#the idea of quietly running a blog that no one saw appealed from me even if there was a fantasy of being famous and praised

[outeremissary]

Fandom reputation: Number one Tristian fan, kingmaker enthusiast with highly interesting thoughts, creator of beautiful little artworks and always so much fun to talk to.

Haha, thank you. Though I think I have been too late on the scene and too antisocial to be number one anything, truly... There are a lot of people out there who have been creating in the fandom much longer than I and have brought really impressive things into being. For reasons that elude me, some even follow me- a great and terrible honor indeed.

I am always happy to hear that the art and the company are fun :) As much as I grow, I know I'm still unskilled in both creative and social spheres, haha. It's high praise from someone as skilled as you. I'm amazed by what you can create and how rapidly you've grown.

[cafeacademia]

The New Girl

Pietro Maximoff x Shy!Reader University AU

Summary: When you start late at Stark University you're immediately taken into one of the college’s most popular groups of friends after Rumlow makes you feel uncomfortable and a certain silver haired Maximoff catches your eye.

Warnings: Rumlow being a bit of an ass, flirting and fluff!

Word Count: Approx 1500

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A/N: Hi loves!! Here's the first part of the Stark University series!! This is a remastered version of the original that I wrote on my old blog, so while the bulk of this part is the same, there are some added parts to it that are completely new and that I hope flesh this out a little more. I hope you enjoy!!

If you'd like to join any of my taglists, please check the masterlist for the series and there will be links to the taglist forms, you can find that HERE.

Next part

Walking towards the double doors, you held a not-so-useful map of the university, along with your new ID card the people at the front desk had given you. It was your first day at Stark University and to say that your nerves were running high was an understatement. It certainly didn’t help that you had no idea if you were even in the right place for your first class, you could only assume that this was the lecture hall you had been told to go to, which you thought you remembered it being called Howard Hall, but you saw no sign on the doors, nor plaques on the wall around it to indicate which hall it was.

And with one deep breath, you stepped through the double doors into a half filled hall, students climbing up the steps to get to the seats at the back, a wave of laughter floating across the hall as a group of older students chatted. You heaved a worried sigh, nervously looking up at the rows of students. You were two weeks late into the year having transferred to Stark University, which had a notoriously difficult entry test.

“You the new girl?” A voice caught your attention and a darker haired individual with a cocky smirk plastered on his lips leaned forwards on his desk, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth as he grinned at you, fingers tugging at the lapels of his leather jacket and you wondered if this guy hadn’t just walked straight out of the fifties in his greaser attire. “Come sit with us, pretty lady.” He patted the seat next to him, the crowd of boys turning to look at you and suddenly you felt heat creep up your neck and cheeks. You felt like prey to them and your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the way he had spoken to you.

As he waited for you to respond, a few of the boys now dramatically whispering about you while you stood in the middle of the hall, a hand came down to rest on your shoulder. “You don’t wanna sit with Rumlow, Prinţesă, they’ll only screw you over.” You looked up to see a group of four guys and two girls.

Steve Rogers, the head boy of the Avengers house and his best friends Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson stood before you. You’d seen them around and on a poster for the next football game and they most certainly were a heart stopping trio. Your eye, however, was caught on the silver haired of the bunch, a soft smirk, warm and inviting posture, hands shoved in his jean pockets, blue eyes that were somehow so warm and you involuntarily smiled up at him.

“C’mon, come sit with our group.” Sam smiled down at you, a more welcoming lopsided smile on his lips and in comparison to Rumlow, Steve’s group seemed much friendlier and more appealing. You nodded, silently agreeing, still far too shy to say anything before you were patted gently on the back and guided over to their seats.

You sat down with people on either side of you, Bucky on your left who turned in his seat to introduce himself properly to you and a girl with long, auburn hair to your right, who was chatting in another language with the boy who’d made your heart stop.

“You’re the new girl in our house, aren’t you? Steve told us you were joining today. I’m Bucky.” He held his hand out to shake and you gently placed your hand in his, letting him shake yours. “Yes, I just transferred this morning.” You nodded. “It’s nice to meet you Bucky.” You smiled shyly as you pulled your hand away.

“I’m Wanda and that’s my twin brother Pietro.” Wanda smiled, catching your attention as you turned in your seat to see her better. “Nice to meet you, Prinţesă.” Pietro grinned at you. “I’m twelve minutes older.” Pietro went on, looking at his sister and your heart almost gave out at the sound of his accent, it was stronger than his sister’s but it sounded so good on him. Wanda playfully smacked her brother on the arm as she rolled her eyes. “What? It is the truth, no?” Pietro chuckled, winking at you and Wanda.

“Where are you from?” You blurted out, having not even introduced yourself or even uttered a word to them and both twins looked at you, smiling at your curiosity. “Sokovia.” They responded at the same time and the girl on the other side of Bucky, sandwiched between him and Steve scoffed. “They’re like the Shining twins.” She muttered, Bucky and Sam snorting at her remark. “That’s Natasha, she’s a real doll.” Bucky winked at you, Nat raising her brow before swatting his arm and shuffling in her seat to lean fully against Steve.

“Are they a thing?” You whispered to Wanda. “Nat and Steve?” She whispered back, watching you nod in response. “She denies it, but they’re so into each other.” She giggled, Pietro leaning over as he became curious of your conversation. “I wonder who else is into someone and yet they deny it, hm?” He asked, voice laced with challenging sarcasm, to which his sister fixed him with a warning stare. “I’m going to grab a drink, anyone want one?” Wanda asked, standing up from her seat, everyone in the group mumbling an answer before she shimmied out of the row of seats.

Pietro got up and dramatically flopped down into his sister’s seat beside you, leaving his blue track jacket in a heap in his own seat. He leaned his elbow on the arm rest, head propped up on his hand as he gave you a heart stopping dreamy smile, blue eyes looking into yours. “Are you going to tell us your name or am I going to have to keep calling you Prinţesă?” Pietro asked, Bucky sighing and rolling his eyes. “What did you just call me?” You asked quietly, a little shy. “Princess.” Pietro winked at you, seeing the way you reacted, slightly flustered and you went quiet for a moment, making him think you didn’t like it. “It’s Sokovian right?” You asked. “Can you tell me more?” You asked, inquisitively and Pietro grinned, nodding. “Only if you tell me your name, Prinţesă.” He winked, a soft chuckle on his lips. “Oh my god.” You heard one of the guys mutter from next to you, presumably at the way Pietro was flirting with you, but to be honest, you didn’t mind. It didn’t seem ingenuine and even if it was, he was so playful that maybe this was just Pietro.

Suddenly Pietro’s arm was yanked out from under him, head dropping and smacking against your shoulder, Wanda standing over him looking rather unimpressed, Sam and Bucky collapsing into laughter, a string of giggles leaving your lips as you helped Pietro sit back up straight again. Wanda hissed something at Pietro in Sokovian, Bucky’s eyes widening at her words and you realised he could understand them. “She said he’s an asshole for stealing her seat every time she leaves.” Bucky leaned into your side, translating for you, failing to mention the fact that Wanda had also scolded Pietro for immediately flirting with you. “And Piet just said- well you don’t want to know what he just said.” He chuckled, making you giggle.

The lecture finally started, the professor having been late to the session and the hall quietened, Rumlow’s group stirring up now and again with stupid remarks and general irritating school boy behaviour. The odd note was passed up and down the row between you and your new friends, mostly between Sam and Bucky, Wanda and Nat sharing their notes with you too.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the session and everyone immediately leapt up before the lecturer was even finished with his presentation. “So, Prinţesă.” You turned to see Pietro as you stepped out of the row of seats, the rest of the group heading down towards the lecture hall door. Reaching up to sweep his silver hair to one side, Pietro gave you a soft, lopsided grin, gesturing for you to go slightly ahead of him, though he walked almost beside you as you descended the stairs together.

“Want to finally tell me your name over coffee?” He asked, making you giggle softly. “I’d like that.” You nodded, glancing over your shoulder at him, sharing a soft smile. “Can’t wait, Prinţesă.” Pietro winked at you. And Pietro really couldn’t wait. He wanted to know who you were, who the girl was that seemed to completely melt his heart within only seconds of meeting her. And he wanted to know what you were really like, especially as you were so shy. You knew as you walked down the steps with him at your side, that your time at Stark University was definitely going to be more interesting and exciting than you had imagined it could be.

Next part

Pietro taglist (OPEN):

@barneswidow @megantje123

Stark University Taglist (OPEN):

@dracosaccount @thesewaywardskies @wasicskosgirl @acciopietro @hanaamara @ikkleronniekins

[bjy-on-ao3]

(1/2) Heyy, thanks for your reply, and sorry it took me a while to put my request together but here it is: Reader is a shy naiad/nymph who often attends Dionysus' parties, one day he throws a party for Ares, perhaps post-victory celebration. Ares is still in war mode (when is he not lol) and his mood is affecting the other party-goers, so much so that it starts disrupting the party (fights breaking out and what not). Dio wants people to start having fun again so he coaxes reader into helping ares uhhhh 'destress', maybe makes her drink a little ambrosia/wine to loosen up(two birds one stone y'know, he gets reader out of their shell as well). Of course *Dio* joins in the 'festivities' too bc can't be letting ares have all the fun dkkd.

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

I’ve wanted to attempt this request for a while now, but I needed some study into certain parts of it I wasn’t familiar with. I hope y’all enjoy the fic nonetheless and my bits of inexperience in certain portions don’t show overmuch!

(Note: There is no Ares/Dionysus in this fic & this is featuring the characters from the Hades game, if that weren't clear already.)

Summary

During a post-war celebration, the God of War gets a bit out of control, making tempers run hot. With Ares’ bloodlust infecting the party and threatening to ruin it by becoming a brawl, Dionysus enlists Reader’s aid to help his brother wind down. Though he isn’t one to be left out of the fun either.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal S*x, Biting, Blood, Creampie, Double Penetration, Drunk S*x, Hand Jobs, Nymph Reader, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough S*x, Shameless Smut, Slight Breathplay, Stomach Bulge, Threesome, Vaginal S*x, Voyeurism

Party Foul (Ares/F! Reader/Dionysus)

The sound of raised voices and angry snarls sent you fleeing from the area most folks had gathered to celebrate. Though it was a fete held by a local town in honor of some glorious conquest of war, the atmosphere had been light and jovial to start. However, it hadn’t been long until several of the Olympian gods deigned to grace the celebration with their presence, many with small groups of followers of their own. Mostly, the gods only added to the cheerful mood, the victorious soldiers feeling even more invigorated and honored by their presence. Yet the presence of one god stoked a fire in the blood of many present, whether soldier or laborer or homemaker. Already high on the chaos and strife from previous battles laid to rest, Ares, god of war, brought with him a mood that was electric and infectious. His revel in the bloodshed had boosted his mood, working him into something close to a frenzy. A frenzy that seeped out among the crowd, even after he had left the immediate area. It made them quibble and quarrel amongst one another, escalating until those unaffected began to cautiously distance themselves, lest they be caught up in an impromptu fistfight or worse. Arriving in tow with one of the attending gods, as was common among your fellow nymphs, you had been reluctant, but still secretly excited to enjoy the celebration. You were more than willing to enjoy the captivating atmosphere of good humor and greater cheer, even if you weren’t quite so unphased as your brethren. But as the mood of the hour had grown sour and bitter, voices raised, several men had started physical fights. You had quickly balked and ran. Your flight had taken you to one of the small surrounding buildings, breathing a deep sigh of relief once the angry voices and shouts faded to something far more faint. Stopping, listening for a time, you willed your stammering heart to slow, at least until the sound of sandals drew your attention. You cast a wary glance over your shoulder, ready to run again before recognizing the broad figure behind you. Turning to face the god whom you had accompanied to the party, you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off. “Ah, perfect timing!” Dionysus’ smooth voice boomed. “C’mere, babe, I could use a little help.” “I-What is it, my Lord?” you asked, thrown off by how laid back he sounded, despite the faint ruckus not far off. You hadn’t spoken to him too much personally, his attention often taken by those more willing to vie for it. “You’re having a good time, yeah? I mean, before all… that,” he trailed off with a lazy gesture of his hand, showing his distaste for the brutish behaviour that had stirred up. “Oh, yes! Before that, absolutely,” you answered, nodding. “Fantastic! What do you say to livening things up a little then?” You couldn’t hold back the furrow of your brow. “Ah, it seems like the city folk have taken it upon themselves to do just that already… Not that I mean to say no, my Lord!” you added quickly. Dionysus grimaced at the reminder of the ongoing brawl growing nearby. “That’s.. Not quite the mood I’m looking for. That’s why I need a little help to cool things down,” he continued, the sour look quickly swept away. “Follow me babe; I promise it’ll be a good time.” “Alright,” you agreed with another acknowledging nod, thinking you would rather be further away from the fighting anyhow. “Great, this way then,” Dionysus gestured once more, this time the gesture more welcoming, an insistence for you to follow him. You followed quietly, giving a few idle glances around the building as he led you through it, down a long hall and to a secluded room. It seemed to be some kind of lavishly decorated bedroom or lounge, littered with chaises and sturdy chairs. Several sconces peppered the wall, giving it a warm, golden glow and leaving nary a corner of the room cast into darkness. On several tables sat platters of breads and cheese, eggs, fruit, and even one of various meats, flanked with several chalices and vessels of what you assumed wine and other spirits. Dionysus stopped at the

door, giving you a gentle push into the room while he waited before the doorway. “Wait here for a minute, babe, I’ll be right back,” he assured you with a grin. Uncertain exactly what it was Dionysus required of you - given who you were dealing with, you had ideas, of course, but one could never be completely sure - you did as you were told. You settled yourself on the edge of one chaise, eyeing one of the more impressive looking vessels on the tables. You decided against having a taste from it, deeming it better to just wait until Dionysus returned. After a few minutes that dragged on, the sound of footsteps drew near once more - this time more than just one set, the additional footsteps heavier than the first. Dionysus reappeared in the doorway, stepping into the room, followed by another man who could only be another god, judging by the broad breadth of his shoulders and chest and the fearsome, bloody red eyes that fell on you. You recognized him instantly - the god of chaos and war was hard to forget, after all - and most you knew gave him a wide berth. It wasn’t so much that he was unpredictable that concerned most people, rather that his fondness for war and violence was exceptionally predictable. You suppressed the urge to rise from your seat and make some hasty excuse to retreat, not fond of the wild-eyed excitement painted on the new god’s face that seemed barely held under control, or the nearly tangible aura around him that made your skin prickle. Despite being dressed in less warlike attire than the armor he often wore and was well known for, Ares was still large and imposing. The addition of several blades remaining strapped or tied here and there did little to dull that impression. You looked to Dionysus, seeking distraction from Ares’ entrance, wondering what business he had that involved you and also required Ares. “What was it you needed my help for again, Lord Dionysus?” you piped up as you watched him coax Ares into reposing on another chaise some distance away. Walking back to you, Dionysus eyed you for a second, and then his eyes flickered back to his brother, who seemed a bit more mild, though still impatient and worked up. “You saw the scuffle outside, yeah, babe?” he asked easily, seeming hardly put off by Ares’ frightening aura. You nodded silently, feeling as if he wasn’t quite done speaking. “Old Ares over there got a bit overexcited, and it’s really killing the mood,” Dionysus complained, tone dipping slightly in annoyance at the idea of a ruined mood, heaving a small sigh. “He could stand to… wind down, if you catch my meaning.” You weren’t dull, and catch his meaning you did quickly, looking to Ares. “Oh,” you said quietly, feeling more apprehension rise. Ares was appealing enough, you couldn’t deny that, but he was also nearly as frightful. “What do you say, babe? Think you can convince him to relax?” As carefree as Dionysus sounded, he still seemed aware of your worry, too. “If you’re feelin’ nervous, I’ve got a little something that might just help you out.” He reached for one of the more ornate vessels on the table before pouring some of the liquid into a goblet. The liquid was a rich, royal purple, some kind of wine that seemed to smoke faintly, though the scent that wafted from it was heady and sweet. “I promised it’d be a good time, right? Just drink this and trust me, babe.” Fickle though most gods were, from your experience Dionysus was trustworthy enough for his words to be reassuring. The wine in the cup would no doubt deal away with any lingering uncertainties as well. You considered the cup for a moment more, giving a second half-nod and reaching to take it from Dionysus’ hold. You drained it quickly, far quicker than you might have under normal circumstances. Now was not the time to sip and recline. You needed whatever aid that wine might offer. For several passing, heavy moments, your nerves remained. But a warm, gentle buzz crept up, drowning your concerns out until they were naught but an indistinct drone in the back of your head. A warmth starting in your

cheeks spread down your neck and chest, leaving you suddenly less stiff, less concerned by Ares’ menace. The prospect of helping him ‘relax’, as Dionysus had so casually suggested, became less frightening by the second. As if he could tell how quickly his special wine had taken effect - you guessed it was more likely he knew how potent it was - Dionysus grinned. He extended a hand to help you to your feet, and you took it without a second thought. In the past, you had heard alcohol referred to as ‘liquid courage’, though you imagined that was regarding mortal drink. You didn’t think any mortal wine could have so put you at ease quite so speedily as what you had just drank. Yet, despite the potency of the alcohol, you were easily able to remain steady on your feet, even without Dionysus’ help. “Well, go on, babe,” Dionysus urged you nonchalantly. “Don’t want this party to go downhill anymore, do we?” With a gentle shake of your head, you released Dionysus’ hand, and swept past him, towards Ares from where he watched with vague interest. The warmth and confidence granted to you spread further, growing strong, whisking away the last tatters of your nerves and leaving a need to please behind. You noted that even though Ares showed some interest, he seemed restless, as if he would much rather be out among the ruckus he had unintentionally - you assumed - incited. “I’ve been told you're in need of some relaxation, my Lord,” you said in a tone you hoped was alluring. Ares scrutinized you for a silent moment from his seat, sipping something from a goblet of his own. Though the scent that drifted from his was far more potent and acrid. “Is that so?” Ares’ speech was much more calm and composed than you had expected, a striking contrast to the roiling expression in his eyes. His sharp gaze flicked to Dionysus where you had left him. He had settled onto another of the many chaises, indulging in his own drink already and looking as if he wasn’t paying you any further mind. “Very well,” Cutting red eyes turned back to you, and a shiver of anxiety you had thought drowned in wine shot through you. But you pushed the feeling away, calling on the courage bestowed on you by that same drink. “But first, off with those,” Ares demanded, gesturing with a nod of his head to your clothing. Quick to obey, your fingers flashed to your belt, undoing it and tossing it aside. Your fingers shook a little, yet you didn’t feel as if fear or worry were the cause now. Next came your tunic, pulled over your head as gracefully as you could manage, left to join your belt. At last, only your breast band remained, and you doubted it was exempt from Ares’ command. So if came off, too, leaving you stark nude in front of him. Were it not for the potency of the draught Dionysus had given you, you were sure your stripping would have been a clumsy mess, but even with your trembling touch, it had felt easy. “Now, come here, then,” the tone of Ares’ voice hardly changed, remaining thunderous and even, as if you had little effect on him. You moved until you were within reach, and Ares closed the rest of the distance between you, grabbing you by the wrist and thigh and pulling you onto his lap. Even in your pleasant haze, the sudden, unsettled motion struck you, and you sat still for a few seconds, trying not to blink owlishly at him. A ghost of a grin curled Ares’ lips, and he waited expectantly. Large, hard hands lingered on your skin. They shifted, and you flinched reflexively, and Ares’ smile showed a slight flash of teeth, as if he was enjoying the tension, however brief. “Don’t keep the man waiting, babe,” drifted Dionysus’ voice from his chaise. Apparently, he was paying more attention it had initially appeared. Shaking yourself out of your surprised stupor, you licked your lips and tried to relax again. You bent forward, planting your hands firmly on the front of Ares’ tunic and crushing your lip to his. The taste of whatever sharp, potent liquid he had been drinking met you head on, mingling with something pleasantly earthy and overwhelming the

lingering sweetness from the wine Dionysus had plied you with. There was a soft clunk as he set down his drink somewhere nearby, and his reaction was swift, pushing roughly back into the kiss and nipping harshly at your lower lip. One hand tangled in your hair, his grip stinging, preventing you from retreating. The other wasn’t to be left idle, sweeping over your form, grabbing rough handfuls of your ass or thighs or chest as it wandered. A cruel, full bite to your lip made you hiss and gasp, opening the seal of your lips well wide enough for Ares to thrust his tongue between them. When it twined itself with yours, it was as fierce as his kiss, waging a battle rather than taking part in what was for many a sensual dance. The hand roaming your body shifted to the small of your back, pushing your hips down into his, ensuring you felt the fruits of your effort to entice him, already straining beneath his clothes, hard and hot even through them. Ares pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath and taste blood as it trickled from your savaged bottom lip. Your tongue slipped out once more, re-wetting your lips and gathering the stray beads of blood. Something like amusement had overtaken Ares’ wild-eyed gaze. “What an obedient little nymph you have brought, brother,” he said smoothly, clearly addressing Dionysus, though his attention remained fixed on you, taking a more thorough measure of your form spread across his lap. Something you couldn’t quite place flashed through the cutting red for an instant before he spoke again, and you couldn’t contain another shiver. “How much can such a fragile creature handle, I wonder,” he mused, the hand that had captured your head sliding down and lightly skimming over your neck briefly. Another shudder wracked you, less noticeable this time, and your breath caught in your chest. “Come now, nymph, let us see.” Quickly, Ares was on you again, leaning forward in his seat, pressing you more insistently into his lap before the same hand dug into your hair again, pulling and directing until you were bent back at his mercy. As before, Ares didn’t try to be soft or considerate, nipping at your lips again and wrestling your tongue into writhing submission. The warm, encouraging strength of the brew Dionysus had supplied made the lines between arousal and fear bubbling beneath the surface warp and twist, and you weren’t sure which was surging from the less than gentle treatment. Small moans and gasps previously smothered by Ares’ mouth and tongue broke free when he moved away again, licking his lips. He didn’t waste time, though, moving down your throat just as aggressively as he had kissed you. Sharp bites and soon-to-be bruises left a burning path across your jaw and throat. A deep, satisfied hum rolled through Ares when he was met with hisses and groans in response. Though his actions were careless and painful, there was pleasure in them, too, stoking a growing heat in you as if each touch of his lips and teeth and tongue infused you with the excited heat of bloodlust that filled the war god. You rolled your body toward his harsh attentions, bare core grinding against the eager hardness tucked beneath his clothes. A dark laugh tickled your skin, and you cracked your eyes open to spy an amused expression gracing Ares’ face. They snapped shut again to absorb the myriad mix of pain and pleasure as he assaulted your skin all over again. Somehow, his mouth on your skin felt so hot, even though you were sure your entire body was already aflame. So caught up in Ares’ attentions, you paid no mind to what had become of Dionysus. He lay eyeing the entire spectacle while he reclined languidly on his own chaise. Had you realized, it would have come as no surprise that the hedonistic god was fond of watching. And for a time, Dionysus was content to do just that - watch - his eyes glued to your reactions from his brother’s touch. But it wasn’t long before looking alone wasn’t enough, and his hand drifted to his lap, palming an erection of his own and stroking it through the fabric. Ares withdrew

again, allowing another short reprieve from his onslaught of mouth and hand. You followed him, moving your hands from his chest to his lap. A tiny part of you urged you to trace the outline of his erection beneath his clothes, to take your time. Yet another, far louder, more sensible part suggested that Ares wouldn’t likely take too kindly to a light and teasing touch. You abandoned the notion, ignoring the dull sting of the marks Ares had bit and sucked into your skin. You pushed his lappets away instead, and his cock stood free and stiff before you, almost as imposing as its owner. Rather than taking the time to admire him, you wrapped a hand around his thick cock, rewarded with a deep, primal sound. Ares’ head tilted back for a moment, basking in your hand slipping up and down his length. You squeezed a little harder as you stroked him, and Ares groaned; a husky, growling noise that went straight to your cunt. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching closer and closer behind you, nor did you catch the motion sweeping toward you. You only realized Dionysus’ suddenly much closer present when Ares tipped his head forward and cast his eyes past you. A brief glimpse of annoyance flitted across his face, quickly erased as you continued to fondle his cock. “Inviting yourself to join in, brother?” Ares asked, and part of you was almost disappointed to hear how collected and smooth his tone sounded, as if you weren’t touching him at all, nor as if he had set upon you like a wild beast before that. Your pace slowed, but didn’t stop as you twisted as far as you could to look back over your shoulder. You found Dionysus standing in front of Ares’ chaise, his own excitement easily noticeable beneath his flowing tunic. “Can’t very well resist a show like this,” Dionysus excused shamelessly with a shrug. Something told you this was hardly the first time he had intruded on someone else’s carnal moments. Or perhaps his eternally relaxed attitude only gave off that sense. “You’ll just have to learn to share.” Your glance flicked from one to the other, expecting Ares to look more irritated at Dionysus’ casual decree, but he seemed to brush it off with a short, dismissive hum. His focus returned to you, deciding you more worthy of his time. He swiped your hand away from his cock, shifting you in his lap with both hands. You barely registered the sound of rustling of cloth behind you, completely distracted as Ares positioned you properly over him. He didn’t bother taking his time easing himself inside, jerking your hips down and bucking his upward. You stiffened immediately, biting your abused lip at the sudden stretching, aching sting as he filled you completely. You clawed at the fabric of the chaise, taking a deep, quivering breath. Fortunately, the wine and, somehow, Ares’ rough handling had left you limber and wet enough that the stretch of Ares’ cock wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Yet still, you couldn’t restrain a pained whimper and a shorter, gasping breath when he shifted, lifting you up and forcing you back down. “Aah, Lord Ares, it- I-I can’t--” Your words were cut short by a whine, and your eyes shot down, avoiding Ares’ cruel crimson ones, again attempting to relax, focusing on the pleasure beneath the pain. You swallowed hard, and your cunt constricted, despite the burning ache, at the sight of the bulge in your lower belly. You hadn’t missed Ares’ considerable endowment when you had been touching him beforehand, but the sight of him so noticeably buried in you was a little frightening, and somehow even more arousing. “What troubles you so, nymph?” you tore your gaze away from the lewd sight it was fixed on to meet Ares’ eyes when he spoke. The cut of his voice was derisive, almost cruel, and a leer adorned his lips. “Surely you can handle this,” he added. He lifted and lowered you again, harder, and his smirk grew just a little when you winced and a gasping ‘ah’ burst from your lips. Somehow it was no shock a god entangled in violence and war would enjoy some pain, even in play. Dionysus’ familiar voice

