#this is the character i have grown alongside in exactly the way that he's growing

[edwinspaynes]

im sorry but i share a very special bond with matthew fairchild that just cannot be replicated with any other character

[yoitsjay]

Thank you so much for posting the list of who you do write for! I apologize if it was posted elsewhere and I didn't see.

I'll go ahead switch the request from Commander Fox to FTM Trans reader x Din Djarin/The Mandalorian smut.

Have an amazing day, and also have some flowers. 🌺💐🌹🌻🌷

It's no problem at all! All characters I write for are in my masterlist which is pinned at the top of my blog :] thanks for the request!

Di'kut (MDNI 18+)

Pairings: Din Djarin x FtM trans! Reader

Summary: while on a mission, tension grows and you trip in a bed of sex pollen. Din, unaware that you were not a man before, helps you out, and is in for a pleasant surprise.

Warnings: smut, unprotected (p in v) no bottom surgery, din is sweet at first, rough sex, manhandling, cunnalingus, sex pollen, oral, sweet aftercare

Word count: 3,184

You met Din Djarin through some ‘connections’ the both of you shared, aka Fennec Shan, who was a good friend of your mothers for the most part and started teaching you how to get into the art of bounty hunting. She was good at what she did so with her training you started getting good too. So one day you were getting desperate for credits, and this was after your mother had died so you had a bit more freedom on what you wanted to do with your body.

When your mother was alive you stole credits from her and saved up to afford a surgery you then snuck off planet to get, and it was a success and now you had a deeper voice and no boobs. YAY! You liked boobs… just not on you.

But since your mother was dead and you had no way to steal any of her credits (which is what killed her when she found out) you reached out to Fennec, and asked for a job that paid well. So that led you to now, and you had been happily working alongside The Mandalorian, Din Djarin for a few months on quite an array of jobs.

He had a weird little green child which you had to swear to also protect, but you didn’t mind, the green thing seemed to like you as much as you seemed to like it. Plus you gave it treats when Din wasn’t looking.

Every job you worked you split the credits earned, and instead of spending yours, minus when you bought your own rations or ship fuel, you had saved it all in a little safe compartment you had built into your ship.

When you met Din, his new ship was way too tiny to fit two people, plus he had the green thing in the back, who’s name you learned was grogu, so you started calling him that now. But regardless his ship wasn’t big enough so you stole your mom’s old instead.

But regardless his ship wasn't big enough for two people plus Grogu so you took an equivalent of a cab to your home planet and you found your mom's old ship, which was a small attack shuttle. You fixed it up easy enough and managed to get it up in the air and back to Tatooine to get some better repairs from Motto.

And soon you and Din were up in the air and headed to your next location that Din had the bounty for, courtesy of Fennec Shand. “So where are we headed exactly?” You questioned through the comms you and Din had established. “It's a forested planet, Fennec said the bounty there had built a hut in the middle of the dense swamp area but there are no places to land close enough, so there's gonna be a bit of a walk.” Din explained

You huffed, forestry planets were not really your thing despite having grown up on Felucia. It was always so hot and humid on those planets, so you tried to avoid them to the best of your ability…But this was the last mission you needed in order to get your final surgery. “Pulling out of Hyperspace'' Din announced, and you readied your ship, pulling out of hyperspace when Din did, following him down to the landing zone that he had found.

The area around was heavily forested with a swampy ground, which was gross and you could already smell it which made this experience a whole lot worse. You armed yourself and made sure all your weapons were loaded before you met up with Din and Grogu outside, who was safe in his floating bed. “Little bastard.” You muttered, and Grogu just cooed at you. “Ready?” Din asked, and you nodded, walking beside him as he led you through the forest with the tracking fob.

-

You couldn’t really remember how long you and Din were exactly walking for, but when the marshlands started getting deeper and you started wading through thick swamp water you knew that you were getting close.

The bounty target was not smart, that you knew for sure. He had obvious traps that you and Din easily disarmed, and when you got to the bounty he screamed and froze so you tied him up and handed him off to Din, who had the bounty tossed over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

The action made you blush a bit, but you and Din continued walking all the way back to your ship, taking a shortcut this time now that you understood the terrain a bit better… But as you and Din walked, you noticed some pretty exotic looking flowers and plants starting to surround you, pollen floating around in the air. “Hey din, you go on ahead and put the bounty in my ship lockup… I wanna examine these plants.” You told him.

Din tilted his head to the side, hesitating before nodding and walking off with the bounty, bringing him back to your ship to put him in lockup like you said.

In the meantime you had started taking pictures of the plants with your datapad, analyzing them for your planetary databank. You walked away from a group of red and white flowers, not watching where you were stepping as your foot was caught on a root that was in the swamp water, and you let out a surprised yelp as the datapad flew out of your hands, landing on a bit of dry land while you had landed in a bed of heavy pollinated flowers.

It was all over your face and body, probably up your nose too because when you breathed in you sneezed, and started coughing. Your clothes were now soaked too, yippe fucking do.

You slowly pushed yourself up, wiping the pollen from your face with a grunt. You looked around, smiling when you saw your data pad unharmed. You went to stand up, but a burning feeling shot up your spine, and you fell back down to your knees, a sharp mewl falling from your mouth as the unwanted body part between your legs burned with what felt like the power of the sun. It hurt, but that familiar feeling of arousal made you ache more.

