don’t fret too much, darling, these scars are not of this life,” his gaze was hot on your face, heating your cheeks. 

Your heart sank. Did that mean…? 

“These are not what killed me,” he answered as if reading your mind. 

You swallowed dryly, trying to find the ability to move once more. Dipping the quill in ink, you brought the feather to his chest. He stiffened at the contact of the tip against his skin, looking over his right shoulder, his jaw ticking with every stroke. You did your best not to touch him as much as possible as you drew. 

Alastor couldn't even look at you. God, he looked so uncomfortable.

Rosie’s words echo in your mind. “Alastor is scared too…”

You cleared your throat, "Play something for me?”

Alastor shot a questioning glare from the corner of his eye.

“Humor me,” you gave him a soft smile.

The demon thought a moment before his radio clicked through a few channels, finally landing on Louis Armstrong’s “Heebie Jeebies.”

You snorted, “Very funny.”

“I live to entertain, darling,” Alastor’s smile was half-hearted.

And it pained you.

“Why radio?” You ask, dabbing your pen in the ink well. “I mean, you could have done a lot of things in life, but why that?”

"Annonymity," Alastor answered after thinking a moment. "I enjoyed the power of captivating an audience while remaining invisible outside of the booth."

Your heart skipped a beat. Alastor liked staying in the shadows...

"I've heard the stories. Rosie said you remained nameless for a long time after your broadcasts went out. It's how you earned the name 'the Radio Demon.' There wasn't a face to attribute to the deaths until..." Your voice trailed off.

"Until Vox coaxed me from the shadows," there was a gleam in his eye.

You dropped your pen, "What happened with him exactly?"

"Hmmm," Alastor hummed. "For an attempt at a distraction, darling, you are doing a poor job at it." He teased.

Oh, right.

"Fine, what's your favorite song?" You asked instead.

The demon blinked. Did you say something you shouldn't have?

After a long while, he finally said, "I don't think anyone's ever asked me that before."

Your stomach dropped.

Alastor was many things. Alastor the Overlord, Alastor the Radio Demon, Alastor the radio host... And yet, Alastor the lonely was never a persona you thought he'd fill.

You know Alastor has friends - Rosie and Mimzy, for example - but what did that mean? He and Rosie were close, you didn't know anything about how deep his relationship was with Mimzy other than she knew him when she was alive. Yet, from the way Rosie treats him, she's more a mother than a friend. Mimzy seemed more like a friend you kept at arm's length, knowing her proclivity for attracting trouble - a.k.a, she couldn't be trusted completely.

So, who did Alastor have, really?

Husk? Yeah, no. Stupid question.

So, then...

"Shave 'em Dry' by Lucille Bogan*," you answered for him.

Alastor laughed so hard his face was in his hands. His laughter was infectious, and it brought forth giggles of your own. God, the way Alastor's natural joy warmed your heart.

The demon reached out, his other hand finding your fingers wrapped in the feather pen. His thumb stroked the top of your hand, eliciting goosebumps across your skin. Even through his gloves, his hands had a way of making your bones melt.

Alastor didn’t think he had a favorite song. He had never really entertained the thought, and he enjoyed so much of it all.

The demon ran his thumb across your hand to give himself time to think. He let his eyes bleed into your gaze, watching as you stifled a sharp intake of breath.

The demon had never really thought of his favorite song till the day you moved into the hotel, your red lips taunting him from the beginning. He never considered the flutter of feelings in his chest might be worthy of a song until you were dying in his arms. He never let himself consider the weight words of music held till he caught your beautiful voice singing in his kitchen.

The demon never considered he might have a favorite song till you gave him a reason to want, to desire...

��Unforgettable,” he smiled, “by Nat King Cole.”

He watched as your cheeks turned as red as your lips. “Alastor…”

God, he loved hearing his name fall from those lips.

“That’s a love song.”

Of course he knew that.

“Yes, darling, it is.” Alastor simply smiled, and that was enough to have the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

He watched you nervously bite your lip and envied those teeth.

A sharp intake of breath, “I didn’t take you for a romantic….” You drew a few more strokes on his chest before finishing. This time, Alastor faced you and watched as you drew. He chuckled silently at the shake in your hand - he thought it adorable, really.

“You’ll find that there are many things about me..." Alastor ran his hand through your hair, cascading over your shoulder. He felt you shutter at the contact. The demon moved your hair aside with his finger, allowing a clear view of the bruises. Alastor smiled, "...that will surprise you."

He enjoyed seeing you flustered and speechless and decided the sight of you biting your red lips was his new favorite view. The sound of your heart skipping a beat in your chest and the little noise you make when he nibbles on your skin was his new favorite sound. The feel of your magic sparking to life as it reacted to his touch was his new favorite feeling. Satan’s mistress... Alastor the Radio Demon was discovering he had many favorites today.

Your gaze fell, your face heating as you tried to focus on the last few strokes of the rune on his chest. Your hand lingered a moment too long before you cleared your throat, “done.” 

The demon stood abruptly and faced away from you as he reassembled his ensemble. 

Jesus Christ, you were watching Alastor dress - so intimate an action, and yet you couldn't look away. Why didn't you at least offer to help with the buttons? Fuck, you prayed for the strength to get through today in one piece...

“Blitz,” you screamed for the imp when Alastor shrugged on his jacket once more. 

You handed the imp the grimoire. “Drinks on me next time?”

“Oh, Hell yes! You fucking owe me!”

You resisted the urge to point out that you just gave him a fuck ton of money. 

“Ready?” You held your elbow out to the demon. 

“Good luck!” Blitz called after you as you stepped through the portal. “You’re going to fucking need it.” He closed the portal behind you. 

You were in a dark alleyway, the sound of commotion far off. The world was warm and sunny - Hell, the sun. You hadn't seen real sunlight in years. Pulling Alastor to a half-broken mirror, you could see that you had transformed.

Your hair hung in waves down your back, no longer the silver of the damned but a beautiful natural blonde that matched your eyes. Your skin was pink and full of life, but much the rest remained the same.

God, had it been six years already since you were here? The image was quite a shock - a reminder of what came before your life flipped upside down and you packed your bags for the Underworld. 

You caught Alastor staring, your cheeks turning red. A blush crept up Alastor’s neck, the same color as his suit jacket. 

“Your turn,” you smiled, suddenly extremely self-conscious of your appearance. Say, " Transformare.”

“Transformare.” A whirlwind wiped around the alley, twirling its way up Alastor’s body. His skin transformed to a creamy tan, his hair darkening to a light brown, but in the morning sun, at just the right angle, it had a red tint to it. His ears and antlers disappeared as his hair shortened. It was long and curly on top but with a shortened buzz cut around the base. His monocle was replaced with a small pair of reading glasses sitting at the edge of his nose. His eyes stayed their usual red, however, and his canines were sharper than average for a mortal - a reminder that he was not fully human.

Alastor’s entire body went rigid. 

The spell you had used wasn’t simply a disguise spell - it was a sort of rejuvenation spell. The Radio Demon was now staring at the reflection of his former living self. 

Ooooooh, the French, the Voodoo, his taste for jambalaya. Alastor was Creole. "This face was made for radio..." It suddenly made sense...

Alastor ran a hand through his hair in complete disbelief. Cute. The thought hit your brain subconsciously, and you dropped your gaze so he wouldn't see.

“I should have warned you,” it came out as a whisper. 

Alastor took a shallow breath. “No. No. I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t think I would have come if you had.” 

Oh… Why did that make your heart sink? 

You both stood a minute longer, Alastor’s eyes glued to the mirror before taking your arm in his. 

“Shall we?” He asked. 

You nodded. 

Weaving between alleyways, you finally rounded the corner and were met with the deafening roar of people and music. 

“What the…” 

You popped out onto the street in a huge crowd, confetti filling the air, beads being tossed, a band marching down the street. It was an absolute madhouse. 

Alastor laughed next to you as people tried to shove their way around you. He protectively wrapped an arm around your middle, bringing you into him. The rumble of his laugh vibrated through his chest and into yours. His scent overcame you, numbing your senses and clouding your mind with thoughts of him holding you close.

He still smelled like himself. Like the forest after rain...

“Mardi Gras!” A genuine smile formed across his face. “He didn’t say margaritas. He meant Mardi Gras!” 

Oh, shit. You were in New Orleans, the French Quarter specifically - Alastor’s birthplace and hometown. 

You had inadvertently brought Alastor home. 

People shuffled by you in wild outfits of greens, purples, and golds. Feathers and beads decorated an ocean of partygoers hidden beneath masks. 

“Oh, this won’t do,” his eyes were on you now, analyzing your outfit. “If I’m to escort you around New Orleans during Mardi Gras, you certainly can’t dress like that.” With a flick of his wrist, your outfit changed. 

Alastor dressed you in a dress with numerous yellow ruffled skirts and thin straps of tied ribbon holding it up. Your hair had curled into a cute bob iconic of the 1930s, and a mask of yellow feathers completed the look. The top edge of your tattoo was visible beneath the dress, but instead of its iconic silver shade, it had faded to black. Humans have all sorts of tattoos in this day and age; no one would be any the wiser... Besides, Alastor couldn't see anything but the very top of it... He wouldn't know what it was just from that...

Alastor’s suit changed into a matching set of gold, a fedora to accompany, complete with a yellow mask of felt. “Absolutely beautiful, darling,” he grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his. His black leather gloves were soft in your hand. “Now, where to?” 

You pushed down the creep of blush running up your neck and tried to think. You were here for a reason, and it wasn't to ogle at the Overlord, no matter how slim his waist looked in gold or how badly you wanted to run your fingers through his curls...

If Octavia was here then hopefully the card was too. You dug deep behind your navel, searching for the familiar tug of the obsidian calling card you had given the Princess all those years ago. 

She didn’t know what it was when you gave it to her, a precaution for her to use in case she ever got into any trouble. It only worked when you were on the same plane, however, so when she ran away to Hollywood, she couldn't use it to contact you. Now that you are both topside, you should be able to find her. 

There. 

“This way,” you screamed over your shoulder, pulling the Radio Demon through the crowd behind you. 

Pushing through the crowd hurt, but you were on a mission, and the parade was far from over. Finally, you made it to a place called the Hotel Royal - a cute two-story corner hotel just off the main road. Dipping inside, the building led to a courtyard filled with live music and dancing. Off to one side was a bar, complete with a fountain at the center of the cobblestones. Two rows of balconies encircled the yard, with more people dancing and drinking throughout. 

“It’s still here!” Alastor curled in next to you, his hand on your hip, allowing others to pass as you surveyed the scene. 

You shot him a questioning look. 

“Come this way,” he pulled you to the bar, complete with a wooden backdrop. He tugged you down under the bar stool, his fingers running over the wooden panel. “Here!” He screamed over the music. Beneath his fingers were two names etched into the wood: Marcel Gerard and Alastor Hartfelt**.

Holy shit. 

“My mother cleaned for the hotel when we were strapped for cash. She’d bring me along to play with the owner’s son.” The demon smiled at the carving. 

There it was, that concoction of butterflies and bubbles that made you queasy. What was happening? Rosie’s words flitted through your mind again as you surveyed the demon, smiling at the wood. 

You felt terrified, but you were… excited about it? Alstor’s hand was still in yours, your fingers intertwined. It was… nice. The demon hated touch, but here you were, hand in hand. 

Was this romance?

All of last night comes rushing back - of Alastor's hand in yours, of the demon's fists bunched in your pajama bottoms, of his mouth on your lips.

You knew the smell of vanilla was going to hit before it even graced your nose.

You didn't really know what romance was, but you wanted to.

Fuck, you wanted this. You wanted him.

And it terrified you. 

Because if Alastor knew who you were and what you carried with you, he'd kill you...

Fuck.

Alastor would kill you.

You dropped his hand and stood. 

“Is everything alright?” The demon's smile dropped, his face crinkling in concern. 

Before you could find an excuse to explain away your weird behavior, you felt the tug. She was here. 

You spun, surveilling the dance floor. There, in the middle of a group of girls was the tallest human girl you had ever seen. Her dark hair cascaded down her back into a pool of purple tips. She wore a Green dress, her mask covered in glittery sequins, which exploded into a bloom of peacock feathers above her head. 

Octavia. 

You pushed your way through the crowd and tapped her shoulder. She spun, clearly a little tipsy, before her eyes lit up in recognition. “What are you doing here!?” She screamed over the music, bringing you into a hug. You winced when she let you go, grabbing your arms and twirling you about. 

“Same as you!” You lied. “To enjoy the festivities! Where’s your father?” 

“Dad?” She stopped spinning you. “Over here, come with me!” 

She dragged you to the side of the dance floor, where an extremely tall gentleman was sitting in a chair. He twirled the straw in his drink, a glum look plastered across his face. That was until he saw you and Octavia standing before him. He lit up at the sight of you and brought you into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Hi, Stolas,” you managed to breathe out. He dropped you, and you stumbled back into a strong pair of arms: Alastor. 

The Radio Demon bowed to the Royal, “Your Highness.”

“Oh, please, that’s unnecessary,” he waved awkwardly. Stolas hated the attention. He always has. 

The music turned to a dirty jazz, a song Alastor perked his ears up at. 

“You mind distracting the Princess for a moment,” you whisper-screamed into his ear.  

You’d hate dragging her into this. 

His smile turned cockeyed - a knowing grin. He grabbed your hand and placed a kiss atop it. “Of course, ma cherie.”

He grabbed the Princess and twirled her about, dragging her onto the dance floor. You’d heard from Rosie about Alastor's dancing skills. He could kill it on the dance floor. 

Turning back to Stolas, your smile faltered. “I’m afraid I’m not here for fun. I need to call in that favor.” 

“Oh,” he collapsed back into his chair, looking disappointed. God, he looked so lonely. 

The waiter came to take your order: a glass of red and two fingers of rye. 

You pulled a piece of paper from the Void and handed it to him. He read it. Then, read it again. He eyed you suspiciously. “And what do you need this for?” 

“Got into trouble a little while back. I need to take some… necessary precautions.” And Stolas was the only person you knew who knew the spell. Well… He was the only person you knew willing to share it with you. Fucking Goetia and their secrets. They had a whole ass society based on them.