floated to you before you could answer, smooth as honey, and almost soothing. “Easy, babe, you’re doing great.” His words were an intimate whisper, and if Ares could hear, he didn’t care to acknowledge them, only spearing you on his cock all over again, settling into a slow, rough pace. “Gotta relax, let it all go,” Dionysus urged you, and the tickle of his breath sent a pleasant chill down your spine, making your cunt squeeze down on Ares’ length again. Dionysus’ hands splayed across the bare skin of your back, feeling almost cold on your overheated skin. He smoothed around your torso until a breast filled each large palm, his thumbs rubbing lightly over your nipples. The sensation was a welcome contrast to the sting of Ares’ brutal fucking. Though the pain didn’t seem as bad as it had been - whether you were becoming used to it, or the pleasure Dionysus added muted it, you weren’t sure. Ares’ hands, meanwhile, remained steadfast on your hips, content to hold them in a grip tight enough to surely bruise. Each new time you sank down on his dick, your breath escaped in a gasp or breathless groan. The sounds you made morphed into something steadily more erotic, breathier and wanton. Ares’ voice drifted out, too, though in rumbling grunt when he buried himself completely inside you. Coming down on his length again, another hardness met you, from your backside this time, your ass sliding against it as Ares continued to fuck you. A fleeting glance back told you was Dionysus, proudly nude having decided completely discarding his long tunic was the best course of action. Your lapse in attention earned you more punishment from Ares, though, and he took the chance to lean forward and bite down on your neck sharply. Your hands flexed again, digging into whatever it was they had settled on now - you weren’t concerned with what, be it cloth or flesh or anything else. Your head snapped around, meeting entertained, self-satisfied red. Dionysus’ erection drew back and one hand lifted away. After several more thrusts, something hard, but smaller and more pliant prodded at your ass. Coated in something tacky and slick, what you assumed was one of Dionysus’ fingers searched briefly before finding your asshole and rubbing against it in small, gentle circles. An extra hard thrust from Ares made you tense and whimper, though your body clenched around him again. Still near your throat, Ares’ mouth closed over your skin again, biting and sucking greedily. Dionysus’ finger abandoned the lazy circles, pressing lightly against your puckered hole, steadily forward, careful despite Ares’ jarring pace. When the digit finally slipped through the ring of muscle, you hissed, a new discomfort striking you for an instant, in combination with Ares’ harshness. But whatever coated Dionysus’ finger had made the penetration only uncomfortable for a brief moment, and when he eased his finger in and out, the discomfort shifted to the back of your mind, replaced by the increased sense of fullness. Alongside it, a bubbling tension was awakening in your core, spurred on by the treatment of both gods, boiling low and tightening further ever-so-slowly. A second thick finger joined the first, and you became more used to the newest intrusion, taking in the swell of sensations enveloping you. Dionysus’ pace shifted to match Ares’ in speed, but it remained careful and otherwise languid. The hand he had left on your tits though became notably rougher, though, from excitement, rather than pleasure in pain. Ares’ grip on your hips wavered, no longer needing to so forcefully direct you. The ministrations from both had worked you into a wild heat that encouraged you to rock and grind against him and back onto Dionysus’ fingers. You couldn’t decide which your body craved more. All you knew was you needed both. Any remaining tension had been completely sapped away, along with all coherency you had possessed. An unbidden whine broke free when Dionysus withdrew his fingers, turning halfway into a gasp and then a moan when Ares paired a hard thrust with an even harder

bite on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You had little time to protest or miss any of the sensations before the hotter, harder touch of Dionysus’ cock returned, coated in the same thick, slick substance as his fingers. He aligned himself with your ass, as smooth and relaxed as before. “Better take a deep breath, babe,” Dionysus purred in your ear, both of his hands shifting to cut your rear. He pushed forward as you impaled yourself on Ares once more, his entrance mindful and slow; the opposite of his brother’s entirely. You drew a sharp breath, not from Dionysus’ warning, but simply from the way each inch added more and more to what you had already believed to be a fullness that threatened to split you wide. By the time Dionysus, too, was sheathed inside of you, the fullness bordered on overwhelming, and your breathing faltered again, your mind so completely scrambled. Your head fell back and your lips opened in an ‘oh’ of pleasure, dull pain, and a plethora of other intense, mixed feelings. You tried to rock into them both, to meet each thrust, though when their paces aligned, you could do little but writhe and moan, as if all sense had been wrung from you. Dionysus mouthed at your ear playfully, tongue curling across the shell. “Mm, you’re doing great, babe,” he praised in a husky whisper you almost didn’t catch, so caught up in everything. But catch them you did, and they sent another shudder coursing through you, your body squeezing both gods desperately and drawing more erotic sounds from them both. Another growling, low moan from Ares. A breathy, hedonistic groan from Dionysus. They only added to the mounting maelstrom of arousal and heat. Your heart quickened when one of Ares’ hands abandoned your hips and splayed around your throat loosely. His lips brushed your ear, and as he spoke, he squeezed, just enough to make your heart beat even faster and your breath come a bit more shallow. “Enjoying yourself, are you, nymph?” he growled cheekily. “I might have expected as much from one of my dear brother’s little harlots.” Had you been more sober, clear minded, Ares’ words, sounding nearly a slight, might have made you flush hot with humiliation. Instead, they worked only to heighten your desire, flowing into everything else. You had no mind left for embarrassment. All that remained were the mind-numbing sensations surrounding you and filling you. Ares’ voice dropped away, his pace picking up, his hips bucking harder into yours. Even Dionysus behind you thrust a little faster, harder, his own peaking arousal just as plain as Ares’. You weren’t immune to the welling up of pleasure, either, your belly churning and tight with a winding heat that was nigh unbearable. It grew and grew each time you were filled, and you wanted to scream instead of moan, cry instead of gasp. The thick intrusions, the wandering and groping and squeezing hands, and the greedy, hot tongues and teeth. It all came together in the perfect storm of mindless, primal passion. You came before either of them, giving into whatever wanton shout or cry wanted to escape, your muscles clenching frantically. When first the tense coil of heat burst, you were set awash with that heat, searing and intense, as if lightning struck. Your orgasm rose and fell, only to be dragged out by Ares’ and Dionysus’ unceasing pace, thrusting into your heat unrelentingly. The end of one orgasm blended into the beginning of another, and hot, overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes before breaking away. On either side of your face, each god lingered. Dionysus whispered more sultry words of praise and encouragement, placing sloppy kisses on your temple and cheek. Ares nipped your jaw and licked at the salty trail of your tears, as it was an exquisite taste that delighted him. Ares’ hips rolled into you harder than ever before, pace becoming wild and erratic. With a final sharp thrust, Ares’ release filled your cunt, hot and thick, accompanied by a savage bite to your neck that left the warm, sticky feeling of blood in its wake. When he pulled back, a bit of

blood smeared on his lips and teeth, he looked even more warlike and intimidating than to start. But something in his expression seemed sated, calm almost - or at least as calm as a god of such chaos could be. Dionysus, despite joining in later, took little longer to reach his own climax, and with a grinding thrust, he, too, coated your insides with his cum. A drawn-out, erotic moan followed in the wake of his orgasm, and he lay his head on your shoulder, his hair sticking to your overheated, sweat-slicked skin. After a moment of silence, Ares reclined back more comfortably, though didn’t bother to lift you off his length. Dionysus pulled away, withdrawing leisurely with a sound of contentment. Feeling exhausted and sore, you chanced collapsing against Ares’ chest, and to your surprise, the war god allowed it. You ignored the warm, wet feeling seeping down your thighs, too tired to truly care. “There. Don’t we all feel better now?” asked Dionysus cheerily, hardly sounded tired or winded at all. He paused to listen in silence, searching for the previous ruckus. “Certainly sounds a bit quieter out there now.” “Perhaps,” Ares drawled, and he didn’t sound very taxed either. It seemed you were the only one so tired. “I may yet have more use for your nymph before the night is done,” Ares decided, and you jumped reflexively when his fingers curled in your hair and massaged absently, in a gesture that could almost be confused for affectionate. Dionysus hummed acknowledgement. “Well, I’ll be back in a bit then. Try not to have too much more fun while I’m gone.” You heard rather than saw Dionysus redress and depart, too tired to bother looking. Your mind wandered to what other uses Ares might have for you, as he had stated. Did Dionysus have similar intentions in mind for the evening, too? Whatever the case, this wouldn’t be a night you would soon forget.

[nikibogwater]

Halloween is coming to a close, but I don’t have any candy. So instead, I shall Treat myself to one (1) unsolicited personal gush-post. 

Buckle up.

Niki Rambles: The Magical Siblings and Me (Or: Why My Blog/Ao3 Suddenly Became a Tales of Arcadia/Douxie Stanning Disaster)

So I’m knee deep in my latest Tales of Arcadia fic (it’s a doozy, as a couple of you might have figured out lol) and very much kind of wanted to talk a bit about the Immortal Bonds series as a whole. Tales of Arcadia is a series that’s been dear to my heart since mid-2017 when I saw the first season of Trollhunters, but it wasn’t until Wizards dropped this past August that I began to take an active interest in the fandom, especially in regards to fanfiction. I think I just always felt like ToA had a very neat, thorough story that explored every aspect of the characters/relationships that I personally wanted to see. But Wizards being crunched down to only 10 episodes by the filthy artistic oppressors at Netflix was (much as I hate to say it) one of the best things to happen to me as a fandom creator, because it meant that suddenly I had a story with characters that I absolutely loved that was just brimming with unexplored potential--it was a fic-author’s empty playground, and add in the fact that Douxie has easily settled quite comfortably at the very top of my Favorite Fictional Characters Ever list, and I was more than ready to play. 

But it got even better for yours truly, thanks to this precious bean:

If I have any sort of presence in the ToA fandom, it is as the Mother of the Magical Siblings. While I definitely write plenty of interaction between all three of them (Douxie, Nari, and Archie), it’s the relationship between the Punk Wizard and this Bean Goddess that really ignited the passion that would one day result in a 5-part (soon to be 6 and still counting!) series centered entirely around the family dynamic these three share. It’s one of the biggest and longest-running projects I’ve ever worked on, and also the one that has seen the most improvement to my writing skills. 

The reason Douxie’s relationship with Nari is so absurdly appealing/important to me is because I am a younger sibling--the youngest of five, actually, and I have been blessed with an absolutely STELLAR family, especially my older brothers, who have embodied every ideal associated with their position. I said a while back that Douxie shares traits with all three of my older brothers, and I think that’s why I latched onto his relationship with Nari so strongly. Of all the interactions he has with other characters, it’s his very brief exchanges with Nari that most closely resemble the relationship I had with my brothers when I was also a small bean who needed protecting from this big scary world. (Now I am what’s scary in this world. 😈 Jk, I’m actually a very nice person). Also insane amount of Kudos to the writers/animators working on the show for somehow managing to communicate such a specific feeling in like, 25 seconds?! You guys are insanely talented.

Obviously there’s a lot of differences, and Nari is a vastly different personality than my own, but the core of the interactions, the feelings they sparked within me, is very familiar and close to my heart. So you can imagine my absolute DELIGHT when the series ended with these two quite literally riding off into the sunrise together, embarking on a joint venture that we as the audience are not allowed to see (at least, not yet), the two giving each other a soft, affectionate glance before the camera cuts away. (I have no idea what face Archie is making here lol).

(I could also write an entire essay on the significance of the expression on Douxie’s face right now--homeboy doesn’t look that soft for just ANYONE, but I do need to sleep at some point, so that’s not happening tonight). 

So there’s the first reason I became borderline obsessed with these two. What few interactions they had struck me as being very sibling-esque, in such a way that hearkened back to my own experiences and made me feel wonderfully nostalgic. The second reason is perhaps a bit less soft and sweet. 

I really want to push back against a particular idea that has become rooted in media, and especially in fandom: the idea that intense emotional intimacy is exclusive to romantic relationships. Modern society is almost feral with its obsession over romance (more specifically sex, but this is a PG blog and I don’t want to even go there), and while I will be the first in line to tell you that a good old-fashioned romantic love story (when done well and appropriately) is a joy to read/watch, I will never stop screaming into the void that platonic/familial relationships are just as important, just as dramatic, just as wonderful as romantic ones (albeit in a very different way). Douxie and Nari have given me an opportunity to write for a relationship dynamic that I know inside and out, for characters who I absolutely adore. And they’ve given me an outlet to celebrate something that I think is too-often forgotten in our modern world: the importance and intensity of familial/platonic love. The warm feeling that nestles in my chest when my mom asks me if I’d like a cup of tea while I’m writing, when my dad squeezes my shoulder, when my brother sends me into hysteric fits of laughter with the stupidest joke possible, when my best friend randomly texts me “Vibe check! How are you?” in the middle of the day without warning--that’s what I want to celebrate with The Immortal Bonds. And it’s you guys, my beautiful, beautiful followers/readers, who have made this venture so much more than just me hurling my opinions into the nether. You’ve all been so incredibly supportive, with your comments, your Kudos, even just your silent stalking of my Tumblr page, quietly leaving likes on all of my Magical Siblings content. You guys have been celebrating these things WITH me, and I can say with great certainty that my experience in this fandom has been the absolute best that I have ever had. 

Nobody asked for this post, and I can only think of one or two people who would actually care to read the whole thing, but it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while. Just to put these words somewhere safe, where they can sit on display for those few who are interested. Also, huge thank you to the entire Tales of Arcadia team (who will probably never see this) for telling such a fantastic story and crafting such beloved characters that sparked the imaginations of so many of us. You guys make content that makes this cold dark world feel a little warmer and brighter. ✨

[artificialqueens]

Wings (Bitney) - Cheetah

Summary: In a world where the first tattoo you get will also appear on your soulmate’s skin, it’s difficult to fit in when romance is the last thing you want. Courtney never got her tattoo with the intention of finding her soulmate, and yet, they are still led to one another by those ink-dark feathers.

The world was not made for them, but perhaps it never needed to be.

A/N: As much as I love sweet, fluffy romantic stories, there’s always been a part of me that yearned for there to be more aro rep in fic. Of course, the best way to get what you want is to write it, so here it is: my first fic centred around aromanticism, framed through the lens of a soulmate au.

The soulmate au felt a natural choice because of how typically romance-centric they are; I wanted to flip the script and create a universe where aromantic soulmates were possible. I chose not to remove the inundation of romance in society, because that is something a lot of aros have to deal with and I wanted to represent that.

Also, this fic is set in the same universe as One Direction (To Your Heart), but it’s not necessary to have read that to understand it. All you need to know is that Bianca is the head of her own fashion label, and Courtney is one of her models.

Enjoy!

Ao3 // my blog

“Fuck.”

The wings. Courtney has the wings.

“Bianca? Are you okay?”

They’re right there, inked across her back, feathers arranged in perfect rows. The sight of them makes Bianca’s stomach turn, and she doesn’t reply for a long moment.

“I’m fine,” she says eventually, her tone clipped, even harsher than it usually is. “Just remembered something.”

She tears her eyes away from the tattoo, feeling like she’s going to be sick.

Courtney has the wings.

The same wings that appeared on Bianca’s skin two years ago.

“Courtney, I’m going to need to see you in my office before you go home this afternoon. It’s important.”

“Okay, but–”

“Be there.” Bianca doesn’t give her the chance to ask any questions before she turns on her heel, leaving Courtney standing with her dress half-zipped, green eyes glimmering with confusion.

~

The dress is beautiful. It fits Courtney like a glove, shimmering with pale sequins that catch the light every time she moves. But whenever she looks in the mirror, she can’t stop herself from turning around, peering at the delicate feathers fanning out across her shoulder blades, exposed by the low cut of the dress.

The ink burns her back, digging deep claws into her skin. Her tattoo is beautiful, and she wouldn’t change it for the world, but… still, sometimes she regrets it. She regrets visualising the possibility that there could be somebody out there who is supposed to be hers. The wings make it - make them - real, tangible, and the idea of them hurts Courtney’s soul, hollows it out until she isn’t sure who she is anymore.

Is she wrong for not wanting them? The world tells her she is, fires it at her from all angles, and yet nothing she does can fill that emptiness in her chest.

She has seen how her friends’ faces go dreamy whenever they talk about their soulmates, and every time, Courtney has to force a smile, her happiness for them dulled by the discomfort pooling in her stomach. Looking at her ink-dark wings, she wonders about the person who shares them. Will they paint that dream-touched look on her face, too? Courtney can’t quite fathom it.

And when she asks what it’s like, everyone always says her soulmate will complete her, tells her that they will fit beside her like a puzzle piece; that she will find everything she never knew she wanted wrapped up in their perfect smile.

Courtney simply can’t see her hopes and dreams existing as a person. She doesn’t like the idea of being better thanks to somebody else - she’s Courtney Act, and as far she’s concerned, she’s just fine the way she is. Needing someone else to reassure her of that, to fill in the missing pieces of her soul, feels stupid. Childish, almost. Like being a teenager and watching all her friends fall in love, wondering why she was never enough to be their first choice.

She turns away from the mirror, wrapped in a familiar discomfort that has long since started to feel like home.

~

Bianca startles at the sound of knocking.

“Come in,” she says gruffly, glancing at the clock, only just noticing what time it is.

Shit.

“You said you wanted to see me?”

Bianca’s gaze snaps up, meeting gentle green eyes and a soft smile. Her heart twists at the sight.

“I did,” she replies stiffly, waiting as Courtney helps herself to one of the empty seats opposite her.

So this is her soulmate. Courtney is generically pretty, with a petite frame and luscious hair like the models in magazines and shampoo advertisements. Still, she radiates a genuine warmth and friendliness; she doesn’t seem to be intimidated by Bianca in the slightest, which Bianca supposes is something she can appreciate.

“Okay, look, this is going to sound really stupid. But just hear me out, alright?” Bianca takes a deep breath, quickly revising what she’s planned to say. She’s been mulling over it all afternoon, ever since she left the dressing rooms, but she still feels completely unprepared.

“It’s fine,” Courtney assures her. “Say whatever you need to. I’m listening.”

Bianca steels herself, vacating any shred of expression from her face until all that’s left is a cool, collected emptiness.

She might as well get this over and done with.

“You’re my soulmate,” she says bluntly. “I saw your wings when you were doing the fitting this morning.”

She pauses to gauge Courtney’s reaction and it’s… strange, to say the least. Bianca watches as her eyes go wide and the colour drains from her face. The clock ticks on the wall - one second, two seconds, three - but Courtney remains silent, motionless.

“I’m just going to say this upfront,” Bianca continues, when it becomes clear Courtney has nothing to add. “I have no interest in you, or whatever magical bond is supposed to make us fall in love for the rest of our lives. Destiny means shit to me, and if that matters to you, you can fuck off and go cry somewhere else. Tissues are there if you want to take one on your way out.”

She doesn’t look at Courtney again. She doesn’t think she’s ready to see the hurt she’s plastered all over that delicate face. The words had come out harsher than she’d intended - more defensive, as though Bianca is a cornered animal - but there’s no turning back now.

Courtney surprises her by breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, sounding like an immense weight has just been lifted from her shoulders.

“Are you fucking deaf?” Bianca snaps. “This should not be a good thing for you.”

“But it is!” Courtney replies delightedly. “Something about this whole ‘soulmates’ thing has always thrown me off, and I guess… it’s nice to find someone that thinks like that, too.”

Bianca takes a moment to eye her up and down. She’s lying - she must be lying. Bianca has never met another person who hasn’t been obsessed with the idea of finding their other half.

“I’ve just never found romance that interesting,” Courtney elaborates. “It doesn’t appeal to me. It never has. I like to think I’m perfectly fine without some fated love to complete me.” She says the words with a casual air about her, but Bianca can still hear the bitterness grating between her teeth.

It feels painfully familiar, and Bianca has to take a stunned moment to replay Courtney’s words in her head. She has never heard her own thoughts - and such deeply personal ones, at that - come out of another person’s mouth, and she certainly never imagined her own soulmate would be the one echoing them back to her.

“But then, if we’re soulmates… what does this mean for us?” she asks quietly, shock and caution laced in every word.

Courtney smiles, taking Bianca’s hand in both of hers.

“You know what? I think that’s up to us.”

~

“So we’re soulmates.”

“I thought we’d established that already.”

Courtney coughs awkwardly, staring into her steaming mug of tea. Bianca’s abrasive personality still isn’t something she’s used to, but she finds she doesn’t mind it.

She glances up again, meeting Bianca’s eyes. They’re a warm brown, speckled with gold, and they remind Courtney of sunny Christmases in Australia: of long, shiny days, of sitting out in the backyard as the sun sets and her family downs cartons of beer together. She can’t help but smile, and Bianca’s gaze darts away again, but not before Courtney’s catches the odd mix of confusion and intrigue in the depths of her eyes.

She knows there’s a softer side to Bianca under that tough surface. She’s seen it already, in Bianca’s quiet hesitance on the drive back to her apartment, and in the gentleness with which she gave Courtney her tea.

“You know,” Courtney says, shattering the tense silence that has settled around them, “I’d kinda been hoping that this - the wings - that they wouldn’t really be a soul tattoo.”

“Why’d you take the risk, then?” Bianca asks. “If you’d kept your skin clear, you’d never have to worry.”

It’s apparent that that’s the path Bianca chose, and the path she’d hoped her soulmate would choose, too.

“Unfortunately, I find tattoos pretty and wanted to get one regardless,” Courtney tells her. “I didn’t get it with the intention of finding you… I just liked it.”

“Well.” Bianca clears her throat. “That was a stupid idea.”

Courtney laughs. “What, don’t you like me?”

Her chest hums in pride when Bianca smiles, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

“You caused me two years of grief, so I can’t say I do,” Bianca deadpans, but she’s still smiling. Despite that, Courtney knows exactly what she means, hears the quiet honesty behind her words.

Romance has been an ever-present force in her life: something that Courtney has tried and failed at running from, time and time again. It was in her childhood, in the sugary cartoons filled with matching tattoos and happy endings. It was in her adolescence, when her friends left her behind for their first taste of love even before they were tattooed. It follows her now, as the people around her find their soulmates and dive into relationships Courtney has never been able to see for herself.

So, of course she knows what Bianca means. The wings always represented the possibility of there being someone else, someone out there who was supposed to be hers. They represented the inevitable heartbreak that Bianca had clearly been expecting when she called Courtney into her office earlier that afternoon.

Except that didn’t happen, and now they’re here, sitting across from each other at Bianca’s dining table.

“Do you think it’s destiny?” Courtney blurts out.

“What?”

“Destiny. I - I always thought this whole soulmates thing would force me into a relationship I don’t want and a love I can’t feel. But it hasn’t, because… you’re like me.” Courtney swallows thickly. “I’ve never met anyone else like me.”

“Neither have I,” Bianca replies quietly.

There’s a long silence. Courtney counts her heartbeats.

“Maybe it is,” Bianca finally says, meeting Courtney’s eyes again. “Destiny, I mean. Have you ever heard that ‘your soulmate is tailored to you’ bullshit?”

Courtney nods.

“Maybe there’s something to it,” Bianca admits, a slight frown tugging at her lips. Courtney knows how she feels - it’s weird, rethinking everything she thought she believed. But it’s a good kind of weird, especially now that she has Bianca. Someone who understands.

“I’m really happy I found you, Bianca,” Courtney murmurs.

Bianca smiles, and it shines in her eyes like fairy lights.

“You know what? Me too. You’re not so bad after all, Miss Act.”

Courtney laughs. “I’ll take it.”

And in this moment, sitting across from Bianca - her soulmate, she thinks, not without a little newfound wonder - she feels like everything might just turn out alright.

[m-oana-archive]

A Love Too Heavy (For Just One to Hold) pt. 3

catch up on pt. 1 | pt 2. 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader x Remus Lupin

Words: 3629 

Summary: After pining after Y/N for years, Sirius finally gets the girl: the happy ending the story is supposed to end with.  The only problem is the fact Sirius’ feelings for Remus still haven’t seemed to go away.  But he isn’t the only one starting to question their ability to love two people at the same time.

A/N: This is the last part, and includes too many italicized words and usages of “oh” (which are almost always italicized). 

requestor: @shinysilverunicorn-blog  | read on AO3 | Masterlist

Y/N’s POV 

How to describe Sirius and Remus?  Y/N could do so simply, stating they were her closest friends, easily the two most important people in her life.  But that wouldn’t include the whole of it.  The way each of them were so different that both were essential to the functions of her heart. 

Sirius was like a catchy tune: people got drawn to him.  Even if he got annoying and overbearing, there was something that made him impossible to distance yourself from fully.  And like a catchy tune, you wouldn’t expect there to be more than one layer to him, but that was wrong entirely.  He wore leather and confidence, but only because he knew what it did for him, not because it matched what was held underneath.  He knew about himself—his fears, hopes, failures, self-destructive tendencies—well enough to know how to look like he had none of them.  Then there was Remus.  The opposite.  There was nothing about him that didn’t suggest introspection, from books to sweaters to tea to somehow swerving away from the Marauder reputation by being difficult to associate with petty pranks.  But, while it seemed to be easy for him to dive deep into the depths of his soul, he always stood shivering at the shore before turning away, afraid of what he’d find under cold water.  But with terror came beauty, and Remus couldn’t see past the first part to understand how gorgeous he was. 

They were both wonderful in different ways: if Sirius was the sun, Remus was the shade that protected you.  If Remus was a cup of tea, Sirius was the sugar that made it palatable.  It was hard not to love one and not the other because it seemed as if both were necessary to survive.  

Or, at least, that was the problem Y/N was facing. 

Y/N remembered the first time she saw both.  It was hard to look away from Sirius; sometimes, Y/N swore that his purpose was to be admired.  But, in a similar vein, it was hard to ignore Remus.  While, out of the rest of them, James was too earnest to be captivating and Peter too unsure of himself to be found attractive, Remus was quiet in the way he knew he didn’t have to give himself up to gain attention.  Remus was identical to the pages he read: once you finished one, you couldn’t help flipping to the next.  

She hadn’t meant, or expected, either adorations to turn into crushes.  Instantly, she had wanted to be friends with the whole lot of them.  Not even the cold blood was enough to turn her away; in fact, with her Slytherin ambition, showing her ability to make friendships despite the rivalry became part of the appeal.  But, unbeknownst to her, feelings had started.  With Remus, they were the moments he was loud and obnoxious and so bloody smart it was hard to be anything except amazed.  Similarly, Sirius was at his easiest to fall in love with when he was without facades, wearing some torn-up jumper that belonged to one of “his lads”—almost always Remus—and speaking very quietly of whatever came to his mind first.  They were two sides of the same coin, one that Y/N wished she could hold between her fingers, that Y/N wished she could keep. 

At first, because of her platonic intention, Sirius’ obvious interest was overwhelming, like lights being flashed on in a room right after darkness, not giving eyes time to adjust.  But once her eyes had adjusted, they could barely look at anyone else, envision anyone else kissing her; holding her hand; laying on her bed with her, bodies forming shapes that fit one another perfectly.  

Remus was chillingly indifferent.  When Y/N stated her wishes that someone would ask her to Hogsmeade—subconsciously, this was a complaint that Remus wasn’t doing so—Remus brushed it off casually, saying that someday someone would come along who would treat her right.  The heartbreak of it made her realize how deep her emotions were for him; she was willing to waste her life trying to catch an unreachable moon just so Remus wouldn’t have to endure being transformed by it every month.  And, when she inevitably failed, at least he’d know he was worth a whole lifetime. 

So she picked Sirius, not through a choice, but through a lack of one.  Because, if Y/N truly had her way, she would choose both. 

But apparently, Remus wouldn’t.  Not based on what he had just said to her, moments after some stupid, hopeful part of Y/N thought they might have kissed.   