You crawled towards your data pad, small whimpers escaping your lips upon every move you made. You eventually reached the datapad, grabbing it and clutching it to your chest as you quickly tried to identify the pollen that was affecting you.

Your vision started to get blurry even as you tried to blink it away. “Fuck-” You whined out, watching as your datapad scanned the pollen and began analyzing… and the results that came back made you gasp, as well as the throbbing feeling between your legs.

“Shit-” you cursed, sex pollen was not something you wanted to encounter today, knowing that the only cure was sex, hence the name sex pollen. “Di’kut-” You cursed at yourself, curling your body into a fetal position, hoping it would relieve some of the pain and aches you were experiencing.

Just then you heard your com going off, a loud groan falling from your ;ips as you struggled to grab it from your belt. It was Din, that much was obvious.. but what on earth were you going to say to him? “Hey din guess what! i landed in a bat of sex pollen can you come fuck me so i can feel better?”

No! That was not what you were going to say.

You pressed the button on your com, biting down a desperate little whine, panting out what you needed to say. “Din i-i mph- i fell into some- so- hnng- trouble… i need your help, please” You bit down on your tongue to prevent a moan from escaping your lips, as one of your hands had miraculously found its way between your thighs, and started to try and relieve the throbbing pain that was coursing through your body.

“I’m on my way, hang tight Y/n” Din replied, and you let your com slip from your hands. “Fuckfuck- fuck!” You grunted, trying to remove your hand from between your legs but it wouldn’t budge- at least your body wouldn’t let it budge.

“Y/n? where are you?” You heard Din’s voice, deep.. sultry and gravelly… You couldn’t stop the whine this time, and he managed to hear it, rounding in on your location before he paused, seeing your hands between your legs, the wet spot growing larger the more you provided friction.

You were sweating, significantly more than you should have been. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but when you opened them you stared right at them, a glossy sheen reflected across your eyes, your pupils blown wide thanks to the pollen that was affecting you.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He muttered, and went to grab you, but you moved away, and instead grabbed his arm and pulled him on the ground with you, before climbing on top of him. You were heaving, and trying so hard to snap out of the haze you were in, and you managed to do so, for a brief moment.

“Se-sex pollen… i fell- in-into sex- fuck! pollen.” You groaned, pressing your face into the cold metal of his chestplate, trying to relieve the heat in your face. “Shit.” Din cursed, and you could only groan in agreement.

The Mandalorian wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up as he got to his knees, and then to his feet, carrying you bridal style. “I’ll take you back to your ship, and we can deal with this together.” He muttered.

You didn;t know what he meant, but every time he took one step forward a soft whine, or a light moan left your lips, and you couldn’t tell, but he was starting to get aroused, hearing every little noise you made.

You reached your ship soon enough, and Din brought you to your small bunk room, laying you down on the bed as he stared for a moment as you writhed and tried to relieve yourself through your clothes.

He inhaled through his nose, and slowly started removing pieces of his armor until nothing but his helmet was left, and his underclothes which consisted of a thicker pair of light black trousers, and a long sleeved black tunic. Din took a step closer to you, but you didn’t look up, instead your face was buried into your pillows, muttering unintelligible words mixed in with moans.

Din gently cupped your face in his gloved hands, and you looked up into his visor, but to him you were looking directly into his eyes. “hey- hey… I'm going to undress you, okay?” He asked, and in your haze, you muttered a soft yes. You could say no anytime you wanted, but you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for him, and you didn’t want to be in pain longer than you needed to be.

DIn was swift in removing your clothes, like he had done it hundreds of times before, and he probably has. But you trusted him, trusted him not to stick his dick inside you unless he was clean… Another thing you failed to mention to him was the fact that you were not biologically a male.

So when your pants and underwear were off and he came face to- well, vagina. He was a little surprised. “Your-”

“Trans-” You grunted out, gripping the sheets of your bed as you let your legs hang open in front of him, panting heavily. “I was- mph- saving up for surgery… this was the last job i needed.” You muttered through your haze. Din nodded, he didn’t judge, you were a fun person, you made him laugh, and smile even though you couldn’t see it.

“Can i-”

“yes! yes- please.” You whimpered. It's not like you haven't had sex before with that certain body part, and if it helped you, you were all for it. Of course anal was something you also enjoyed… for obvious reasons… probably.

You let your eyes fall closed while Din removed some articles of clothing. He removed his shirt, and undid the buckle of his pants before unbuttoning them too, before he paused. “Im- i’m gunna blindfold you.”He muttered, and you simply nodded, taking one last look at him before he took a piece of fabric and gently wrapped it around your eyes.

You heard a thunk not long after, and you assumed it was his helmet that he dropped to the floor.

You jolted when you felt his hand slide up your thigh before resting on your hip, jolting again when his second hand went in between your thighs to replace your hand. A groan fell from your lips upon contact, followed by a string of moans as he began circling your engorged clit with two fingers. Everything was heightened for you but even then he knew what he was doing…

Then he pulled his hand back, and a desperate whine fell from your lips, followed by a gasp as he grabbed your waist and flipped you around so you were on your hands and knees in front of him. “Din- what-”

You choked when you felt something wet press into your folds, and his fingers returned to your clit but this time you felt the sensation of skin, instead of fabric. Din was eating you out, licking and sucking up all the juices you created. You could already feel your orgasm building up in your gut, and Din could tell as your moans got louder, and more constant.