He waited for you to elaborate further, but you didn’t. 

“Very well,” he pulled a quill from the void, awaiting your arm expectantly. “I’m assuming you have the ink?”

You summoned the white liquid from the Void - you took it off Cain after he died. 

The waiter returned not long after, shooting you two a weird look as the demon drew a mark on your arm in sparkly white ink. The liquid was mixed with the bones of a saint - it had to be for the spell to work. 

Your mind turned to the dance floor as you sipped the Cabernet. Alastor was twirling the poor girl around and around in a flurry of drunken giggles. At least she was having fun, and so was the Overlord. A genuine smile plastered across his face as the saxophone dived into a solo. Watching him enjoy himself warmed your heart but also pained it. 

Were you going to tell him?

“Such strange company you keep,” Stolas interrupted your thoughts. Of course, he recognized the Radio Demon. 

��Like I said, necessary precautions.” You shot him a fake smile. You decided to pivot the conversation. “How are you, Stolas?” You genuinely wanted to know. 

“It has been hard,” the Prince started. “But my little owlette has been keeping me busy.” He half-heartedly laughs. 

“I heard about Hollywood. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“It’s quite alright. You have done so much for us already. Besides, I’m glad it happened. We’ve grown closer because of it.” He smiled at his daughter on the dance floor. 

Your heart panged. Pulling a key from the Void, you slowly pushed it across the table. “You’ll find the cabin on the outskirts of Levitowne in Envy. It’s well-hidden and private. Just in case. I’ve heard the stories.”

He eyes the key, then eyes you. He knows Human Sinners can't leave the Pride Ring. He knows there is no way you could ever have gone to Envy, let alone secured a home. There are questions swimming in his eyes, you know he’s thinking if he can trust you. You hope your actions in the past prove true. 

Besides, you needed powerful allies in your back pocket for what you were planning...

“Thank you.” 

Oh, thank the Lord. 

“You always have an ally in Pride, of course. If you ever need it, I’ll drop everything and run.”

A smile found his face again. “You always do.” He returns your forearm to you. You watch the ink set into your skin, its white sparkle fading into black. You hoped that was a good sign. You slip the ink well back into the Void. 

“I hope it works,” the Prince eyes the tattoo now visible on your forearm. “For your sake.”

For everyone's sake.  

“Dad!” The Princess practically falls onto your table. She scrambles for the Prince’s arm. “Come! I must show you this dance Al taught me!” 

Al?

The demon appears next to you, his forehead shining with sweat. He fixes his mask on his face and runs a hand through his wild hair. He laughs and says something to the Princess in French. “Merci pour cette belle danse, chérie.”

She giggles and responds in the language. “Arrête de traîner et fais-le déjà!” 

Since when does she know French!?

“Comment sais-tu que c'est ce qu'elle veut?” Alastor asks. 

Wait a minute; you’re an Angel, you know every language. You flipped the switch in your mind.

“Je vois la façon dont vous vous regardez. Tu as déjà son cœur... mais elle ne le sait pas encore! She just doesn't know it yet!” Octavia laughs hysterically as she drags her father into the crowd. She winks at you as she disappears behind a wall of bodies. 

The Radio Demon shirks off his coat and hangs it over the back of your chair. 

“Do I want to know what that was all about?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly, handing him the drink you ordered for him. 

He downs it in one gulp, then collapses into the chair across from you. "Just a bit of teasing," he laughs, motioning to the two of them on the dance floor. Kicking his legs out in front of him and leaning back in the chair. "The Princess is a quick study."

Hmm...

You sipped your wine. From your seat, you could see the Princess attempting to spin Stolas in the same way you had watched Alastor spin her. The height difference made it difficult, but the Prince was beaming regardless. 

“I didn't realize you were fluent in French?” You asked. 

“Darling, I could speak French before I could walk.” He smiles, his Southern accent slipping through. You were surprised but should have guessed. He was a New Orleans native turned Radio Host Star, of course he adopted the Transatlantic accent. Yet, his words curled around you and whisked your breath away. 

The music changes abruptly, slowing in tempo. You watch as dancers paired off, swaying with the music. Stolas and Octavia have disappeared completely. You’re not worried - the Princess can handle anything thrown at her in this realm. It was Stolas who needed a babysitter. 

You turn to take another sip of your drink but find Alastor leaning on the table. His eyes half-lidded, his smile tipped up in a cockeyed grin, he holds a gloved hand out expectantly. 

“May I have this dance?” He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Your heart skips a beat at the desire glowing in his eyes. He was captivating, all-consuming. He looked at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Like it was just you and him in this club right now. 

“Okay,” you slipped your hand in his. He led you from the table to the fountain at the center of the courtyard. Bringing your hand to his shoulder, he found your waist and pulled you a beat closer, careful of your wounds. You weren’t touching, other than your grips, but the proximity would have been considered scandalous in his day. 

He led you around the dancefloor in a slow waltz, matching the speed of the music. You were a terrible dancer; at every ball you attended in Heaven, you found some way to weasel out of it early. You never danced unless required, finding comfort on the sidelines, preferring to hide in the crowd than be out on display. 

You originally became the Shadow for that very reason - you hated eyes on you. You hated the spotlight. You preferred to work behind the scenes, behind a mask. It was more comfortable there. 

Your eyes slipped down to your feet as Alastor led. You did your best to match his, terrified of stepping on his toes. He had a reputation as a fabulous dancer, after all. 

“Eyes on me, darling,” he said, placing a finger under your chin and guiding your face to meet his. 

The cold steel of red softened as you held his gaze. The room fell away, the music lulling you into a world of your own. Alastor pulled you a beat closer, your chest heaving against his. Your heart rammed against your ribs, and you prayed the demon couldn’t hear it; you prayed he couldn’t smell the adrenaline running through your veins or the vanilla wafting off you in droves. 

You were terrified; you wanted to jump out of your skin and run, but his gaze kept you cemented to his side, like a bird trapped in a cage. Yet the cage didn’t feel like a prison. It didn’t even feel like a cage at all. It was freeing. Like you could take off into flight knowing the sanctity of protection forever remained.

No more running. 

“Alastor, last night..." You swallowed dryly, "was what happened... only about Vox?”

Alastor's eyes lit up in amusement as he pondered. “Hmmm, no.” Your heart skipped a beat. “Although I do admit jealousy is not an emotion I am accustomed to.”

He was jealous. You were right. So, does that mean...?

You smiled nervously. Thank God Alastor was wearing gloves right now because your palms were sweating. "So you didn’t know about the date when it was happening then?”

The demon ran his hands through your hair, giving him a clear view of your bruised neck. “I assure you, ma cherie, had I known about it at the time, Vox would not currently be breathing.” The demon leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “I do not like it when someone tries to take what is mine.”

Butterflies erupted in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. “Mine?” You breathed, your mind fully aware of the closeness of his lips, of the demon leaning in more and more as you swayed.

“Mine.” Alastor growled as his mouth found yours.

It was far softer this time. Last night, Alastor was hungry; now he kissed you like a delicacy he wanted to savor - like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to be nowhere.

The demon cupped your cheek, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He held you like you might flee from his grip, like you might fade away beneath his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You tipped up on to your toes, leaning your body into him, letting your hands fist the lapels of his suit jacket. The taste of rye flooded your mouth as Alastor's tongue found its way between your teeth. You moaned into him as little bolts of Alastor's static zipped across your skin.

Your senses were on fire as the demon threaded his fingers through your hair. God, you set a mental reminder to wear your hair down more often, if only to feel Alastor's fingers play with it as he kissed you.

You pushed your magic through the connection and actually felt Alastor's adrenaline surge through his veins. The demon spun the two of you around, walking you backward to the brick wall. His lips never left yours, his soft kisses turning hungrier.

With one hand fisting in your hair, his other trailed down your side, and you actually whined when he skipped your breasts and went straight for your hips.

"Such a greedy little thing," he murmured against your lips as he pressed his waist into you.

You yelped.

Jesus Christ, he was hard.

Fuck you knew Alastor was big, but you didn’t really know. That day in the bayou, when you ground your hips into him, you only stuck around long enough to feel the beginning of his erection and not the process of it.

You threw your hands around his neck, needing the extra leverage to arch your body into him. Your fingers brushed the base of his hair, reminding you of the earlier itch to play with his curls. So you did just that. It was different, not having the antlers or the ears, but his hair was so soft, softer than his short-cropped red hair in Hell. The curls wrapped your fingers as you played with it before grabbing hold. The demon growled into your mouth, his hot tongue swiping over yours, his hands falling from your hair straight to your hips.

The demon used his teeth to pull off a glove, before moving lower and grabbing hold of your skirt...

"Alastor!" You gasped, trying to break apart, but Alasotr held you firmly in his grasp. "We're in public!"

The demon's chuckles rumbled through your chest, his forehead never leaving yours, “Ah, and yet we are completely alone."

You blinked.

What?

You surveyed the room, which was thoroughly on fire. Blues and greens bled into the walls and furniture, slowly overtaking the building. Your and Alastor's magic had ignited at some point during your kiss, billowing out of control and spilling out into the world around you.

The crowd must have run at the sight of the flames, and yet you heard none of it. The two of you were too completely and absolutely entranced with one another to notice.

"Oh," you squeaked.

The demon pressed his lips to your ear, his voice deep and smokey as he said, “You started sparking the second I asked you to dance.”

Shit. You weren’t paying attention. Your mind was elsewhere…

Alastor's hands moved again, bunching your skirts in his fist to allow access to...

"Oh, my God!" You yelped as Alastor cupped your sex.

"I assure you, darling, he had nothing to do with this," the demon growls.

Alastor moved your underwear aside, his finger separating your folds, feeling your wetness...

"Al...Alastor!" You gasped as a finger entered you.

"That's better," he smiled.

"What happened to waiting till I'm healed?" Your nails dug into his shoulders as he started to move. Tiny gasps escaped your lungs as he slipped in and out of you.

It was a foreign feeling for you; you had never had this kind of stimulation before, but GOD did it feel good. When did you get so wet? It was like your body knew what was happening before you did and was already prepared.

"I don't know if you noticed, ma cherie," the demon catches your gaze, his irises flashing back and forth between pupils and radio dials, "but I'm fighting restraint." His lips ghost over yours, his grip on your waist hardening. "And I'm losing terribly."

The demon's lips swallow your moans as a second finger presses in. First knuckle. Second knuckle. In and out. In and out.

Jesus, Alastor was teasing you.

How rude.

You bit down on Alastor's bottom lip as you ground down into his hand, your body begging for more friction. The demon moaned this time, his hips bucking on instinct.

He pressed into you, his knee coming to rest between your thighs to give himself more leverage. You could feel it, though, the throb of his dick in his pants.

You reached out to cup him through his pants - to do exactly what you didn't know. You'd never done anything like this before, but your body, heart, and mind were screaming at you - want, want, want!

Alastor pulled his hips back, just out of reach. You actually whined when your fingers met nothing but air.

"Uh, uh, darling, it's my turn to play." He growled, the vibrations reverberating through your chest.

"But, Al-!" You started to protest, but then Alastor curled his fingers, and the pleasure wave that rolled through you had you gasping for breath. It was so much more.

Somewhere, off in the distance, there was a crash, but your mind was too numb to process it.

"There it is," the demon smiled against your cheek, clearly proud of the control he had over you, over your body. The demon placed a kiss on your cheek as you continued to grind down into his hand. His mouth trailed to your neck...

You collapsed into the demon when his teeth bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to nibble, to send your skin alight with his static. The demon sucked and then licked at the sore spot with his forked tongue, soothing the pain. Your hands clenched in his suit jacket for stability as your legs begin to give out, your climax building.

Alastor's hands thrust up into you harder, his other hand pressing down on your lower abdomen. Jesus, why did that make everything feel so much better?

"Cum for me, darling." He commanded his lips on your neck. Nipping. Sucking. Licking.

"Al, I'm... Oh, God!" And you obeyed.

You screamed into his shirt, your walls twitching around him as you rode that wave of ecstasy. It wasn't like before, like in your dream. Then your pussy throbbed on nothing but air, but now, now Alastor filled you with his warmth, and the high was so so much better.

Alastor continued to pump into you until your thighs stopped convulsing around him, your walls desperately milking his fingers for more. Each small thrust of Alastor's hand had your body shaking, had the pleasure prolonging more and more. The demon held you up against the wall, your legs nothing but jelly, your mind numb, and your thoughts muddled.

You swore you heard glass break.

Alastor kissed you on the top of the head, "Good girl."

You moaned when he slipped out of you, his other hand fixing the skirt of your dress. God, how could anyone function after something like that?

"Mmmmmm," Alastor hummed, sucking his fingers dry. "Heavenly." The demon shot you a knowing smile. He wrapped a finger around your chin, tilting your head towards his. "You always taste so sweet."

Goddamn...

The look of pride in Alastor's eyes made your heart swell as he whispered, “We should probably leave, ma cherie, before we burn the place to the ground.” 

Somewhere in you, you found your bones again. Forcing clarity into your mind, you not only registered fire, but the building itself had begun to crumble. Walls had collapsed, glass had broken, and the bar was in shambles. The only thing still standing was the brick wall surrounding you, as if the blue and green magic knew to protect the pleasure swimming between the two of you.

Well, shit. Your orgasm had practically leveled a building.

Wait.

"What about you?" You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to his pants. Still weak, you continued to hold on to his shirt, letting the scent of musk swirl around your numb brain.

God, you never wanted to move again.

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, "Oh, darling, let's just say I have ruined another pair of perfectly good trousers."

Your cheeks heated. Wait, did that mean that he...? Wait. Wait. Wait. What does he mean by "another"...?

The sound of sirens brought you back to the situation. You needed to leave, but first...

You shot Alastor a smug look, his hands still wrapped around your chin as you - SNAP! The colored fire disappeared. The demon tipped his head back and laughed again before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

Rolf shadowed you outside to the alley. The building was plagued with blackened walls, the air impregnated with ash. The structure was crumbling in on itself. You had left mere seconds before being crushed.