The sounds of the words Remus had said were gone, but the weight pulled the room down, including everything inside of Y/N.  Her soul felt like the library: all the brightness was sucked out except for two small lights that weren’t enough to make her feel alive anymore. 

“Oh.”  She meant to say it, but she whispered it instead.  Or sighed it.  

For the first time in a long time since meeting and getting to know Remus, her eyes did not want to meet his face.

Silence followed.  A long one; so long that it transcended tension and peace to turn into an overwhelming shallowness, the same kind Y/N felt inside of her chest as she stood waiting.  She knew instinctively that Remus’ mouth was opening and closing above her, trying sentences in his head before realizing he didn’t want to say them out loud.  Y/N wished he would have planned the sentence he had said before with that kind of carefulness.  Since when was Remus so spontaneous, anyway?  When did he make the decision to abandon so much of what made him him, even if it was in the name of honesty? 

The first sound was Remus’ swallow.  Then, his hand brushing through his hair.  Then, his voice, saying, “I didn’t mean that to say I don’t want you to be with him.  I’ve never seen him happier.”  There was such sadness in the admission, the kind of sadness that is made of happiness.  The  kind of sadness that is made of love.

Instantly, something within Y/N shifted.  Anger disappeared.  She looked up to Remus and she could see it on his face, on the purse of his lips and twisting of his eyes and lock of his jaw: Remus really was in love with Sirius.  Or at least could love him.  If given the chance. 

“I can’t just…” Y/N started, drifting, struggling to say anything because words felt so loud.  “You’re… you’re my best friend.  How am I supposed to just sit around dating him in front of you in good conscience?  You’ve put me in quite a position here.  Either I hurt you until you get over him, or I hurt him to spare you.” 

“Please, don’t do anything for me,” Remus automatically replied.  “Really, that wasn’t a cry for pity—” 

“Then why the hell did you tell me that?” 

Remus tugged on his hair.  “I don’t know!  I just couldn’t bear lying to you anymore!” 

“Then want to know something else true?” Y?N said, despite her stomach telling her to stop talking, saying that this was a terrible idea, one rooted out of nothing except anger and childishness.  “I fucking, I fucking had feelings for you, Remus.  But you were so fucking indifferent, always brushing me aside, making me feel like I was just another person to you, no one special.  I stayed in.  I stayed for you.  Struggled silently, hurting every damn day, just because I knew you didn’t mean it.  Why couldn’t you have just waited until… until…” 

Her words faded into a tense silence.  Remus lifted an eyebrow at her.  “Until what?  Until I got over him?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you just say it?  I don’t…” 

Remus was looking at her, and she was doing everything to collapse into herself, to not let her red cheeks be noticed, to make them disappear.  “Oh.”  He paused.  A single moment encapsulating a thousand different ones.  “Y/N, do you still have feelings for me?” 

Y/N laid her hands out in front of her, her body ready to express a logical counter argument her mind could not provide.  Her stature sunk.

“What does it matter?” 

“It matters because…” Remus hesitated, hands still in his hair, running through it desperately.  “Okay, if we’re being very honest here, which we are, I need you to know that, um, a lot of the reason I’m not dating Sirius is because I’m conflicted between him and someone else, someone else who is also in a relationship… and it could work, but I… I’m not sure…” 

“How to politely ask me to remove myself from my own relationship?” Y/N offered. 

Remus’ face hardened.  “No,” he said.  It was stern, absolute.  All at once, Y/N understood.  

Just as suddenly, there was a gasp of wood from the side.  Y/N turned to the door, finding Sirius there.  He had a look of confusion nearing pain on his face and Remus’ jumper on. 

Oh, Y/N realized.  Oh.

If the rumors and legends were true, this could have been the last moment of her life: everything was coming back in flashes.  There were fuzzy, alcohol-smudged scenes of parties, where, in something she misnamed as drunken dumbfuckery, Remus and Sirius were dancing with bodies close together, laughter taking up every part of their mouths.  Times that she would see Sirius leaning in close to whisper something in Remus’ ear, Remus’ ears turning pink regardless of how many times it must have been done before.  There were all the times that Y/N turned around in class to meet Remus’ eyes, just to find they were already on her.  When she would borrow Remus’ jumper from Sirius and Remus wouldn’t protest; “It fits you,” he had said, which she had taken far too literally.  The fact that Sirius wore that jumper more than Remus, yet Remus would never protest.  The late nights of crying herself to sleep, afraid that she had made the wrong choice, because she wanted not one, but both of them. 

She looked back to Remus first.  He was already looking at her.  “Wait here,” she whispered, fighting the urge to kiss him on the cheek nonchalantly before turning and walking towards Sirius. 

This was it.  This had to be it.  

Y/N got to Sirius faster than she had meant too, but had no time to feel self-conscious about it.  “I need you alone for a second,” she said.  Her hands were on his arm, redirecting him out into the corridor before he had time to protest. 

Once they were alone, door closed, Sirius’ body instinctively adjusted into an argument stance: there was a rolling back of his shoulders, a cocking of his chin, a tense spot in his jaw, a crossing of his arms.  “You were real fucking close in there, Y/N.  In dim light, after six hours together… he’s not your boyfriend!  I am!  I barely even see you today and when I finally find you you’re almost kissing him.” 

Y/N waited, trying to cover the ache in her chest with an unbothered expression.  She knew she needed  to apologize, but had to wait: they didn’t have time for this argument right then.  They might never have to have it again, too, if she was right.  She hoped she was right. 

“You have a right to be jealous of him,” she admitted.  “But, let me ask you something: are you jealous of me?” 

Sirius’ muscles softened, or, maybe, they buckled under the pressure of him having been uncovered.  It was too soon to know, too similar to tell.  He opened his mouth, then closed it.  The anger in his eyes was transformed into pain.

Y/N reached to touch his face.  The way he melted into her touch was enough to break her heart, again.  “Sirius.  I’m not asking about what this means for us right now.  I just need to know, honestly, how you feel about Remus.” 

“It’s complicated,” he frowned. 

“It might complicate, but it’s not complicated.  Even if things change because of how you feel, I will always love you so much.  It would be unfair to ask you to tell me the truth and then get mad at you for doing it.” 

With a deep exhale underneath Remus’ jumper and his lips, warm, against the side of Y/N’s hand, Sirius said, “I have feelings for him.  So many.  It’s painful.”   

I know.  God, I know, Y/N thought to herself.  How could anyone meet Remus and not be madly, irresistibly, unforgivably in love with him?  It was foolish of her to think she could not love him; it was nice to know that someone else had also been equally mindless.  Perhaps this was something that made Sirius and Y/N so compatible. 

“It’s okay,” Y/N decided upon saying.  She brushed her thumb against his stubbled cheek.  “I just need to know, does this change how you feel about me?  What dating me means?” 

Sirius’ eyes met hers instantly.  “Merlin, no.  I’m still so ridiculously into you, too, which is why I never told you about Remus—because I usually tell you about everything—because I didn’t know what it meant.  I was so confused.  I still am.” 

“Sirius.”  She stepped closer to him, feeling her eyes fill with tears, either from understanding his sadness or from realizing both of them were helping create it for so long.  “I know.” 

His eyes were angry again, despite the fact hers were wet. 

“I know.  I understand.  God, Sirius, I have feelings for him too!  And I hid it for so long, because I thought he didn’t feel the same, and I liked you so much, and I didn’t know I didn’t have to choose between the two of you.” 

“You didn’t?  You don’t?”  Sirius asked with such shock, it came out as a scream. 

A relief, golden as sunlight, filled Y/N so deeply that she could only shake her head in response, too overwhelmed to do anything else.  The tension that was held inside of her for so long was finally undone and all she could see was how possible everything was now.

“He told me he feels like we do about him.  It’s been so simple!  All of this time, Sirius.  It’s absolutely ridiculous.” 

Sirius layered his hand on top of Y/N’s, tracing the curvature of her knuckles.  “I want to barge in there and kiss that fucker right now,” he admitted, a laugh blossoming out of Y/N’s mouth.  “But I want to ask: are you 100 percent on this?  I know we just started dating, and I always felt like I was so much more eager than you, but you met me there.  But this seems a lot… bigger.   I don’t want you to go beyond what you can handle for me.  You can still have me.  No matter what you say.  I promised I’d stick by you.” 

Y/N pulled herself up to Sirius, kissing him, mouth absorbing the weight of the words he just said, but knowing this was something good.  She pulled away sooner than she wanted to.  Sirius looked both more rooted and more disheveled.  “I know, Sirius.  That’s why I’m okay with this.  I trust you.  I know you won’t push me aside.  And I won’t leave you, either.  I love you, and this is about all three of us, not any two of us.” 

“As long as Remus is comfortable,” Sirius piped up. 

“As long as Remus is comfortable,” Y/N agreed. 

They both looked over at the closed library door.  Something that was keeping Remus outside all of this.  A threshold he’d have to be invited to cross, and would want to.  

Sirius was the first to ask the looming question.  “How do we…” 

“You go,” Y/N offered, automatically getting his eyes on her for the demand of it.  “This has been forever for you, hasn’t it?  Since you met.” 

“Yeah.”  It was soft.  He was flustered, a blush creeping up his neck, as if Y/N hadn’t seen him do much more embarrassing things.  Loving Remus Lupin was not something to be embarrassed about. 

“Then you deserve to be the one.  Plus, he’s your best mate.  And I’ve had to deal with him for six bloody hours.” 

Sirius laughed, and everything felt better.  “Okay,” he breathed.  “Wish me luck?” 

Y/N wanted to yell at him, knock some sense into him.  He’s bloody in love with you! she wanted to shout.  But it was too true to be cocky.  Something struck her here: the fact that, while deeply in love with the both of them and utterly confused, Remus had to hear Sirius say this before asking Y/N out.  Sadness kept finding its way in, as much as it felt wrong, as much as Y/N refused it. 

“Good luck, love,” Y/N said.  He released her hand, slid away from her, slipped between the doors, and was gone. 

It was difficult, those minutes that felt like years, spent waiting for Sirius to explain himself to Remus.  But it felt right.  She had so much time with both of them separately that it was their time to come to terms for what this meant for them.  There was also something so private in the intimacy of a first kiss; if they wanted to share theirs now, Y/N felt as though they should have the room to do so.  And what place is better than a dark, musty library, as secret in the night as their love for one another, filled with as much logic as Remus and as much mystery as Sirius?  

When the door finally opened, only one body emerged.  It was Remus.  He looked different, like something that was knocked over and finally set upright.  He was smiling in a devilish way.  Y/N knew instantly that they had kissed; it was the implantation of Sirius’ lips on his that had left his mouth hanging in the same crooked way that Sirius’ always does. 

“Hi,” she offered, lamely.  The result was rather surprising: Remus' smile straightened and softened.  It was so true she almost had to look away from him.  Again. 

Remus came up to her, close enough to do so much—her mind was raking through possibilities—but failing to; she knew from six years of knowing him that this wasn’t due to anything except respect for her.  She loved him more for it.  Somehow. 

“Sirius told me everything,” he said.  “And I’d be the happiest person in the entire world if I got to have both of you.” 

Y/N understood Sirius’ earlier sudden shyness: hearing Remus say that made her knees weaken and the words she had planned to say jumbled up inside of her head.  The only thing she could think to respond with was, “How was the kiss?” 

Remus’ smirk was back.  “How’d you know?” 

“You looked triumphant and cocky.  It was obvious.”  Remus laughed, hand finding the back of his neck to rub it.  She felt the need to add, “It makes sense, considering how long you waited for that kiss.” 

“Well…” he took a step in, close enough his mouth was almost touching Y/N’s, but still failing to.  “There’s still one more I’m waiting for.  If you’ll have me.”

“Yeah,” she said, already breathless.  “Of course I will.” 

Y/N’s heart was beating impossibly fast as Remus stepped close, cupped her cheek, and led his mouth onto hers.  She thought she’d have the ability to compare his kiss to Sirius’.  She thought wrong; it was too consuming—not in the intensity but the depth of it, the realness of it—it was impossible for her to think about anything except the fact she was kissing Remus Lupin.  She was kissing Remus Lupin.  It had worked.  It had all worked out.  She had Remus’ right hand on her cheek, the left trailing up the back of her head.  She had his sweater in the clutches of her fists, a silent ask for more.  She had Remus’ tongue in her mouth—she had Remus’ goddamned tongue in her mouth—turning her stomach into a night sky riddled with fireworks.  It was too surreal to be real.  But it was. 

When they parted, they were both breathless.  Y/N released her fists to allow her fingers to instead draw random shapes across Remus’ sturdy chest.  She felt happy, at peace.  Yet there was still something missing. 

“Sirius,” she called from over Remus’ shoulder.  “Open that damn door and get over here!” 

He appeared instantaneously.  Without explanation, he spelled the lights off inside of the library, and produced a key from his pocket which he then used to lock the door. 

Sirius came up to them, attaching himself to Remus’ side in the same way he always had, but leaning into him more than usual, as if to say this is how I always have felt, but now I can show it.  Y/N scanned both of their faces, two beautiful boys, scarred and wonderful in their own ways, and hers. 

“Walk me home?” she asked.  They both nodded, starting off into the night.  A natural formation befell the three of them: Remus standing in the center, Sirius leaning into him in a way that demanded Remus to wrap his arm around his waist, and Y/N holding Remus’ hand, his thumb stroking her palm.  All around them, evening was whispering, with cricket chirps, light breezes, and clouds shifting the moonlight from above.  It was soft and calm and real, real, real.  Somehow.  It was real.  

⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @astertist @beskarjedi @bluemadcnna @boring-viola @carolinesbookworld @finnofamerica @fortisfiliae @gabriel-r3ap3r-reyes @gryffndor @jamcspotters @just-some-nerd @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @neewtmas @portkeys-and-prose @siriusement @siriuslyimmoony @sly-vixen-up2nogood @swellwriting @the-apple-princess @theboywhocriedlupin @who-cares-unknown @woakiees @wzardings @samcycle @luckygirl144

[a-marlene-s]

Unknown Reality: pt. 4

Au: Hades x Persephone Modern AU, PJO au.

Couple: Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Jasonette

Summary: Jason, or as many know him as… Hades.He lost his luster for  the living and nonliving, just a constant repeat. That was until he met someone that tug on his heartstrings just the  right way. He takes her. Without a second thought.

Preface

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

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Lila grinned wickedly at the sight of a very down trodden Marinette as she and Adrien entered the bakery. Her grin only grew when she saw Marinette glare at her openly. There was no point for the baker to hide her hatred for the liar. They were no longer in school together, and they both know, Lila had won. Lila had accomplished what she promised she would do.

Except for Juleka and Nino… but at least Lila got the majority of them and that included her prize. Adrien Agreste. Sure, the blonde is a mortal, but the blonde has power and fame. Even more so now that he has inherited his father’s fashion company. He has everything she could ever ask for, well… demand is more like it. All she has to do is say the right words and threaten to ruin the life of his friends, it’s not that hard considering who her grandmother is.

People listen to Lila’s words, it’s not her fault many are just so easily manipulated into believing her words. They should have known better… like how Marinette should have known better to go up against her. It’s not her fault, she had warned the baker girl what she would do if she didn’t back down.

“Hello, Marinette~” Lila smiled widely at the obviously annoyed Marinette.

Marinette didn’t bother to cover up her obvious eye roll. Doubling it when Adrien shot her a look. It seemed neither one grew up considering they are still up to their old tricks. Sad really. Marinette would have thought after defeating Hawkmoth, who ended up being Gabriel Agreste, finding out who was behind the masks, and so on, Adrien would have changed. Nope. Nothing changed. He still wanted her to take the high road and she wasn’t having it. This prompted her taking away the Cat Miraculous from Adrien. As Guardian, she did what she believes is the right thing to do. Hawkmoth is gone, there wasn’t a reason to have everyone running around anymore.

Fortunately for Marinette, the only people that know of her identity as Ladybug, are Adrien, Nino, Kagami, Juleka, Alix, Aurore, Mireille and Luka, due to them being there in the final battle. All of them were promised into secrecy to on each other identities. Luckily, Alya wasn’t there considering what she had posted when Rena Rouge wasn’t called in to the fight… but that’s a whole other issue for another day to deal with again.

“That’s very bad customer server, Marinette~” Lila pouted, her grip in Adrien tighten.

“My parents own the bakery…” Marinette deadpanned, reminding Lila of this widely known fact. “And my mother happens to personally know the local anchorwoman… Could we just call it even just for you to get out of here?”

“Marinette, please, let’s not fight.” Adrien said almost pleadingly. “We just came here for some food is all.”

“She had Alya to create an article that apparently we have mice running around the bakery…” Marinette narrowed her eyes at the model, not all amused by his behavior. “Who in the world would complain about mice at a place that sells food then come back to get some food? Apparently her.”

“Heh… what an idiot.”

Everyone paused, they turned around to see a tall figure standing in front of one of the display cases. Marinette revisited the urge to slap her face at the sight of one Jason Todd. Lately, Jason has been doing his best to avoid being detected by her, (better yet, her mother,) whenever he entered the bakery. Today just happened to be one of those days by the looks of it. “Hello, Monsieur Todd, what could I do for you today?”

“My usual.” Jason responded without taking his attention away from the display case. He pointed at something in the case. “And a slice of coffee cake.”

“Of course.” Marinette nodded, all too happy to get away from Lila. She went around to gather up Jason’s order, but still keeping an eye on Lila to make sure she doesn’t do anything underhanded with a customer in sight. Of course, that doesn’t stoop Lila from saying anything.

Lila started to say how the bakery’s quietly of bread is extremely subpar and that Marinette had tried to sell her day’s old bread once. Just a continuous list of lies that has Marinette wondering if she should chase Lila and Adrien out of the shop with a baguette. The longer Lila spoke, the more the idea sounded more appealing to Marinette.

Jason finally looked away from the display case to look over at Lila with a look of complete disinterest. When Lila caught Jason’s eyes, her words got caught at the back of her throat. Adrien tried to ask her what was wrong but all he got was Lila grabbing his arm tightly and running out of the bakery. The scene before her caused Marinette’s jaw to drop. That’s a first… and she loved every second of it. But that brings up the question, why did Lila run? She’s still running by the looks of it too with Adrien right on her heels.

“She sounds very annoying.” Jason shrugged, not even bothering to acknowledge the fact Lila had run out without a single word. “Does she do that often?”

Marinette gulped before she nodded. She then thrusted Jason’s order into his arms. “It’s on the house! That was amazing, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen her speechless.”

Jason grinned before he shot her a wink. “Well, I hope I don’t scare you away.”

Marinette blinked a couple of times before she started to shake her head. She had to give it to Jason, he’s improving his game and he really won a lot of brownie points for doing whatever he did to Lila. Still… there was just something about him that makes her wary of him.

“Would you like to go out for dinner?”

Marinette pursed her lips, this is a first coming from Jason. Sure, he would try to flirt with her and she would turn him down as nicely as she could. The last thing she needed is to get into a relationship when she isn’t ready for one. With Lila still trying to meddle with her life and had turned almost everyone against her. That pretty much ruined any possible chance of a love life. Adrien doesn’t count, that boat sailed with his insistence that Lila’s lies are not harming anyone.

Maybe… maybe this time it’s different.

“Marinette, don’t you have to get ready for your other job?” Sabine asked, interrupting Marinette’s train of thought.

Marinette took a step a back, she looked over at the clock that hung in the bakery to see the time. Nino wasn’t picking her up today as he needed to take his brother to the dentist today. “Oh! Right.”

Marinette turned to give Jason an apologetic smile. “Perhaps another time, Monsieur Todd-”

“Jason, call me Jason.”

“Jason…” Marinette tried out the name before giving Jason a small smile. “Until next time!”

With that, Marinette ran into the bakery to head up to her room to get ready for her job at the flower shop.

Jason pursed his lips when he saw Sabine walk up to the counter, maintaining eye contact with him. “So… how’s life?”

“I take it you know what the girl is?”

“The legacy? Yeah, I’ve dealt with several of her victims… not a pretty sight.”

TBC.

Tag List:

@ladylucina28 @starberry-mina @spicybelladonna @sassydepression​ @zebrabaker @gingerdaile@cadencehood  @sassy-spocko @xxkelsey39@vixen-uchiha @alexresides @thepeacetea@mystery-5-5 @littleredrobinhoodlum @latina-2312@souleateralicestein @eve-is-the-dawn @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @destinationdesignation  @imfreakingmagical @slytherinhquinn​ @iggy-of-fans​ @graduatedmelon @ranger-gothamite@shizukiryuu @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @crazylittlemunchkin@ginamarie1512 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @lunaaugurium@fandomkitty8​ @driftingmoonlitpetals​ @northernbluetongue​ @bamagirl513 @todaylillypads  

[myfriendpokey]

the 2019 my friend pokey year in review!!

released a game i was happy about. started work on a new game i'm not sure about yet! went through a few months of false starts, switching game engines and ideas and approaches.

at one point i decided i wanted to spend about 2 years making nothing but "clown games", games where you played as a little mr. do figure navigating these abstract tile mazes a la chip's challenge. these games would all have titles like clown thing, clown city, moon clown, clown deluxe. i put this idea on hold when it was pointed out to me that all of my games were clown games.

at a different point i decided to try making an rpg maker horror game. i spent a month reading as many ghost stories as i could but then when i actually started the work i realised i'd immediately lose interest when the game was meant to become scary as opposed to just being a strange space full of funny text descriptions. but, one day i hope i can return to this game.

i made physical cd rom boxes for 10 beautiful postcards and took them to a zine fair. i think i forget the extent to which cds are a legacy format, now... people seemed interested but noncommital. i need to remember the last time i tried doing this was in 2014!! still interested in the idea of more "local" ways of releasing these things but will need to reconsider my approach.

also for the fair i made a short zine of romantic comedy reviews from my big romantic comedy review thread. i think i started that last year... over time i've become more jaded... i think i want to put that aside for a while so that i don't become the romcom equivalent of a joyless youtube guy. i don't know if it comes across in anything i've written about them but i do get a certain charge from the studio romantic comedy format. these things were on TV all the time when i was a kid. they fit sort of the same role as horror films and action movies to me, in that the real appeal wasn't so much the nominal genre as the weird vague visions of "everyday life" that the genre had to clothe itself in. the idea that these could be examined for clues to that life... and of course romcoms offer up a different version of that terrain than other genre movies, one that's almost studiedly bland in such a stylised and artificial way that it becomes seductive. when i was a kid i dreamed about being one of the night watchmen patrolling the warehouse in the opening minutes of a horror movie; now i have at least some kind of fascination with the eerily benign and conflictless parallel universe of spunky yet hapless romcom heroines running around accidentally dumping coffee on people.

i wrote another few big blog things. my favourite is probably the one on easy games - as prolix as ever but basically light and drifting in scope. my attempt to get at what i find exciting about the specific category of "videogame writing" in Monster Party... i dunno, we always kill the thing we love etc. writing on modernism and vgames i found interesting though it's possibly unintelligible to anyone who doesn't have my particular haphazard reference points for what modernism even refers to (more biased to writing than painting etc). i enjoyed trying to figure out what morality means in this weird context.

I also wrote dictionary to the known world for emilie reed’s lost histories jam. this was an attempt to get across the sort of strange insular reference systems which existed in hobbyist game spaces at a point immediately before they were all grouped under “indie”. 

i spent the last two years kind of obsessively returning to the idea of videogames as speculation, videogames as financialisation, videogames and the market. videogames thru the lens of the crash in 2008. i don't completely know why i got so fixated for so long, but feel like i was finally able to burn myself out on the subject in the course of this long piece. i dunno, maybe in future i can swing more into the other direction - the non-economic, mystical, etc. this year i bought a little clear glass pyramid with a star embedded into it for £1.50, and if you look through it and turn it around you get these vivid translucent fields of colour... it's interesting and it's pleasant to look at. clear glass pyramid is the game of the year.

oh, I also did the ball with feet fanpage this year. come with me and appreciate one of the format’s most powerful critters.

books: i can never remember what i read, but here are the ones i most remember out of 2019.

val wilmer - as serious as your life: a beautiful book about free jazz, or "the new music", worthwhile less for the descriptions of same than for the careful contemporary reportage of how it came about: the people involved, the influences and ideas that moved and changed from place to place, disagreements and developments, across rehearsals and performances and such clubs as would book it at all: what sun ra refers to here as the "unmanufactured avant garde", the kind that emerges when people in a commercially disregarded form quietly find space to explore their own interests. and to respond to one another's work - possibly the most surprising aspect of this book in 2019 is the way seemingly none of the musicians felt the now inescapable obligation to respond to the commercial culture of the day, to describe their work in the preferred language of that culture rather than on their own terms. instead we get reportage of black avant-garde musicians attempting to unionise in hopes of extracting concessions  from a white pop media establishment - think about reconciling THAT with the recieved ideas of culture 2019, in which anything that's not a disney movie is presented as elitist. solid paperback reissue means it's suitable for throwing at the heads of passers by.

other books i remember:

jane bowles - collected works. these are very mysterious and funny - i don't know how to describe them other than as sort of having the tone of a screwball katherine hepburn comedy in which she gets the job of becoming a beckett protagonist. max haiven - art after money, money after art. a feast on every page... extremely sharp and restless thinking about art, financialisation, the shifting and ongoing interdependence of the two. roberto calasso - the marriage of cadmus and harmony. content warning for greek myths and all that this implies. got this one on a whim not caring anything about the subject but was immediately drawn in by the terrifying strangeness of the symbolic universe that he explores. jean debuffet - cultural asphyxiation. collection of miscellaneous debuffet writings. vengeful attacks upon official culture. ford madox ford - memories & impressions. an extremely unreliable but entertaining memoir about growing up in the circle of the pre-raphaelites. there's a good bit where he describes the terror of walking around london as a child when you've been made to dress like a cross between little lord fauntleroy and oscar wilde. b.s. johnson - christy malry's double entry. the title character applies the basic principle of double entry bookkeeping - for every debit, a credit - to work and life, killing thousands in the process. funny and  strangely melancholy in the manner of at swim-two-birds.

other 2019 things: first time visiting sligo, saw some megaliths, got some nice books. first time casting a vote for a political program i was sincerely enthusiastic about! they got crushed!! tomorrow is another year.

[wasteitonserendipity]

Gummies (Part One)

(A/N: hello lovelies! I started a new main blog for writing so I’m reposting all of my stuff to here! Anyways, I’m working on the part two right now and hopefully it’ll be up soon!)

Genre: fluff and a little angst because why not?

Paring: Jungkook x reader

Word Count: 2.3K

-5:30AM- 

You were jolted awake by the blare of your alarm, the man by your side stirring a little bit. You sighed to yourself, staring up at the ceiling. The idea of getting up right now was less than appealing at the moment but you knew it must be done. You hated that even when you got to spend the night with Jungkook it was always cut short by the need to get home early in the morning. His arms tightened around your waist as you tried to kick your legs over the side of the bed to get up.

“Can’t you stay a little bit longer,” he said with a pout you could see through the dark, “you always leave so early. I wanna make you breakfast or something.”