He was slow and articulate with his actions, not speeding up or doing anything to change what he was doing because he knew it would make you cum. And he was right as one loud moan left your lips, followed by a string of curses. He pulled his head back, and you could sense the grin on his face.

Your haze had lifted slightly with your first orgasm, but you knew you still had a ways to go… But you could think a little clearer, and it was nice to be able to form more coherent sentences.

“Fuck me.” You grumbled, turning to lay on your back, spreading your legs wide as if to entice him. “What was that cyare?” he asked you, teasing bastard.

“i said fuck me, Di’kut” You growled. Yes Din taught you mando’a, and it was fun to use, since you only called him an idiot every point of the day. “alright alright.” Din chuckled, his unmodified voice sent shivers down your spine, and straight to your core.

You let yourself relax, feeling the bed shift as Din’s weight was added to it. You felt his hands on your legs, a squeak leaving your lips when he pulled you down to him, your hips slotting against his almost perfectly. You felt his cock pressed between you, and you could tell that it was large, average in length, but thick.

perfect.

“You're clean?” You asked him, and he nodded, before realizing that he had blindfolded you so you couldn’t see. “Yes, I'm clean.” He replied, and took his cock into his hands, gliding the tip through your soaking wet folds before he pressed the tip to your awaiting entrance.

“Go ahead.” You muttered, and Din slowly pushed inside you. At first the stretch hurt, but the pollen kicked in and all that pain turned into overwhelming pleasure as he pushed inside of you, inch by inch until his hips were against yours.

You panted, and so did he as he allowed you a few moments to adjust and get comfortable before he slid out. You braced yourself, reaching up to his shoulders, feeling his broad and toned shoulders with your hands. And when he slammed into you your grip immediately tightened.

he was fucking you like- well you couldn’t even describe it. His style- the way he moved and pleased you was unlike anything you’ve felt before. He was rough, and dominant and yet all the same his touches were so gentle as he leaned forward and kissed up your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin on your jaw and collarbone, probably leaving marks all over your skin.

You moaned his name, repeatedly and it just stirred him on. He had one of your legs lifted up on his shoulder while the other he had wrapped around his hip. You started to get close again, and you tightened around his cock, hearing his own soft grunts and moans at the feeling.

“Din-” You choked out, digging your nails into the skin of his back and shoulders. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, huffing against your skin which sent more shivers down your spine. “I know… cum for me Mesh’la.” He grunted. And you did, like he commanded you too.

Another orgasm shot through you like a pod racer, and you whined and moaned his name, sliding one of your hands up to his hair, gripping it tightly, to which he moaned your name in response. So you did it again, and his thrusts got harder, and sloppier and you knew he was starting to get close too.

“Not inside.” You murmured, feeling him nod against your skin. He thrusted inside you a few more times before pulling out, and instead he replaced his cock with his fingers, rubbing his thumb against your clit while pumping his fingers inside of you. And just as he painted your stomach and chest with his cum, he brought you to yet another orgasm.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and leaned back to admire the mess that he had created. He smiled, and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek before getting off the bed. You laid there, unmoving as the effects of the pollen subsided, and you felt normal… well as normal as you could have been for just getting the daylights fucked out of you.

Din returned moments later with a damp cloth, and he gently cleaned the area between your thighs, followed by wiping his cum off your body. And as soon as his helmet was back on, your blindfold was removed, however at this point your eyes were still closed, and… you were snoring?

Din chuckled, cupping your cheek gently as he admired you, before dressing you in your underclothes, pulling on his own afterwards. Din was about to leave the room, but you had stirred, and watched as he turned to leave.

“wait-” you called out, watching as he turned to look at you. “We should do this again… after my surgery… and uh- without the pollen.” You chuckled, seeing the man tilt his head before he nodded.

“I’d like that… get some rest, i'll fly us back. My ship’s already docked on yours.” He explained, leaving to go start up your ship.

You smiled, and pulled your blankets over your body, chuckling to yourself. Who knew all it took was a little bit of pollen…

➺

Tag list:

Din djarin tag:

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

The Remnants

Week #11 Prompt: Sunglasses | Word Count: 898 | Rating: T | POV: Karen Wheeler | Characters: Karen, Steve Harrington | CW: Prior Major Character Death (Unspecified Member of The Party) | Tags: Future Fic, The Party, Unnamed Character Death, A Look at Grief, At Loss, Steve Harrington is Still Their Babysitter Person, The Kids Are Home For A Funeral

Inspired by the song Pink Skies by Zach Bryan.

The kids are in town for a funeral. 

Karen has been listening to them move around the basement, getting ready to go. She doesn't want to make them wait, not on her. Not today.

She's touching every surface in her kitchen, every counter, frantic. It doesn't make any sense. They were just here. She's sure of it.

She laid them out with her purse. She swore she did. 

She's yanking open drawers, then slamming them shut, over and over.

"Can I help you find something?"

It's Steve Harrington, standing at the edge of her kitchen.

She's not surprised to see him, because the kids don't want anything from anyone, except Steve Harrington, and she's had to stand back and accept that this isn't something she can fix.

She can't make a pot roast, and let them run wild on their bicycles. Not now.

If Steve can ease any of this for them, in any way, she'll be grateful. 

"My sunglasses," she says. They have to leave, and soon, but she can't go without them. 

Steve pulls his own sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, and hands them over, "Until yours turn up."