Holy, shit, you did that.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, your stomach dropping. "That was a childhood memory, and I destroyed it..."

"And made a new memory," Alastor smiled at you, running his thumb across your cheek.

He wasn't mad. If anything, he looked proud.

Alastor laughed at the sight before taking your hand. “Come, I want to show you something.” He led you back out onto the street, your legs jelly as you followed after him.

Out of the chaos, he sat you on a bench a few blocks down before disappearing into a storefront. He came out a few moments later with a donut topped in green, gold, and purple sprinkles. 

“A King Cake,” he called it, breaking it in half for you. “Winner finds the baby.”

You scrunched your nose in confusion, making him laugh.

“An old French tradition,” he took a bite. “To celebrate the coming of the Three Kings. A small object is hidden in the dough; whoever finds the trinket - a small plastic baby Jesus - is brought luck and prosperity for the next year.” 

You giggled, “Why does it feel fitting that a former Angel and a cannibalistic demon are sitting on a bench in the human realm eating a metaphorical baby Jesus?” You took a bite. 

He laughed. “Yes, if Mother could see me now.”

Your heart sank. “What was your mother like?”

His eyes wandered off as if viewing a memory. “She was the kindest soul. Her smile lit up a room, her laugh infectious. She could make the sun shine on a rainy day and cure anything with a bowl of her jambalaya.”

Ah, that’s where he learned that recipe. 

“She would have adored you,” he smiled to himself, tilting his head. 

You forgot about the pastry for a second. Placing your hand in his, you squeezed. “And I’m sure I would have adored her.” You smiled at each other for a moment before returning to the cake. 

“You know, when they sent me down here in search of Eve, I went everywhere; New York, L.A., London, Tokyo, Prague, Moscow, you name it. Yet, I never made my way to New Orleans. We might have met if I had.” You giggled. 

“And did you find her?” 

“Who?”

“Eve.”

You froze, finally realizing your mistake. 

“Ma cherie?” Alastor leaned forward into your vision, worry creasing his face. 

Oh, fuck. 

“Uhm!” You jumped to your feet, wincing from the pain. “We should… We should go.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a panic. “The Hotel needs work before Lucifer shows up and I’m sure Charlie is panicking right now. You know how she gets when she’s stressed. And I haven’t seen them in two weeks nor have I checked in with Husk and Angel after I collapsed. They’re probably worried sick. And I… And I…” You were hyperventilating now. “And I should help clean up the Hotel. You’re the Manager so you should definitely be there. What if Nifty get’s stuck again and…”

Alastor gripped your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“You need to calm down, darling, you’re on fire.” He said calmly. 

You looked down at your hands to see green flames licking your skin. You jumped back out of Alastor’s grip. “No. No. No.” You repeated to yourself under your breath, trying desperately to smother the flames. 

The demon tried again to reach out for you, but you held up a hand and backed away. “Don’t touch me.” You snapped. 

He froze right on the spot, his look of concern melting into cold steel. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Don’t!” You held a finger up to him. “I don’t need your help. I didn’t ask for it.” 

Both his eyebrows rose in surprise, “Oh? Come now, darling, there’s no need to be mean.” 

You needed to get away from him. You snapped your fingers, and a portal to Hell appeared. Alastor’s look of surprise was not lost on you. 

You were far, far more powerful than he thought. 

He raised an eyebrow in question, staring at the cracks in reality surrounding the portal. “Keeping secrets, are we? What happened to our quid-pro-quo, darling?” 

Your heart cracked. You couldn’t tell him. Not because you didn’t trust him but because you were afraid. He wouldn’t understand. He would never look at you the same again. 

And he'd kill you in a heartbeat.

You didn't know what would be worse, seeing the look of betrayal flash across his face or him actually stabbing you in the heart with a Carmine blade.

You sniffed, tears threatening to spill, "I... I'm sorry. I can't..."

“Apparently,” he mumbled. “Well,” he summoned his microphone, twirled it behind his back, and nodded to you. “Don’t let me keep you waiting.” 

His look of disbelief had been replaced with his mask, the same look reserved for everyone else but you - the Radio Demon persona. Something in his gaze made you realize the cavern you had created between the two of you - the silent battle waged between you by simply denying him the truth.

And to Alastor, the truth was everything. You had promised. Yet, here you are breaking it a mere days later.

It didn't go against your contract, technically. The information didn't benefit you both, but he didn't know that.

You practically ran through the portal, closing it behind you, when you heard Alastor step through. You dashed up the steps and flung yourself into your room and onto your bed in a heap of sobs. 

The door rattled off his hinges, swinging to reveal Rolf waiting for you on the precipice. The shadow looked devastated as he desperately tried to enter the room, but the wards you put up after Angel’s incident still held. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn't getting in. 

And when he finally realized that, a look of hurt spread across his face which had your heart breaking all over again. 

“What the fuck,” Angel appeared in the doorway, sidestepping the shadow. Realizing the situation, he quickly closed the door and collected you in your arms. 

You sobbed as the spider demon held you...

Translate the last line of French, I dare you. (I'm also lowkey so curious to know ya'll's theories)

*Shave 'em Dry bu Lucille Bogan is considered one of the most scandalous and lewd jazz songs of the 1930s: Link

** Yes, this is a Vampire Diaries reference! Same hotel, too.

-> Chapter Eleven

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub

@fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

[c0wgurlz]

Trouble On My Left, Trouble On My Right

Chapter 2: Operation, Find Caroline a Cowboy

gif by @bodybebangin

Kayce Dutton x Reader/OC - Friends to Lovers

He doesn't even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust.

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Chapter 1

Sorry it took me so long to update! I'm a teacher and my free time is fairly limited. We're at a point in the school year now though that is much less stressful, so expect fairly regular updates, at least for the next few chapters.

Comments are so appreciated! I'd love to know what ya'll like and what ya'll think I could improve upon.

As always: I do not own Yellowstone (2018) or any of its characters. This work is not monetized.

THIS FIC IS CROSSPOSTED TO AO3. It is not posted to any other site. I am lookingcold on AO3 and that is all. I do not give permission for my work to be posted by others to any other platform.

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We don’t talk for the rest of the walk, but the silence is comfortable, like it always is between us. Kayce and I have never asked too much of each other, have always read each others’ moods as if they were our own, and that apparently hasn’t changed from the five years we’ve spent apart. It’s glaringly obvious to us both that neither is up for idle chit chat. 

And while I’m really not up for small talk, the silence does, unfortunately, give me entirely too much time to overthink. What felt like such a natural decision, what felt like fulfilling my duty this morning, now feels foolhardy, and quite possibly too risky. Now this isn’t to say that I’m doubting my choice. Helping Mr. John, helping Kayce, helping the family and ranch that raised me, that picked up my pieces and glued me back together over and over, is a no brainer. Helping the people and the place I love most in the world feels as natural as breathing. But smoothing over a murder? That’s- No, I’m not doubting my choice, but I’m sure as hell doubting my sanity. When I said the Duttons needed a criminal defense lawyer, not a PR specialist, I wasn’t exaggerating. And if I’m being honest, this job feels more like that of an accessory than a public relations consult.

The front porch of the big house comes into view well before I’m ready. This dinner may be a reunion of sorts, but it’ll undoubtedly be a business meeting as well. Steeling my nerves for such talks doesn’t come quite as naturally to me as it once did. I feel like a knight with rusty armor. Weak at critical points, weak where it matters. More aptly, I feel like a little girl again, staring into the headlights of a train with no way to move and no way to stop it. I’m no coward, please don’t think that of me, but you know that feeling of impending doom? The one that makes your spine tingle and your stomach drop to your knees? Dread is probably the best word. That’s all I can feel as I stand at the bottom step of the Dutton’s porch. 

I must hesitate for too long, or stare off into space, or look absolutely fucking terrified, because in a flash Kayce is back down the two steps he’d already taken and by my side. He doesn’t say anything, you’d think we’d taken a vow of silence, but just looks at me imploringly, resembling a curious puppy so much I almost crack a smile. And then Kacye, sweet Kayce, wraps his calloused hand around mine and tucks it against his chest, over his heart, before tipping his head, ushering me up the stairs. Once I’m half way up I get a fond, “Atta girl,” and what woman doesn’t love being praised like an obedient mare. I snort in response and kick out my foot to trip him, but only a little bit, on the last stair. Can’t have hime getting too full of himself.

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Dinner is nice, but rather awkward if I’m totally honest, mainly due to the fact that Beth and Jamie are in attendance. Let’s just say Gator clears the table well before dinner should truly be over. To my surprise, we don’t talk business, but rather I’m questioned, interrogated really, over what I’ve been up to the past five years and why haven’t I called and would it really kill me to send a text every few months. Beth is the one who leads this inquiry. Jamie and I were never particularly close, so he remains silent for the most part, and he leaves in a huff shortly after Beth throws a fork like it’s a trident directly at his forehead. Can’t say I blame him, even I can only handle so much of Beth when she’s at her worst.

My interrogation is blissfully, or so I thought, cut short by Mr. John when he asks, “So, ya’ll have any plans tonight?” He folds his napkin meticulously, trying to look nonchalant but missing the mark by a shameful amount. If I thought that feeling of dread had left me, I was wrong.

I narrow my eyes and prepare to defend myself against an interrogation of a different kind. Before I can grit out a suspicious, “No, why,” however, Beth pipes up. “Actually Daddy, since you asked,” at this she turns to me, “Caroline, how do you feel about heading into town and getting gloriously drunk and then gloriously fucked? You’ve been gone far too long, so you’ve got to be re-initiated, re-tainted if you will.” She looks me up and down, assessing. “You’re far too shiny, like a little cherub.”

Jesus Christ, I think she’s suggesting I fuck a townie. And Mary and Joseph I haven’t even so much as kissed someone since my divorce - ok, well maybe a peck or two here or there, but that’s besides the point. Here I was, so worried about talking business, about skirting around the subject of murder, only to be blindsided by an age old Dutton scheme. Operation: Find Caroline a Cowboy. Well if Beth thinks I’m about to get biblical with some rando she is absolutely, positively looney tunes. Now, how to communicate all of that in a tactful way? Taking a shallow breath, I part my lips and prepare to spout some placating, buzzword bullshit. Something along the lines of, “Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m actually really tired. Maybe later this weekend?” or “How about we just kick back in the bunkhouse tonight, save the salaciousess for this Saturday?” Before I can even utter a word though, Kayce butts in on my behalf.

“Do you maybe think you could save the corruption for later, Beth? I’ve already promised the boys that I’ll bring Caroline around for cards tonight.” While his voice is calm, casual even, Kayce gives himself away the moment he begins to bounce his leg, the tap tap tap of the heel of his boot loud in the otherwise quiet room. He’s uncomfortable, maybe even irritated, which aren’t we all at least a little bit when speaking to Beth, but there’s something else. A boyishness to his demeanor that I haven’t seen since high school. There’s also the fact that we had decidedly made zero plans to visit the bunkhouse tonight. So. Interesting.

I’m certainly not the only one to notice his odd shift in behavior, as Mr. John’s lips curl into a smirk and Beth’s face arranges inself into a pleased, self-satisfied expression. She frequently wears the look of someone who knows enough to destroy literally any given person’s life, but this look is more playful, one of a cat that’s pinned a mouse by its tail. Ignoring Kayce, she turns her attention back to me. “Caroline, sweetheart, don’t even think about screwing any of those cowboys. I know old habits die hard, but trust me when I say not a single one of them is worth a ride.” Now, to be clear, Beth knows, I know, Mr. John knows, and even Kayce knows that Beth has only ever screwed one of said cowboys out in that bunkhouse, still, her dig elicits the desired reaction from Kayce. And furthermore, she makes it clear that she’s not just trying to set me up with any old cowboy. I’m on to her. Operation: Find Caroline a Kayce.

With a cringe of disgust and a flushed face, he exclaims, “Fuck’s sake Beth, I’m not taking her out there to pimp her out.” He’s stopped smoothing the tablecloth, but now he’s exasperatedly running his hand through his still damp hair. Shit, Kayce. You think he’d have learned by now how to not play into Beth’s hand. Some people just have to learn the hard way I suppose. 

Beth’s eyebrows lift and the corner of her mouth quirks. “Well you’re not a very good bestfriend then, are you?”

“Fuck you.” Kayce mutters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms petulantlly.

“Maybe you should be saying that to her.” Beth points at me with her napkin, dropping it onto her plate as she rises from the table. “This has been fun. Possibly the best family dinner we’ve had all year.” Planting a kiss on Mr. John’s cheek she says, “Love you Daddy, have a drink with me later, will you? I think we should talk.” Then, rounding the table to me, she strokes my hair, almost motherly, “Caroline, sweetheart, clear your schedule Saturday. Me and you are going to paint the town red.” Finally, reaching Kayce, she sighs, “Goodnight, dummy. Let me know if you’d like help finding your balls.” And just like a tornado, she’s there wreaking havoc one moment, and gone the next.

The dining room is uncomfortably silent for a beat after she exits, until Mr. John blessedly breaks the awkwardness yet again. “Beth’s antics aside, I don’t think ya’ll should be going out anywhere tonight. We’ve got several important meetings lined up tomorrow morning and I need both of you sharp. Especially you Kayce, tomorrow will require you to tell a very particular version of events and I can’t risk you fucking that up. Alright, Son?”

Looking slightly cowed, Kayce nods his head in agreement. “Alright.”

Having determined this hell of a dinner has gone on long enough, I begin to make moves to excuse Kayce and myself. “Dinner was delicious Mr. John, thank you for having me. And thank you for such fine company.” I may be lying out of my ass, but my momma didn’t raise me to be rude.

Mr. John exhales a dry laugh and rises from the table. It’s moments like this where his and Beth’s resemblance is striking. “No need to thank me, honey. You’re family, you’re welcome at my table anytime.” Pushing in his chair he surveys Kayce and I with calculating eyes. “Why don’t you two head on home, you both look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

Gee Mr. John, I wonder the hell why?

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Our walk back isn’t nearly as silent as our walk to the house. To say Kayce is pissed would be putting it lightly. “What in the actual fuck was all that? I mean, Beth was no surprise, but what shit is Dad trying to pull?”