“Thanks babe,” you said with a smile, kissing his shoulder before loosening his grip and getting up, “I wish I could but duty calls,”

He sat up and groaned again but didn’t really protest anymore, instead flopping back onto the bed dramatically. He knew that this was how it was. He knew that you had some kind of “responsibility” that you had to take care of in the morning before school, but he didn’t know exactly what it was. Sometimes he just figured that you had a morning routine that you wanted to stick to, so he really didn’t push the issue. 

You moved around the bedroom, humming while you gathered your belongings. He’d told you that if you were going to be staying over that you should leave some clothes at his, maybe even a toothbrush or makeup. In fact he’d almost insisted when you two actually began seeing each more consistently around a month in. You’d left small things there, maybe a Tshirt or a pair fo shorts to sleep in but leaving anything more than felt a little invasive to you and you certainly didn’t want to be that person. You two were casually seeing each other and had agreed that if you were to see other people to let each other know, but neither of you had really been interested in anyone else since your thing started. 

Before you could grab your glasses off of the nightstand Jungkook grabbed you by the wrist. 

“Hey,” he said with a soft smile, kissing your hand, “can you do dinner tonight? I wanted to talk about something with you.”

 You stopped all movement immediately, a million things ran through your mind, but one thing was consistent. Crap, this is it, he doesn’t wanna see me anymore.

Sensing your panic he laughed lightly before pulling you into his lap, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“It’s nothing bad babe,” he said soothingly, “just something I think we should talk about in a nicer setting.”

You wriggled out of his hold to face him, his eyes wide and full of what looked like love, even though you wouldn’t dare say that word yet. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” you sighed, caressing his face before placing a small kiss on his lips. 

-6:15AM-

“You’re late again,” Jisoo said, leaning on the counter with a cup of coffee. You could sense the mild irritation in her voice, “she’s not up yet thankfully. I figured I’d let her sleep until you were home.”

“I’m sorry Jisoo,” you said sincerely, setting your bag on the kitchen table “you’re literally the best sitter I could ever ask for.”

“I know I am,” she said with a smirk, her irritation fading away, “I'm the best live in babysitter ever. It helps that she’s the most adorable little angel I’ve ever met. If she was the devil this would be a very different conversation.”

“I owe you a big bottle of wine and a night to yourself,” you promised. 

You were forever grateful that your roommate was one of the most understanding people in the world. She knew your situation, that you were now the sole guardian of your four year old sister after your parent disappeared. You two had been living together already when you got the call that your sister was in custody after someone doing a wellness check found her in your old house all by herself. They figured she’d been there for a few days alone but she really had no idea what was going on. When you’d asked if Jisoo it was okay if your little sister came to live with you, she didn’t even hesitate. You felt lucky to have such an amazing friend by your side. 

“Deal,” she laughed, sipping her coffee.

A comfortable silence fell between you two before you heard a small voice from the other room.

“Unnie?” the small voice sung impatiently. You shared a glance with Jisoo and smiled.

“Duty calls,” you say lightly before making your way down the hall.

You popped your head into your shared room to see your little sister sitting up in the middle of your huge bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Hi baby,” you cooed, “are you ready to start the day?”

She nodded but pouted at the same time. She was never a morning person, something you both had in common. You were so much alike sometimes that it was almost like she was your daughter and not your little sister. She was smart as a whip and picked up a lot of your habits, both good and bad. She was always asking questions with the most adorable, inquisitive look on her face. Day in and day out she never ceased to amaze you. 

“What are we doing today, Unnie?” she asked you with bright eyes now.

“Do you want to come to class with me?” you asked. It was summer session now, so she didn’t have daycare everyday like during the year but your teacher for your summer lit class was kind enough to let you bring her with you whenever it was necessary. 

“Yes, please!” she squealed, jumping out of bed and running for the kitchen. 

“Jisoo! Incoming!” you yelled down the hall. You smiled when you heard Jisoo greet the little one and endless giggles could be heard from the kitchen.

You stretched a little before getting up to change for class. You pulled your clean shirt over your when your phone vibrated on the bed.

JK: Hope you made it home okay! I’ll pick you up around 7? Xx

You wanted to panic at the thought of Jungkook picking you up at your place. He’d never come over to yours and never really questioned why you never offered to host and this would be the first time that he’d be in the same vicinity as your sister. It made your stomach flip at the thought of telling him about your situation. You weren’t ashamed in anyway of the predicament your parents put you in, but you knew that most guys in their twenties weren’t exactly keen on the idea of dating someone who has to take care of a little life as well. 

“Today’s as good a day as ever I guess,” you sighed to yourself as you put the rest of your books in your bag. 

-11AM-

“What’d you think of class today, little one?” you asked as your walked across campus. You held on to her little hand, in her other hand was the popsicle that your professor had insisted on buying for being “the best listener in class”.

“It was good,” she hummed, happily enjoying people watching as you both walked.

That was one of the millions of things you simply adored about her, she was always the happiest kid around. You would never have known all the shit that she’d had to deal with in her four short years of being on earth. She was always happy, always a tiny ray of sunshine in the dark. She rarely cried or got upset and somehow, at four and a half, knew how to work her problems out better than most of the adults you knew. 

You moment of adoration was cut short by the sound of a familiar voice behind you.

“______!” you knew exactly who it was and you froze. You were planning on telling him but this wasn’t exactly how you wanted to. You took a deep breath, knowing that you didn’t have much of a choice now. You turned around with a forced smile, one you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Hey”! You a little more enthusiastically than you should have. 

“I saw you come out of lit and I thought I would say hi and see if you wanted to grab lunch,” he said with his bunny smile. 

You were lost in his smile when your little sister tugged at your jacket impatiently.

“Unnie, who’s that?” she asked, her eyes doing a once over on Jungkook, “he’s very tall.”

You laughed a little, always the curious little one. Jungkook looked between the two of you surprised, but not as much as you figured he would, which puzzled you a little bit. 

“This is my friend, Jungkook. He goes to school with me.” you say, nodding for her to introduce herself.

“I’m Ji Ah, it’s nice to meet you,” she smiled and bowed.

After Jungkook bowed back she turned on her heels and immediately made the signal that she wanted you to pick her up, something she only did when she was feeling shy. You smiled as you picked her up and rested her on your hip. 

“This is what you mean when you say ‘duty calls’, huh?” he asked, quietly. 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this but yes,” you said, looking at the ground.

“I just don’t get what the big deal is though,” he said with a shrug, pulling his water bottle out of his backpack. 

“What?” you asked, a little shocked.

“So, you have a little sister? That’s hardly something to get worked up about,” he laughed. 

He set his bag down on the ground before rummaging through it again. After a minute, and your heart restarting, he pulled out a small bag of gummies. 

“Ji Ah, do you like gummies?” he asked, Ji Ah’s head still buried in your neck. She looked around at him shyly and nodded her head. 

“Good, so do I!” Jungkook chirped enthusiastically, “you want some?” 

She nodded again with more fervor before taking the colorful candy from his hand. 

“Jungkook, it’s a little more complicated than that,” you said in a hushed tone. 

He pulled out another candy and handed it to Ji Ah before turning to look you dead in the eye. 

“That’s okay,” he said with sincerity in his eyes, “you can tell me about it over lunch, my treat.” 

-12:35PM-

“It took about six months, but because they couldn’t find my parents I gained sole custody of Ji Ah. It’s been about a year since she’s been with me.” you said, taking a sip of your iced tea.

Ji Ah was sitting next to you happily coloring away, oblivious to the world around her. You smiled down at her lovingly. Just about your whole world was that little girl and you braced yourself for the out come that had happened the last time you’d told a guy about your situation.

Jungkook continued to listen to you intently, only stopping every so often to pick at his sandwich. You pressed on, figuring if he was meant to stay in your life after all of the information overload you were letting loose on him, that he would stay, and if not then it just wasn’t meant to be. 

“I won’t say it’s been easy,” you started, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers, “because it really hasn’t. Between social services checking in, taking care of Ji Ah, going to school full time and trying to have a social life, I’m stretched pretty thin. Which is the reason why you’ve never really seen me with a guy on campus. I know when we met we joked about that, but that’s the real reason. Ji Ah always comes first. She’s never met really any of the guys I’ve seen until now. I’ve never really been comfortable with the idea of her getting attached to someone and then all of a sudden they’re no longer around. So, I won’t lie, the fact that we’re all sitting here together right now is a big deal.”

You looked up, your eyes meeting with his. You looked for signs that he was ready to bolt, for any kind of unsteadiness in them. But you found none. His eyes still sparkled the same way they did this morning, and it made your heart flip. 

“_____,” he said as he took your hand, his eyes never leaving yours, “you are one of the most amazing people I have ever met.”

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded by his words.

“I don’t know anyone at our age that would willingly take on this kind of responsibility without a second thought. You have a huge heart and for you to take care of Ji Ah and keep your grades up is truly amazing.”

You looked down, smiling at his kind words and blushed just a little. You figured he’d let you go easily as soon as he knew the kind of commitment dating you would now entail. But it seemed like he almost welcomed it.

“I was gonna ask you this tonight over dinner,” he began again, “but since we’re in a sharing mood, I guess I’ll just go now; ––––––––, would you officially be my girlfriend?” 

Ji Ah looked up as soon as he said the word ‘girlfriend’ halting all of her coloring. She looked between the two of you a few times with inquisitive eyes before turning to you to ask, 

“Does this mean Jungkook oppa can come over a play with me? I like him.” 

You both laughed a little at her forward question. You looked at the clearly amazing, understanding man across from you with a smile.

“I guess it does.” 

[galadrieljones]

A Funeral: Chapter 18 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to the insidious dangers of the natural world, as well as to one another, and to their future.

Credit to @bearly-tolerable for the banner!! Art is my own.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 18: The Storm

That night, a storm rolled into the swamps. It was big, and the black sky ripped open then stitched back with huge lightning deformities and the whole world filled with the sounds of the thunder. Arthur and John were taking a long time to get back from their fishing trip. Mary Beth was reminded of the storm up near O’Creagh’s Run and was struck with anxiety and could not bear to be alone. So she sat in with Abigail and Jack in their room, and Jack had fallen asleep already to the sounds of the storm, while Mary Beth sat by the window, trying to read, but it was no use. Abigail sat knitting quietly, lacking in distress. Sometimes, she would hum little songs. Mary Beth didn’t understand how she could be so calm, but she did not feel like making a big deal or flying up with worry. That was a nuisance. So she just stayed quiet.

The rain was coming down hard. She knew they’d probably built a tent somewhere to wait things out, or maybe they’d stopped in Rhodes to have a drink at the saloon. They were grown men, used to weather. They were smart. They were okay. Her instinct was to get on her horse and go out and try and find them, but she knew that was a dumbass idea of which nobody, not even her conscious mind, could approve. Hosea, Lenny, and Dutch were in St. Denis. Out on the perimeter, getting battered with the rain, were Charles, Bill, and Sadie. She’d seen Kieran ride off sometime in the early afternoon on Arthur’s old horse, Diana, but she didn’t see Diana back with the others now, and she thought it could have just been she was hidden, but Mary Beth was worried he had never made it back—that he, too, was out there, somewhere, festering in the storm. Karen was downstairs, snoring drunk, and Tilly was asleep, too, and Molly was in the other room, and about an hour before, Mary Beth had gone in to see if she’d wanted to come join her and Abigail, but she was not interested. She was not interested in the other women of the camp at all.

At some point, outside, they heard a sort of ruckus. It was Micah and Pearson, and they’d gotten into a sort of spat. Mary Beth spied while Abigail just rolled her eyes, until Charles came slopping in out of the surrounding trees, up to his knees in muck, and he clocked Micah over the head with the butt of his sawed-off until he was all but crawling back to this tent. Pearson had already taken a bad hit to the jaw and was rolling around in a puddle, holding his face. Charles checked on him and hauled him back to one of the covered wagons. The rain was starting to slow down now. The storm finally moving over the water. Mary Beth could feel her chest physically loosen, and at some point, she must have sighed so loud that Abigail looked up, set down her knitting, and became concerned.

“You all right?” she said.

“It’s just this storm,” said Mary Beth.

“You worried about the boys? They’re fine in this, Mary Beth. It’s just water.”

“I know,” said Mary Beth. “I just—there was a storm when we was up north. Some bad stuff happened. I’m feeling anxious from it.”

“What happened?”

Mary Beth kind of glanced out the window where Sadie was coming back to the house with a lantern. She told Abigail about what had happened, with the Murfree Brood. Abigail didn’t know who they were, but she seemed to instinctively understand the concept of backwater murderers. When she saw how it affected Mary Beth so, she seemed to get an idea, and then she reached under the bed and took out a bottle of bourbon. She poured them each a short glass and said, “Let’s go out and sit on the porch. Get some fresh air.”

So they did.

Meanwhile, Arthur and John were holed up in Arthur’s tent—which was actually Hamish Sinclair’s tent—on the shore just north of Braithwaite Manor, passing a bottle of rum they’d found while out exploring the river banks of the Lanahachee. The storm had snuck up on them pretty fast, but they were not strangers to this sort of adversity in the weather, and in some ways, it made it feel like old times.

Their talk on the river had rekindled them as friends again in unexpected ways as they remembered what it was like to just exist in cooperation with one another. Sometimes, running with Dutch was like a competition, in which the concept of loyalty took strange shapes and would phase in and out of importance, focusing all your energies inward, depending on what exactly he had planned, and his chimeric brand of expectations for the day. Over the years, as Arthur got older, he began to feel the lack in the age difference between himself and Dutch, and how Dutch was filled with idealism that had once appealed to him on the level of youth and poverty of the soul, but this had ended. Spending time with Mary Beth, to whom he could actually communicate his feelings and frustrations without fear of being doubted or belittled, and now spending time with John, which was uncomplicated and natural in major ways, he began to see just how little need he had left for Dutch’s philosophies of salvation.

Still, he dreaded the conversation. He had a deep-seated guilt inside him, typical of the eldest child. Even as Dutch was not his father, and he never seemed as such, it was a paternal role he had played in Arthur’s life at a very young and vulnerable age. Arthur often felt mixed up. He did not feel free. He seemed to miss a life that he could no longer remember and possibly had never experienced at all. At some point, John went out to patrol the perimeter of their camp, out of instinct, and Arthur took out his journal to try to wittle away at these feelings he was having.

If I listen to Hosea, he wrote, and that is all I have ever strived for, then I am doing the right thing for myself and for the love I have found, so unexpectedly, while traveling north with Mary Beth. There is a nice Sister in St. Denis—Sister Calderon—to whom I should call for further guidance, maybe. I am sure she would encourage me to commit acts of goodness, the only acts of which I can presently identify being those that involve leaving Dutch and starting fresh with a life that I can be proud of, far away. I never been a religious man, and I don’t fancy becoming one, but sometimes, looking up at things don’t feel so bad. It’s raining here. I hope Mary Beth is not too worried. It reminds me of that bad night up at O’Creagh’s Run when everything felt hopeless for a while. But it turned out that night at Hamish Sinclair’s may have be the first night of my entire existence. Here I go, sounding like a teenager again. Who knows. In any case, the rain seems to be letting up some, and we’ll ride out of here as soon as we’re able. I hope she’s okay. She needn’t worry, but I think she does. It’s so endearing. I just need a ring, then I’ll marry her. I will. That is, if she don’t get too sick of me first. I am confident she won’t, and that I am a fool for even having written this, but we shall see.

When John got back, he said the sky looked like it was calming down. Arthur put away his pencil and his journal into his pack and got up to start putting things away onto his horse. It was nearly midnight, but they decided to ride in anyway. On their way south, past Braithwaite Manor, they ran into a couple stranded klansmen who looked like they’d got caught in the rain. One of them asked Arthur for a lift into Rhodes and caught a boot to the face while John dispatched of the other with the butt of his shotgun. It was too late to start outright murdering, and neither Arthur nor John was in the mood for bloodshed, so they ditched them unconscious by the side of the road, stole their clothes and valuables, which they tossed into the swamps on their way into Shady Belle. They didn’t want to go back to the girls with blood on their hands if they could avoid it, no matter the sort.

They got into camp about half past one. Mary Beth and Abigail were on the porch, drinking whiskey with Sadie. The rain had stopped, and the yard was sloppy. Cain barked as the men got in, and Charles echoed a welcome as they hitched their horses up with the others. When the women on the porch saw what was going on, they all rose up to say hello, and Mary Beth tossed her whiskey cup and then hitched up her skirt and took off through the mud of the lawn and ran straight into Arthur’s arms, colliding with him hard so that he stumbled back a few steps as he caught her, mid-air, her legs wrapped around him tight.

“Hey,” he said, real low, and she tucked her face deep into the scruff and curve of his neck and took a long, deep breath. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“I know,” she said.

He kissed her on the temple and carried her all the way back to the house. At some point, he turned back to look at John, gave him a sturdy nod.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” said John.

“Sounds good,” said Arthur.

“Night, lovebirds,” said Sadie, tipping her hat.

Arthur smiled, but Mary Beth was very weary and would not even bring herself to look up from his collar.

They went inside, went up the stairs, to Arthur’s room. He closed the door, still holding her.

“I’m sorry we got so held up,” said Arthur into her hair. “With all the lightning, we didn’t wanna risk it.”

“It’s okay,” she said, still hanging on.

“You were worried,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know I’m overreacting. But the storm.”

“I know.” He sighed, deeply, pushing the hair off her shoulders and off her face. She looked at him, her eyes drooping. She was tired, he could see. “It’s been a long time since I had someone worrying about me like this.”

She just smiled.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he said, “but I will admit, I like coming back from somewhere, anywhere, to you.”

She looked like she might either fall asleep or start crying. She kissed him instead, revived somehow, and he kissed her back till it turned passionate. Hurried, they undressed each other piece by piece and made love in the bed, full of wanting and relief at being together again. She begged him for his seed and told him stories about their future lives. He said nothing—strong and silent—just loved her, obeyed her, listened to her, until he was done and loose inside of her, and they went slow, then very still, and he fell asleep almost immediately with her running her fingers through his rain-damp hair, and he was sinking like a heavy stone with her smells and her hair and her skin all around him. He was safe.

After Arthur had drifted, Mary Beth slipped away, wrapped in a sheet, and she went outside to pee. It was quiet out there, besides the weird birds and the nighttime noises of the swamps. The whole camp was asleep and at peace around her, and she could hear Pearson snoring in one of the covered wagons and Cain having his whimpering puppy dreams on the porch. What would become of her, of them, of this place, this magical palace of Americana and dying dreams? She turned around to go inside.

But then, she realized she wasn’t alone out there. She saw Sadie. It was a surprise that she was still awake. Did she ever sleep? She was way out in the mud, close to the water, flinging knives at a Tupelo tree and crying. She was unaware of Mary Beth’s presence, stifling her tears to her sleeve and angrily trying to hide it though as far as she knew, there was no one there to see her.

Mary Beth was filled all of a sudden with an indescribable sadness and a huge sense of pessimism and fear. What had become of them? It was terrifying. Sadie was so tough and so strong and so mean sometimes, like one of the men almost. It was easy to forget that she was  a widow.

Mary Beth went back inside then, to Arthur. He breathed steadily in his sleep, on his stomach, face buried in the pillow. So peaceful and long and big and full of life. She tried not to think of Sadie, though it made her guilty, made her sore. She placed her hand on Arthur's wide, warm back, absorbing his presence with her own. She hadn’t talked to god since Kansas City, but that night, she decided that she would do it again. She had a reason now, making her burn. She just thought, Let him be okay. Let him be okay. Please? And that was all, and then she turned down the lamp on the windowsill, and she lie down beside him in the quiet sheets. She closed her eyes. She waited.

Meanwhile, John and Abigail lie together in their bed not far away, with Jack asleep on his cot by the window. Abigail had fallen asleep as well a little while before, but John was still worked up from his conversation with Arthur by the river. He was a simple man and his mind could change quickly, and he knew now how right Arthur had been, how close they were to freedom if that is what they so chose in this world. He was filled with terror and excitement, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Abigail breathing by his side. It was the first night they had slept in a bed together in a long, long time, and he knew this had to mean something. Something big. He had almost forgotten what she felt like, how small she was, how much he actually loved her, needed her. Without her, he was just a fuckin balloon, blowing around, getting caught in bad places and nasty heights and horrifying situations in which he kept facing death, always.

He was conflicted, too, with irrational anger for Dutch. It was huge and consuming him, this anger at having been somehow swindled out of a life he could respect, and yet he also knew that this was not Dutch’s fault, that he needed to take responsibility for his own bullshit, and this was a crippling dilemma. He was a goddam idiot, and it was time for him to see this for what it was, accept it, and make a choice. Arthur had already made his choice, which was monumental in scope, thought John, considering the fact that Arthur, of all the people he’d ever known in his whole idiotic life, had always seemed so set in his ways—more so than anyone, it was remarkable. To see him moving forward like this. It was almost enough to give John hope for a future he had never even considered before, let alone considered as a real possibility for himself and for his family.

Abigail stirred then, like she could sense his epiphany in her subconscious dreams. He turned onto his side to face her, cupped her hands in his own. She didn’t wake. He felt the nerves building inside of him. What was he so afraid of? When he realized that it was nothing, that was when he finally felt tired, and he went to sleep.

The next morning, Dutch and Hosea met out on the upstairs balcony of the high saloon in St. Denis. The air was clean and crisp, cleansed from the storm, with the sun coming down and drying the streets, making beautiful colors in the foliage. Dutch was reading the paper when Hosea came out, smoking a cigar and nursing a cup of coffee with added cream. Lenny was downstairs, in a poker game, as the ensuing discussion between the camp elders did not concern him. Hosea took his seat, poured himself a cup of coffee, while Dutch took a puff off the cigar, ashed it into a crystal ash tray on the table. All around them were the sounds and sights of the bustle in the city. The clanking of the trolley cars, the horse hooves on the cobblestone. Elegant women spoke in French accents while their American suitors smoked by their sides. Hosea sipped his coffee, surveying all the morning held in store. He slouched back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and sighed.

“A fine day,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Dutch. “As soon as young Lenny finishes up the pot downstairs, we should head back to camp.”

“That reminds me,” said Hosea, taking a sip from his cup. “Arthur and Mary Beth returned from their hunting trip, the night before last. ”

Dutch glanced up, over the top of the paper. “You’re just telling me this now?” he said.

“It slipped my mind,” said Hosea, smiling.

“Well, it’s about time,” said Dutch. “I was starting to worry.”

“Me, too,” said Hosea.

Dutch went back to his paper and his cigar. Hosea sipped some more of his coffee, set down the cup, and lit a cigarette. “We need to talk, Dutch,” he said.

“I know,” said Dutch, shaking his head.

“Do you?"

“I know you’ve got feelings about this…Bronte business,” he said. “It ain’t my cup of tea either, Hosea, but we’ve got to play the hand we’re dealt here. Just...trust me. I'm working on a plan. When it comes through, you'll see.”

“This isn’t about Bronte,” said Hosea, smoking, staring off the balcony into the blue sky. It was filled with smog. “Though I do have opinions about that as well. We can cover those back at Shady Belle.”

“Well then, what do you want to talk about?” said Dutch.

“I want to talk about Arthur.”

“What about Arthur,” said Dutch, again consumed with his paper, sipping his coffee.

“Arthur and Mary Beth,” said Hosea.

“What about Arthur and Mary Beth.”

“They’ve found love.”

Dutch glanced up, curious, surprised. “Excuse me?” he said.

“They’re together,” said Hosea, smoking. He was looking right at Dutch now. “It’s serious.”

“How serious?”

“They’re gonna get married,” said Hosea, almost casually, “and they’re gonna have a family.”

Dutch set down his paper. He leaned forward with his hands folded together on the table. He looked confused, hurt even, like he couldn’t wrap his brain around what he was hearing. “Is she pregnant?” he said.

“That much is unclear,” said Hosea. He smoked, ashed the cigarette into the crystal ash tray on the table. “She could be.”

“I’m—this is news to me,” said Dutch, looking down at his hands. He was shaking his head, exasperated, like he’d missed something, something huge. “Arthur and Mary Beth? When did it happen? All on that trip of theirs?”

“According to Arthur, it was latent for a while. The trip brought it to the surface.”

Dutch sighed. He stared off into the distance, past Hosea, into some infinite nothing. “I did not know,” he said. "How is it possible that I did not know?"

“I didn't know either,” said Hosea. “Not until he told me.”

“He told you?”

“Only after I asked him, of course. Yesterday. Arthur isn’t a particularly forthcoming man when it comes to his personal life. You know this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“There is a change coming, Dutch,” said Hosea. He smoked. “A real change.”

“What sort of...change?” said Dutch, softly, still staring past him, real far away—almost like he knew.

“That is what we need to talk about,” said Hosea.

Dutch blinked, looked back down at his hands, which he flexed and studied for a moment. Then, he fussed with the ring on his finger, and he looked up. They met eyes, seriously. Hosea lifted his chin, still slouched, still smoking. For the first time in many months, he felt good. He had Dutch's attention. For the first time in a while, Dutch was listening.

[turtlepated]

The Turnings of Fire

HellboyxOC fic

Since Tumblr is being a butt and makes me dig back through my whole blog, I’m not gonna repost chapters 1 and 2 right now. I may go back tomorrow and repost all three together in case anybody wants to catch back up (since Tumblr also won’t let me link the previous chapters...)

Hopefully chapter 4 will be quickly forthcoming, I’ve actually already started it and I have a general idea for what happens. Anyway, here’s chapter 3! 

@accioturtur

----

Chapter 3: 

“Uhhhh,” Hellboy said eloquently, at a loss for words as his eyes swept up and down the strange woman standing feet from him. She wore work gloves, a flashlight in one hand, and her jacket was zipped up almost all the way to her neck. She must be sweltering, he thought. “Hi?” he offered with an awkward wave of his flesh hand. Without a word in response she began to back away from him, turning on her heel and marching quickly the way she’d come. “Hey, hey!” he called after her, his feet carrying him forward in long strides. “What do you think you’re doing here? You’re gonna get yourself killed! Hey, stop!”  

Far from stopping, however, the woman began to run. Hellboy could understand why, after all there was a seven-foot-tall man with red skin and sawed-off horns chasing her and yelling, but he really didn’t have the luxury of a more genteel approach. He had to catch her and get her outside before something bad happened. “Hellboy, what is going on?” asked Daimio in his ear. “There’s somebody else in the tunnel,” he answered, speeding up to keep her in sight as they rounded another bend in the passageway. The lantern threw chaotic dancing shadows on the walls as it bounced in time with his heavy footfalls. This was taking too long and it was getting too conspicuous. Wyrms could be territorial and aggressive at the best of times, but a pregnant female would not take kindly to all this ruckus. The babies might be small enough to handle, but a fully-grown adult could be up to twenty feet long and weigh hundreds of pounds. Not something Hellboy looked forward to tussling with, but he was more concerned about the human woman who’d be even less of a match for an angry wyrm. 

“Would you just wait a second?! I’m not gonna hurt ya!”  

Another curve, and he lost sight of her. He cursed under his breath and he sped up, wondering how she could have gotten so far ahead of him so fast that he couldn’t even see the glow of her flashlight anymore. He was so intent upon catching up to her that he nearly ran her over. She was stooped on the ground, her hands outstretched as though searching for something. Her head jerked back to look at him as he came charging around the curve, her eyes wide and round as she let out a yelp of surprise and ducked. Hellboy swore again and backpedaled ineffectively, ending up taking two gigantic steps sort of over and around her to avoid a painful collision. 