Karen takes them, isn't sure what else to do, and lets him lead her to one of the waiting black cars. He's not a kid, not anymore, none of them are, even if she'll always see them that way.

Even as they have to go to a funeral. 

After, Karen watches as Steve Harrington herds the remnants back through her house. All that's left of their little group. The Party. The fuss and fight gone out of them, now. The boys, and later, the girls, that trampled up and down her staircase, excited and loud, are now long grown. Men and women, somehow here in their places. 

They haven't all been gathered together, not all of them, not in years. Maybe not since Ted's funeral. 

Burying parents, that's the stage of life they've reached. It's a rite of passage that sneaks up on you, hard and fast, and often before you're ready. But it's the order of things, to be expected, even when it's a complete surprise.

But they shouldn't be burying each other. Not yet.

And now that they have, now that the seal is broken, they won't ever be whole again.

It's unfair. 

Now, they're silent as they walk past the doorway, and don't even look at the growth chart they all spent so much time and energy trying to be the tallest mark on. 

She listens to them go down the stairs, and maybe it's her imagination, or her failing hearing, but they still sound exactly the same as they did as kids. 

Now, though, the noise stops too soon. One pair of feet too few.

She leans in the doorway. Listens. Hand touching the carved-on piece of wood. The growth chart on the door frame started as Nancy, then Mike. By the time Holly came, all these other kids had scraped their own right alongside her kids. Cheating, standing on tiptoes, so desperate to grow taller than each other. 

The funeral was beautiful, but the kids are all pretty stoic. Like they didn't even notice. They aren't kids, not anymore. But they still feel like her kids, always will. All of them, and now one is missing. 

They've had a practice run at this at twelve-years-old, but then they got a do-over. They learned to believe in magic, to believe in the impossible being possible.

She knows that won't happen again. This time it's for real. One of them is really gone, dead and buried, and they don't know how to act.

She doesn't know how to act.

She's still supposed to be the adult here. The mom.

They'd spread their wings. Flew far, and wide, but always flocked home, together. 

She's pretty sure that won't happen again. They're cleaning the basement, clearing the drawers, mopping the floor. Steve's been up and down a dozen times, digging under the sink for cleaning supplies, then carrying up box after box, taking them out the front door, and she doesn't know where it's all going. 

Just that it's already gone.

The basement, their safe space, can't go on with one missing. Won't.

So, they're closing up shop. 

And she's having to watch from afar. Only getting kernels of secondhand knowledge from her daughter's ex-boyfriend. 

It's a strange life they've all lived.

But once they got past that, she thought they'd made it. That they'd all be fine. 

That she would eventually go first.

She wishes she could go back to the start. When Mike was so little, and just meeting Dustin, Lucas and Will for the first time. When they were just old enough to ride bikes down the driveway, and then later, out of sight. Not to be seen until the streetlights came on again.

Kids don't roam like that now. Her grandkids sure don't. Their parents, far too well aware of what can go bump in the night.

She listens.

It's quiet, too quiet, down there. 

She misses the sounds of screaming, tumbling dice and curse words they weren't supposed to be saying, but did anyway when they thought they could get away with it. 

She settles in her chair, and gets poked in the thigh. She reaches down, and her sunglasses aren't lost. 

Just broken. 

Just like everything else here today.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[toastandjamie]

Sometimes I think about the way Tuon and Mat’s relationship is set up before Tuon is introduced. We are introduced to the Seanchen, and they are active antagonists and then Rand drives them from Falme back into the sea. Then one book later we get the Aelfinn prophecy “to die and live again. To marry the daughter of the nine moons. To give up half of light of the world to save the world.” And it’s sandwiched in between these two very frightening prophecies of danger. Mat treats the marriage aspect as just as much of a threat as literal death and that’s utterly fascinating to me; but we as an audience are also alarmed by this prophecy, not for the same reasons as Mat but because the title “daughter of the nine moons” isn’t exactly the most friendly sounding name. We spend the rest of the book wondering who she is right alongside Mat and as we get closer to meeting her we are given more distinctly threatening foreshadowing. First we learn about the Court of The Nine Moons which confirms that Tuon is Seanchen and right on its heels Egwene receives a prophetic dream vision of Mat being wrestled to the ground and collared by a Seanchen woman. The Seanchen remain as a threatening antagonistic force at this time with the only allied characters from Seanchen we’re introduced to are desenters like Aegenin. Then there’s the way Mat talks about his future marriage, discussing with equal parts curiosity and fear and saying things like “the daughter of the nine bloody moons will walk in to take me.”. And finally the Seanchen invasion of Ebou Dar, where Mat is knocked unconscious by falling building and the reveal of the daughter of the nine moons arrival. We don’t yet know what life under Seanchen occupation is like for those not actively fighting it since we’ve only seen the violent occupation of Amadicia and Tanchico.