“Kayce, your daddy barely said a word.” I’m more focused on the words left unsaid.

“He didn’t have to say anything Carrie, he sat there like a smug bastard and let Beth say it all for him.” Kayce may as well be pitching a fit the way he kicks at the ground, arms hugged tight to his chest like a wronged toddler. Honestly, the image is kind of amusing, so much so that I have to stifle a laugh. I must not do a good enough job, because I can feel the glare that Kayce shoots through the side of my head. “What?”

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, I’m quick to hide my growing grin. “Well first off, I’m gonna overlook the fact you pulled out my forbidden nickname. But second, do you remember that Christmas when we were thirteen? How Beth hung mistletoe from literally every single doorway, and how your daddy actually enforced the kissing rule?” I raise my eyebrows high, daring him to conveniently “forget” an awkward moment from our childhood as he often pretends to do.

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he sighs his agreement. “Yeah I remember, we must’ve kissed two dozen times. At the time I thought dying would’ve been a kinder fate.”

Asshole. I punch him in the arm, hard. “Wow. Thanks a lot. The sentiment is shared.” Rolling my eyes and checking for invisible dirt beneath my nails, I continue. “Anyways, what they’re doing now, Beth and your daddy, is just an enormous escalation of what they did then. I don’t think Mr. John will rest in his grave until I give him a grandbaby - with you.” I look at Kayce pointedly. It’s no secret that Mr. John, and Beth by extension, have been holding out hope that me and Kayce would fall madly in love and have lots of babies. When Kayce married Monica the teasing and hinting stopped, after all Mr. John would never disrespect their marriage in such a way, and when I married Judd it was almost like a fence went up between us, between myself and the Duttons that is, but now that both of our spouses are out of the picture? I’m certainly not surprised the trouble has started back up.

I expect Kayce to splutter and turn a darker shade of red. Despite his gruff exterior he’s always been reserved and easy to embarrass. He surprises me though when he mutters, “Maybe we should just give him what he wants then. Get him and Beth off our backs.”

I shock myself with the cackle that bursts its way out of my body. It bubbles out partly because of the utter glee I get from Kayce having a sense of humor for once and partly from the insanity of such a suggestion. “So you’re telling me, that your solution to getting your daddy and Beth to leave us alone, is to have a baby together? Yeah, because they definitely would have no interest in our love lives after a stunt like that.” I bump his hip with mine. “I can just hear Beth now, ‘I’m thinking a Fall wedding, you look horrible in bright colors and nobody wants to wear a suit in eighty-eight degree weather.’ We’d never hear the end of it.”

Kayce shrugs, shooting me a wry grin. “Hey, if we marry each other at least we’ll know what we’re getting into. No surprises.”

“Yeah, and no sex,” slips past my lips before I can swallow it down. What a stupid fucking thing to say. Good job Caroline, talk about fucking, or not fucking, your best friend some more why don’t you. Now I’m the one who’s blushing. Pink from the roots of my hair to my chest. And what a fatal mistake I’ve made by opening my fat mouth. My whole life I’ve had to be one step ahead of Kayce, embarrassing him before he can embarrass me worse, yet here I am giving him a golden opportunity.

His grin only widens. “I hate to break it to you Carrie, but to make a baby people have to have sex.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, adding insult to injury. “You know when a man loves a woman…”

I elbow him in the ribs before he can continue. He laughs at my embarrassment just as much as he groans from the pain. “Oh shut up.” Now I cross my arms, increasing my stride so that his arm falls from my shoulders.

He doesn’t even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust. If Kayce had always been shy and reserved in his day to day life, where I had been bright and obnoxious in mine, the topic of sex is where we switched places. I think calling myself a prude may be a tad harsh, but I certainly have never been one to broadcast my sexual business. Kayce on the other hand has never shied away from flirting, or kissing, or having sex in nearly every one of Mr. John’s pastures - you don’t get someone pregnant at nineteen by keeping it in your pants after all. 

Playing the game I had with Kayce in the bathroom earlier today had felt safe, probably because I was the one in control, but this battle of wills feels altogether different, like someone is poking at an insecurity, at a bruise I didn’t even know I had. It’s confusing at best and humiliating at worst. Throwing his words back at him, I huff, “Now Kayce Dutton, you know this conversation is entirely improper, so I suggest you drop it. And also,” I whirl around on the step I’ve just taken. Thank God we’ve reached the foreman’s house because I don’t know how much longer I can participate in this back and forth before I’m forced to will myself out of existence. “Who says I’d even want to have a baby with you? Good authority or not. I know ya’ll’ve gotten new ranch hands since I’ve last been here, all of whom I haven’t gotten to size up yet. You never know, maybe one of them is babydaddy material.” I poke him firmly in the chest. “Don’t assume I haven’t got options.” Before Kayce can respond I storm up the remaining steps and into the house, kicking my boots off perhaps a bit too aggressively before striding into the kitchen. What I plan to do in the kitchen, I don’t know, but I still don’t know which room I’m staying in and the living room feels too cozy to stew in, so the kitchen it is.

Kayce saddles in much more calmly, but his fierce expression gives his true feelings away. “Are you serious?” He grunts, and if I wasn’t so embarrassed, mad, confused, hurt - for some reason that alludes me, I might have found the rocky timbre of his voice sexy. 

“Serious about what?” I avoid his gaze petulantly, pouring myself a glass of water for a lack of anything better to do.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He groans, tipping his head back and rubbing at his eyes. “Are you really picking a fight over whether or not we should get imaginary married, have imaginary sex, and have an imaginary baby? You do hear how crazy that sounds?”

“So now I’m crazy?” My voice is cool, and serious, even though at this point I realize I’ve lost the argument. Even though I’ve realized there never should’ve been an argument in the first place.

Any fight Kayce had left in him drains away. I see the moment that it leaves his body, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing. “Caroline, honey, what’d I do?”

Almost as if there’s an invisible string connecting us, my body relaxes too. I blow out a breath, dump my water down the drain, and come to stand in front of him. No island between us. “You didn’t really do anything, just poked at a sore spot, that’s all.”

Sensing that this may be a conversation best saved for later, Kayce graciously changes the subject. Scratching at the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing towards the bathroom with the other he murmurs, “Well uh, if you still wanna have that spa night we should probably get going, we’ve got a early morning tomorrow and if I’m gonna let you take my spa virginity we’ve gotta do this thing right.” That earns him a hard exhale, the ghost of what could’ve been a laugh. But he must know not to expect much else, that I’m still nursing my bruised ego, because he carries on. “So why don’t I go get that bubble bath started and you can sort through your uh lotions and potions, decide on how best to pretty me up. And then maybe we could talk, about anything you want.” He begins to walk backwards, making his way towards the bathroom. It’s odd to hear the soft pad of his socked feet on the hardwood and not the click of his boots, but also kind of nice, endearing.

“Okay,” I breath, “Yeah, that’d be - that’d be nice.” I move to walk past him, into the hall where I’d left my bags. “I think you’ve got a bit of a sunburn so I’ll see if I’ve got an aloe mask for you. If you plan on putting yourself back on the market you’d better start taking care of your looks.”

I’m very purposefully facing away from him, so I don’t see the melancholy on his face so much as I hear it in his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s likely to happen. My days of chasing tail are definitely over.” I don’t reply, not too keen on opening that can of worms further, and so an uncomfortable silence settles over us. It’s only broken when Kayce sighs, “Well, I’ll uh, I’ll be in the bathroom whenever you’re ready.”

Still looking down, I pause the mindless shuffling I’d been doing through my bags, “Alright, just give me a few minutes.” Having found the masks I was looking for well before now, I finally rise from out of my crouch, left knee popping in protest. “Like you said, you deserve a proper first spa night,” I turn my body to reveal my profile, pretending to check the label of the plastic tub in my hands, “I’ve gotta make sure I pull out all the stops. You know I don’t half ass anything.” Feeling generous, I finally offer him a small smile, turning to fully face him.

The relief in his eyes catches me off guard. “Don’t I know it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I don’t know what I expected when Kayce said he’d go run a bubble bath. Too absorbed in my own thoughts, I didn’t consider that such an activity is typically done alone, certainly not with a friend, and even more certainly not with a totally platonic, albeit sexy, boy bestfriend. When I finally make my way into the bathroom however, I’m greeted by the sight of Kayce settled into the comically large clawfoot tub, chin tucked to his chest so that bubbles cling to his beard, eyes unfocused and contemplative. “Didn’t realize I invited Santa Claus.” I joke, at a loss for anything else to say. Too scared to say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question.

At the sound of my voice his head jerks up, the sudden movement sloshing water just shy of the lip of the tub. “Santa Claus?” He furrows his eyebrows. He really does look like a puppy.

“You’ve got bubbles,” I gesture to my chin, miming a full beard.

He chuckles, “Oh, yeah, I guess I just got bored and,” he shrugs, “I’ve gotten used to playing with Tate in the bath. You’re lucky I didn’t break out the bubble mohawk.”

“The bubble mohawk?” I giggle, “I don’t know, I think I’d like to see that actually. Just make sure I’ve got a camera on me when you do break it out, yeah?” Lining my “lotions and potions” up on the counter, I look away, still trying to figure out what exactly is going on here, or what Kayce expects me to do, to say.

He must sense my hesitancy because he volunteers, “I hope I got the water hot enough. I know how you women like to scorch your skin off, but I’m afraid I’m just a bit too delicate.” He’s pushed himself into a full sitting position now. The water pools just under his chest and it takes everything in me to meet his eyes.

“So we are taking a bath together then?” I huff. “Because that’s not weird at all.” Still, I move to pull my blouse up and over my head, clipping my hair up so that it no longer hangs down my back. “And if you’re not actively in pain, then no, you don’t have the water hot enough. But that’s alright, I’ll manage.”

Ignoring my comment about the water, his eyebrows furrow once again in confusion. “Why’s it weird? You’re the one that suggested it.”

“No. I didn’t.” I shoot some side eye at him, because who in their right mind would suggest such a thing. Hopping around to remove my socks before balling them up and tossing them into the hall so that they don’t get wet, I continue, “And it’s weird because usually when grown adults take a bath together it’s only because something else is gonna follow.”

Rolling his eyes, he insists, “Yes. You did. You said you normally take a bubble bath for spa nights, so here we are, taking a bubble bath. And it’s not weird. I’m wearing my underwear, and I assumed you’d wear yours too. It’s no different than going swimming together.” He sounds way too exasperated for a conversation that is this stupid.

Remember how I said Kayce and I have never had trouble reading each other? Yeah I take that back. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I sigh, “That was not a suggestion. That was a statement. But thank you for the clarification. Now before I literally die of embarrassment, would you like the lavender hair mask,” I forcefully lift one colorful jar into the air, and then another, “or the apple?”

Looking as fed up as I feel, Kayce responds gruffly, “The lavender.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 10 - Fingering

Back at it again! Sorry for the delay ya'll. ^^; Enjoy!~

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You’re not entirely sure why you’ve had this fascination all these years. It was nothing weird, granted; you had a fascination for hands. Again not in a weird way, but you could see the beauty in them where others couldn’t. The stories that were told by every bump, scar, and line in them was something that drew you in and wouldn’t let you go.

That’s part of why you became a medic in the military. You knew these men and women got beat to hell and back, and often times on their hands. You wanted to see what they had seen if only through a brief glimpse of the battered flesh as you patched them up with gauze.

Enter Task Force 141, and more specifically Lt. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. You could tell by the mask that the man had seen his fair share of warfare amongst other things in his life. And this was no different when he came to you in the medbay one evening.

“Can I help you lieutenant?” you asked, sounding far too chipper for someone working in your field. You watched chocolate eye blink slowly, and a heavy sigh get muffled by his mask. The man holds up his left hand that was slowly oozing from a few different places. You stood immediately, ushering him onto a stool beside yours and grabbing your gauze pads and wraps. “What in the hell happened?”

You worked slowly, seeing his hand truly from outside a glove. “Cooking accident,” Ghost answered plainly, with a hint of annoyance. “Soap urged me to see you.” You nodded in response, careful not to stare too long or ask questions as you covered his finger and palm.

“Good that he did,” you smile at the man. You put away the excess medical equipment neatly in your smaller pack. “You’re right as rain. I know that’s not your dominant hand but that wrap job shouldn’t impede your movement in any way.” Ghost gave you a quizzical look and it truly dawned on you what you’d said. “Ah, I-I’ve gotta clean up the rest of the medbay, so…I have to ask you to leave Lieutenant. We’ve uh, got that big mission tomorrow anyway!”

Ghost left without a word and you sighed heavily. You really should be following his lead and taking your mind off what came out of your mouth. Sadly, the distraction followed your mind onto the field the next day, leading to the very same lieutenant dragging you out of the line of fire. 

“Thanks for the assist today Ghost,” you mumbled as you sat in your own medbay. You had a cast on your right leg for the next ten weeks thanks to your carelessness. The man shrugged, now in what were effectively his civvies. 

“You take care of us the rest of the time,” he retorted. “You should get to be taken care of once in a while.” You watched with growing awe as the same calloused hand you’d patched up last night tilted your chin up. Your entire body froze; his skin was so warm against yours, beautiful hands handling you so gently. “Thought this was what you might like.”

You jumped a bit, thankfully with minimal wincing due to the pain meds when you felt Ghost’s other hand slide up your thigh. “Just relax and let me handle you for a while,” comes that low, gravelly British accent. Thick, war torn fingers slip beneath the waistband of your regulation sweats and beneath the confines of your underwear. Your breath hitches when he finds the most sensitive part of your sex, hip raising to meet his touch.

“Eager are we?” Ghost teases, and despite the fact that you can’t see his face, you swear you hear a smirk. You whimper in response, trying to shift so you can pull down your pants and undergarments to watch. The lieutenant catches on quickly, helping to pull down the fabric while being mindful of your iv. 

You lay back, content when you can actually see the way Simon’s beautiful hands touch you. “That’s it sweetheart,” he rumbles, the praise making you whine a bit. You’re mesmerized, in shock even. It just baffled you how hands that could be so brutal, could take lives in the blink of an eye, could be so gentle and soft with you.