“Je-SUS!” he gasped out, staggering to an ungainly stop before turning to face her. “Why the hell are you on the floor?” The bottom of his long trench coat had swept over the top of her and mussed her hair into almost comical disarray, his tail accidentally whacking her in the head. “Accidentally”. She reached up with one hand and snatched the handkerchief down to her neck, her face livid and her breathing just as elevated as his after the near trampling. “I tripped and dropped my flashlight!” she snapped, glaring daggers at him. “I didn’t know you were gonna come barreling down the tunnel like a Japanese bullet train!”  

“I was��trying to stop you!” he barked back. “You need to get outta here, pronto! It’s dangerous, you could die!” He sighed harshly, glancing up and down the tunnel as he realized that if her flashlight was gone, there was no way she could get back out of the tunnels on her own: he’d have to go with her and then come back. “Son of a bitch,” he growled to himself. This ‘easy-peasy’ mission was proving to be much more of a pain in the ass than he had anticipated. “Ah-ha!” cheered the strange woman and he looked around to see that she’d found her light. Kneeling on the ground she clicked it again and again, shaking it, smacking it with an open palm, but all to no avail. “Crap… must’ve broken the bulb…” Hellboy let his head fall back, groaning in exasperation, the sound echoing up and down the corridor. “Come on, get up,” he said. “I’ll take you back, but we gotta be fast.” 

She whipped around again, scowling up at him from the ground. “What? No, I’m not leaving.” He clenched his teeth, growing more irate by the second as he stepped very deliberately closer and glowered down the length of his nose at her, casting extreme emphasis on his much larger frame and build. “That was not a request,” he said lowly, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. “One way or another, you are leaving; either on your own two feet or, so help me, over my damn shoulder.” Hellboy saw her hand tighten around the handle of her flashlight as she rose smoothly and slowly to her feet, unflinching as she stared him down. Or rather up. 

Before she could open her mouth to deliver whatever retort she’d prepared, his LED lantern winked out without a sound, leaving them both standing in complete and impenetrable blackness. Hellboy sighed loudly. Sure, he thought, fuming quietly. Why not? “Alllllllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice…..” he called on the radio. “What is it?” she replied, her voice crackling slightly as though the signal were weakening. “Did you find whoever it is you saw?” “Yes I did, but I can’t do anything about it since I can’t see my hand in front of my own face,” Hellboy replied. “The lantern just went out.” 

“Oh, bollocks,” Alice answered. Not a promising response. “The batteries must be dead! Sorry, HB.” “Fantastic,” he said. “Do you have a cell phone?” asked the woman, and he jumped slightly, having almost forgotten how close she was to him. “I don’t think Amazon delivers underground.” 

He couldn’t see her expression but he could practically feel the irritation coming off her like heat. “Not for the phone, smartass, for the light,” she said crossly. Grumbling to himself, Hellboy withdrew his phone from an interior pocket, feeling for the power button in the dark. “For all the good it’ll do,” he said pessimistically. “It’s not gonna last us very long.” They were bathed in faint, cool light as the home screen opened and he navigated to the flashlight feature. “It doesn’t need to,” replied the woman. “I’ve got an idea.” He watched her flip her own defunct flashlight around and unscrew the bottom of the cylinder, getting the gist of where she was going as she dumped the batteries out into her palm. 

“Give me your light,” she said, and he handed it to her. She turned it over and over for a moment or two, looking for the battery compartment. “Keep your fingers crossed,” she added, sliding the plastic cover back. Hellboy saw her grin triumphantly in the beam of light from his phone. “C’s. We’re back in business.” She quickly replaced his batteries with her own and the tunnel was again illuminated with bright, LED light. “We’ll just have to share,” she said matter-of-factly, shrugging a backpack off one shoulder and stowing the now useless flashlight inside it. 

“Um, no? Absolutely not,” Hellboy protested, simultaneously frustrated and a little bit impressed by her total disregard for the peril she was in. “Did you hear anything I’ve been saying? Lemme repeat, and I’ll go slow and use small words for you: danger? Not safe? Excruciating death?”  The woman rolled her eyes as she set her backpack securely over both shoulders again. “Are you always this cheerful?” 

He scowled darkly at her, snatching the lantern back with his stone hand. “Hey, I’ll still carry you outta here like a sack of potatoes,” he threatened. “How did you even get down here?” She frowned in annoyance, reaching for the light as she answered, “I found an opening and I went down it. Probably the same way you did.” Hellboy raised his arm, holding the lantern out of her reach. “Also, how are you not dying of hypoxia? This tunnel’s full of toxic gas, even I can’t breathe this air without a respirator; so how’s a human with a cops-and-robbers hanky even conscious right now?” 

“Well, you know how camels can store water in their humps and survive without drinking for months at a time?” she replied with a sardonic smile, straining to reach the lantern. “It’s like that, but with air.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening impatiently at her flippant dismissal as she pulled at his elbow, trying to bring it low enough to get ahold of the lantern. “Look, miss, I got a job to do. In my line of work, humans don’t last all that long so you need to leave,” he said, appealing once again to her seemingly miniscule sense of self-preservation. “I’ll help you get back to the surface, but we gotta go now.” 

“Give me back my batteries, then,” she demanded, hands fisted on her hips. Hellboy scoffed incredulously. “What? Why? Your flashlight’s busted, they won’t do you any good!” “Your lantern’s dead without them, so they won’t do you any good!” she fired right back. “Either we can work together, or we can both go stumbling around in the dark.” What was the deal with this crazy chick? Hellboy could only stare at her, the aggravation draining out of him to be replaced by amused befuddlement. She hadn’t budged an inch when he loomed over her, and he knew for a fact that he could look downright terrifying even when he wasn’t trying. She acted utterly unconcerned about the mortal danger he had warned her about, repeatedly. 

“What are you doing down here at all? What’s the attraction?” he asked, hoping for but not expecting a straight answer as he transferred the lantern to his other hand and held it behind his back, turning in place as she tried to circle him. She looked just as frustrated as he felt, strands of her hair fallen loose from the clip at the back of her head and fluttering down into her face before she blew them harshly away. He had to admire her dogged determination, she kept trying to get the lantern back from him no matter which way he held it but finally she seemed to have had enough. 

“To find whatever’s tear-assing around down here and stop it!” she burst out at last. “Before it lets the fire spread! Same reason you’re here, right?” That certainly piqued his curiosity. There were, of course, other organizations in the world in the same vein as the BPRD, so it was very possible that someone else was aware of the infestation under Centralia. It was equally possible that other paranormal monitoring entities would send an agent out to assess the situation. However, any of the organizations Hellboy could think of would definitely not send a human agent underground into a toxic environment with a handkerchief and a cheap backpack for equipment. “How do you know about that?” he asked, all the ire and acerbic edge gone from his voice, genuinely intrigued. “Who are you?” 

She huffed angrily at him, dropping her arms to her sides and fixing him with a piercing glare. “No one,” she bit out and he chuckled. “No one? Are you Arya Stark?” Grinning now he held up his right index finger and tilted his head playfully to one side, mimicking the pose of Game of Thrones’ famed fictional fencing instructor. “What do we say to the god of death?” he teased. If he got her riled up enough, she might let something slip. “Are we about done?” she seethed, deadpan and uncooperative as ever. Hellboy sighed again, weighing his options before coming to a begrudging compromise. “All right, look,” he began. “Against my better judgement, I’ll let ya tag along, but on two conditions: number one, you have to do what I say, because whatever I tell you to do, like run or hide or get behind me, is to make sure you get outta here alive. Capiche?” She sullenly crossed her arms over her chest and surveyed him with a look of deep misgiving, but finally gave a curt nod. “And number two?” 

“Tell me what I’m ‘sposed to call you,” he said. “If you agreed to the first one, the second one’s even easier. Just give me a name.” She didn’t appear to concur, however, and he watched her chew her lip thoughtfully. He was tempted to point out that they were wasting a lot of time, but they’d finally gotten at least a little bit of traction and he didn’t want to say something to piss her off and make her clam back up again. At length, with a deep sigh, she extended her right hand to him with an expression of resignation. “Claire,” she told him at last, and he gently took her right hand in his own and shook it once. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he drawled with a smirk that made her roll her eyes. “I’m Hellboy.” 

“Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Claire replied with a cynical half-smile of her own. “You’re sort of famous. There’s even a comic book series about you.” He chuckled and ducked his head, making a show of scratching his sideburn so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Stardom doesn’t suit me,” he admitted. “Hard enough going out looking like this.” Claire’s smile widened a bit at his weak joke. “Saw you on TV not long ago, in fact. Something about bear attacks in Canada?” Hellboy nodded, remembering the assignment of the previous month. “Oh yeah, volkolak. Shapeshifter; right pissy old bastard who liked to dress in a bearskin that turned him into a monster so he could hunt and eat his neighbors.” 

Claire hummed absently then squared her shoulders like an eager soldier. “Well let’s get to work,” she said, turning to head back the way they’d come. “Our best bet’s gonna be that room back there with the other tunnels connecting to it. This is the way I came, there’s nothing down there.” Hellboy stood where he was a beat longer, shaking his head after her. “Hellboy, do you copy?” asked Daimio. “Yeah?” Hellboy answered, still bemusedly wondering where Claire thought she was going when he still had the only light. “Do you have a visual on the subject?” 

He snickered to himself. “More or less. Says her name’s Claire and she’s lookin’ for the wyrms, too. That’s all I’ve got for now, but she’s sticking with me for the time being. Somethin’s up, but I dunno what yet. I’ll keep you posted.” With that he followed after her. 

They pressed onward in near silence, returning to the hub and choosing a path that seemed to delve further down into the ground. Hellboy made a few valiant stabs at friendly conversation, but Claire consistently gave vague or monosyllabic answers and made it very clear she wasn’t up to sharing. As they descended deeper and closer to the burning coal seams the temperature continued to rise. Hellboy checked his IR thermometer, which now read in the triple digits. He spared a glance at Claire, who had replaced her handkerchief over her nose and mouth but appeared otherwise unbothered by the growing heat. 

“Y’know you’re hardly the first spookchaser I’ve ever dealt with,” he told her, trying again to engage her in a way that might reveal more about her. Seemingly despite herself, she looked at him with furrowed brows. “The first what?” Hellboy shrugged. “Like stormchasers, only with monsters and ghosts and stuff. They show up every now and then on our missions. Most get scared off pretty quick, some aren’t that lucky. And one or two we’ve actually hired at the BPRD.” 

“That so?” Claire replied, casual as if they were talking about the weather. “Are you offering me a job?” “Might be,” he said, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “We’ll have to see how the interview goes.” Even with half her face covered he could tell that he’d made her smile. “I’m flattered,” she laughed. “But I already have a job.” “Oh yeah? What do you do?” 

Claire scoffed then and eyed him with exaggerated suspicion. “Are we really still on the ‘getting to know you’ part of the mission?” He grinned, but the next moment he was on high alert as the ground and walls around them began to gently tremble. Loose dirt started drizzling down on them from the ceiling, quickly intensifying into a cascade while the trembling grew to full on quaking. The tunnel was collapsing. “Move!” Hellboy bellowed, grabbing Claire by the top of her backpack and all but throwing her ahead of him. They sprinted down the passage, the ground lurching under their feet as they dodged falling debris and struggled to see through the dense rain of earth. Hellboy’s heart leapt into his throat as the entire ceiling began to give in to gravity and crash down on top of them with a thunderous clamor, but at the same moment the floor of the tunnel split open beneath them and they found themselves falling.

For several interminably long moments the world was a disorienting whirl of deafening noise, pitch darkness and blinding light blurring together like a yin-yang as the lantern slipped from his grip and tumbled away. After an unforgiving impact with hard ground that knocked the wind out of him and set his ears to ringing, Hellboy took a beat to assess the situation. Everything hurt, which was a pretty good sign that he was still alive. It had gotten quieter, which meant that for now at least the tunnel collapse had stopped. Also, it was significantly hotter now than it had been only minutes before. With a reasonable amount of pained grunting, Hellboy raised himself up onto his hands and knees to see where they’d landed, half buried in loose rock and dirt from the cave in. “Oh boy…”

They had dropped down into what was clearly a former passage of the abandoned coal mine. He could still see timber support beams along the walls and ceiling. The remains of electrical lighting and cables still hung from one side of the tunnel, though there’d been no power to them in decades. There was also very visible steam rising from the ground and the walls around them. The fire must be very close now. Unearthing the lantern, Hellboy searched his immediate surroundings for his unexpected sidekick. “Claire?” he called, setting the lantern down to begin sifting through the remains of the collapsed tunnel with both hands. “Claire, you okay?”

Dirt and rocks shifted as something moved beneath them, and next minute Claire was heaving herself upright, sitting in the rubble and sputtering on dirt and grit. She patted her hands against her jacket, sending clouds of particles swirling into the air. “Awesome,” she coughed, turning to look up at him. She tugged off her handkerchief and mopped at the grayish brown dust coating her face and her head and everything else. “You don’t think they’ll charge extra for that ride, do you?” she asked with a grin. He chuckled at the cheesy battle humor, checking his IR thermometer and the gas detector. The temperature had climbed substantially following their plummet into the mine tunnel. In addition, the levels of toxic gasses in the air had skyrocketed. Hellboy eyed Claire’s dirty handkerchief grimly as she tied it back in place, glancing up at the hole in the ceiling they had fallen through. Somehow or another he had to get them back up there. It wasn’t exactly oxygen-rich, but it would be better than down here, where he fully expected his human companion to keel over any second.

Just as he was wondering how in the Hell he was going to pull that off an ominous cracking sounded from somewhere under his feet and steam started rising around them in alarmingly thick columns. He and Claire both froze in place, sharing a wide-eyed glance. “Ahhhh dammit,” he grumbled as the ground began to crack and the fallen dirt to seep through the fractures like sand in an hourglass. “Go, go!!” Claire spun and started to run but they didn’t make it far before they were falling again. Hellboy reached out and grabbed Claire’s wrist in his left hand, his stone fingers scrabbling against the side of the crevice opening up beneath them in search of a handhold. A blast of scorching air shot up through the fissure, hot enough to make even Hellboy wince. He finally found purchase, grunting in pain as momentum slammed him against the rough, rocky side of the crevasse. “Oh my God!” Claire exclaimed in horror, reaching up to grasp his wrist with her free hand. Gritting his teeth, Hellboy glanced down into the chasm below them.

Like something right out of the Book of Revelations, stretching fifty yards across and deeper than he could even see was a pit of fire. 

[rewrite-the-night-court]

What I’d change about TOG

So, I saw another blog dedicated to fixing the problematic/uninteresting things about the ACOTAR series. Personally, I have been mentally doing the whole “if I had to remake this, I’d probably do it more like that” thing for years, and I’ve now decided to start a blog dedicated to it, but mostly to the series (and by extension, author) that initially made me start thinking about what I’d change: Throne of Glass.

Now, this is a LONG post dedicated to what I’d change about the first book in the TOG series. I mean no harm to SJM (which is why this is in the main tag, though I can remove it if it’s inappropriate to put this post there), this is just my take on how I think the books could have turned out differently.

If you disagree, feel free to do so; if you’re even so interested as to have a (civil) discussion with me, I’d love to talk to you! My inbox is always open!

It might be an incoherent mess, it might have more than a few plot holes, but I hope you enjoy the read anyways.

I’ll start with my feelings on the book in general. I actually took me a while to finish reading the entire thing. I bought the book because I really like the concept of a badass assassin struggling for her freedom by competing in deadly challenges, especially with some political/court intrigue and magic thrown into the mix. It seemed right up my alley. I did, however, put it down about 3/4ths in, because I did not feel like the book delivered what it promised, but rather that it trivialized the Tests and focused completely on the (very standard) love triangle.

My second “problem” with the book was Celaena herself. There were things I liked about her: For example, it was amazing to see a YA-protagonist not even admit, but even liking that she was good-looking and being confident in herself and her skills (YA sorely lacks female protagonists like that). Other things bothered me, in a way that eventually overshadowed the aspects of her character that I liked. I just kept thinking: “The world’s most feared assassin at 17?” It seems a little unlikely, not matter if she trained since she was 8 or not.

Those aspects of her character ties up to my problem with her as a character: She’s too powerful. I understand the appeal of a female power fantasy, especially for young girls. It’s badly needed in a sea of media in which women are portrayed as weak, or assets to male protagonists, without being given much, if any character development themselves. However, putting the world’s most feared assassin in a competition for her freedom... against other assassins? The stakes are close to zero. Not once was I worried about her victory, or safety, for that matter.

I saw someone rant about this on reddit, once, and they suggested one simple change. I’ll run along with their idea, as I feel it would change the books in a way that could be very engaging.

What if Lillian Gordaina the jewel thief was the 17 year old protagonist, and not just Celaena’s alias?

I imagine the book would start with Lillian having been caught stealing some jewelry, probably from a very rich merchant who have strong ties to perhaps the most powerful merchant’s guild in the land. Her father begs for the merchant not to do anything, reasoning that Lillian is still a child and meant no harm, but for some reason, the merchant is furious. In fact, he is so furious that he doesn’t want to settle for regular punishment, he’ll make sure she faces something even worse than just a fine.

When word arrive that Lillian is to partake in a contest and compete not only for her freedom, but for a position as the king’s champion, her family is shocked. What in the world would Lillian have to do there? She stole some jewelry, for Gods’ sake! As rumors start to circulate about the land’s most feared thieves, most skilled assassins, and most brutal warriors are to take part, Lillian’s parents attempt to spirit her away. She is caught, however, and is taken to the castle anyways.

Also in this version there isn’t an actual castle of glass. While it’s very Aesthetic™, it wouldn’t suit the story as of right now. From an actual architectural standpoint, it also makes very little sense.

When she gets there, it quickly becomes clear that she’s mostly there as a filler contestant. There’s about ten or so people there who seem actual candidates, from what Lillian can gather without there having been an official introduction round, but the ten are in turn actually terrible criminals with no qualms about murder. The king, partly because of his cruel streak, partly because he’s not actually that dumb, knows it’ll be more intimidating to say you chose your champion after having the most brutal criminals in the land slaughter each other for the honor of serving their king. Lillian bands together with a couple of other candidates who’re more on the weak side. The three of them know that they’ll probably die, but decide to try and help each other survive either way.

Still, Lillian is a noble woman, who, up until now, has been leading a pretty sheltered life. The fact that she might die terrifies her, and she has a breakdown about it in her room. Her servants and the guard posted outside of her room (she only has one, as she isn’t a very big threat to anyone) feel bad for her. Enter Chaol, who in this story starts out as just a regular guard. He offers to tutor her, if he is given permission to do so. Lillian accepts, knowing she has no chance against her opponents but hoping the lessons will soothe her a little bit.

Chaol, who isn’t even given permission to see the king, ends up meeting Dorian face to face by coincidence. Dorian gives him permission to train Lillian during the evenings (for whatever reason, I haven’t figured out all of the character motivations yet).

The following morning, there is a court gathering. Some of the competitors (mostly women) are invited. At the gathering, Lillian ends up standing out; she is rather pretty and she knows how to enhance her beauty by dressing well, gaining a lot of attention for it. She speaks to Kaltain and Nehemia, surprising them both by knowing the Eyllwe tongue. The three of them chat a little in Eyllwe, before Lillian knows who Nehemia really is. Kaltain, who is used to the ways of court, warns Lillian about standing out once she reveals that she is a competitor. Lillian, now suddenly aware of all the eyes glued to her, makes a hasty (but discreet) exit.

She does not know her way around the castle, and ends up stumbling into a secret passage. Terrified of where they might take her, she tries her best to find a way out again, but she is lost and doesn’t know where she is going. Instead, she stumbles into a room she has never seen before, where she finds a woman whose feet are shackled to the floor. 

Lillian learns that this woman is Celaena Sardothien, after some conversation. Celaena seems to be less interested in Lillian and the competition that she is in her garden; in her room, she has a small collection of pots from which various plants are growing. The two come to a sort of understanding, and before Lillian leaves (she’s afraid of being caught in there), Celaena says that she’ll offer Lillian advice and help in exchange for favors and asks Lillian to consider.

The next day is mostly dedicated to training. Insert some Witty Banter™ and flirting here. Lillian and Chaol do get along very well. It’s clear (at least to the reader) that they’re both interested in each other. Lillian, without mentioning Celaena, asks Chaol if he thinks it’s right of her to do things that might be bad in order to survive this ordeal. When he says that yes, he thinks she deserves to survive, she decides to go along with Celaena’s request.

She goes back again that night, as quietly and carefully as she can. Celaena reveals that the King intends for her to compete to be his champion. She also reveals that she, too, is only there as canon fodder. The story is much more interesting if the king’s champion defeated the strongest assassin in the land, after all. She goes on to tell Lillian that physically, there is no way either of them are strongest. Celaena worries that the final test will be a fight to the death between her and whoever the king will pick, a match she’ll have no chance of winning after a year in Endovier. She isn’t worried about Lillian’s fate: Doing dirty work like this is about competence, first and foremost, with “dirty” being the keyword. They’re criminals, the bad guys, the scum of society; the king doesn't need or want them to play by the rules. Celaena believes this can help Lillian survive.

The next day, the first test takes place. It’s a race to capture the flag, strapped to the top of a large tower. Lillian freaks out, as there’s no way she can climb that tower. With her squad of underdogs, she recalls Celaena’s words about not playing fair, and realizes that the winner of the contest is the one that delivers the flag to the judge first. Through some quick scheming, the three manage to get the flag after Celaena brought it down, and one of them (not Lillian, though, she chooses not to pick up the flag when she has her shot) ends up being the one to win.

Chaol trains with her again that evening. One of his superiors find them, and while Chaol isn’t not allowed to train her, he gets in hot water as he is dragged away by the other guard. Lillian heads up to her room, only to be woken in the middle of the night by screaming and angry yelling, before there’s desperate pounding on her door. She knows she’s safer if she stays in her room, Celaena’s voice echoing in her head, so she doesn’t open it, feeling like a coward. Eventually, she falls asleep, still shaking beneath the covers.

The next day, it is revealed that one of the actual good competitors killed the friend of Lillian who won the first test, as well as a few guards before Chaol managed to grapple him from the back. The chaos that erupted was partially because the guards realized they had no idea where the king was. It truly dawns on Lillian that her life is in danger. Finding a quiet corner to break down, Kaltain and Nehemia finds and comforts her. Lillian confesses that she blames herself for the murder of her friend, since she helped her win. Nehemia tells her that it’s nothing she could have done about it, and that she herself has had similar feelings. As the youngest royal child of her country, she wielded little political power, and was unable to do anything when Adarlan invaded. She feels guilt for being useless.

She heads up to Celaena that evening, partially to seek validation for not trying to help (Lillian doesn’t outright admit it to herself, but she knows). It’s never discussed as she sees Celaena’s bruised face. The king visited her last night, angry at her for losing the flag to Lillian’s friend. She seems more upset that he ruined all of her flowers, especially taking care to rip the rarest of them apart with his own hands. A strange and very rare plant, rarely found outside what Celaena calls “her homeland.” Lillian can’t decide whether Celaena genuinely cares more about that flower than herself, or if she is redirecting her attention to something else so as to not think about the king, but either way Lillian decides not to pressure Celaena into talking. Celaena eventually asks Lillian if she could secure her a meeting with Nehemia, having heard that they were spotted together at court.

The next test comes a few days later. Lillian tries fading into the background along with her remaining ally. It’s a simple archery test. Lillian can’t figure out how she would play dirty in such a scenario, and ends up coming in dead last. Chaos finds her afterwards, asks her if she is alright, and informs her that he can’t train her anymore; because of him catching the murderer, his superior was impressed and gave him the reins for the investigations. This might be his chance to climb the ladder.

Nehemia has, with the help of Kaltain, gotten much better at speaking the language of Adarlan. Kaltain and Lillian, for some reason, manage to get Celaena an audience with her. Nehemia seems shaken when she comes out, and when asked by Kaltain what has her so shaken, Nehemia tells them that Celaena is planning on becoming “the next king’s champion,” to which Kaltain corrects her gently (“The king’s next champion, my dear”). Nehemia doesn't react to it at all, in contrast to her usual fondness for learning, but simply leaves, still pale and stiff. Lillian sneaks in, demanding to know what Celaena said that upset Nehemia so. Celaena doesn't answer, instead suggesting that since Chaol now is rising in rank, Lillian would do well to get “friendlier” with him. Lillian storms off.

The third test takes place, and Lillian somehow wins. Fearing for her life, she seeks out Chaol, again thinking of Celaena’s words. It disgusts her that while yes, she likes Chaol, she did seek him out for the sole purpose of gaining both his affection and protection. He managed to find out how the competitor escaped from his chambers (or something), and got promoted.

I’m getting a bit lazy now, but things happen and Celaena requests an audience with Dorian this time. Lillian goes through Chaos to get to Dorian. Dorian, unlike Nehemia, doesn’t seem as shaken after his audience with Celaena. After a little digging, Lillian finds out that Dorian was the one who proposed the idea of Celaena being a competitor in the first place, as well as the one who agreed to get her a little garden (it was the only thing she requested). He hasn’t gone back to see her since, apparently being a little intimidated by her.

The king has grown mad/angry with more and more of the contestants. Lillian, who actually won a test, barely mangled to escape from his ire. After a fourth test, in which Lillian purposefully fails and Celaena wins a second time, Chaol realizes that Lillian has been using him and ends their friendship. It is afterwards discovered that a second competitor escaped during the fourth test, resulting in something close to a “lockdown” in the castle.

When the king is found dead in his chamber, panic erupts. Chaol, once again, finds and captures the escaped competitor–alive, this time. Lillian asks for permission to see them, and it turns out to be her friend (whom she drifted apart from during the competition, as she became more focused on herself and not dying). They swear that they didn’t kill the king, and Lillian knows they didn’t. Celaena’s lessons about playing dirty rings through her head and it’s no doubt about who killed the king. Lillian deduces that it might have been some kind of poison that led the king to his death, thinking of Celaena’s garden and how the king destroyed it himself in order to make her suffer. Fearing her wrath, however, Lillian doesn’t say anything, instead wishing to confront Celaena afterwards.

Upon confronting Celaena the next day, she is unwilling to say anything about anything. Lillian figures some things out on her own, e.g. that Celaena always planned to escape, killing the guards with the poison she could get from the plants and whatever else she could get her hands on. For some reason, Celaena changed course, seeing an opportunity to get some actual power and using Lillian as a pawn in a much larger scheme (Lillian probs already had her suspicions about this, though she did as Celaena asked, considering it in the long run seemed to be a mutually beneficial relationship). As Lillian is there, Dorian shows up with Chaol and another guard. Chaol is furious as he sees Celaena and Lillian together, but Dorian tells him to stand back and that he while seeing her there right now was a surprise, it was as good as time as any to reveal that he knew that Celaena was going to have his father murdered, and that 1. he looked the other way, therefore indirectly helping, or 2. the poison never worked and Dorian did it himself (depending on whichever would make Dorian not completely unlikable, it’s meant to have been a moral dilemma for him).