Even if we as an audience aren’t conscious of it RJ sets up this expectation that Tuon will “steal” or “take” Mat by force. That Mat is going to be captured by her and forced into this marriage by fate. Only to have our expectations subverted when Tuon is- well, not quite the towering and evil figure that we expect her to be. That Mat is being kept in Ebou Dar not by the Seanchen who have done nothing to restrict the coming and going of civilians but by Tylin who has only grown More abusive and possessive since A Crown of Swords. Then Tuon asks Tylin if she can buy Mat and for moment you might think that things are back on track but then Mat kidnaps her and we’re once again thrown for a loop. Over the course of their courtship we see the push and pull of their dynamic, as they play their own mini version of daes da mar to see who holds the power in their relationship and it remains constantly influx. This subversion of what we expect Tuon to be mirrors Mat’s own surprise over who Tuon is. Mat has always been endlessly human to the audience, we’ve seen him struggle and grow as a person, we’ve seen him fuck up and we’ve seen him succeed. He was always human to the audience and to the people who perceive him in universe. Tuon conversely, is set up as almost an omen of doom, an ever present and impossible to escape fate that the audience and the character fear. We see her as the world sees her, she’s inhuman, a concept, something to be looked upon with curiosity and fear. Then as Mat learns about her, so does the audience, we peel away the layers of mythologizing that Seanchen and the foretellings have placed upon her to see that she is just as human as Mat. Just as curious and scared of a fate she can’t escape, of a man she knows shes destined to marry but knows nothing about. The prophecy she receives about Mat is just as threatening as the one Mat receives and she reacts similarly with anger hiding her fear. Both believe the other will steal them away and in the end they both DO steal eachother, for Tuon in the literal sense and for Mat the metaphorical.

God I’m so feral about them

[creepylittlelady]

My own two cents on the Fanon vs Canon argument [Mainly just me defending fanon]

Alright, so I have a history with the Creepypasta fandom. I was sadly too into MLP and Vocaloids to be all that into it in 2013-2015, but I did join in 2016 and spent majority of my childhood years in the Creepypasta fandom. Unfortunately after lockdown ended I decided to try a hand at forcing myself to grow up, which was a very miserable time littered with very very bad memories.

This year I've gone from daydreaming about the Creepypastas but refusing to interact with the fandom or any content to yk, interacting with all of you guys again. I really missed this fandom as these edgy fictional serial killers really defined who I am now.

However one thing that I can clearly remember very very well about the Creepypasta fandom is its knack for having a fuck ton of arguments with each other, specifically one; which one is better, Fanon or Canon?

Now, I remember when I was younger the Creepypasta fandom was more fanon-centric, the mansion, Slenderdad, Emo sadboy Jeff and Waffles Toby were staples. However nowadays I've seen a lot of influx of more 'canon' content; more disturbing headcanons, the characters not being that nice to each other, no slendermansion, just pure old canonicity.

I really enjoy that side of the fandom, I really really do. However I've actually seen a fair share of slander for the fanon side, about how they're mischaracterised a lot of characters over the years and ruined a lot of good Creepypastas with their incessant flanderising. However, I sort of disagree.

You see, whilst Creepypastas are also entertaining to toy around with in their more canon forms, what exactly is wrong with headcanoning the creepypastas in a more light-hearted way? Although we can all agree that none of these guys would EVER withstand being within a mile each other, and that Slenderman wouldn't ever be that nice (OH GOD I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THIS TOPIC), that the Proxies don't exist in the first place, it's still fun. It's got a comfort and entertainment value that canon Creepypasta just doesn't have.

It's cool and interesting sure; but you have to admit it's just not as charming as the idea of all of these supernatural beings and Serial Killers all living in a home together ran by an exhausted faceless Eldritch. As someone who was a very lonely child and to this day lives with abusive parents, this concept means so much more to me than the idea of canon Creepypasta ever did.

Keep in mind, this fandom is OLD. Not ancient, like the Harry Potter fandom (shit is it still kicking?), but most of the fans do tend to be people who've grown up alongside these characters. Although I am still pretty young I've been a Creepypasta fan since I was a young child too, and lemme tell you that the found family aspect of things is just simply more nostalgic. And lemme tell you, no matter what other better concepts there are, NOTHING beats nostalgia.

As someone who prefers the fanon side a bit more than the canon side, it's just stupid fun and that's the charm of it.

Also, it's kind of odd to try and make Creepypasta more 'serious' considering that the whole point of the Creepypasta fans and the Creepypastas themselves is that they're just edgy OCs made by teenagers? I can get the more serious side such as Marble Hornets and most Slenderverse ARGs, but you have to admit, it's pretty damn odd to try and make Creepypasta this serious thing when I don't think it was ever really meant to be that way.

Also, the canon side does its own form of flanderising too. You really mean to tell me that Ticci Toby will abuse you? I get the fact that people are trying to bring awareness to the fact that these guys are Serial Killers and aren't your surrogate parents and siblings, but genuinely strange lengths SOME (KEYWORD) people will go to to prove that point is insane. Considering Toby's family history, do you believe that he will actually physically and verbally abuse you if you were in a relationship with him?

He's mentally unstable sure, but he's not an abuser because of that. I can understand that viewpoint for Laughing Jack and Jeff the Killer, but for most of the others I just don't see it. I can also see it for Slenderman but yk HE DOESN'T HAVE A CANON.

Also this post isn't just fully defending fanon; it's had it's nasty little mistakes (*cough cough* FANON MASKY *cough cough*), and I definitely won't defend that.

TL;DR/Conclusion: Fanon and Canon are both great, you don't need to attack each other over it, and especially no need to attack those who seek comfort in the fanon side. Creepypasta is a fandom of edginess and we should be celebrating that instead of trying to turn away from it and mold it into something it just ISNT.

Thanks for reading!

[veiwryn]

Vaguely explaing Team Dynamics pt. 3

Time for Team Chris! (Courtney, Gwen, Cody, Sierra, and Tyler)

Now this is the most complicated group since no one really knows each other and the Courtney/Gwen "rivalry". They're the least functional group, which also makes them fun to think about.