Meanwhile Ghost would watch your reactions for every spot he touched. Every gasp, every jolt of pleasure that made your body jerk, every little bit were noticed by patient brown eyes. He couldn’t help but chuckle when you would meet his curious eyes and immediately look away. 

Eventually the man grew tired of simply playing with you; he wanted to see more. Thick fingers found their way to your hole, and couldn’t help but smirk in amusement when your eyes grew wide. “P-please,” you whimpered, completely blissed out. Ghost leaned forward, pressing a muffled kiss to your head as he pushed one finger in.

Your hands flew to his shirt, gripping tightly to hold him close. The lieutenant could’ve sworn you thought he’d disappear, yet here he was, fingering you gently. When he felt you were open enough, he added a second, thick finger. He’d be lying if he didn’t feel so turned on by you gasping his name openly, forgoing titles or call signs. 

“Si–” you whimpered, hips rolling in time with the man’s thrusts. “Please, I’m so close–” Ghost contemplated making you wait, completely removing his fingers from you just to hear you whine. Yet he took mercy on you, speeding up his pace and curling his fingers when he was fully inside you.

The pressure, the pleasure, the overwhelming of your senses sent you over the edge quickly. Yet your eyes staying trained on those beautiful hands, working you through your orgasm. Only once you fell back onto the medbay cot did he stop waiting for you to catch your breath before he would remove his fingers slowly. 

Simon stepped away briefly to rinse off his digits and dry them before he’d return to you. He pet your head and even pressed another muffled kiss to your forehead. “Good thing I know how to take care of you too hmm?” He chuckled. 

“With those hands? Any day.”

[scatterbrainedart]

I know I've literally talked about this before already but I need to do it again more in depth because I'm deeply ill. Anyhow.

Crowley was there at the creation of the universe. He was there as nebulae sprung into existence and time came to be. He slipped the switch of existence itself. And upon hearing how it all would shut down in just a few thousand years he was really upset. Because the universe was precious to him, and he wanted to see it flourish to its full potential.

Even then, Crowley wanted to fight for its right to exist. To be. He cared about the world to point of falling. He spent 6000 years on Earth, learning about and cherishing all it had to offer. The world is morally gray by default, and it's the only place in Crowley's existence that is. Therefore, it suits him, I think. Much more than either heaven or hell ever have or will, at least.

But, in the end of season 1, all of that was about to be lost. And what got him to act in order to salvage it? Aziraphale threatening to never talk to him ever again.

Let me say this again. The world was ending. The thing he cared enough about to had fallen for was all about to be destroyed forever. But the worst thing to Crowley in that moment, the highest stake and the worst possible loss, was the loss of Aziraphale's companionship. Not even "we will all die or stop existing and therefore won't be able to see each other anymore" but "I will just refuse to talk to you for the rest of time". That was the threat. And it worked. It raised the stakes. Stakes that were already about as high as they come, and quite awfully personal.

Crowley care more about Aziraphale than he cares about anything else. And Aziraphale knows that, otherwise he wouldn't have trusted that the threat would work. But he did. And it did.

Crowley is also desperately lonely. Just inherently so, in his very existence. There is no one else like him, in the way he's so gray in a world so black and white. I literally have a whole other post planned for that rant though, so I'll spare you it for now. But yeah, I'd imagine he has felt like the loneliest being in existence for the fast majority of it. His loneliness comes across a LOT, but it's most apparent in those moments of desperation. Where he is risking losing that one connection he managed to make. Like a last ditch effort kiss, harsh and unpleasant. It hurts to have it taken away, on such a deep level. Just like there is no one like Crowley, there is no one like Aziraphale. At least not to Crowley, not by a mile.

Crowley's desperation to keep Aziraphale in his life is not only because of his love for him, but also because of how if it's not Aziraphale, it's no one. And just like that scene where Aziraphale eats food for the first time and reacts as if he's just realized he's been starving his entire life, Crowley now knows what it's like to have someone by your side. To be a team, a pair. And he clings to that like the famished cling to their first and last warm meal.

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (prologue)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: implied sexism, language

A/N: am I writing a multipart for this scrappy little shit just because I had a weirdly vivid dream with him? Yes. I need him out of my head NOW🗣️. Enjoy this little prologue <3

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

When I had first signed up to serve in the Airborne, I hadn't expected things to be smooth or easy. Hell, a part of me didn't even expect me to make it through the cut, let alone find the road paved for me to waltz into the army.

At the end of the day, being a woman was hard enough. Being a female paratrooper? Do not get me started.

Easy Company's men had been a short breath of fresh air —a glint of hope—, but nevertheless, it still was difficult enough.

I didn't need additional challenges added to the mix. I genuinely did not need someone like Joe Liebgott to take interest in talking to me.

The fact that I had been avoiding interacting with certain men in the company wasn't coincidental. I didn't trust them. Not entirely.

Of course, my opinions about most of them shifted from wary to positive after they gradually approached me. Some were a nice surprise, like Joe Toye. Some were deep down expected, like Don Malarkey or Shifty Powers.

I wasn't exactly eager to have any sort of interaction with Joe Liebgott, although the feeling apparently was not mutual. At least from the beginning.

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

It hadn’t taken long for me to notice Joe Liebgott. He was hard to miss with his loud comments and cocky stride. In the few days of training, I had already made up my mind—he wasn't someone I wanted to interact with.

That was the reason why I felt a quick wave of irritation when, while I had a chat outside the barracks with Hoobler and Shifty, I caught him casually sauntering over like he owned the place.

This moment was doomed to come.

"Having a chat, fellas?" His grin made it clear he thought he was charming.

With a sigh louder than I intended, I raised to my feet and shook the dust off my uniform. "I think this is my cue to head out."

"Woah, where's the fire, Y/l/n?" Liebgott questioned giving me an up-and-down. "It's Y/l/n, right?"

"Right."

Silence stretched between us while we seized up each other. Maybe he had expected me to say something else. I, myself, expected the same from him.

"Can I help you with anything or...?" I gave in first.

“I figured it was time to see what all the fuss was about." he said, leaning against the barracks' wall with that confident air. "A broad? in a place like this? That's something."

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Starting with that line?"

"C'mon, it's true. It ain't everyday you see someone who can keep up with the boys." His hands dove into his pockets, chin slightly tilted up. "You must be pretty special."

A wave of disgust washed over my face so obviously that Hoobler had to hold back a laugh. "This is exactly why I didn’t approach you in the first place.”

He blinked, surprise flickering across his face, but he quickly masked it with another grin. "Come on, I'm just tryna be friendly."

"If this is friendly, then I don't wanna see the rest."

His smile faltered, and he shifted his posture ever so slightly. "You got a big mouth, don't you?"

"Makes the two of us." By the taken aback look on his face, he clearly wasn't expecting this to go sideways. "Don't give me that look, I've seen your little act."

"You've been watching me then." He took a quick look at the boys standing nearby as if waiting for a couple of laughs on their part.

"Oh please, spare me." I waved him off, a humorless half smile tugging on the corner of my lips. "I could hear you from a mile away."

He scoffed a bit too loud. "That's rich coming from someone who can be heard from the top of that goddamn mountain." His index finger pointed behind us at Currahee. There it was; that attitude he was so quick to turn to.

"Oh but that's just perfect." I quipped with a fake smile as I resumed my way out. "Means there's no need to get close!"

I would have sworn he used the word 'bitch' behind my back. I wasn't sure, though, but I had no interest in retrace my steps to get into a stupid spat with some I didn't even want to interact with in the first place.

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

Yeah, after our first conversation, one would think we would try to avoid each other.

I guess it just wasn't in Joe's nature to give up without a fight, and it wasn't in mine to keep quiet and suck it up.

[farklelucas]

okay so. now that ive taken some time to breathe, compose myself, and gather my thoughts, lemme lay out why the teen wolf movie was a hot holy mess (besides, you know, the obvious) as a teen wolf enthusiast and expert.

a lot of the characters were really little more than set dressing. to be specific, i think liam could have been replaced by a mailbox with a hat and the movie would have been the same (and this is coming from a major liam fan). the same can be said for mason, malia, melissa, peter, and honestly even the sheriff (which i hate bc god he was such a core of the show). i think parrish was only useful in one specific instance and even that isn't enough to warrant him being in the film. the characters i loved felt like cardboard cutouts and that wasnt fair to me, to the characters, or to the actors. i would have rather they not been there at all tbh. like just leave liam out of this if youre gonna do him like that fr

a lot of the plot points felt... disjointed and weird. saraid said it felt like three different movies in one and i have to agree. derek and eli felt like its own thing, then scott and allison, and then everything else (whatever the hell parrish and malia had going on, the lydia and jackson buddy cop comedy, liam in... japan with a ramen shop i think? and some random girlfriend that happened to be a kitsune) kind of fell to the wayside in between.

this movie was truly so flat without kira. it was hard to make a nogitsune movie without stiles, but it was almost impossible to make without her. hikari unfortunately ended up just feeling like a woman they randomly shoved into all the plot points kira was supposed to be in. because she didnt have a character besides liams girlfriend (and because liam was barely a character himself), she just couldn't compare and so kiras lack of presence was really felt. she left a huge hole in the narrative. they didnt even mention her and you knew what was missing. if you had cut khylin and dylan sprayberrys checks entirely, im sure they would have had enough to pay her as much as the rest of her white coworkers :) but that's just my opinion xxx

this was supposed to be for fans of the original series, but really just felt like jeff davis's weird rare pair fanfiction. instead of focusing on the dynamics that already existed - melissa and the sheriff, malia and peter, scott and liam, derek and. anyone really - he ended up delving into all these new dynamics with only two hours to develop them. malia and parrish (which. i really had to mentally run through the show to see if those two had interacted before and i dont think they have), liam and hikari, and derek and eli. all of which had a shot at being interesting but because there were so many different plots going on, it all just felt. awkward and confusing.

that being said, im gonna move onto derek and eli generally. i like eli! i do. i thought he was funny, i thought the actor was super charming (although the timeline made no sense because if he was born fifteen years ago And allison died fifteen years ago he would be braedens and. hate to say it folks. thats not braedens baby. make him mixed jeff davis you fucking coward). really, i liked him. ... but not at the expense of dereks character. the derek i knew was an asshole. he was mean, he was sarcastic, he was a bastard (honorifically). its not to say that people cant change, but... the derek i saw in the movie was a complete 180 from the derek we last saw in the series. honestly, the derek i saw in the series probably wouldn't have made a good parent - we saw how he was with erica, isaac, and boyd. even with scott. derek was kind of a dick. i dont even think he would have wanted kids - i think he would raise them out of duty, and i think he would if a partner wanted him to. but i dont think kids were ever in his life plan. and i think that could have been super interesting to see with him and eli. i think making him a parent could have been really interesting and it just. crumbled.

i know i mentioned the timeline in that last bit but. the timeline. it hurts my head. when was eli born. what year is it. how long has it been since scott has been in beacon hills. im so confused.

lets talk about adrian harris. shall we. i have made a list of people who i think would have been a better villain reveal are you ready: allison, peter, theo, chris argent, kate argent (resurrected), matt daehler (resurrected), victoria argent (resurrected), kira herself, danny mahealani, rafe mccall, isaac's shit dad, coach, greenberg, me with a baseball bat filled with rusty nails, jeff davis in a wig. the list goes on. you could not have picked a more random and less memorable character to reveal as your villain. i almost felt like i was being mocked. "haha! you didnt expect it to be this guy? the chemistry teacher who also died fifteen years ago? who had almost nothing to do with the plot until season 3? stupid! idiot!" i have never been so mad in my life

speaking of villain. did they forget what a nogitsune is. it needs a host. its not some guy they can stab to death. its a concept, a feeling, a parasite. its a manifestation of mental illness. but no sorry excuse me i must be wrong bc now its also a werewolf??????? im sorry. am i the crazy one. give me void allison! give me allison as the host and shes being taken over and she has those bags under her eyes and that creepy void stare and grin! give me crystal reed emmy noms! while we're on the subject, heres some more questions about the nogitsune include: why was it in a jar? why was it with LIAM of all people (who didnt even know what that was)? why did its powers completely change? HOW was it a werewolf????????? i cant stop thinking about it.

i said it once and ill say it again: jackson fucking carried this movie. he was giving all season one jackson, he was bringing comic relief, he was even bringing up ethan when no one else would! king! he carried. but he shouldn't have had to. dont get me wrong, i think crystal reed ate and left no crumbs. this was allisons movie and it should have been. but when the other two standout characters imo were jackson (who arguably did nothing) and coach (who did even less)... you simply didnt use your characters well. i think i would put deaton up there and even chris, but... scott and lydia? this should have been their movie. but scott spent nearly the whole movie ignoring his friends, and lydia was reduced to 'woman whose plot was about a man,' again. it was horrible. lydia outgrew that song and dance by season two. and scott? hasnt been to beacon hills in twelve years? hasnt seen his mom or his friends? not the scott mccall i know.

this is not about shipping discourse this post will never be about shipping discourse so i say this as a completely objective party. that being said. st/dia was so strangely shoved in there at the end. how did harris even know about lydia leaving stiles. how did he know about her dream. how did it add to the plot. like yes the nogitsune feeds of chaos and strife but i think lydia was getting enough of that watching her friends get murdered. it felt like a weird way to explain why dob wasnt there and it simply didnt work. i would have rather they not said anything about stiles at all.

anyway, this is skipping over a lot of other little things that i thought were really bad (sexualizing malia who literally had the mentality of an eight year old for most of her life AGAIN, why was mason a fucking cop, peters lack of interaction with the hale family which is what made him interesting in the first place, the absolute insanity of allison coming back to life and just being absolutely okay even though shes been dead for fifteen years, died at the hands of her friend, and almost everyone she knew including stiles, isaac, and kira are all just gone now), but boy oh boy. for a while it was funny bad. like "oh this is bad but i can still enjoy this for what it is" bad. but those last ten minutes. what is actually absolutely wrong with jeff davis. there are very few times ive felt this betrayed by tv shows i held this close to my heart, but im there. im heartbroken. i wont go on about it here, bc honestly, it would need its own post considering how much i have to say. but if the rest of the movie was bad? that was shit was traumatizing.

anyway. so sorry this post is this long, and so sorry i couldnt come back with a positive review. this show died long ago; i think we should have just let it rest - nobody asked for a reunion, and now i can see that was with good reason. so the next time jeff davis opens up an email with a header titled 'sequel idea' and he ccs tyler posey, i think we should all just agree to ler arden cho beat him to death in a dennys parking lot instead.