More things happen, Dorian is crowned and gets engaged, Nehemia stays as a representative for her country and an ally of Celaena, yada yada yada. There’s drama here towards the end, especially between Dorian soon-to-be-king and Celaena I-got-you-to-where-you-are-now-you-owe-me. Again, this would be a bit more nuanced than if I wasn't just roughly outlining the concept.

Finally, Dorian declares that the competitors are pardoned. Lillian prepares to go back to her family as Celaena calls on her again. They don’t meet in Celaena’s chambers, but somewhere else, where a certain white-haired merchant is waiting alongside Celaena. He reveals his true name to be Rowan and that he was working with Celaena all along (he didn’t actually give a shit about that ring). Through some Quality Banter™ and intriguing and mysterious wording, Celaena reveals that Lillian is, in fact, the lost princess Aelin Galathynius and that if she wants to live, she has to go with Rowan right away. Lillian, for some reason, answers yes almost immediately, wondering to herself whether she said yes for survival’s sake or something else. (Dun dun dun do I sense a sequel in the distance?)

And that’s it. I hope you enjoyed my word-vomit of an outline folks.

[jailbirdsonic]

Sides vs Egos

Hi! So, I decided to write this fanfiction because I would love to see an interaction between this characters. I tag @markired, a fellow Markiplier and Thomas Sanders lover and @ask-sadisticdark, since he’s one of the most interesting Dark blogs here on Tumblr. I also tag @liberalautisticnerd831 and @wolfinogotbored because they asked so nicely.  ❤ I also tag @reverseblackholeofwords because their one-shot about the Sides meeting the Egos really inspired me! ❤ Without further ado, let’s see how far down this rabbit hole goes…

It was the weekend of VidCon and Markiplier’s Egos, after the MarkiplierTV premiere, wanted another spotlight to show themselves to the fans. Sadly though, Mark, tired and stressed from his new Tour “You’re Welcome”, was running out of ideas on how to make that happened and the Egos, especially Dark, were becoming impatient each and every day. 

Wilford invited them all to a new meeting to brainstorm a few ideas for him, but after a few hours of discussions and insults at each other, they decided to take a break and relax a bit. While the Egos were chatting with each other, a sound of steps and a joyful tune could be heard coming towards the room, as all the men turned around, confused as hell.

A regal figure, followed by other three people with the same face as the first one but with different outifits, walked through the glass door, singing a tune that went more or less like this: 

♪ “We Are The Sanders Sides! We’ll always save the day! And if you think we can’t We’ll always find a way! That’s why the people on the Internet believe in…” ♪ “Roman!”, sang the first singing figure, now standing proudly with his arms open towards the Egos. “Virgil…”, mumbled the second figure who followed him, his arms crossed against his chest, glaring at the royal with a killing stare under the hood of his black sweatshirt. “And Logan,”, said the third, slower than the darker one and definitely out of tune. “AND PATTON!”, shouted the last one with a big smile on his face, taking a little jump on the spot.

The Egos were watching them like they were aliens from another world, except for The Host, who spoke up and explained who they were to his colleagues: “They are the Sanders Sides, the four different aspects of Thomas Sanders’, the famous Viner and now Youtuber, personality. Prince Roman represents Thomas’ creativity, hopes and dreams; Anxiety, or Virgil, represents Thomas’ anxiety, shame and fear; Logic, or Logan, is Thomas’ logical side; Morality, or Dad, or Patton, is his moral side and his sense of right and wrong.” The last one waved a hand at the crowded room, greeting everyone with a genuine smile to whom only Bim Trimmer greeted back.

“The Host is very pleased to finally meet them as fellow Internet personalities but at the same time he is wondering: what are they doing here?” Logan, adjusting his glasses and fixing his blue tie, responded: “We are here because apparently your meatsuit, Mark, asked Thomas to do a video with him because he was running out of ideas for a video. And which context is better than VidCon, where so many Youtube creators meet and shares ideas? Strangely, though, he didn’t said that we would have to work with…”, he gestured the room, “you.” While The Host was still narrating, Dark started walking from the blind Ego towards the Sides, politely smiling and offering them to sit to continue the interrupted meeting.

Anxiety flinched a bit when the darker persona came close to them so when all of the Sides and the Egos sat down to continue, he sat far away from him, as if he was scared by his powerful aura.

The first part of the meeting went as if the Sanders Sides never came: there was shouting around and arguing on which option was the best to take control over Mark’s channel, leaving a confused and heart-broken Patton who, at some point in the conversation, asked: “What do you mean that you want to take control over your Host? No pun intended, sorry.”, added the Dad character, embarrassingly smiling towards the Ego, who nodded back, “We take decisions together and even if sometimes we argue, we always find a solution with the help of our little guy.” Nobody paid attention to him except for Wilford, who eyed him since he first entered that meeting room. When the situation became too complicated to solve and the room too loud to think and talk decently in to, both parts of the Youtubers’ personas decided to take another break and quiet their nerves.

Logan stood up from his chair, approaching the four Googles who were chatting with each other, properly presenting to them. As soon as the original Googleplier greeted him back, explaining that he and his three brothers were a real life version of the famous search engine, Thomas’ logical side went, quite literally, crazy, asking questions on questions on how such a big company as Google was able to transfer so many data into a human body, to which the Googles responded with pleasure, grateful to know that there was another smart being in the same room as them. Dr. Iplier, who was harassing Ed Edgar at the buffet table with his new medical discoveries, a bit envious to see that the smart ones were having fun, walked towards them, presenting himself with his famous line: “I’m Dr. Iplier. I’m sorry, you’re dying.” which was accepted with a confused expression by both Logan and Oliver, the yellow Google, and a emotionless expression by the other three. The doctor shook his head out of embarrassment, rephrasing his greeting into a more polite and less scary one, and started to talk with the other five about new scientific discoveries, geeking the heck out. While Logan was having fun with his new nerdy and emotionless friends, Virgil, too overwhelmed by the previous shouting from the meeting, was trying to regain his composture and the little sanity he had by standying in the less visible corner of the meeting room, hoping that no one would noticed and started talking to him. At the exact moment he was thinking to take his phone out and listen to some of his music to relax, Dark was immediately next to him, causing the Side to nearly have a stroke, flinching more into the wall. “N-Nice eyeliner, e-eh.”, spilled Virgil, the first thing that came into his mind. The Ego smiled politely, bowing towards Anxiety and saying: “Thank you, lovely. Your eyeshadow is not bad as well. Now now, where are my manners? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Virgil. I would have never expected Thomas Sanders to have a dark figment inside of him, considering his joyous personality, but here you are. I understood that you represent Thomas’ worries, am I correct? In that case, I can show a few tricks to make things easier to better control your vessel’s mind and make you feel heard and listened to, not only from Thomas himself but even by his lovely audience. What do you say?” The warm and charming voice of the darker character, along with the piercing sound who accompanied it, sent a shiver down Anxiety’s back, confusing his already tormented mind and making him want to throw up at the point that he could feel Thomas nearly having a panick attack. Sensing the discomfort coming from the younger trait, a feeling he knew very well, the Host quickly joined them, interrupting Dark’s speech and quietly saying to Virgil, trying to calm him down: “The Host is pleasured to meet Anxiety too and, as a lover of classical culture, he can’t help but notice that your name, and the other Sides’ name as well, perfectly represents the trait you are. Like Logan and Patton, which represents Aristotle’s rethorical appeals of Logos and Pathos and Thomas’ logical and moral side. Or Roman, whose name is based off Romanticism and its protagonists, who are often knights, and he represents Thomas’ fanciful and individual side. Even you, Virgil. Your name come off "Vigil” and you represent Thomas’ vigilancy and worries. Did you know that there is a Roman poet named Virgil, who pops up in Dante’s Inferno and escorts him through the underworld?“ Anxiety, releaved that the Host tried in some way to keep him away from having an attack, nodded and thanked him silently, watching him narrating about his library and his works, while Dark was trying to maintain his façade with a fake smile, irritated that the blind Ego interrupted his chance to take Anxiety to the Dark Side. As well as Virgil, Roman too felt uncomfortable in that room full of, for the most part, criminals. As he was eyeing his "friend” (Was he more than that? The fanciful Side wasn’t so sure about his feelings for him.) standing in the corner bewteen the Host and Dark a rush of feelings, which he failed to catalogue, hit him right in the guts as someone silently approached him. “You like him, uh?”, said the Ego abruptly, making Roman turn towards him, blushing like a red tomato. “What?! No, for the love of the Fairy Godmother, absolutely not! Why would I-”, spilled Princey, nearly screaming in frustration and risking Virgil to hear him. “You know, I’m not blind. I saw how you kept staring at him during the meeting. And I can recognize when someone has a crush like yours. I also had one like this in a episode of my show, but it didn’t end up so well as the other guy dumped me at the first chance…”, the other man whispered the last part, as if it was difficult to him to remember such a sensible topic: “I’m Bim Trimmer, by the way. I’m the host of Hire My Ass.”, he said with a big smile on his face and what it seems an Ego (again, no pun intended) as big as Roman’s one. “Nice to meet you, Bim.”, the fanciful side shook his hand with the other one’s, leaning close to whisper into his ear: “Please, don’t tell anyone about this…”, he sighed, “thing. I’m not sure about my feelings for him yet, unlike Patton and Logan who aknowledge them and now they’re in a happy and balanced relationship. Me and Hot Topic over there though, we keep fighting and getting back with each other so much I’m not so sure what we are, but even so, keep it for yourself.” Bim nodded solemnly, giving the Side a quick wink as an agreement; Silver Sheperd, interested that there was another Superhero other than him, joined them, explaining his story of how he wasn’t feeling the motivation to fight crimes anymore and reciving some good and motivational advices from Roman, and sharing stories about saving Princesses and common citizens from the horrible injustices that tormented their land. Patton, on the other hand, was having a great time. He endend up talking with a new Ego, who popped up randomly after everyone started chatting with each other, called King of The Squirrels whose chin and facial features were covered in peanut butter and who claimed that the squirrels of that part of the city obeyed only to him; he tried to have a chat with Ed Edgar too but when Morality understood that the Ego’s job was selling kids, he slowly retreated, too afraid and a bit angry that that man could so easily escape from the authorities and make those horrible actions to children. The weirdest thing Patton noticed, though, was that the Ego with the pink hair and moustache was staring at him wherever he went. That look was sure intimidating but at the same it fascinated him to the point that he found himself next to the Ego, who smiled at him and indicated him the chair in front of himself. The Side sat, hiding the uncomfortableness with a big smile, and noticed only after that there were a microphone and two cameras behind him and behind the other man. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen and other configurations of being! I’m Wilford Warfstache and tonight I’m here with mister Morality, known as Patton, who’s one of the four Sanders Sides of the famouse Youtuber and Viner Thomas Sanders! It’s a pleasure to meet you! Say, what’s yout job inside of your vessels’s mind?”, said the Ego, his pink moustache wriggiling as he spoke. “Hello everyone!”, answered Patton, waving happily towards the camera: “Uhm, I usually provide to Thomas and to the others Sides moral support when they need it and I help Thomas figuring out what’s the difference between right and wrong.” Wilford nodded, pretty interested in Patton’s answer: “Oh, good to hear, good to hear. And say, what are your hobbies or the things you like to do in your free time?” Morality didn’t hesitate and answered: “Well, I like eating mostly pizza, drawing and… oh, making puns! You know, I’d tell you a chemistry joke but I know I wouldn’t get a reaction.” The pink moustached Ego chuckled softly, nodding and adding: “Do you know why don’t programmers like nature? It has too many bugs.” Patton, catching his breath after laughing, claimed: “ Say, Wilford, do you know what is Beethoven’s favorite fruit? A ba-na-na-na.” The poor Warfstache couldn’t keep the laugh for himself and clapped his hands on his thighs, laughing like a child and managing to say between the giggles: “Hey, Mr. Patton! Want to hear a joke about a piece of paper? No? Never mind… it’s tearable.” The two of them kept telling each other horrible puns like this and laughing like children until Dark asked to all of them to gather again to finish the meeting.

Each Side sat down next to their new friends: Logan with the Googles and Dr. Iplier, Anxiety next to the Host and Dark, who was at the side of the table opposite to Wilford, who had Patton next to him and Roman between Bim Trimmer and Silver Sheperd. During the final part of the meeting, after setting the rule of not to talk over each other, everyone individually had the chance to talk about their plans to improve their meatsuit’s channels. Many different ideas were brought to the table, altough Dark seem to have a hard time dealing with Morality and Wilford’s constant Dad puns, one worse than the other before, his shell dangerously near to crack. After a very bad joke from Patton, that went more or less like this: “I once heard a joke about amnesia, but I forgot how it goes.”, Dark completely lost it. His shell was cracking and screaming like never before, the piercing noise louder than ever, as most of the Egos in the room lowered their eyes, terrified. “Try to make such a joke again, Mr. Patton, and I swear I’ll take you to a visit to the Persuasion Room.” Silence fell. No one dare to talk as Patton’s eyes immediately filled up with tears. Suddendly, Roman stood up and, out of nowhere, pulled his beloved samurai sword out of the sheath, eyeing Logan who headed dangerously close to the darker persona, surrounding him with fierce eyes, furious that he made Patton cry, as Dark watched them irritated, while  Anxiety was trying with Bim and Dr. Iplier to make Morality stop crying.

The braver Side poked at Dark’s neck with the sword as Logan leaned eye to eye with him, murmuring through his teeth: “Do not treathen my boyfriend like that anymore or, I swear to all the puzzles I’ve made in my life, I will not hesitate to defeat you.” Dark, as well as most of the other Egos, a bit shocked by the information that Logan and Patton were in a relationship, smiled politely raising his hands in yield: “I am sorry if I offended your fiancée, I promise you that it will not happen again.”

The two Sides death-glared him for a moment, then headed back to where Patton was sat, Logan lowering to his level and taking Morality’s hand between his. “Patton, like we’ve learned: breath in for four seconds; hold your breath for seven seconds; breath out for eight second. Keep it up, Patton.” The Moral Side did as his boyfriend told and after a few breaths, he did feel better. All of the other three sat next to him, to confort him and silently tell him that they were not going anywehere without him. Patton appreciated the gesture, squeezing Logan’s hand.

Everyone agreed that a collab between the Egos and the Sanders Sides was definitely postponed to another time because they realized that there were too many differences between them, but one thing was sure: both of the parts learned a lot of new things about their vessels’ mind.

BONUS:

While the Sanders Sides were saying their goodbyes to their friends, a glitch could be felt through the entire building by all presents. Dark, Wilford and the Four Googles turned around, visibly concerned, as the glitch grew stronger and came closer to the meeting room. Through the glass door that headed into the room, five figures could be seen: a man in a suit with a cat mask on his face, a boy with a backwards baseball hat, a Doctor, another Superhero and the leader of the group, a demon with black eyes, green hair, gauges, fangs, a dirty knife covered in blood in his hand and his neck stitched and covered in blood as well. The first one opened the door with an evil smirk and said, while happily glitching:

“D͙͚̫͈̦̘i̪̱̲͚͚̠d͈̩͎̘̣ ̙̖̭̰̲̖̬͘w̜̙e͚̦̫̭̫̬ ̷̟̝̟̼m̭̬̤̟̭͡ͅị̪̪̮͇͖̩s̮͎͕͟s̥̟̱͚͚̗͞ ̛͔̪͖s͙̯̣͇̼̖̯o͉̖̱̯̲̖̣m̝̰̤̘̼e̖͈̱̜t̙͎̺͙̻̮͠h͚͙̜̝i̹̻̙ṉg̶̹̗̻?̼̝̝͔ ҉͕͙͔̲͕”

[lovehotelreservation]

The Most Beautiful Boogie Man

Summary: Ardyn knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore that is. In a life before, the two of you bathed in the light together, happy and earnestly in love with one another. Now, he can only watch you from the shadows, all the while his fantasies of you--so wretched yet longing--consume and tear at him.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Ardyn 

[Previous Chapter*]

[Next Chapter**]

HELLO EVERYONE! As much as I like to tease my best friend for her being so enamored with Ardyn, I must admit that he’s a delight to write for~! We were talking about FFXV, and *SPOILERS* she brought up the idea of Izunia looking exactly like Noctis, all the while behaving the way how Ardyn currently does. Paired with the influence of Yasiin Bey’s “The Boogie Man Song”, I was greatly inspired to write and complete this following piece! 

It’s certainly different from what I usually write on this blog, but I am pleased with the result and I do sincerely hope you all enjoy it!

*Links to Chapter 5 of “I’ll Say ‘I Love You’ Until We Get Along”

**Links to the next follow-up chapter of “I’ll Say ‘I Love You’ Until We Get Along”

**Warning: this one-shot contains spoilers and themes of somnophilia

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

To an immortal, sleep was a luxury, rather than a necessary function.

Whereas the world turned to slumber, those who resisted time were left wide awake, wondering how to best spend another meaningless second.

Boredom didn't even begin to describe Ardyn's immortality. Well, a more off-handed way of explaining his state, his inability to succumb to death.

Time to do anything and everything soon became worthless, a mere constant annoyance that nagged at him incessantly. To be surrounded by kings and the common folk who strived to somehow remain eternal made him laugh.

Loudly.

Maniacally.

Bitterly.

Fools. All of them.

Especially to those who would go so far as to sacrifice loved ones, or hell, even themselves.

A swing and a miss at its finest.

But tonight he finally had something to do.

Especially after centuries of searching for this particular new activity.

All this time, he spent his years, plotting for vengeance, desperate for release. Behind the smarmy yet charismatic facade he perfected was a hollow emptiness that had been festering within him all this time. For whatever was once there--that heart of his, he supposed--was ripped out of his chest and pierced right before his very eyes.

And yet, it was with a casual glance that he found reason to be fulfilled.

The surprise attack on Insomnia proved to be successful. With the Crystal pilfered, there was no reason to really linger around. Though, watching what would have been once his dear Lucians trying to flee and evacuate the city in a crazed terror filled him with satisfaction.

Mildly.

However, what truly caught his eye--and what lingered heavily in his mind throughout the day--was during the signing of the farce of a peace treaty between Lucis and Niflheim. It was for a brief moment, but as he and Emperor Aldercapt were escorted to the meeting room, for the first moment in a long time was Ardyn taken aback.

Around the vicinity of the Citadel, he could see members of the Crownsguard patrolling around the area. Though stoic, he could feel their contempt towards him and the rest of Niflheim's representatives. The glare that was sent his way by Cor the Immortal--god, what a joke--as he passed by made him grin and bow his head in mock-reverence.

But, what made him do a double-take was the person walking alongside Cor, quietly murmuring to him in a hushed tone.

You.

Here you were again.

If there was anything that he--in the entirety of his existence--ever wanted, it was you.

The one who gave the world any value. The one who made life worth living. The one who made death appealing.

How long had it been since the two of you were separated?

The question remained in his mind all throughout the his calm departure from Insomnia's burning ruins. He would've wanted to immediately approach you as soon as he laid eyes on you, stealing you away to make you his again, but that would've made all that he plotted to do in these past centuries all the more meaningless.

It would've made seeking vengeance upon your behalf worthless, and there was nothing that he hungered for quite as much.

At the very least, the stage was set and the actors were about to be shoved into the spotlight for the very first time. The show was to begin, albeit with an unexpected casting decision, a surprise revision to the script.

Though, at this point, he didn't really mind spoilers.

"An impatient traveler" was half a lie, half a truth.

He had been waiting to reveal himself to Noctis and his band of merry fools, but he was eager to speed the process, for he had to seek you out. With all the intel at his disposal--easily by Niflheim's power, even child's play by his power--he wouldn't have any issue with tracking you down, or even twist things along to have you come running into his arms without realizing you would be caged in.

Fate had a way to intervene and allow for the latter to happen before he could plan things fully.

He had been keeping tabs on you while plotting for your inevitable reunion. Cor and other top officials of the Crownsguard had survived, and were intending to have Noctis to go seek out the Royal Arms. Though, not only would Cor give Noctis direction on where to go next, he would have you join him and his friends as well.

The suggestion wasn't denied. You and Noctis were close, even if you apparently kept a low profile throughout your life, your interactions with the prince during high school inspiring you to enlist in the Crownsguard.

Things can work out so simply yet in the most asinine manner.

To Ardyn, you were in no position to be in the Crownsguard.

Royalty shouldn't be serving royalty.

From when he knew you, in the life you spent with him back then, you were his queen. In the time of when Starscourage went rampant and left the world in shambles, nothing brought more hope to all across the lands than the kind, gracious King and Queen of Lucis, whose unconditional love for one another was generously shared with all those who sought it.

With the slow yet undetected corruption of his body, you cradled him in your arms, murmuring nothing but gentle words of your heartfelt affection for him. After a long day's work spent healing the afflicted, even the most benevolent needed rest.

Thus was fitting that he visited you while you slept, exhausted after conquering one of Niflheim's imperial bases in Cleigne. Here, in the quiet stillness of this Lestallum hotel suite was you at your most vulnerable.

Admittedly, it was amusing to see his pacifist queen draw a weapon in order to fight for her kingdom. The way you handled yourself in battle was with a grace that was dazzling, and a fierceness that was fatal.

Even with the few encounters with you previously--all with Noctis and his friends in close attendance--he considered this moment to be your true reunion. After all, rather than him carrying on the facade of Chancellor and you of whatever this false identity that you had been tricked into possessing, he could speak to you--the Queen of Lucis--as your King Ardyn Lucis Caelum.

You wouldn't give him the time of day, so what better chance to approach you than at night, especially with the other four out in Lestallum to restock while relaxing after such a grueling excursion from the afternoon. The room was completely dark, save for the small lampstand on your bedside.

How one could sleep with the light on was beyond him, but given the context of the world as it was now, there was no question:

It was meant to keep monsters like him at bay.

Laughable.

"I wonder..." He broke the silence in the room, his voice hoarse from not speaking for a few long moments while he beheld you in your current state. "...what must you be dreaming of to give you such a peaceful expression, my love."

His lips quirked into a grin as he approached the bed, reaching for his coat and scarf to remove them. He intended on staying for a while, so he may as well get comfortable.

Lestallum was always brutally hot and humid, and even with the air conditioning in your hotel suite, you were still dressed down as minimally as possible. Rather than the most luxurious of silk to drape over your skin, instead you were in a pair of small sleeping shorts and a tank top that seemed to have gathered in the middle, your chest and stomach bared during your sleep.

To lick his lips or gulp at the sight?

It wasn't like him to feel conflicted.

Did he want to stare at you with reverence, or ogle you as he pleased?

The answer hung in the air as another option--to simply lay beside you--was added and selected. By now, he wasn't undressing to get comfortable, but rather to be able to take in as much of you as he could. His hands would do all the work, of course, but he wouldn't allow anything--especially clothes--to get in the way of his bare skin to feel your body heat radiate off of you.

Pitiful or depraved?

There was no one else who could draw out these questions, these emotions out of him.

He laid beside you, as exposed as he could be. All throughout your rest, he saw you as vulnerable, but now, beside you, the word seemed to describe him perfectly, even if he was succumbing to voyeurism.

Gingerly, he reached forward, grabbing the hem of your top before slowly tugging it down. While your stomach was covered, his knuckles brushed over the warmth of its surface. He let out a groan at the delicate heat before doing to same for the neckline of your top. Tugging it upward, he relished in the back of his fingers running against your chest.

You shivered.

"Was that me, or the air conditioning, my sweet?" He murmured after leaning forward to meet your ear. Teasing as his tone was, there was an unquestionable bittersweet tinge to it. "You know I know how to elicit all of those delightful little reactions from you--like no one ever could."

He wished you could answer back.

He wished you would talk to him.

He wished you returned to him.

Even when stricken with immortality, Ardyn was left exposed.

To rumor, to distrust, to hatred.

While seeking to rid the world of Starscourge, there was a king who wished to seize the throne, to take everything that the ever so benevolent king had to offer the world. Jealousy at its most rampant, there couldn't have been a better opportunity than to turn the very people who adored their ruler against him.

Izunia was the name.

But when all lost faith in him, who else but you, his beloved queen, to stay so stubbornly loyal to him.

He was only doing what was right for the world. Truly, he meant no harm. An outright twisted, unfortunate consequence for simply wishing happiness and peace to all.

That man was your husband and you would do anything for his sake.

But there were rumors, fears that if the queen was to remain by his side--and become inflicted with Starscourge--there was a possibility that some kind of new daemons would be born, albeit under the disguise of a human, one that could blend seamlessly into the world.

Separation.

Rip apart.

The mob was forming and there was only so much you could do when the world and its gods shunned you and the man you loved.

Ignorance never was so infuriating.

The immortality brought on by the Starscourge wasn't fully realized that day when Ardyn awoke to see you gone. For months, the two of you had been wandering across Lucis, wondering what to do, where to go. There was no immediate answer to those questions, but he never felt alone so as long as you were there.

But you could see his agony, his despair.

You just wanted to see your lover happy once more.

There was a note left beside him.

I will go to Tennebrae to seek an audience with the gods. When they see all that you've done for the world, my Ardyn, they will realize the error of the Crystal's judgment. I will make them see.

The very ones who were so cruel to allow a reunion like this to occur.

What had become of him, right now? What reduced him to the pathetic fool who could not rouse you from your sleep, instead to simply touch himself while lying beside you?

Did he want to indulge in fantasy where he could subject you to the depravity that he had sunken to, or think back that moment when he swore to himself that he would seek vengeance upon the world?

You never did make it to Tennebrae. The mob of ignorant, fearful Lucians were there instead, ready to cast out any blight of the Starscourge. Apparently, the King Izunia was quite the influential speaker.

And apparently, the Starscourge gave him more than just an accursed body, one that immediately turned hollow and void the moment he saw your still form slumped on the harbor floor.

But now here he was, next to you at your most tranquil state.

The sound of your steady breathing drew out euphoria, the rise and fall of your chest a pleasure that he thought was forever lost.

And yet, the you that was now beside him was different. You were the version that swore passionately to remain at the side of the True King, of that brat who was undeniably a carbon copy of Izunia.

Ardyn could hear the gods laughing away at his expense, their cackling rousing a silent but menacing fury that bubbled within him, which in turn was meant to mask the anguish he truly felt.

It was why, at least for tonight, he could indulge himself in your presence. There was no other place he'd rather be at this moment.

Ardyn was more than capable of making you his once again at this moment. The power to do so wasn't merely at his fingertips, but like that of muscle memory. He had grown fond in being the cause for corruption--especially pure, innocent things.

You shifted in your sleep, seemingly restless for a moment before you ended up facing him, even leaning slightly forward. The movement of your body caused your top to shift downwards yet again, breasts slightly spilling out. A moan escaped you as you continued to rest, falling back in near silent slumber at your newfound comfort.

With one hand still stroking his cock, Ardyn brought his face closer to yours. How he wished to fully close the gap between the two of you with a kiss.

"Since when were you so keen on teasing me, darling?" He purred huskily while eyeing your lips. What heightened arousal was either between the extremes of fucking your mouth, or hearing you breathlessly call out his name and how much you loved him. "Do you think I'm not onto your little plot? How naughty of you. You must know what you're doing to me now, yes? Don't think I'll be as nice to you as I was before~"

But could he bring himself to punish you?