Having no one to compete leadership with her, Courtney would take that role. No one objects, and the type A doesn't have to worry about anyone taking her spot, so she starts making strategies. Which is where Sierra comes in. Courtney acknowledges the uberfan's extensive knowledge and tries to make use of it, while keeping it in contract. With their dysfunctional dynamic as a team, Sierra suggests they use it to their advantage to somehow pull the rug under the two other teams. The only downside is the fan's obsession with Cody, Courtney (unlike canon) would scold her for not focusing on the challenge and (in a way) shield Cody.

Talking about the Geek, he's like the group's black sheep. While Courtney does pity him, they aren't allies as she's with Sierra. And Gwen doesn't want to be around him either due to his actions in the previous seasons. The only person he'd be around is Tyler, and the two do become friends. Especially since the athlete occasionally offers to help him with his Sierra problem (alongside Gwen, sometimes). In this au, he'd act like a middle ground, a messenger between Gwen and Courtney. And (spoiler) it's not going to last long.

Since Courtney has Sierra, and with Cody as the middle man, Gwen would be gifted Tyler as a friend. (Totally not just because of that throw away line in s1. The scene where Tyler made a jab at Duncan—who was holding a deer hostage). Honestly, Gwen has grown a lot since her debut, but I want to focus on the development with Geoff. Where she allowed herself to open up to someone who wasn't at all similar to her. And it's not like Tyler was a bad option, as far as she knew, Tyler was this innocent yet clutzy athlete. Someone who would respect her. Something she desperately needs with Courtney around, Gwen would go to him to vent and Tyler would listen. And she would do the same for Tyler. I just their friendship would be sweet, and that they'd give genuinely good advice to each other.

Plus, it allows Tyler to become a character outside of being Lindsay's girlfriend and Alejandro's pawn. I'd expect Tyler's sassiness to grow the more he hangs out with Gwen. (We need more sassy jabs coming from Tyler, the ones we have gotten were overshadowed). I'm going to take a step forward by saying that he'd be the reason Gwen and Courtney start to get along, dunno how exactly, but it's gonna be Tyler's doing. (Man deserves to create some plot)

Essentially, it's Courtney & Sierra vs. Gwen & Tyler in this one-sided rivalry. And Cody just wants out.

[sapphickittykatherine]

i just wanna talk for a sec about arthur. disclaimer: i adore him. he's my blorbo boy. however, he definitely does get prince privilege with regards to both the narrative voice of the show and the fandom. i'd like to point to this post as a jumping-off point:

if you're anything like me, you might need cw: lancelot slander

ofc my bias towards lancelot has affected my view of this in absolutely no way whatsoever lmao

i understand that arthur was raised by a power-hungry tyrant - although, one who was said to care for his kingdom even before his own son... - and that being brought up with privilege goes to someone's head. this is why i excuse his dickishness in early seasons. he's going to grow! that's what merlin is there for! by season 5, however, when he has not only not grown but actually gotten worse, you have to question why everyone - including merlin - still praises him so much. he still oppresses magic. he still upholds the inequality of the monarchy. (another disclaimer: i adore fictional stories about monarchs and royalty etc. nothing wrong with liking them!) yet still, people praise him for the absolute barest of minimums. this man will be like, "yeah i don't think we should leave our citizens to die actually :)" and everyone will act like this is some incredibly brave moral stance. "we shouldn't tax our citizens to the point that they starve, or execute innocent people without a fair trial. probably." and the crowd goes wild!

basically every character who isn't a stuck-up noble with their head in the stratosphere thinks this. yet arthur is the one who gets praised for it. why? because he has the power to actually do something about it? the guy actually fights alongside his knights rather than hiding in his castle, which makes him better than the other knights. bc logic. "he's such a great guy!" he's bordering on a mediocre guy with bare-minimum moral stances. and that's okay! he's allowed to be a stuck-up royal prat! he's a medieval prince with a tyrant father, for goodness' sake! but this worship of him - not just by characters, but also members of the fandom - is weird tbh.

how the aforementioned post ties in to all this exactly: lancelot. there is a reason, dear pinterest user, that lancelot is the bravest and most noble of them all, rather than arthur. arthur fights to defend his kingdom, first and foremost. he is the crown prince, and later the kin. if not for the seemingly infinite supply of knights and citizens of camelot, thanks to this being a show, he would have no kingdom to rule if he let everyone die and all structures be destroyed! he wants peace among the kingdoms - great. again, a highly bare-minimum stance, though. you remember when uther signed a peace treaty with a bunch of other kingdoms, even though another king was mad he couldn't get rich off war if that happened? uther the pure-hearted. on the other hand, people like lancelot are just commoners. he wants to risk his life not because he's defending the kingdom over which he presides, but because he doesn't want a bunch of people who, honestly, have very little to do with him, suffer or die like he saw happen to the people in his village. "arthur risks his life for his friends!" the guy has, like, three. i should hope so. not to mention lancelot does the same 💀 for arthur (1x05), for gwen (2x04), for merlin (4x02).

lancelot is literally just one example. if you don't want to, it's chill - it's literally just a work of fiction lol - but maybe try to assess arthur sans privilege. even once. do i think that arthur is better than uther and other tyrants? obviously! do i think that's a particularly high bar? ...

he's a dick with a heart of... bronze. maybe. good for him.