[bullet-prooflove]

Prey! Series - Part One: Trafficked - OA Zidan x Reader

Tagging: @trublu2u @mrspeacem1nusone @greenies-green @rosaliedepp @whateversomethingbruh @anime-weeb-4-life @daydreaming-belle @burningpeachpuppy @scarlettsakura @divergent146 @upsteadlogic @malindacath @skyesthebomb @@kilikonakapamana @yezzyyae @redpool

When Omar first meets you it’s because a young Ukrainian girl has been found bleeding out on someone’s lawn after being stabbed thirty times. She’s lucky to be alive, he’s told at the hospital while he waits for you to arrive. When he thinks of the nineteen bodies they’ve just found buried in the woods and the shallow grave Hailey had clawed her way out of he thinks luck had nothing to do with it. That girl is a fighter through and through.

When you appear, he isn’t prepared for just how pretty you are. You’ve tried to downplay it; no makeup, hair tied away from your face but you’re naturally striking. You’re wearing civvies, black jeans with battered Doc Martens, a light grey tunic top thrown over the top. You’re in the midst of clipping your badge to your hip when he approaches you.

“Sorry.” You greet him, raising your head to meet his eyes. “It was my day off.”

For a moment the entire world falls away and he’s completely captivated by you. This is what the Quran talks about, he thinks, when you meet your soulmate. There’s a sense of tranquillity, of peace. A familiarity that you can’t explain. That’s how he feels when he shakes your hand.

“Hanna Emery.” You introduce yourself. “Human Trafficking Division.”

Hanna

In Hebrew it means compassion.

You certainly live up to your namesake.

He hangs back during the interview. He’s new to the bureau, still finding his feet and he’s experiencing a lot of firsts during this case. Human trafficking is your world, something you’re well versed in he comes to discover as you question Hailey. The technique is different, tailored towards different aspects of the victim’s experience. There’s an emotional intelligence in you that he can’t even begin to fathom.

Through the course of the interview, you learn that Hailey and her sister were trafficked from the Ukraine through an Eastern European employment agency. They were from a small farming community. They each completed a test before participating in a video interview. They’d been ecstatic when they’d discovered they’d been selected for jobs in New York City.

“It’s a scam we see often,” You tell Omar in the aftermath when you’re comparing notes. “They target girls in rural communities, the ones that don’t know any better.”

The girls had been picked up at the airport in a van by three men Snake, Spider and Hog. They’d been transported to a townhouse before descending into what Hailey described as the depths of hell. Your demeanour changes when Hailey mentions the name Snake, it’s a subtle shift, a tension in your shoulders, your eyes flicking upwards.

“Who is he to you?” He’d asked you as he swiped his card over the payment feature of the vending machine. “Snake?”

You’re already tearing open the wrapper of the candy bar he’s just bought you because you’d had to skip out on lunch with a friend to cover his case. Omar figures it’s the least he can do.

“A monster.” You tell him. “I’ve been cleaning up his mess for almost two years now. The shit he’s done to these girls…”

You shake your head as you throw the rest of your half-eaten candy bar into the trash.

It’s when Hailey describes the extent of her abuse that Omar finds himself at a loss. She and her sister Brook were taken to the basement of a townhouse, raped for three days straight. That’s incomprehensible to him, the terror of it, the violation. He has three sisters, the thought of something like that happening to one of them…

It makes him sick.

“It’s a way of breaking them down, keeping them compliant.” You explain to Omar afterwards. “It destroys their hope, erodes their sense of person. They become an object to be used, a vessel for someone else’s pleasure.”

You pause, your fingers toying with the bracelet on your wrist. It’s woven fabric, black, white and red threads all interlocked in an Aztec pattern and secured with a tight knot. It’s a couple of years old, he thinks. He doubts you’ve taken it off since it was given to you.

“They call rape murder of the soul, it’s worse than death. With death there’s peace, an ending. With rape, the person you are is completely obliterated, you can pick up the fragments, but they don’t fit the same way they used to.”

It’s harrowing, hearing it described like that. You must have done thousands of these interviews, heard so many variations of the same story. He wonders if it wears on you, if it takes a little piece of your soul everytime you endure their suffering along with them.

“I’m not sure how you recover from something like that.” Omar says, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck.

“Some don’t.” You say sadly, your arms crossing over your chest as you look through the window into Hailey’s room. “Hailey though, she’s strong. I think she’s one of the ones that make it.”

“Is it true what you said?” He asks quietly, his shoulder coming to rest against the wall. “Is it really one in five women who get sexually assaulted?”

You sigh as you tilt your head to look at him. He sees the truth of it in your eyes and it devastates him because that means it’s happened to someone that he knows, someone he cares about, and he isn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.

“Yea.” You say softly. “I’m afraid it is.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[chairteeth]

"Nemu's Buddhist Self-Flagellation"

So it’s been driving me nuts for years that Nemu has so many religious undertones, yet I hadn’t really taken a closer look to figure out with 100% certainty which religion it was. The tie was between Shinto, Buddhism, and Christianity. I’ve always been more partial to Buddhism, but I had to check. LO AND BEHOLD, AFTER CHECKING, THE IDIOT IS BUDDHIST. And that explains so much! And now I need to talk about it. I’ll dedicate a small section at the very bottom separate from the rest (for spoilers from later in Arc 2) to Rabi because it’s crunchy, but most of this essay might honestly be “so this is Buddhism 101” followed by “this is how it applies to Nemu and conditions her character”. Here's the same thing done for Mikoto!

I’ll be explaining concepts of Japanese Buddhism from scratch as well as exactly how they apply to the character, so don’t worry if you don’t know much about it! Note, however, that while I am not Buddhist myself, my research did come from Buddhist sources (both in text form and in the form of, well, People).

You see, as per the Agency for Cultural Affairs Religious Yearbook (I checked years 2011-2023 to account for fluctuation and the general trend of religious decline), roughly 65-70% of the population of Japan is Buddhist and/or Shintoist. The two overlap often so there’s no use trying to categorize people as strictly one or the other. If I must quote the data on Wikipedia for an easier, non-Japanese source (that is also sourced from the Japanese report):

Population figures from the Agency for Cultural Affairs Religious Yearbook 2019, as of the end of 2018, are as follows: - Shinto: 80,219,808 (63.4%) - Buddhism: 91,336,539 (72.2%) - Christianity: 1,921,484 (1.5%) - Other: 7,851,545 (6.2%) Percentages calculated using the official total population figure of 126,435,000 as of the end of 2018.

What I mean to say by this is that Buddhism (as well as Shinto, obviously) has had and still has a significant impact on Japanese culture, way of life, etc. Now, for example, we know Mikoto was raised Buddhist, we know Ryoko is Buddhist, and we know the school everyone goes to in Sankyo Ward is a Buddhist school, but in Japanese media, they often strive for a more secular approach. Plus, especially when it comes to religions like Buddhism, most of the time, unless a character is very devoted to their religion or it’s a character trait the story/writers highlight, you won’t quite notice the signs that they’re religious, and yet chances are they are. 

In Nemu’s case, I looked into the way she speaks about certain topics and the words she uses, mainly. For this purpose, I scanned through the entire Japanese script of multiple stories including all of Arc 1. I don’t want to bog this down with too many examples, but I will give you one main indisputable example and mention a few other relevant things later for the actual character analysis. The example in question is simple. Nemu specifically uses the word for Avici (無間) to mean Hell a minimum of two times. That is a very specific word to use, because that my friends is the eighth and most painful of the eight hot hells in Buddhism, the hell of uninterrupted suffering, the deepest level reserved for the worst of the worst! (Nemu’s mental health is doing great why do you ask.) She also uses a word that most often refers to the Naraka realm which contains the sixteen hells of Buddhism (地獄, though this word can also refer to Christian Hell and general hell), when she’s referring to the underworld. 

To double down on one of the instances where Nemu uses the word for Avici, I will be very specific and just quote the girl directly. As we know by now, during Arc 1 Chapter 10 Episode 4, Nemu had this fun thing she decided to do where she fully intended to sacrifice herself, and she made a whole death speech, right? Here’s the death speech:

Perhaps this is enough to redeem me. Perhaps with this… I can be forgiven. But if my crime cannot be repaid through any means, I accept the infinite pyres of hell. It may take 349 eons for me to earn mercy, but if I have the story of my wish to now... Even hell's trials will be a blissful dream.

“Perhaps this is enough to redeem me. Perhaps with this… I can be forgiven.” -> Buddhist concept of karma, good actions that ease suffering and cause happiness grant good karma, bad actions that cause suffering grant bad karma. The former decreases the latter.

“But if my crime cannot be repaid through any means, I accept the infinite pyres of hell.” -> This is when the word for Avici is used, and Avici specifically is described in Japanese Buddhist texts as “a vast, fiery realm with immense walls and gates” (kinda similar to Christian Hell in this sense), hence pyres.

“It may take 349 eons for me to earn mercy, but if I have the story of my wish to now... Even hell's trials will be a blissful dream.” -> In Buddhism, unlike in, say, Christianity, wherever you are sentenced to go is never eternal. The duration of a being’s stay in Avici is said to be incredibly long, sometimes described as eons or countless lifetimes. But regardless, the cycle of rebirth continues, and eventually, a being might be reborn into a different realm based on their karma. That is what she means by this, she’s not being dramatic, she’s being rather literal. Oh and for funsies, the various forms of torture people in Avici are subjected to include but are not limited to: being burned, crushed, and dismembered. These torments are not fatal, and people are continuously “revived” to experience the suffering all over again.

As for why Nemu thinks she deserves that, very simple! See, Avici basically represents the ultimate consequence of negative karma. Nemu as a Magius committed several offenses considered extremely serious in Buddhism, which were murder and lying. Maybe three if we count theft…? I am unsure if she would count any of what she did as theft. I’m assuming she is focused on the murder and most importantly the lying and general manipulation of the Feathers (likely made worse by Uwasa shenanigans). Other offenses that can lead to Avici are parricide and slandering the dharma, but those do not apply here.

The Buddhist perspective on Nemu also makes a few other things make more sense than they did before, and it brings up some interesting possibilities, but alas, I must now take a little break from being character-specific to give you a rundown on some bare basics of Buddhism. This is not exhaustive by any means.

Modern Buddhism as per its renewal during the Taisho Era is a lot more about ethical and social teachings, and if you so choose, scholarly pursuit. They put a lot of emphasis on morality, good and bad actions, karma, atonement, etc., and they did (and afaik still do) lots of social justice activism stuff. One should not conflate Western vs Eastern religions, because most of the time, there is no real equivalent between concepts, or at least, it doesn’t match closely enough. Let me explain the main branches of Buddhism a little for clarity first:

My assumption is that a majority of readers will be either Christian/other Abrahamic religion or irreligious (likely raised Abrahamic). So I’ll use Christianity to introduce this part. Christianity has many denominations like Catholic, Protestant, etc., each with its own specific doctrines and practices. Denominations typically imply a more centralized structure and a set of shared beliefs that differentiate them from other denominations within the same religion. Japanese Buddhism, however, is a broader term that refers to the various Buddhist schools and traditions that have taken root and developed in Japan. It encompasses diverse schools with varying interpretations and practices, existing under the broader umbrella of Mahayana Buddhism, which is a broader tradition and emphasizes the bodhisattva ideal (I will define what this is later) and the possibility of enlightenment for all beings. The other main branch of Buddhism is Theravada, which is not prominent in Japan and emphasizes individual enlightenment through strict adherence to the Buddha’s teachings. Therefore, in this sense, Japanese Buddhism is more like a regional expression of Mahayana Buddhism, distinct enough not to be called by the same name and with unique characteristics for its various schools of thought—which themselves may have local variations—while the core foundation remains the same. From now on, assume that different schools of thought may emphasize different aspects of the religion and different parts of it, and we have no way of knowing which specific school of thought any character belongs to.

Now, time to cover some core concepts. I want you to keep three characters in mind while we look at this, and those characters are Nemu, Rabi, and Mikoto. First of all, in honor of how they are traditionally believed to be the first teachings of the Buddha, we have the Four Noble Truths. They diagnose the human condition as suffering (dukkha) and offer a path of liberation from it. The truths in question are, in simple terms:

Suffering exists

Suffering has a cause (craving and attachment)

Suffering can be ended

There is a path to end suffering (the Eightfold Path)

We will get to the Eightfold Path in a second. Another core concept is the Three Jewels, which are the guiding principles of Buddhism:

Buddha, the historical founder (his actual name was Siddhartha Gautama) who achieved enlightenment and showed the path for others

Dharma, which are the teachings of the Buddha, including the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path

Sangha, which is the Buddhist community that provides support and guidance on the path to enlightenment

Something you may have heard often in relation to Buddhism is the word karma and the concept of rebirth. Let me explain this a little more. Those are core beliefs as well, and normally some of the most important to laypeople in the modern day. It’s very simple: actions and intentions (karma) determine the quality of one’s next life in the cycle of rebirth (samsara). The goal is to escape this cycle and achieve enlightenment/nirvana, that’s what they call breaking free from the cycle of suffering and achieving a state of perfect wisdom and liberation. That is one of the two goals of Buddhism, while the other is simply helping others. In ordained groups, this “helping others” often manifests as either activism or working towards the enlightenment of all beings, it’s about the bodhisattva ideal again. Before I define what that is, let me keep talking about karma for a second.