On one hand, yes, for all the times he heard you utter his name with complete contempt, as though "Ardyn" was poison to your tongue. And yet, wouldn't he also be just rejoiced to have you pay attention to him with your love and affection?

His breathing grew labored while the wet strokes of his cock became more frantic, needy.

"Open your eyes, my love. Look at me."

Your eyes remained shut.

"Kiss me. Don't you miss your king?"

Your lips remained closed.

"Love me. Yield your heart and body to me."

Your body remained still.

A bitter smirk broke onto his features, sweat on his brow, his breath labored, "You wicked little thing..."

The opportunity to corrupt you left excited him just as much as repulsed.

Even if tainting things was all he was good for anyhow.

Ardyn pumped his cock furiously, your silence making him crave every fantasy as relief. He craved to touch you all over, but could only get himself to cup and stroke your cheek, the soft surface of your skin arousing him to no end. Oh how wonderful of a scene it would be to have Noctis and his Crownsguard return to the room, only to walk into you getting pounded right into the mattress by their most detested foe, all while you beg and cry for him to fuck you harder. Or, tear away your facade and your clothes, reawakening you with your true identity, just so he may whisk you off to Insomnia and have you ride his cock while he's seated at the throne—much like the days before, for even a kind-hearted and generous king loved to dabble in some thrilling naughtiness.

What thrilled--and relieved--him was just how possible either of those situations were and more.

And that's what helped him messily spill his release onto his hand and your bare thighs rather than tears down his face.

Come now, he wasn't that pathetic to weep.

Especially when he had no tears to offer whatsoever.

For the time being, he would savor this opportunity. He ended up breaking self-imposed rule of only touching you with his hands, given that he graciously cleaned the mess he made on your thighs with his tongue, eager to have a taste of your flesh.

You remained asleep all throughout, that peaceful demeanor still exuding from you.

Ardyn was reluctant to leave your side to dress himself up once more, but he'd rather save the dramatics of confronting you with Lucis's prince in attendance for another time.

For now, he would take his leave, biding for when the time was right. While his vengeance was set in stone--to pit Izunia against Izunia, he had developed a knack for theatrics--he could spare a few meaningless days to wait for your return to his arms.

Ardyn smiled bitterly.

It would be a dream come true.

The kind you wished to never wake from.

Here, he would depart from you, refraining from disturbing your peace, allowing you to bask in the small light by your nightstand.

Back to the shadows he went, to where he belonged, allowing you to slumber in presence of a never ceasing light.

[thekuroiookami]

(Haikyuu) The Cat’s Smile and the Girl’s Tears (Kuroo x Reader) - Part 7

It is human nature to forget. Erasing memories is a survival mechanism that allows the body to carry on against all odds, otherwise the pain would be a deadweight around your ankle, slowly but surely pulling you into the miserable depths. And since luck hadn’t been on your side in ages, the first thing you thought about when you woke up was how red Yachi’s blood had been.

Iwaizumi stood up with a clatter when you blinked and shifted. “____, can you hear me?”

You sat up with a wince, shaking your pulsing head to clear memories of torn flesh and terrified brown eyes. “Hajime…where…”

Oikawa approached the side of your bed, face dark and tight with worry. “You’re in the hospital, ___-chan. Do you remember anything? You hit your head pretty hard.”

Too much. That had always been your curse, to remember too much. “Hitoka-san?”

Iwaizumi’s fist clenched and the dread building in the pit of your stomach solidified into certainty. “She didn’t make it.”

You closed your eyes as a tear trailed down your cheek. Oikawa took your hand in a soothing grasp, but it didn’t help. Nothing would change the fact that you had failed and a young, innocent girl was dead. Because of you. The throbbing in your head intensified.

Neither of your friends said anything, merely huddling closer to you in a show of comfort. You sat there in silence before speaking again. “We didn’t catch him, did we?”

Your partner shook his head. “He knows the alleyways better than we do. Bastard got away just as we found you.”

The click of a door made all three of you look up. Iwaizumi snapped to attention in a salute as the superintendent walked in. You just gripped the sheets harder, knowing what was coming.

“How are you holding up, Sergeant?” Ukai’s face was etched with deep disapproval and something like sorrow.

“I haven’t been awake long enough to gauge, but they must have pumped a lot of pain-killers into me, because my ribs don’t hurt yet.” You absently rubbed the stitching over your right side.

Ukai snorted in disbelief. “You’re lucky that sedatives were all they used. Even a 4-inch blade can do a lot of damage in the right place. As it is, you have a lacerated lung and torn muscles.”

You exchanged a glance with Iwaizumi before looking down at your hands. “I suppose you’re taking me off the case?” The question came out quieter than you would have liked.

The chief sighed. “I don’t want to, but one of my best officers nearly died investigating this case. I would take Iwaizumi off it too, but it would take too much time for someone else to catch up. So yes, you’re taking some time off to rest.”

Arguing with Ukai never worked. It made sense to step away from the case, but you would never be able to sleep again if you did. “Can’t- can’t you make an exception this once? The killer is going to be hunting me anyway, and like you said, it would take too long for another detective to pick it up.”

Ukai crossed his arms and fixed you with one of his stern looks. “That’s precisely why you’re going to stay where we can keep an eye on you. I would keep you under protective custody, but we don’t know when the perp will be arrested. Your friends have agreed to make sure you’ll be safe.” Iwaizumi stiffened as a significant glance was thrown his way. “I know how you feel, ___, but no means no.”

You slumped back against the pillows, knowing you had lost the fight. “I’m still going to read the files, you know,” you murmured.

Ukai tried to hide a grin and failed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in his best impression of a gruff voice. He left after issuing instructions not to move unless absolutely necessary.

You looked at Oikawa when the chief was gone. “How long do I need to recover?”

His jaw tightened. “Well, the knife only grazed your lung, so you can leave the hospital today. But it’ll hurt for a week or so. Do anything too strenuous and the stitches will rip open.”

You nodded and slid your feet off the bed, flinching when they touched the cold floor. “It’s better than the last time, I suppose. I hate hospitals after I spent so much time in one.”

Your friends looked at each other with slight unease. You narrowed your eyes at them, ignoring the increasing pounding of your head. “What don’t I know?”

“___-chan…you’ve been in bed for two days.”

You inhaled sharply in shock and looked at Iwaizumi. He dipped his head grimly in confirmation. Your knees nearly gave out from under you. It was the tenth day. You looked at the clock on the wall and pursed your lips. Correction: it was late afternoon, so the tenth day was almost gone.

Oikawa held a hand out to steady you. You gripped it like a lifeline and breathed in deeply. “Okay. I need to get home before I lose my mind.” You paused as a thought occurred to you. “Was someone else with you when you found me, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi seemed to relax at the innocuous question. “Yeah, that Kuroo guy with the hair. He was with Kageyama and me when we ran out of the club. He was here a while ago, actually.”

A tiny bloom of warmth spread through your chest. As desperate as it was, you would take any ounce of hope you got. “So he’s definitely not the killer.”

Oikawa frowned. “Doesn’t mean he’s a good guy, ____-chan. Though…I guess someone who was so worried for you can’t be all bad either.”

You thought about it all the way back to your apartment. Oikawa waited patiently while you packed a bag with essentials so you could camp out at his house for the time being. You were still thinking about it when you sank onto his couch and Oikawa cleared his throat.

“So, ___-chan, I have to go out somewhere for a bit, but I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, Tobio-chan will be here to keep you company.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean to babysit me?” You waved a hand to cut off his protests. “I’ll be fine, Tooru. Don’t let me keep you from your work.”

“Here.” He pressed a keychain and a small bottle into your hand. “That one is an alarm, if you press the button, Iwa-chan, Tobio-chan or I will come running. And the other one is…”

“Pepper spray.” It wouldn’t keep anyone down for long, but you appreciated his thoughtfulness all the same. “Thank you, Tooru. For being there for me.”

Oikawa smiled sadly. “You’d do the same for me, ___-chan.”

After he left, you showered and changed into an oversized t-shirt to lie on the bed and contemplate the ceiling. A stray thought kept tugging at the corners of your mind, crumpling your train of thought like paper every time you came close to a breakthrough. Something about Rule 42, the keys and the knife the killer had used. You were jolted out of your reverie when the doorbell rang.

Kageyama’s face scrunched up when he saw you. “____-san, I…You’re awake.”

You let him in with a faint feeling of guilt. “I should have called you, Kageyama-kun. I’m sorry.”

He walked in stiffly and turned. You realised with a pang that he was struggling to hold back tears. “You-you were bleeding out when we found you, and I didn’t know what to do…”

You hesitantly reached out and touched his hair. Kageyama’s shoulders pulled in towards his ears, head bent miserably. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly, “for worrying you.” He let you pet his head for a while before straightening with his usual look of determination.

“Did anyone tell you what happened afterwards?” He pulled a notepad from his pocket when you shook your head. “We searched Hitoka-san’s house and found this.”

You leaned in to look at the picture on his phone. “A key?” It was gracefully engraved with a distinctive top hat. “She was Bokuto-san’s guest?” Though that didn’t mean anything in particular.

“Yeah, but he’s only seen her once. Now we know she’s been there multiple times, so I did some digging. It turns out she’s a…” You tensed in anticipation when his voice lowered. “Fangirl.”

You sat back and stared at him. “A what?”

Kageyama nodded gravely. “Hitoka-san runs a blog on up and coming volleyball players. Apparently she’s been tailing Bokuto-san for a while now. I found some drafts for a post on him in her files. I guess he was going to be her next feature.”

He pulled up the blog on your laptop. It was full of attractive, sweaty young men wearing shorts, all pictured in interesting angles. It was an illuminating experience. “Well, not that I can’t see the appeal, but this shouldn’t have gotten her killed.” At least, you thought so.

“No, but it does explain why she returned on a regular basis. Maybe she saw or heard something that would have given away the killer’s identity.” You could see the idea building up in his head like bubbles in a fizzy drink, just waiting to explode.

You held up a hand to stall him. “Let me just get a hair tie and I’ll think about this with you.” You went back into Oikawa’s bedroom to hunt for a bobble and paused when you noticed something. In his haste to leave, Oikawa had left several of his beautiful silk ties out on a table. You tilted your head, considering the pearly sheen of a grey necktie. A new thought occurred to you.

“Kageyama-kun, did you drive here?” You poked your head around the door.

He tipped the chair back to look at you. “I did. Why?”

“Because I need to go to the club right now. And you’re taking me.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Iwaizumi-san said-“

“What Hajime doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I won’t be doing anything too energetic, I promise.”

“And you’re sure you left your card here?” You didn’t blame Kageyama for sounding so sceptical. He’d make a brilliant detective one day.

“Yes,” you lied. “I need to talk to someone as well. Don’t worry, there are plenty of people around. I have the keychain with me. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look too happy, but left you to take the elevator downstairs. Some instinct had you opening the blush-pink door again to what you suspected was the Rabbit’s House. Just like the previous times, you were just left mystified by the decor. It was theoretically a drawing room merged with a card parlour that had somehow also mated with a library. The furniture seemed to be molten wood rising out of the ground, strangely curved bookcases and colourful settees arranged around a fireplace where a bouquet of vivid chrysanthemums burned in lieu of a real fire. The most striking feature was, however, an enormous clock on the wall that opened up like a pocket watch. The dial was inscribed with the expected twelve digits, but there was only one hand, which hadn’t moved since your last visit there.  

Kuroo was gazing at the clock when you walked in, his back to the door. His posture was in his usual relaxed stance, hands deep in his pockets, but you could see the strain in the set of his shoulders. “There are fewer people in here than I thought there would be,” you observed.

Everyone in the silent room looked up in surprise. “Detective! You’re alive!” It was almost insulting how amazed Noya sounded.

You could pinpoint the exact second Kuroo realized you were there and he turned around. You could tell because your skin started burning. “I’m bolstered by your faith in me, Noya-san.”

You didn’t miss the glance Sugawara threw at Kuroo. “We’re glad to see you, ___-san.” His smile was sincerely relieved. It was strange to feel such a strong bond with a stranger, but Sugawara was hard to resist.

“Me too-“ You stopped short as Tendou sauntered over and gave you a cool head-to-toe inspection.

“For a moment there I was worried that I wouldn’t have anyone to spar with. It seems like you’re still as snippy as ever, detective.” His grin was pure evil, but you could see the worry in his eyes. It seemed the Red Queen wasn’t as distant he pretended to be.

“Yes, I’ll have to be careful not to tear my stitches holding back my comments around you, Tendou-san.” You looked around the room and settled on the person you’d really come to see. He was watching with that leonine intensity of his, waiting, waiting, like the good hunter he was. “Kuroo-san, is there somewhere we can talk?”

He didn’t blink, as if he’d seen it coming. “That can be arranged. Suga?”

Sugawara turned into a drill sergeant and magically ushered everyone out of the room. You waited till they all left in a flurry of speculative glances and cheery smiles to approach him. Kuroo stayed where he was, patient. You stopped next to him and considered the clock again, trying not to feel frightened by how right it felt to be in his presence. It was as if a bolt had slid home.

“Does it only show the month?” You caught calligraphy set into the edges of the clock and leaned forward to read it. It was a question: “How long is forever?”

“Yes,” Kuroo answered without turning to look at it. “Do you know what the answer to that riddle is?”

You worked up the courage to reach out and take his fingers. His amber gaze flicked from your joint hands to your face. “No, I don’t know,” you replied.

Kuroo’s face was unreadable, but he tightened his grip like he would never let go. Your breath caught at the well of emotion behind his eyes: he looked at you like you held his salvation in your hands. His voice dipped achingly low. “Sometimes, just one second. I know, because it felt like time stopped when you came close to dying.”

You didn’t know there was anything left to hurt, but some part of your heart did. “Kuroo-san…”

Kuroo dipped his head until his hair brushed your skin. “How are you feeling?”

You were knee-deep in the quicksand of his allure, and answered absently. “Not too bad. I think the painkillers will last a bit longer.”

His mask of neutrality dropped as he stepped closer. “Good, because I can’t hold back much longer.”

Your breath caught as his arms locked around your waist and he hugged you so tightly your feet lifted off the floor. Kuroo buried his face in your neck and somehow managed to tighten his hold on you. The world suddenly split into two: the vast greyness outside his arms, and the warm, all-consuming affection of his embrace. You weren’t sure how you’d lived so long without this.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. You slid your hands into his hair, trying to soothe the ragged edges in his voice. “The one person who I wanted more than anything, after such a long time, and I nearly lost you forever.”

“Kuroo-san,” you said as you pressed your lips to his forehead, “I’m here. It’s alright.”

He briefly closed his eyes and exhaled. “It’s not. It was too close and I…Never mind.” Kuroo set you down and examined you critically. “You need rest. Let’s get you to the sofa.”

You shook your head. “I’m fine, I was out for two days straight and you’re here. I don’t want to spend the time sleeping.”

He grinned suddenly, that lazy smile which sent sparks down your spine. “Mmm, detective, I appreciate the sentiment. Under normal circumstances I would be the last person to suggest that you would get any sleep when I’m around.” He traced the curve of your cheekbone with a finger. “But right now, you need to sit down and let me take care of you. You look pale.”

You hesitated. “But I really don’t-“ Kuroo cut you off with a quick press of his lips to your forehead. You touched the spot, bewildered. “What was that for?”

Awareness prickled as his grin grew wider. “Well, that seemed like the quickest way to silence your protests. Did it work?”

You wondered if he would do it again if you resisted. “I hope you don’t think that will work again-“ You silently congratulated yourself when he leaned forward to playfully kiss your nose, amusement radiating off him. If you could bottle up the effervescent feeling of his teasing affection, you would hoard it by the gallon.

“So?” Kuroo clearly knew you were stalling, but was content to play the game a bit longer. “Would you like more persuading?”

You weighed the gains and losses and decided on giving in. “Fine, but we need to talk.”

He nodded and gestured to a chaise longue before striding to a cabinet to retrieve a velvet pouch. You watched as he sat down next to you in a fluid movement and held out a hand in invitation. “Can I hold you while you talk?”

It wasn’t even a question, as far you were concerned. But you could see the answer meant something to him. “I’d rather hold you instead, Kuroo-san.”

His eyes flashed with lightning and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. You didn’t know what to make of it until he smiled craftily. “Then I get to let down your hair in return.”

Your mouth curved slightly. “You drive a hard bargain, Kuroo-san. I should have known better than to negotiate with a lawyer. It’s a deal.”

“Call me Tetsurou.” He began undoing the weave of your braid, the movements surprisingly deft.

You waited till he had finished sweeping the heavy tresses over your shoulder to slip off your shoes and fold your legs under you. “On my lap, please, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo acquiesced cheerfully, though not without comment. “You have some interesting ideas on how to recover from trauma, ____.”

You barely suppressed a shiver at the sound of your name, trailing your fingers over his scalp to distract yourself. His chest rumbled with a sound of contentment. Intrigued, you did it again to similar effect. “I don’t think either of us is suffering right now, so just let me do as I please.”

“I’m all for letting you have your wicked way with me,” he agreed huskily. He paused for a moment. “You’re the first person who’s wanted to take care of me instead of the other way around,” he added softly.

You were so taken aback, you stopped caressing his hair. Kuroo sighed in disappointment. You bent toward him, eyes wide. “Why wouldn’t someone want to love you like that?”

He reached up to stroke your lip with his thumb. “Trust my Alice to ask the impossible questions,” he murmured. “Do you realize what you just said, ___?”

It had been an unconscious statement, but you were well past denial at this point. Nearly dying had a way of rearranging one’s priorities. “I do. I also noticed you answered a question with another question.”

He exhaled sharply at your abrupt confession, throat flexing with the motion. You looked at him expectantly until he replied. “It’s nothing tragic. I just haven’t had good luck with relationships. Neither of us comes out any happier at the end.”

You traced his face with your eyes, searching for a hint to his reality. Kuroo never looked sad, but it was in there somewhere. It hung around him, shrouding him with enticing mystery. “They get overwhelmed by you,” you guessed. “They become dependent and lose their sense of self.”

His mouth curved with melancholic admiration. “Yes. I’ve never thought of it that way, but that is an accurate description. After the second, the third, the fourth time, I lost hope. It wasn’t worthwhile anymore.”

You gritted your teeth against the inevitable second-hand hurt. Life seemed to single out the good people for punishment. For Kuroo, the club was probably the only way to feel a moment of connection with someone else without inflicting damage. You framed his face with your hands. “I am proud of you, Tetsurou,” you said softly, “for not changing to suit someone else. For staying yourself.”

Kuroo lost his composure fully, amber eyes widening for a second. He covered his eyes with a carelessly flung arm and chuckled in disbelief. “You really are something, detective. That was an attack I never saw coming.”

You poked at his bicep, secretly impressed by the solid muscle. “I aim to be unpredictable. So…” You hesitated as you came to the real question. “What makes me different for you?”

He slowly lowered his arm, eyes shaded. Kuroo sat up, fabric rustling as he moved. Your heart raced like a startled rabbit’s as he turned to look at you. “You didn’t give up either,” he said simply. “After all you’ve seen, you’re still strong. And if you’ll let me, I’ll cherish that. As long as I can.”

You dipped your head to hide the sudden surge of tears. “I’m not that strong.” You hated how your voice wavered. “If I were, Hitoka-san wouldn’t be dead. And,” you added before he could say anything, “I wouldn’t be so scared of the fact that I’m falling in love with you. You’ll ruin me for anyone else, and I won’t recover if something happens.” Not after Kenji, not so soon.

Kuroo let out a surprised laugh. You found yourself pinned against the back of the couch, his face heart-poundingly close to yours. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, the lazy intent back in his eyes, “I’m not selfless enough to wish otherwise. I hope I do ruin you, because you won’t be able to leave.” He leaned over you until he filled your vision and you couldn’t think of anything else. “I’m yours, as long you’ll have me.”

You gazed back at him and felt the certainty lock into your bones. You took a deep breath. “Fine, but don’t complain when I work long hours and carry files around all the time.”

He sat back with a gratified smirk. “Me? Never. I promise to be the soul of charity.” He held up the velvet pouch from earlier with a shake. “As proof of my good intentions, a gift.”

You hugged your knees and watched as he opened the pouch to pull out two delicate strands of silver. Kuroo picked one up and tipped his head in question. “May I?” You nodded.

He fastened the anklets above your feet, his heated touch lingering on the rise of your bones. You touched the tiny charms on either one, a crystal sun and moon. Your breath caught as you realised what it was. “Is this…my tattoo?”

Kuroo had gone back to toying with a lock of your hair, as fascinated as a cat with a ball of string. He hummed in confirmation. “I thought about what you said, about feeling beautiful. I wanted to give you something that wouldn’t get in the way, but was still feminine. Did I manage it?”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “this is how all the others got sucked in. You’re a dangerous chasm, Kuroo Tetsurou.” You looked up, heart twisting with the weight of emotion. “Thank you. Truly.”

He tried to hide a boyish smile and failed. “If you want to thank me in other ways, I won’t object.”

You tilted your head in a pretence of thought, shifting closer to him. “Like this?” Kuroo tasted like mint when you kissed him, clean and exhilarating. He slid into it with his usual grace, head tipping back as you pressed into him. He took his time with the kiss, responding with languid sweeps of his tongue. His eyes glowed when you pulled back.

“You’re smiling,” Kuroo said in wonder. He touched your face with the reverence reserved for delicate china, looking a little dazed.

You pulled back, embarrassed. “It happens now and then. Don’t be too shocked.”

He returned to smirking. “In the spirit of scientific enquiry, I’m going to see if I can do it again.”

It didn’t take you too long to find the Rabbit. He was looking particularly resplendent that evening, but chose to hover in the shadows adjacent to the bar, surveying his kingdom, you supposed. You walked up to him and lifted an eyebrow at his shadowy face. He dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Are you healing well, detective?” You saw him slip a pocket watch into his coat.

“Fairly well. I was wondering why you hadn’t noticed Hitoka-san’s repeated visits. It seemed like something you would have noticed.”

He went silent for a moment. “I believe I was not here those nights the guest chose to visit,” he said carefully.

You nodded and leaned against a table. “Yes, you don’t turn up on the surveillance. Don’t you think it’s an interesting coincidence?”

He tilted his head away, but you caught the edge of his smile. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”

“I’d like to think so too, but then I had an epiphany of sorts. There’s one person I know who has to show up to work at a set time on the day following Hitoka-san’s visits. Someone who has to be somewhere early in the morning.”

The Rabbit didn’t say anything, but you saw his fist clench. You kept going, because there was no way you were letting this go. “I think it was at the izakaya that I first suspected. That flourishing bow was so distinctive. And then today, I found this.”

You pulled out a grey tie from your pocket. He didn’t move at all, but the tension ratcheted up unbearably high. “When were you going to tell me, Tooru?”

He shook his head. “Not here. My office is this way.” You followed him to a lushly appointed room, where monitors kept track of the activity in the club. Oikawa sighed and removed his top hat, revealing a face haunted by shadows. He didn’t look at you.

“Will you tell him?” His voice had gone back to its normal pitch, but it was weighted by misery.

You crossed your arms. “No, but you will, eventually. I assume you had your reasons, but honestly this investigation would have gone a lot easier if you had come clean earlier. I think I deserve to know what made you do this, and why you hid the truth from me.”

Oikawa nodded slowly. “I can’t argue with you, ___-chan. The reason I started the club is…like everything, it was Iwa-chan. I’ve been watching him for years. Hinting, hoping he’d like me back. But he always found someone else he liked more, something else he threw his heart into. Then there was me, waiting and waiting. One day, I had a conversation with someone and realized that I wasn’t the only one. There’s always someone with a broken heart out there. I thought, why can’t we escape the world for a little bit?”

Your jaw tightened. You understood, but it didn’t make you any less angry. “And the evasion? Why would you keep this from your closest friend?”

He flinched at the accusation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. When I first realized that the guests were being killed, I was going to tell you as myself. But then you turned up in the bar, and I somehow ended up using the opportunity to show you the club. You were tearing up inside from the broken engagement, and I was hoping one of the others would be able to help you.”

The sense of betrayal and hurt simmered down a bit when he slumped. You couldn’t deny that, in whatever way, Oikawa had helped. You exhaled slowly. “Fine. I’m not forcing the issue. You are not forgiven yet, but I’m not going to punish you for this either. And if you ever keep something from me again, we’re done.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining with hope. “Thank you, ___-chan. I promise it won’t happen again.”

You punched Oikawa in the shoulder when he came back to the door. He yelped in pain, but didn’t complain. “If I had known earlier, I could have at least gotten free drinks,” you muttered.

He laughed reluctantly. “Strange, I remember Sugawara-kun saying the same thing. About how one of the guests – I think it was Ueda-san – being very fond of martinis, to the point where it was becoming a liability to the house.”

You were going to reply when a realization hit you with stunning clarity. You grabbed Oikawa’s arm to make him stop, mind racing with horrifying new possibilities. “What did you say?”

“That Ueda-san likes martinis?” He looked down at you in puzzlement.

You waved it away impatiently. “Before that. Who told you this?”

“Suga-kun did. Why?” Oikawa gripped your wrist. “Is something wrong?”

You didn’t answer, too busy redefining the borders of your mental puzzle. You turned several pieces upside down in your mind, changed the shape of others entirely, and suddenly it all fit together. You looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Tooru, I think I know who the killer is.”

[elizabethrobertajones]

12x23 watching notes

Sucks to be you lot, I got nearly a week less hiatus than you to think about this

(Oh god, hi it's Monday evening after the episode and I've finally made it through a day without a bizarre dizzy spell and limbs made of solid lead. Time to watch this >.>)

expectations: Mittens told me she loved it and she's my barometer so I'm tentatively hoping that it works :P

Also whatever happens, 13x04 or thereabouts is going to be a fucking Scooby Doo episode so there's no way literally anything happens here that won't be better in 4 episodes.

-

I feel like I don't any anything snarky OR clever to say about the opening montage, which is ominous. About my brain, I mean. Season 12 has been a wild ride.

It's also possible I entirely transcended after the hug in 12x22 and don't actually need anything from the show any more, like, Sam and Mary are happy, Dean's all better and so things will clearly eventually work out with Cas, like... I don't even need to see that to know it happens :P

(I mean I'd have HATED the show to end here because AAAH CAS but just assuming he's fine, this is how it goes now Dean's ticked "parent issues" off his emotional burden and is basically just left with "i'm gay for the angel help" on there :P)

-

CAS! Hello! He's enjoying the view of the lake.

Kelly gives us a fake-out "prayer" where it turns out she's blaspheming.

I would have no idea if this is important or not for later because even with 12x19's great work we really don't have a strong measure on Kelly as a character as we should have, except that she was originally devout or going along with being devout. She now thinks her baby is a God and if she's taking the original God aka Chuck's name in vain, then yeah. (Also important for Cas, I suppose considering his much more complicated personal relationship with Chuck aka God)

I like it because it makes her position in this all the more interesting because she seems to be asking for help but it turns out she is asking for the strength not to kill "Sven" and if she was really thinking she'd burn down an IKEA, that's using the nephilim's power for harm, because she's 110% capable of grabbing Cas, dragging him back to IKEA, and making him set the whole thing alight for her.