[skadren]

1, 2, 3, for Cloud.

8, 16, 23 for Vincent

13 for both.

50 random character asks

this is really long sorry so it's going under the cut

1. canon i outright reject

this is very very silly, but i absolutely do not buy that cloud uses fancy midgar-brand gel to dress his hair for almost an hour every morning. my opinion on the canonicity of ultimania content aside, i know plenty of people do consider the ultimania word of god, so. yeah. no.

he's not buying expensive hair gel from midgar when he's chasing sephiroth across two continents and a half and also is a fugitive from shinra with a death penalty on his head. nor before that when he's half-vegetable and being dragged towards midgar itself (while, again, on the run from shinra, with a kill-on-sight order on his head). even back in his days as a trooper there's no way he had 45 minutes to do his hair every morning when the military probably only lets you take like 2 minutes to shower full stop

also, you're telling me that cloud "doesn't take his shoes off on the bed" strife spends almost an hour each day on his appearance??? no. it's stupid. fight me.

2. a canon or headcanon hill i will die on

cloud feels no particular attachment to his biological father. sure, he's heard a couple stories from his ma, but he really only cares in the capacity that he knows his ma cared about this man who he doesn't actually know and has next to zero impact on his life

he grew up without any real positive adult male figure present in his life in the first place; the biggest one was always brian lockhart, but all of cloud's interactions with him were distinctly (traumatizingly) negative. it's a big reason why he never felt like he particularly even wanted a dad. (it's also one reason why he latches so hard onto the heroic but distinctly young figure that sephiroth provided.)

he's faced a bit of difficulty with how the other villagers in nibelheim viewed him for growing up without a dad, but his ma protected him from the worst of it. when he's older looking back on his childhood, he realizes that she had a much harder time than he did, and just how strong she really was to raise him all on her own, without him ever feeling like he was lacking parental care.

cloud may have grown up without a dad, but ironically he may be one of the main characters with the least daddy issues.

3. obscure headcanon

this comes up in blood and wine and i think also elegy so it's maybe not obscure, but i've also never run into anyone else with this hc, so. i hc that cloud is caffeine sensitive. he was already caffeine sensitive before the mako, but his enhancements sort of kicked it into higher gear

this has never really come up because everyone assumes mako burns through most drugs much quicker than average, which it usually does. but it can have interesting interactions with some stimulants that are woefully understudied, and may never be studied again (alongside anything else related to human enhancement with mako, if cloud himself has anything to say about it)

8. unpopular opinion about them

i don't actually know if i have any opinions about vincent that are unpopular... i feel like most people who care that much about vincent tend to be chill and leave differing headcanons and opinions alone. i do know that people who aren't vincent fans tend to think he's just this emo edgelord intended to be all cool and badass (which may or may not be positive or negative, depending on who you ask), which. i mean. he kind of is, but also he's a massive dork underneath all that. i think the dork part is key to understanding his character.

16. deepest darkest secret they won't even admit to themselves

vincent has a lot, and they're all related to his wants, because this man has shinra-brand catholic guilt. he thinks wanting things is selfish and he doesn't deserve any of it and therefore he shouldn't want it etc etc etc. he'd like to think he has a good understanding of himself (as all turks should) and so he knows exactly what he is (a monster) and exactly what he deserves (to be treated like one) therefore he knows better than to want anything at all.

(but he still wants.)

23. if they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

i don't know candle scents at all but uhhhh. pine? sort of outside woods-ish? that smell when you step outside from a hot and crowded building and take a deep breath of the cool night air, crisp and fresh in your lungs

and also some hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. maybe. for the sake of keeping it a feasible candle scent.

13. dumbest thing they've ever done

for cloud: he'd say it was falling for shinra's propaganda and leaving nibelheim to join the army. and yeah that was probably the biggest mistake he made, but the dumbest... there was one time as a trooper where he snuck into the science department on a dare. he was caught by the turks before he saw anything irreparably unethical, but if they hadn't already had an eye on him as a potential recruit (and suitably impressed by his ability to get past security), he probably would have been disappeared

for vincent: before dirge, he would probably say it was failing to do anything to save lucrecia and her son. after dirge, he'd probably say it was failing to realize that lucrecia never really loved him for him in the first place. it's actually that one time he and veld got bored during a stakeout on a mission and started playing poker because "there's no way he's gonna show up now after thirty-four hours", only for it to escalate into strip poker, only for their target to in fact show up mid-game and lead to a half-naked car chase through at least five major streets in midgar and a disciplinary hearing

[magicofsimplestories]

5. The Realm of Glimmerbrook

Cassandra was having her morning jog when she noticed a tall tanned dark-haired woman walk towards her. The woman smiled at Cassandra from afar and upon approaching stretched her hand in an introductory gesture. 

“Tara Volkov,” the woman said. “And you must be Cassandra.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Tara,” responded Cassie shaking Tara’s hand. 

“Pleasure is mine,” smiled the woman widely. “I am happy that our community keeps growing. However, I do wonder what exactly brought such a young and active soul like yours to our “middle of nowhere”, as many consider it?”

“I believe the knowledge that Moonwood possess could help me figure out the circumstances of my mother’s disappearance,” said Cassandra simply. 

“Indeed?” Tara’s eyebrows went slightly up and her lips curved in a mysterious smile. “What exactly are you expecting to find here?”