Karma is strictly different from what Christianity calls sin, though in translations people will often go for “sin” because the concept of sin is better understood in the West than the concept of karma. Karma is literally considered a natural law, exactly like gravity. And no one entity applies gravity, do they? The same way that gravity doesn’t have morals attached, doesn’t need to be administered by a mighty god and can produce suffering in some cases and happiness in others, karma doesn’t have morals attached, doesn’t need to be administered by a mighty god and can produce suffering in some cases and happiness in others, since it can be positive or negative. The aren't any real “sins” in Buddhism as we define them in the West, because karma is not a moral system. The actions that are classified as “bad” are classified as such because they will bring more suffering to yourself and/or others. Karma simply says that there are some actions that cause happiness and peace for yourself and/or others, and others that do the opposite. If you stick to the former and not the latter, you will be happier. Because of how sins work in the West (due to, yes, the institutions that run our religions), some folks are tempted to think that if they aren’t caught stealing or harming others or whatever, they will not suffer. But, karma is a natural law and as any other natural law is therefore infallible. By those actions you have planted a seed in your mind that will ripen as suffering when the right circumstances arrive. Even if it takes until after you die.

On this note, in Arc 2 Chapter 1, when Yuna threatened to, in essence and I think literally, split Touka’s skull with her kanabo, Nemu was resigned. She didn’t react, all she said, specifically, is “I suppose that’s karma (因果応報)”. The resignation is because karma is a law of nature. It cannot be avoided. This also puts Touka and Nemu’s self-destructive attempts at atonement in a completely different light. It’s not just remorse. Yes, that’s part of it, and probably the majority of it on Touka’s side, but on Nemu’s? Punishment is inevitable, so they might as well take the bulk of their punishment into their own hands (something something issues with control). Besides, as we saw in Christmas String, both girls believe themselves to be bad by nature, unable to help others or be kind no matter what they do, and Nemu in her hospital clothes costume story, towards the end, also says that being with Ui highlights just how twisted/bitter/perverse she herself is (the line is 自分がどれだけ捻くれてるか 本当に自覚させられるけど). Touka and Nemu do not for a second believe they are capable of accruing good karma, and especially not enough to cancel out all of their bad karma from the Magius era. They’re wrong, obviously, we know that, but they’re just little traumatized babies so we forgive them for being a little bit stupid. Particularly funny with how all of Christmas String was them doing good deeds, most of it of their own free will for a pair of children they didn’t even know at all. But I digress.

Since I mentioned the bodhisattva ideal again earlier, now’s a good time to define what that is. For this paragraph, keep Iroha and Ui in mind. A bodhisattva is a being who has vowed to achieve enlightenment and is perfectly capable of it, but chooses to remain in the cycle of rebirth to help others reach enlightenment as well. They are motivated by immense compassion (called karuna) for all sentient beings, and they are defined by selfless service. Their goal isn’t personal liberation alone, but the liberation of all beings from suffering. Key practices and characteristics of theirs are qualities like generosity, morality, patience, effort, meditation, and wisdom, engaging in acts of kindness and service to benefit others, and using various methods to teach and guide others based on their needs and understanding. Buddhism’s compassion tenet in general is specified as compassion and understanding towards others and towards yourself. But yeah, I don’t think I have to explain why I said to keep Iroha and Ui in mind during this paragraph. I do find it crunchy when a Buddhist character sees another as “unreachable” and puts them on a pedestal because of how Buddha-like they are (embodying the virtues of Buddhism, the bodhisattva ideal).

Moving on, the Eightfold Path is a fundamental concept in Japanese Buddhism just like it is in all other forms of Buddhism. It outlines the path towards liberation from suffering as described in the Four Noble Truths. It’s traditionally divided into three categories:

Wisdom, which refers to developing right understanding and right thought

Ethical conduct, which refers to practicing right speech, right action, and right livelihood

Mental discipline, which refers to cultivating right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration

The reason it’s called the Eightfold Path is because it has Eight Practices, which are as follows:

Right View, which means having a clear understanding of the Four Noble Truths and the nature of reality

Right Thought, which means cultivating wholesome thoughts free from greed, hatred, and delusion

Right Speech, which means speaking truthfully, kindly, and avoiding gossip or harmful speech

Right Action, which means acting ethically and non-violently, respecting all living beings

Right Livelihood, which means earning a living through honest means that do not harm others

Right Effort, which means putting in the effort to cultivate positive qualities and overcome negative ones

Right Mindfulness, which means being fully aware of the present moment, your thoughts, feelings, and bodily sensations without judgment

Right Concentration, which means developing a state of focused and clear mind through meditation practices

The Eightfold Path is also not a linear progression, but rather a set of interconnected practices that support each other.  By cultivating these practices, individuals can gradually progress on the path to enlightenment, or at least that’s what is taught. As a result of the Eightfold Path, common core practices include meditation, ethical conduct, and compassion. Meditation serves to develop mindfulness, focus, and inner peace, though practiced more among the ordained population. The ones most practiced and most highlighted among the laypeople are ethical conduct, which is just following moral principles like non-violence (ahimsa), truthfulness, and simply Not Stealing, and compassion, which is just about empathy and understanding for all living beings.

Let me be clear, there are precepts of behavior in Buddhism and things that are seen as bad/frowned upon for them. Generally, they all cause suffering, except for intoxicants, which attempt to flee from suffering (which doesn’t lead anywhere good, according to Buddhists). It’s stuff like no intentional murder (especially your mother and father), no stealing, no lies, no intoxicants, no sensual misconduct (such as rape or adultery). This last thing is sometimes translated as “no sex at all” due to how prevalent that kind of doctrine is in Abrahamic religions, despite the fact that it’s only in some Buddhist traditions, particularly Theravada Buddhism, that monks and nuns specifically take vows of celibacy as part of their monastic commitment so they can focus entirely on their spiritual practice and detachment from worldly desires. Laypeople from either branch don’t, and neither do monastics of the Mahayana branch, which is the umbrella Japanese Buddhism falls under. The only thing about it is that since the focus of Buddhism for practicing laypeople is on ethical conduct, practicing faithfulness within a relationship and making sure that relationship is healthy is hugely important.

Neeeeext up, the kleshas (煩悩). The kleshas are important and often translated as mental defilements, poisons, or afflictions. In essence, they represent the Unwholesome Mental States that cause suffering and hinder us from achieving enlightenment. A lot of the main kleshas match up with the Christian concept of the Seven Deadly Sins, but again, they are treated more as weeds in a garden and something you have to work through than “Oh You Are BAD Because You Did A Bad!!!”. Buddhism teaches that kleshas are not permanent fixtures in our minds, and so with effort and practice, they can be weeded out. Understanding the kleshas just helps us identify the root causes of our suffering, and by recognizing these Mental Defilements:tm:, we can work on purifying our minds and cultivating positive qualities like compassion and wisdom. The Buddhist practices I’ve mentioned (like meditation) are, in theory, designed to help us overcome the kleshas and achieve a state of inner peace and clarity. The kleshas are bad because they prevent us from experiencing true peace and happiness, which is what the Buddhist teachings are trying to help with.

Interestingly, you know what’s considered a klesha? Ignorance. Ignorance (or delusion), described as a lack of understanding about the true nature of reality, leads to confusion and making poor choices, hence why it’s counted as a klesha. To touch on the ones that match the Seven Deadly Sins for a few examples, envy is defined as resentment towards someone else’s good fortune, which creates negativity and dissatisfaction in yourself. Arrogance (pride) is defined as an inflated sense of self-importance, which causes disconnection from others. Feeling rage (wrath) and the like causes us to lash out or become bitter. Hatred can cause us to act in harmful ways and damage our relationships, not to mention the number it does on our own emotional energy. You see how this works, right? Buddhism isn’t telling you that you’re bad for having human thoughts and emotions and you’re going to BURN unless you pray really hard, it’s gently putting a hand on your shoulder and telling you, hey, you’re hurting yourself, let’s try to help you. However, it does put the responsibility of improving yourself right on your shoulders. That’s your job. Be better. Which… can be hard. Particularly if you’re convinced you can’t do that.

Another commonish concept in Japanese Buddhism is that of honne (本音) and tatemae (建前). It’s about the duality of inner thoughts (honne) and outward expressions (tatemae) in Japanese culture. While not strictly a Buddhist concept, it resonates with Buddhist teachings on impermanence and the constructed nature of reality, and I figure it’s especially relevant in a society that is so high context and polite (and, hey do not externalize your problems or cause trouble for The Collective okay?). The characters to think about here are Nemu with repressed bitterness and anger, and Mikoto with very outwardly expressed bitterness and anger. Mikoto is obvious, and because she was obvious, she got attention. I won’t speak too much about her because someone else is preparing to do so. Nemu, however, internalizes all of her problems and emotions, mostly for people pleasing reasons, as I explained in my other essays, but this is most likely affected by her religious leanings. The scholarly side of Buddhism fits Nemu particularly well.

As an aside before I tell you about Buddhist cosmology, let me explain a little something. If Nemu is a Buddhist, why did she do everything she did as a Magius? Simple. “The good this will do and the happiness I’ll bring to all Magical Girls in the present and the future will outweigh the bad” and if you think about it, becoming a witch means you are doomed to wander in eternal suffering which goes against everything Buddhism stands for. So, in light of that worst case scenario that isn’t even acknowledged by greater society, Nemu will make the sacrifice for the good of the many, to save them. She wants to save magical girls so bad, for both selfish and selfless (+religious) reasons. She was thinking the same way we saw her think in Arc 1 Chapter 10 Episode 4, which was “if I make this great big sacrifice for the sake of good, maybe I’ll be forgiven”. Much like part of why she minimizes her own pain so much is because of the Four Noble Truths telling her that suffering is everywhere and that being alive is suffering—further supported by her being terminally ill and hospitalized for presumably her entire childhood (since her brother acts like she’s a complete stranger), which is not exactly conducive to optimism or to seeing the love and light in the world.

Another extra note on Nemu’s philosophy that is sort of unrelated to the rest of the essay but I had to put it somewhere: Japanese culture is also influenced by Confucianism, which emphasizes filial piety (respect for parents) and respect for teachers. These concepts unfortunately might blend with Buddhist principles in parent-child and mentor-pupil relationships. That and the people pleasing are two of the big reasons Nemu acts the way she does with her family, her parents in particular. She feels the weight of a perceived duty to one’s parents and family, and she doesn’t think she can criticize her parents even when she’s frustrated and/or angry about their behavior, not even behind their backs. Since before she shared a room with Touka and Ui, she most likely spent almost all of her time reading, she most definitely clings to the concept of filial piety as a sort of behavioral guide in her desperation to be loved by her parents. Imagine her alone in the dark, bedridden and in pain, after lights out, crying quietly on the pages of a book about Confucian philosophy and thinking about this, starved for affection and so confused as to why it’s not working. The answer has to be that she’s a burden. Her medical bills, sending her clothes, visiting her, all of it is a burden to her parents. She tries to be as out of the way as possible, as helpful as possible, in hopes of making up for it.

*COUGH* Anyway. Japanese Buddhist cosmology adopts the core ideas of general Buddhist cosmology, but incorporates some unique elements influenced by Shinto beliefs, as you might imagine. For example, for the afterlife journey, the Sanzu River is uniquely important in Japan. It’s usually symbolic (and you can think of it as similar to the Styx in Greek religion), and it’s what separates the world of the living from the afterlife. The difficulty of crossing (calm bridge, rough ford, treacherous shoals) reflects the severity of the deceased’s karma. Based on a being’s karma, they are judged and reborn into one of the six realms, where they will stay temporarily until their karma returns to zero (upon which they will be reborn again into a different realm, as far as I understand).

“Nahi, what do you mean by realm?” Ah! Let me explain. In Buddhism, there are six realms we can exist in. The Six Realms of Existence are:

Deva realm (Heavens), a realm of pleasure and happiness, but temporary as beings' karma depletes.

Asura realm, a realm of jealousy and conflict, where beings constantly compete for power and resources

Human realm, the realm of ordinary humans, characterized by suffering, impermanence, and the opportunity for spiritual growth

Animal realm, a realm of suffering and limited consciousness, where beings are at the mercy of their instincts and predators

Preta realm, a realm of insatiable hunger and thirst, where beings cannot find sustenance

Naraka realm (Hells), basically the realm of intense suffering caused by negative karma

Of course, when a being is sentenced to one of these realms after death, its stay there is never permanent. Japanese Buddhism adheres to the concept of eight hot hells and eight cold hells within the Naraka realm. Each of the hells might be further subdivided into even more specific hells with unique punishments. The eight hot hells are characterized by intense heat, fire, and torture. Pretty similar to most depictions of Christian Hell in that sense. The severity of punishment increases as you descend deeper (something something Divine Comedy). I am unsure if they have actual English names, my source was Japanese, I tried my best here. The eight hot hells are as follows:

Burning Hell (焦熱地獄): sinners are tormented in a blazing inferno

Hell of Black Ropes (黒縄地獄): souls are bound with black ropes and sliced with burning blades

Crushing Hell (衆合地獄): beings are crushed by immense boulders or pressed together in a confined space

Screaming Hell (叫喚地獄): souls endure excruciating pain that forces them to scream incessantly

Great Screaming Hell (大叫喚地獄): even worse than the previous one, with even more intense pain and screaming

Iron Pot Hell (極楽地獄): souls are boiled alive in giant iron cauldrons

Changing Hell (正変地獄): sinners experience constant transformations into different tortured forms

Unremitting Hell (無間地獄): the deepest and most severe hell, with relentless suffering without respite

This last one is Avici, Nemu’s preferred destination apparently. As for the eight cold hells, they are characterized by extreme cold and icy torment. And I give up on trying to translate their names, so here they are:

Hell of Arbuda (鞕抜地獄): souls experience excruciating pain as their bodies develop chilblains that burst open

Hell of Nirarbuda (鞕抜地獄): a continuation of the previous hell, where the chilblains worsen and constantly burst

Hell of Atata (閊陀地獄): souls shiver uncontrollably in the intense cold

Hell of Hahava (臛臛婆地獄): sinners lament in the cold, making "haa" sounds due to the pain

Hell of Huhuva (虎虎婆地獄): souls chatter their teeth uncontrollably due to the extreme cold (yes I know this sounds similar to Atata)

Hell of Utpala (鬱波羅地獄): the intense cold turns the skin blue, resembling a blue lotus flower

Hell of Padma (鉢特摩地獄): blizzards crack open frozen skin, revealing raw and bloody flesh

Hell of Mahapadma (摩訶鉢特摩地獄): the entire body cracks open due to the intense cold, exposing the internal organs

Alina would love some of these. I’m sure she does. But, yes, that rundown was mostly to show you that there are many, many words for Hell that a Buddhist can use, and Nemu specifically used the abbreviation for Avici (無間). So as far as I’m concerned, that and the few other subtler things point towards her being a Buddhist, and it makes for a more interesting interpretation of the character. Nemu has so much trauma and as it turns out, part of it has a religious flavor. Lovely!