Since it's the opening line of the episode, the whole "not what it seems" element, especially showing her as vulnerable and devout, immediately re-casts her as angry and violent and blasphemous... Obviously it turns out to be on a hilarious level but like with many many things I talk about, the initial suggestion was an honest plea for help. And though it's subverted, what does it say about the actual relationship with God, and how she feels... I mean she was asking for help so that means she feels she doesn't need any help from GOD, just help from this Sven

Also the fact this means they went IKEA shopping is pretty hilarious to me all by itself because Cas and regular human activities. I would assume Cas is indulging her whims for the baby whether he thinks it will kill her to give birth or not, if he's mostly in control of his thought processes and is in general behaving like Cas except for the override switch being thrown on priorities.

Remember back in 12x17 where I was talking about how Kelly would be so much more interesting if Dagon had let her decorate a room in their abandoned hovel of the week? I would still have loved to have seen that version but once again Dabb and I are on a wavelength because there's no way this wasn't already in the pipeline when I was saying all that, so I imagine he got quite a kick out of reading it on my blog, knowing what was to come. I was even thinking she'd paint it yellow. Anywho, as I was saying there, the uncanny valley of making a beautiful baby room in such a location is beautifully jarring and creepy and everything about her trying to treat this as normal and to make the world ready for him in this very specific mundane way, when there is no way in a billion years she could make the world ready for him considering what he means to this world.

-

Oh no I hit play and Cas said he was good at following orders. I'm pretty sure that's the exact opposite of what he is, but he THINKS he is, or at least thinks that he was MADE to follow orders. Question that this episode may or may not answer: if a being is designed to be the perfect order-following drone, and then attempts IKEA furniture, will it succeed? More importantly, even if it's actually terrible at following orders when it's making emotional calls, will the simple morality-free consequences of building an IKEA thing make it easier and give it one easy thing to do in its life when it's never had it easy before to follow orders without making concerned calls of its own based on its better judgement, or will it somehow fuck up the furniture anyway because it thought there was a better way to do something?

Is this possibly a metaphor

-

Kelly is angry because she knows she's going to die and wants to teach the baby to ride a bike and get married... Look, you really have a skewed idea of what he's going to be ALLOWED to do. Even if he grows up at a normal speed, if he's left with his powers, I doubt he will ever have a free afternoon to learn to ride a bike in peaceful safety.

-

"I will give my life for your son. And I will raise him - " *pauses immediately to scowl at the blatant awful contradiction*

-

"- and I will make him someone you will be proud of"

the other thing is I just can't imagine Cas teaching anyone to ride a bike and I am not sure he has entirely thought this through, because I DO have absolute faith in Cas that if he was allowed and everything went in this saccarine way he would do his absolute best for the kid and raise him perfectly but dear god that means Cas will feel a burden like he has never felt before to learn how the hell to ride a bike and impart that knowledge to a kid on training wheels, and at this point we get so deep into an incongruous mental image I am pretty sure I'm imagining a total AU Cas

on the other hand several watching notes ago I visualised Cas's perfectly normal house in suburbia where he's hidden stuff like the demon tablet, first blade, and whatever the hell it was in season 12 that made me conjure this image up in the first place, and now I think Cas would obviously move the kid there to grow up, and the fact that he hasn't yet is probably mostly because he's a little nervous about what would happen if a nephilim touched the demon tablet.

see there's a secret continuity to these notes

The other thing that makes me convinced the baby will not be allowed to live a normal life is not because its powers are too great to be left alone but because if it's with Cas, he's such a fucking beacon of madness and drama from the rest of the world that he'd have that baby in a baby pouch on his chest, running around smiting stuff, all year long :P Again, getting to the point of a ridiculously incongruent mental image.

This world is engineered towards freedom, not peace, and Cas was the one who by being bad at following orders, made sure it was so. Now he more than anyone pays the price for that

-

Omg talk about multi-layered. Dean telling Mary about how Crowley is so hard to kill he's like a cockroach, and he'll believe it himself when he sees the body, and burns it. Obviously you got salt n burn of a bad guy, and hunter's funeral of someone he cares about. Which would he give Crowley? All surface stuff Dean wants to indicate at this point is that Crowley's an idiot who somehow got tangled up in Lucifer again and made him their problem, AGAIN, and basically he has no reason to admit his fondness for the King of Hell to his mom who barely gets the situation, and Sam who mocks him about the summer of love at any given opportunity but still probably doesn't *get* what that was for Dean, and really doesn't like Crowley all that much, still, after all this time.

-

It belatedly occurs to me that Sam forcing out a thanks he mostly means but hates saying to Crowley in 12x15 was a lot like Dean trying to thank Ruby in 4x09 and knowing he actually is sort of grateful but you know... not pleased about her one bit :P

-

*interlude that allows me to hit the 5 minute mark as we recap Crowley not being dead* He mimics Dean in 4x01 crawling out of his grave, with rather less bizarre sex appeal.

(... I have no idea but Jensen Ackles can make literally anything sexy.)

Also the music is clearly making a mockery of him doing that, like, it's just too overdramatic, while with 4x01 of course the whole thing was treated with the respect and importance it deserved. If Dean had resurrected with the exact same motions it would have been a comedy

-

I dislike the five minute mark intensely.

-

I'm just going to assume she'll resurrect herself quietly without a fuss once Lucifer's gone, and go hide out until this is all over, maybe do that spell to punt herself back to the 1400s like she wanted to in 11x22

Hope she has fun on a second time over.

And avoids literally all of this crap

-

There's a diamond-ish pattern on the wall in the room - fancier than normal diamonds because Lucifer isn't just a regular demon >.>

-

Oh dear he's waving around Rowena's voodoo doll now. The big black heart patch is even more relevant.

-

You know I think Sam is genuinely mourning Rowena, all his expected Lucifer panic aside

-

This place Cas and Kelly are holed up in really really looks like places I saw in Scotland when I was visiting. I may be mourning Rowena.

-

As I was saying to Mittens I think 12x13 is supposed to be the episode that tied up all their ends and should have been her true farewell episode wrapping up all the MacLeod family drama which truly started in 9x21 shortly before Rowena was introduced in season 10... Buuut they made such a hodge podge of the story I can't even remember without checking what else was in it except for 3 brief interludes about Kelly, which was nowhere near enough to rob all the time from Gavin and Rowena getting a good story, so... I'm confuzzled.

-

Meanwhile, Cas is being Cas about childrearing. He says everyone poops but HE doesn't poop - the baby may poop if it's more human in physiology, but that's not actually a 50 50 chance if it turns out to be more angel than not, and it's certainly so powerful what's left for the human side of it... i guess except for pooping, until it's old enough to have actual working empathy and reason to discover if it's got free will and compassion

-

It did something to the truck through Kelly but to my great disappointment there's no Dabb vs cars pay off and it makes the truck magic. It just briefly holds the power until they're not looking, then it dribbles out and floats off to cause trouble elsewhere

-

"Lucifer's right," Dean says, and probably sacrifices like 3 sanity points to say it (we're doing Call of Cthulu this rewatch instead of D&D I guess?)

It's a fair point that they're really playing on the wrong board here; they can deal with a human problem like the BMoL. A little blood and tears, but they conquered it and the 3 of them solved their family drama and everything's right again. (I assume someone gave Mary the "It's okay you were brainwashed when you killed all those people, it totally doesn't count" speech)... But yeah they don't know how to find Lucifer, their plan is a vague "find Cas" and Dean seems to be relying on making Cas do what they want (he's good at following orders >.>) rather than wrangling the larger problem. Sam says they can hopefully siphon off the baby's grace but if not... they find something else, again, vague and again, no resources to do it - to be clear, they have at the moment, no way to find Cas, no way to kill Lucifer, and no way to deal with the baby if their desperate way doesn't work, and dealing with Cas is a pretty desperate option too, to make him do something when again Dean said "Team Free Will" to him last time they had a real talk, and, yeah.

-

"I always wanted to punch the devil in the face" I love Mary Winchester

-

I didn't pause in time to tell Cas not to touch the creepy line of power that came from his truck. I assume he's been transported to an alternate dimension that is loosely connected to his truck. Spiritually, perhaps.

-

Buffy style demons?

-

I did not expect to be at this moment as soon as we are. Seemed like a last 3rd of the episode thing, after shit had gone down,  but Cas has been thrown into angry truck verse too soon.

-

I also thought it would be pretty random but I didn't expect HOW random and you know how I said a while back Dabb era is totally random and it's so hard to guess anything that happens because he will just be like "Lol whatever if it gets where we want to go" - this is why I hate speculating this season :P Certain things happen *exactly* on cue and others are like, Cas probably ought not to be around for this part, let's just... put him over here

-

Kelly to Jack - "you have an angel watching over you!" yeah like that's not already the most corrupt phrase on the show since Mary said it to her own pregnant tummy in 5x13 right when Michael had just happened to Dean (and prompted the saying of "team free will" in the first place. I've been ironically using it as my Mary & her sons (and step son) dynamic tag all season because of that - to refer to the cosmic fuckedupness of their backstory with angels, Mary's attitude towards her boys, their feelings towards her (re: 2x13 and how DEAN felt about Mary encapsulated in that comment and how Sam was left out because he didn't know anything about Mary) and of course the fact they obtained an actual angel to watch over them who is awesome at watching over them and caring about them like Mary always wanted, and Dean was so upset she said but she DIED and he had no faith and angels weren't even real and -

okay when I said the Winchesters were done with their story, the "and Cas" dynamic completely changes the emotional stuff they need to address and I was being pretty flippant about Dean swapping that to making out with Cas, but essentially, yeah. Kelly is showing that this exact thing is still a narratively relevant thing after Dean got some core, childhood trauma level catharsis out of Mary finally, dealing with the absolute baseline of their relationship.

This is still to go, I guess, because Kelly saying this shows there's still some fucked up stuff the Winchesters have to deal with, and faith and angels and is a shared nightmare of a family therapy session for this squad.

-

Ahahaha Dean's reactions are great. Just punch Crowley in the face and have a knife out in moments.

And yeah Crowley deserves that. As I said somewhere ELSE in my notes over the season, Dean had one lie left to discover, after everyone else lied to him in the second half of the season and he discovered it.

(everyone except Rowena *sobs*)

-

Sam remains beautifully in character re: killing Crowley. Dean definitely seems like he will but then in 12x19 he packed an angel blade to go yell at Cas. Not sure what level of mad and betrayed those two things compare like but Crowley's already on a barely tolerated frenemies list when Dean isn't compromised by the whole summer of love thing and it's pretty easy to forget that when Crowley let out Lucifer.... So yeah he's got a lot more to be worried about than Cas :P

-

Crowley admits he kept Lucifer out of the cage because he wanted to win - belatedly giving us the exact same motivations as Cas doing all the betraying and getting dragged off by the nephilim

-

We very belatedly get to the part of Crowley's arc where he voices he really really hates running hell. I mean, Dabb wrote 6x04 where Crowley was immediately displeased with doing the job because he couldn't trust anyone else to do it (the sort of people who want to run hell are... pretty volatile. And the ecosystem only supports one Crowley type personality doing well there :P) He says being in the rat made him realise he hated it, but it's been clear since season 10 that this is where it was all going for Crowley, another plot thing that got dragged out (and is filed under my lesser complaint that they didn't know what to do with him at the end of the season just like Cas because they both ended up having such a weird non-role in the end of the season...)

Anyway I suppose we're getting back to that, while Cas has been on a much more well developed emotional journey since the start of season 11 so it's less like he's just been on ice :P

-

And Crowley bargains with closing the gates of hell, because I guess all our talk about how season 8 was all over the place with the killing hellhounds thing and nephilim and all that... It was enough to actually prompt someone to ask me if Crowley could I think, so kudos that anon if I'm not imagining it. I remember saying somewhere or other that Crowley could shut the gates of hell in an afternoon if he was fully in control of Hell because he'd have all the resources available to him. Including someone to do the trials for him so he doesn't have to die for it :P I doubt he'll get a chance to actually do this, but it's nice to have a reminder, if only to bring to the surface that this has been the theme all year.

I feel like the weird spiky realm that looks freakishly expensive to film will probably be the realm we have to worry about though :P

-

*Kelly wanders around looking for Cas, also concerned about him*

-

He's back! And he immediately lies about what happened to him, probably not to worry her, but... Yeah, something happened. Whoever he met there, he's back and not commenting, so he's either alive and fine despite everything, or being impersonated.

I guess it just wants to open a portal to a dimension of weird spiky demons because why not. Kelly's labour pains are stressing the portal Cas went through, so assume birth is going to tear it open and birth a whole bunch of spiky demons on this realm to go along with the nephilim.

If anything goes remotely predictably.

-

Is Crowley about to lampshade how boring 12x08 was?

"Is this what you do when I'm not here? Type?"

You know, I don't think Dabb likes sitting through Buckleming episodes any more than we do.

-

Uhoh, weirdness in the Pacific Northwest.

Look I spent the entire time I was facedown in a load of cushions between these episodes airing and now watching most of Twin Peaks in one go.

I also caught MORE than enough references back to it from other episodes in Supernatural to be confident that Robbie, Dabb and Edlund have been going around quoting it all the time in their episodes since the start, so there's that. :P

-

Oh no Cas is using "James Novak" to rent the house. I suppose everyone who cares about Jimmy is at peace now but it still makes me weird to think about how that's still legally who he is as long as he keeps hold of stuff like Jimmy's driving licence and for all we know life savings

-

"It's about time," Crowley says, still lampshading how boring 12x08 was.

-

Cas is being really sweet. He took a class online to help him help Kelly give birth. He's like... the nicest guy ever

I don't think he's quite twigged that humans have no idea how to do half this stuff either from a standing start... unwittingly walking the path of the expecting father without knowing everyone freaks out this much without the whole "helping give birth to a nephilim in the shack in the woods with no medical professionals around" side

-

Yeah the glowy thing is still there Cas... Still not telling her about it, I see. She's as they think going to be dead in 12-18 hours anyway so no point worrying her about the fact the birth of her son is opening a portal to this-world's-hell-isn't-actually-scary-anymore

-

"Thank you, for everything." "of course"

*generic exchange from the Destiel playbook*

-

He tells her a bedtime story of his vision of the Future, reminding us with the visual of the nephilim's power creeping up his arm and taking over his eyes - and she grabs his hand again. A world without pain or hunger or want. Sounds... a bit unrealistic as he gets to a world without fear or suffering or hate - he saw paradise, which is confirming he's doing the same thing as Mary with the "world without monsters" mantra that nearly was her total undoing. He's got a world without suffering, just the same deal, on a bigger scale. I love love love how he's the centre of everything - Mary sharing one side, Crowley using the same story about wanting a win in his own selfish way, and Cas in the centre with the much more deep, complex story going on utilising all of this.

-

Nyooom

-

Cas knows that motor anywhere

-

Oh dear he has his angel blade out to meet them

-

"Dean." (Mary and Sam also walk into the hall)

-

Sam does eventually take the lead on telling Cas they seriously need to worry about Lucifer right now - a shared thing between them, I guess. Dean and Cas are hostile but Sam moves around to stand behind Cas. Dean says they'll work through their crap later because they always do. Accepting that fights are transient parts of being a couple (uh, family) and obviously they might be mad at each other now but that doesn't mean an end to it.

-

*Cas angrily heals Dean's knee and I'm sad he didn't grab his knee but amused at how pissed off Cas was because he was never not going to heal Dean when he saw he was hurt but he doesn't have to be happy about it*

Sam takes the time to wander further into the house and Cas has to chase after him to defend the odd garden feature from him

-

Too late.

-

Oh dear it's a tear in space and time. is it showing the future that will happen if the nephilim is born and that's what Cas has been seeing despite describing paradise to Kelly?

-

Aww it's just an alternate dimension.

uh

Sam and Dean relate to this because they remember The French  Mistake. Oh dear. :P I never thought that would get mentioned again.

-

"How did this get here?" Asking the real questions, Sam. You know, after the deviation to reminisce fondly about 6x15 while staring at a hole in the fabric of reality.

Cas tells them they don't want to know what's on the other side, but Dean says they need to. You can't just hide things from someone because you don't want to worry them, especially when it's staring them in the face with a great big glowy rip in reality.

-

Oh, it's daytime now. Guess it runs backwards to their world with timezones.

Cas has to defend that he thinks it's perfectly okay to hang out here because the nephilim opened the portal and will close it again and he has faith. Dean is like !?!?!? okay no??

Calls him a dumbass again

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hey it's the guy from the 2 in 1 promo. C'mon, turn out to be Garth with padding.

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Fuckin knew it

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Go a year without seeing that face on our screens? Never.

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Also let me just rewind and yell about Cas calling him a friend and Dean being grumpy about Cas having friends but listen, Cas and Bobby is the best and truest friendship on the show shut your mouth Dean.

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you know technically Bobby is "garth with padding" in the sense that Garth metaphorically took over his role after his death, while being a lanky guy.

I'm calling that a win.

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Correction: beret!bobby. He's awesome.

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Making up for being killed off-screen in the opening of Endverse

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I love how Sam and Dean keep on trying to make Bobby know who they are even after Cas keeps on trying to explain that he has no idea who they are

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You know Cas seeing a world that Sam and Dean never saved while he's currently helping the nephilim be born in a way that is utterly terrifying for the fabric of their reality should probably make him a lot more nervous, but he's fine because he has faith

for Sam and Dean, it's a different thing to see altogether, because sure they get they saved the world and they didn't NEED to see how awful it would be without them to know they did a good thing. But Dean literally just made peace with Mary over this and Sam seemed to as well although honestly he's been going along with it all so much as it happens maybe he needs a great big set piece to see all this and muse on how their lives changed the world because it gives him a very external way to see and process that Mary's deal may have sucked for them personally, and kinda damned him for a little while etc etc Dean gave her the sob story on Sam's behalf last episode, but if he was ever going to have a similar way to be at peace with Mary compared to Dean getting the personal one, it's revisiting the early seasons Kripke Era mytharc and asking what would have happened if it hadn't happened.

Ironically in 4x03 Cas sets Dean on his little quest to silently observe everything with "you have to stop it" but if anything his actions set things in motion and averted this world... Quite a self-fulfilling prophecy that Heaven and Hell were so obsessed with the bloodlines and the prophecy and the blah blah blah that they managed to avert the apocalypse by trying to make it happen.

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Blah blah nothing we didn't already know with Mary and Kelly although nice they're talking female character to female character >.>

Getting a bit worried they were like omg Lucifer's coming and then Sam and Dean and Cas all go have a vacation elsewhere and leave Mary alone to defend Kelly. I suppose we know Cas comes back because there was the promo scene with him kissing Kelly on the forehead presumably as she's dying but I didn't analyse the video very much at ALL so I can't really remember what else we haven't seen as we've now seen all the bits I think anyone was yelling about and forcing our attention to

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Bobby called his gun Rufus :')

It's angel killing bullets. :O Dean is like "awesome" and Cas side-eyes him with the best side-eyes Cas has had in years like, I was SHOT with one of those, you dick.

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I don't think Mary's going to keep the hand :P

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Oh they made it back.

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"Are you alright?" Cas immediately asks Dean, personally, if he's alright and Dean's like "NO" and his voice creaks as he describes being trapped between Lucifer and Mad Max

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"I don't even know where to start!" yep still on with that theme from earlier. They've been witnesses all year, really - just showing up in episodes as events unfold, and they really, really haven't had a handle on stuff. Even the BMoL situation played out in such a way that Mary killed Ketch and Jody killed Dr Hess and Ketch killed Mick and Toni, and Mary killed that awesome lady who attacked them at the start of the season - whether it's the brothers specifically not being allowed to kill too many humans too causally on screen or what, combined with being witnesses to round after round of the Lucifer thing, the only "win" they thought they got was banishing him, and Crowley fucked that up too so no wonder Dean hit him

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Oh he's back

hi crowley

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"Turns out I'm the answer to all your problems"

(did they seriously think he couldn't get out of being pinned to a table with a knife and no other restraints? I mean it HURTS but it doesn't actually incapacitate him from doing stuff like... pulling the knife out...)

Anyway didn't we have some speculation Crowley was maybe going to dramatically hero moment the day?

(Ah maybe something silly I was saying to Mittens in 12x08 when I was joking about what could possibly happen next with the vague teasing that something ridiculous was about to happen)

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Kelly and Mary are now BFFs and Mary is unwittingly Kelly's hand holding friend through this. I suspect this is just to tie up some things about all the Dagon and Mary as parallel mothers that was going on at some point in 12x17 or 12x19 when she was villain monologuing

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Is Cas going to tell her that her son is opening holes in reality? Or just whatever the plan is Crowley showed up with

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Dean has the pre-drama chat with Sam about having faith in their family. Weirdly includes Crowley in that too despite almost killing him earlier, and adds a "sometimes" - he's got used to rely on Crowley to want to save his own bacon via using them and incidentally saving THEIR bacon enough times it almost looks like friendship :P

(Also... summer of love.)

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You know it was totally sweet in context where Cas kissed her on the head. Definitely nothing to actually be concerned about in this episode - the whole opening was so funny and cute with guardian angel plays at being dad but the fact he was doing it AS a guardian angel was very very clear

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Anyway Lucifer showed up

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Sam makes a bizarre out of left field play telling Lucifer that Chuck wouldn't allow him to do whatever he wants to do, though 12x07 had Lucifer's big meltdown (literally) in front of them about how abandoned and miserable he felt. Not sure if this is part of the plan or Sam's buying for time hoping to get him ranting again.

(I mean. Lucifer is ranting again so.)

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If there IS a random Chuck and Lucifer second attempt at reconciliation at this point I wouldn't put it past Dabb although not currently sure what part that plays. Chuck did choose these losers to defend the planet on his behalf after all

-

You know, Lucifer thinks this world sucks. A very obvious solution is just to let him chase them around the house, then someone kick him into that portal right before Jack closes it, if he is indeed going to do that

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"Apocalypse take two. That's your plan." "When in doubt, go with the classics" You know, Lucifer, did you ever ask what happened to your brother Raphael?

Cas. Cas happened to him.

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Anyway part of the great season 6 redux. How does it go this time? Well there's a lake literally right there and a portal full of nasties, and Bobby did some basic lore info on them so I have to assume it's not totally random what was through there, but at least SOME of it is going to be a problem for them next year

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"See you on the other side" yeah that's... a thing that Dean said

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LOL Dean and Sam turn and leg it around the house

*glances at Dabb* I worry about how much I think like him sometimes.

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They lure Lucifer in out of curiosity. It's power, he's interested, and... I really hope Bobby kills him

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"You wanted the apocalypse, you got it" this honestly seems like almost a kind way to retire Lucifer without killing him. Just shove him in a world even worse than endverse and let him have a crack at things where he's not the biggest fish in town and has some catching up to do

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Dean gets to shoot Lucifer a billion times with an assault weapon because, well, he already shot the grenade launcher today, he needs something more fun to do now

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Oh dear, now he's out of bullets

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Lucifer really likes puching Dean in the face. He probably still feels he owes him some more face punches since 5x22

Dean is happy to volunteer his face up as a distraction, at least because Lucifer won't kill him instantly because he prefers punching Dean and making it slow...

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Oh wow gee doing a spell that seals the rift needs someone to stick around and -

not just do it, a life apparently. Uh, Crowley... Are you gonna do this just to spite Lucifer?

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Sam and Dean employ the tactic of running away again

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Lucifer teases Crowley for wanting to make it personal by not locking him away in the cage and just ending it when it should have ended.

I think personal spite is going to play a biiit of a role here :P

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*Crowley villain monologues like a champion*

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Time go, Sam and Dean

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"Bye, boys"

BYE CROWLEY

Maybe

for now anyway

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The MacLeod Family Drama definitely ended this season anyway - I do think 12x13 ought to have been a showstopper of an episode with all their laundry aired and stuff to make it fair, and of course to have resolved the time travel nonsense better

but anyway, I think Rowena and Mary have a huge thematic overlap for what they do for Dean and Crowley - it did resolve Crowley's emotional arc in a way where rounds of villainy and winning/losing could be an eternal pattern with the Winchesters. Even if it ended badly it still ENDED and they all came to a point where there was closure of some sort. And Crowley is still the dark mirror to all this, and same for Rowena, even if she also softened to the Winchesters in the last season. (And Sam softened enough to Crowley to say thank you to him - him getting the hug and thank yous was a real doom :P)

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*a lot of things happen very quickly to which my reaction is just ????*

I suppose Cas either had no idea what was going on and charged in to save the day when it took too long, or the nephilim sent him in to kill Lucifer because why not. Mary just got knocked out and Kelly's glowing

I kind of feel this is Cas wanted to be there because the writing moved him there

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CAS

Oh my fucking god remember how terrified I was last episode of Jody standing with her back to the open door because the same thing happened to that random hunter?

ALSO I tried to rewatch the season before I got sick and everything ground to a halt and all these episodes suddenly happened, and the opening road so far recapping 11 had that random angel who died and looked like Cas in the promo for 11x09 and freaked everyone out and it looked pretty much exactly like this, so if you can somehow retain the entire season in your head, uuh

Fuckin Dabb era fucking - GAH

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Did Lucifer really just growl at Mary

Brass knuckles! Work on angels too

Repeating 12x01 where Ms Watt (rememebred her name) was so badass and unstoppable with them and kicked their butts until Mary stopped her. Mary is the unstoppable force

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Oh didn't want to see a random shot of dead cas not thinking about that lalalala

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We forgot Adam

Lucifer didn't

*swan songs Mary out of there*

Technically Michael did that to HIM but I guess flippy flippy everything's reversed, Mary's going to the reverse verse anyway

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Dabb era is freaking inside out

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Run, Mary.

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Okay I can see what they said about Purgatory, but that is a reverse of it completely, Mary alone in a hostile land but with Lucifer instead of how Dean was with Cas, and whatever they were in season 7 and however it looked like Cas flapped off and abandoned him at the end, he wouldn't be a threat to him

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Sam sees the light is flashing in the house as Jack is being born, Dean is a bit distracted looking at Cas in a way that made my brain ache so much I saw stars and had to pause

-

I drank half a bottle of water and hit play and I mostly screamed at Mittens about the following succession of events in incoherent caps but my conclusion is, that long shot of Dean having fallen to his knees then falling to sit down in despair looking up while right beside Cas and we have wings and... yeah that is the Worst Shot On The Entire Show and will never ever ever be topped by anything they ever do ever again. I have seen the image that my Hell will be wallpapered with.

I didn't even believe in Hell until just now :P

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Anyway Sam has stuff to worry about

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Hey look Kelly put herself to rest except for the open eyes

bye bye

now where's the baby

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Oh look it has adult sized feet

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Is Sam ending the season in a room with a crib because yiiikes Dabb. Yikes. Jack is after all metaphorically connected to him strongest of anyone because of the whole original Sam arc that this season has been aaaaaaaaall about

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Yeah he's ending the season in a room with a giant naked baby with yellow eyes huddling by its crib

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Anyway what the fuck.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

I don't like being in hiatus with you all it was actually nice being horrifically ill and binge watching Twin Peaks.