To end this off on a positive note, I have this thought for you. Touka and Nemu's final state as Uwasa Queens technically counts as nirvana, enlightenment. They made a selfless sacrifice, let go of all worldly attachments, escaped the cycle of rebirth (since I do not think an uwasa is part of that?). They are at their wisest and kindest, at their best in all ways and are also doing good, honest work and making an effort for the happiness of others. It may not look like the traditional way of achieving nirvana, but... It is definitely their nirvana.

I will write one last very brief section about Rabi, but the essay/lecture has pretty much come to an end here.

Rabi’s entire status of resignation reminds me a lot of Nemu’s. Rabi is resigned to suffer and keeps advancing the hand on her watch and doomposting, despite the fact that it is entirely her choice to do that. In the uh… I hesitate to call it “grand finale of Folklore’s arc” near the end of Arc 2, what she wants to do is end all magical girls to ease suffering. It’s very Buddhist. That’s all.

[raayllum]

I read say the wind won't change on us at least once a week if I don't I will wither away and die what the HELL have you and burrs done to me

Aww thank you so much! that fic was one @thosefiveadoraburrs and i had a lot of fun writing in spite of the angsty subject matter! also weirdly enough felt like Growth in a lot of ways since one of our first rayllum oneshots 4+ years ago was a "Rayla is sick" fic and this like a much more in-depth follow up, at least in terms of premise?

Getting to weave in other characters (namely Ezran, Nyx, and Ethari) as Rayllum navigates the situation and all the big feelings that come with it was a treat, too, since it's rare to write the latter two overall

Did not, of course, expect any of it let alone 2+ things to have a weird amount of parallels to S5 and S6 though, but very pleased all the same!

“Thank you,” Callum said. “But I haven’t found anything yet. We’d probably have to turn right around and leave the sea entirely—” “Leave the sea?” Ezran repeated more doubtfully. They were more than halfway toward the centre, and that’d taken almost a week. They wouldn’t make it back in time if they turned around now, and they only had one ship.  Nyx raised her hand. “Uh, do you really have time for that kind of detour? Don’t you guys have like, the end of the world to stop?” Callum ground his teeth together. “I don’t care about—Rayla might not have two weeks.” 

She mock-gasped. “Oh no, whatever shall we do? If only we had a mage who could fly places—” Callum chuckled and shook his head at her, leaning in closer. His free hand rested on the railing by her hip. Did this count as flirting, she thought, slightly light-headed? “Y’know, I think I might know a guy.” “Oh we couldn’t get him,” she puttered. “Too busy and in-demand.” “I dunno, I’m pretty good at drawing on connections.” She arched an eyebrow. “Are you now?” “Well yeah.” His big goofy grin softened, his fingers entwining themselves with hers. “Word is there’s this elf girl he’s got a big soft spot for—would do anything for her.”

and it was either very early in the morning or very late at night when the door to the sleeping quarters burst open. She forced her eyes open, ears pricking between laboured breaths, and then nearly let out a sob in relief. “Callum.” [...] “You’re here,” Rayla rasped. 

[dawnslight-aegis]

6. halcyon

Estinien sat on the edge of a bluff overlooking the ruins of a town, blackened timber poking out of snowdrifts, perfectly desolate and serene. He had been back here before, but not for years, and never with company.

The small, dark-haired xaela next to him pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them, arms loosely wrapped around her legs as she looked down. “This is it, then? Ferndale?”

“Aye. Or what’s left of it, at least.”

The ruin bore no resemblance to the home of his childhood, devoid of the rolling green hills where he’d wandered with his family’s flock, the ponds frozen solid, no scent of braised mutton on the wind. What Nidhogg had not taken, the Calamity had, and left naught but his own fading memories behind.

Without preamble, he raised a hand, pointing out landmarks. “There, and farther to the east, were the grazing fields. ‘Twas not so damnably cold then, but grass was still sparse, so we had to range far, even with the small handful of karakul we had. My father took me with him until I had seen seven summers, and after that, it was my duty alone. There is the river where we fished on warm summer days, and the pond in which I learned to swim. The market where my mother sold the clothes she made from the wool we sheared in the springtime, and the spare milk from our goats. The church, where we gathered on Iceday mornings, to hear the teachings of the Fury and learn our letters.” He let his hand fall, sighing. “I was far afield the day Nidhogg came, and did not arrive until he had gone.”

Weight settled against his arm as Marz leaned into him, a comforting reminder that he was not alone. He knew he need not explain what came after, not to her, who had seen his past through his own eyes. Who had lived through her own version of that hell, though her tormentors were garlean, not dravanian.

“What were your parents like?” she asked, her voice uncommonly quiet and gentle.

Estinien felt his mouth twitch into what might have been a small smile. “My mother was kind. She was a weaver, and a seamstress, and a damned good cook. She helped us make ends meet by doing whatever needed doing in the village – mending clothes, washing them, birthing lambs… I believed she could do anything, when I was young. And my father was… Gruff. Distant. Not given to idle chit chat.”

A snort shook through her whole body. “Sounds familiar.”

He grunted noncommitally in response, and she snickered at him so neatly proving her point.

They both lapsed into silence for a while, looking out over the landscape, until Marz spoke again. “What about your brother?”

Estinien’s jaw clenched and he breathed out slowly through his nose, riding the wave of grief that the mere mention caused, until he had steadied enough to speak again. For so much of his life, he had refused to speak of him at all – but this entire trip was meant to make it so someone else would know that his family had lived, so that when he died in battle, they would live on. He would not deny his brother that.

“Hamignant was… nothing like me. Quiet. Kind. Well-mannered. He misliked violence, even when it was necessary. He named every lamb, no matter if it was destined for the market, or the flock, or the cookpot. Read every book he could get his hands on. My mother wanted to send him to Ishgard someday, to the Scholasticate. He told me he wanted to join the priesthood, so he could come back to Ferndale and teach other children, more than one day a sennight.” Once he started, the words came tumbling out in an awkward rush, heedless of if he meant to speak them or not. Only narrowly did he bite back the words that would have followed – that it would have been better if Estinien himself had perished in Nidhogg’s flames, if it meant his little brother might have lived in his stead.

Such black thoughts spoken aloud would only serve to sour both their moods. Not that it was particularly good to begin with, but…

“Did you know that one time, my brother convinced me that one of our clan elders was a wavekin? He was so old, thin and bony and covered in scales, so that barely any skin could be seen. I believed him for two whole years. My mama was so angry when she found out, but my papa thought it was hysterical. He was always playing pranks on me, always acting as if I was so annoying, but he’d stop and help me with anything I asked. Taught me to dance, and how to braid my hair, so he wouldn’t have to anymore.” Bright green eyes blinked up at him, and her fingers laced through his. “I know what it’s like to have a good big brother. And I’m sure you were one.”

A reluctant smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “One time, Hami wanted to pick flowers for our mother. I thought myself too old for such things, so I spent the day lazing about, not minding what he was doing. That night, there was mysteriously a frog in my parents’ bed – they thought I did it. I ended up taking the blame for him, and he felt so bad that he snuck me extra sweets for days after.” Estinien sighed, but the weight in his chest – everpresent, even after so many years – felt a little easier to bear. “I have not thought of that in ages. I could not respond to the happy memories with anger, and I had no wish to fall to grief, so I simply… did not think of them. I have done my family a disservice in this, I think.”

Marz shook her head. “No one can judge you for what you have done to survive. And living is always harder than the alternative, isn’t it?”

“Aye. It is. But it is worth it, I think.”

He had not always. Had long counted his life as simply a delayed death, determined to take as many enemies with him as he could before he finally succumbed to the fate that should have awaited him that day in Ferndale. That man had died on the Steps of Faith – and given a second chance at life, he had taken it, even though he knew not what to do with it. Still did not, at times.

All he had known was that he wanted it, and Marzanna had been, alongside Alphinaud, the one to give it to him. It seemed only right he share it with her, past and present alike.

[sansacherie]

soft girls

"Anyone caught questioning the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra's sons, shall have their tongues removed!" Viserys spits.

His fury could swallow the room whole.

Rhaenyra's soft words of thanks wash over Alicent.  All she sees is Rhaenyra's father.

For several heartbeats, Alicent Hightower considers snatching Viserys' knife and kissing Rhaenyra's face with it. She can almost smell the blood through her long, feverish fingers.

She does not.

Alicent stares at the king, her husband, her....

She wants Viserys to see her when she hits him with these words.

"The way you removed Prince Baelon from his mother's womb?" 

The look on Viserys' face - oh, it was so sweet. She wanted to hurt him.  To make a twin to the damage that Aemond will live with for the rest of his earthly life.  

"Perhaps Your Grace should have removed her tongue first, so you need not have suffered her pleas."  Alicent continues on, coldly. Has she been hurt so badly, that she is capable of such cruelty, even if the recipient is deserving of it?

Yes.

"Father?" It's Rhaenyra.  Her voice shakes. She sounds lost, and scared.  Like she is once again a maid of fifteen.  The way Alicent was lost and scared on the day she wed Viserys, and how she never got to be fifteen again from the moment she was made a queen. While Rhaenyra got to flout all as she pleased.  How she did, still.  

Viserys had given Rhaenyra so much, but apparently he had not seen fit to share this ugly business in the fourteen years since Aemma Arryn's death. Alicent knew a year into their marriage, when Viserys had fallen deep into his cups and asked Alicent if she truly believed in hell.

Only for the truly worthy, husband. Alicent had smiled gently at him, because she was still a soft girl.  It was not done out of love. Her love for Viserys was only that of a faithful subject for her king.  Soft girls do not hurt others, least of all amiable husbands who were never rough while bedding you even if bruised you all the same. 

Alicent does not care that she is hurting Rhaenyra with these words as well.  How can she, when Alicent was ready to raise a knife to her? That she is ready, still. That she will always be ready, because now she understands.

 

Yes, she is using Queen Aemma.  But Rhaenyra is not the only person in the world with a dead mother. At least she and Rhaenyra can hold them in their memories. Will the Velayron girls fare the same? Nor do most people with dead mothers use them the way Rhaenyra did, when Alicent demanded the truth in the godswood.

When she demanded hope. 

"Do not mourn me, Mother." It is Aemond that breaks the silence. They all turn to look at him.  Her fierce son comes to her side, joining Ser Criston, who has never left it this entire time.

He takes her hand in his. One day, his hand will be bigger than hers.  Aegon's is already.  "It was a fair exchange. I lost an eye, but I gained a dragon." He squeezes her hand. Alicent can feel the effort it must have taken for him to do so.  The pain.  Will it never leave her poor son? 

"Forgive me for saying this, my prince. But the absence of your eye will harden many things for you. Including the flying of your dragon," Vaemond Velayron speaks. 

"I will never have trouble with Vhagar." 

Alicent's father clears his throat, and uses the authority of his position.  "Perhaps we should end this matter for now, Your Grace."

Viserys opens his mouth as if to say more. To beg forgiveness from Rhaenyra and his dead wife. To damn Alicent. To damn them all. 

He does not.  "The matter is finished."  

"Of course,  Your Grace." Ser Otto replies. But it is not finished. It will never be finished, Alicent realizes, and so does her father who is forced to say these words to placate Viserys. But that is one thing. 

There will be no need to lie when he is dead.

[ophelliate]

okay so, my actual thoughts on the movie (i'll be mentioning massive spoilers at random so be warned)

i appreciate that the movie really put focus on all four boys as a collective instead of focusing on a select character, though it did feel like we only got a lick of them individually (though i'm sure that the show will make up for that)

the fight scenes???? bro i was grinning ear to ear every time the team was in action

the music was also super pleasant and gave in to the urban nightlife completely

i feel so dumb/unlucky that i had the chance to watch ferris bueller's day off yesterday and just decided not to, so to see it in the movie felt like my own personal slap in the face

actually the amount of references in the movie was about as much as i expected and a lot more at the same time, but it still felt fairly natural

attack on titan being the source of the boys' plan for the final fight is wild though, and its nice to see donnie's input be taken seriously in that regard

donnie's interesting now thinking about it, since i don't think there's any instance where he's considered a tech genius, he really is just a fandom kid and a lot of his ideas/skillsets are based around the content he consumes (the tism is strong here when i'm describing it)

also i know the boys were taught their ninja skills via home-video instructions, but how much do they actually know about their weapons??? donnie and the rest of them literally refer to his bo staff as a stick and not anything else

that might also explain why raph's sais are seemingly sharp, because none of them know that's even a defense weapon and is supposed to be dull

actually wait how did they even get their weapons?? why were there ninja weapons just chilling in the sewers– oh this could be a lore thing. ohoho this is a secret lore thing

oh yeah the milking joke was 100% seth rogan's idea i will not believe anything otherwise like what the fuck was that

i also need to know how the mutants age. odd question i know but they were all fetuses in tubes at the start of the movie and were raised by superfly for fifteen years, but they all seem to be different ages? it could be from their animal years but the turtles age like humans so wouldn't it be something similar? i'm definitely overthinking this but would love some input

speaking of the villains tho– the final fight?? where THE BOYS' SHELLS GOT CRUSHED??? i audibly gasped in the theaters how the hell did they walk that off

i just know fics are gonna be touching on that because the entire sequence was insane they'reonly14yearoldninjaturtles–

let them have physical therapy i beg, their bones are so fucked

i also need to rewatched this movie specifically because there was a background character with a skull t-shirt and my delusions are telling me it might be casey jones

overall i'm shaking