“I hope there’s a way to track her, either she’s still alive or not.”

“I see,” Tara nodded. 

“There’s another thing, actually,” went on Cassandra noticing Tara’s smile become wider. “Lately I’ve been feeling like I do not belong to the human world anymore.”

“Are you interested in becoming a wolf?”

“No,” shook her head Cassandra. “I consider myself more of a witchy type.”

Tara didn’t respond right away and studied Cassie’s features for a couple of moments. 

“Well, Cassandra,” she said finally. “I can arrange that, although I must warn you that the initiation is a very dangerous process. Not many humans come out of it safe and sound.”

“I would like to dare and try it anyways,” said Cassandra firmly. 

Tara went silent again as if taking her time for making the final decision. 

“All right,” she said then. “I will arrange your trip to the Realm. Meet me at the “Moonwood Collective” Tree tomorrow midday.”

Cassandra didn’t have a chance to talk to Lou about the encounter with Tara, as he was on a two-days hunting trip with his pack. She didn’t regret it though, as she has been thinking of getting into the spellcasters’ ranks for quite a while. She knew that alongside with the ability to read the Language of the Moon, magic would bring her many benefits starting from the access to the ancient library of Glimmerbrook. Yes, during her research at the Moonwood library she has learnt a lot about the Realm of Magic, and she knew exactly what she wanted to invest her time and effort into after becoming a witch. And the chances of an unsuccessful initiation were not scaring her at all. The recklessness of her character has only grown stronger after moving to Moonwood. 

The next day Tara arrived at the Tree exactly at midday.

“There are many ways of getting to Glimmerbrook,” she explained. “But our Tree is the fastest and safest for you.”

She nodded to the tree hollow. 

“Follow me.”

Stepping into the hollow after Tara Cassandra found herself in a dark narrow tunnel, and five minutes later she was already standing on a cozy lawn of an unfamiliar forest. She followed Tara on the path along the shiny river and after yet another turn she noticed tall glimmering portal standing proudly on a tiny island. 

“It’s safe,” commented Tara when they approached the portal. “Although you might feel a bit dizzy after getting out on the other side.”

Cassandra didn’t. Stepping through the portal she felt only the warmth of magic, and the things that she saw on the other side of it made her gasp in awe. 

They were on a rock that was floating in the purple darkness. A gigantic ancient castle stared at them from the closest hill. Spellcasters were all around: getting in and out of the castle, flying up and down the sky. Cassandra looked closer and noticed three more rocky islands floating afar. 

“Welcome to the heart of Glimmerbrook, the Realm of Magic,” said Tara with a smile.

“Looks very impressive,” Cassandra smiled back. “What are these shiny spheres here and there?”

Tara’s smile became wider. 

“These are the magic orbs,” she explained. “If you see them, you must have a dormant spellcasting gene. It increases your chances for a successful initiation.”

“Good to know,” smirked Cassie. “However, I’ve never heard of anyone in my family being a witch or a warlock.”

“He or she might have lived centuries ago,” said Tara inviting Cassie to the castle. “Moreover, it’s not that we tend to remind our human descendants of their occult ancestors. Safety reasons, you know.”

In the castle, that appeared to be the most ancient Academy for Spellcasting, they met with the three Sages of Glimmerbrook: Morgyn, the Sage of Untamed, Elle, the Sage of Mischief, and Simon, the Sage of Practical. 

“Cassandra Goth,” introduced herself Cassie. 

“Goth?” Asked Morgyn shaking her hand. “Your surname sounds familiar.”

“Well, Goths are the most influential family of Willow Creek,” shrugged her shoulders Cassandra. 

“Nah,” shook his head Morgyn. “I don’t follow human celebrity life. I must have come across a Goth here, in Glimmerbrook. Sadly I don’t remember the encounter.” 

“Must be another evidence of me having a dormant spellcasting gene,” laughed Cassie and Tara nodded. 

“Magic attracted you for a reason,” she commented. 

For the initiation to happen Cassandra needed to collect seven magic orbs. 

“Fantastic,” responded Cassie. “How do I do that?”

“You will know when you approach one,” said Morgyn with a cunning smile. “When you have seven of them, come back to me.”

“All right,” grumbled Cassandra and exited the castle. 

The orbs were glowing all around the castle grounds, Cassie approached the closest one and after a moment of hesitation stretched her hand towards it. The orb floated up to her fingers, and Cassie felt the familiar warmth of magic that she has just felt going through the portal. A moment later the orb rushed to the middle of her chest making Cassandra gasp from the wave of warmth spreading from her chest to the rest of her body. 

“Wow,” she breathed out. “Better than I expected.”

She was done in less than fifteen minutes, and returned to the castle to find Morgyn. 

“How do you feel?” He asked with the same cunning smile on his face.

“Powerful,” replied Cassandra. “And quite warm.”

“The orbs are the concentration of magic matter,” explained the Sage of Untamed. “They are extremely hard to manage for an unprepared soul, but you, Cassandra, you’re doing great. I see great potential in you. So,” he added after a short moment of silence. “Shall we start?”

Cassandra nodded feeling her heart start a race. She felt no fear though, it was the excitement of facing something unknown, powerful and… dangerous. 

Morgyn took out his wand, waved his hands in a sophisticated move and pronounced the spell in a language Cassandra didn’t know. A bright ray rushed out of Morgyn’s wand and crashed into her chest making her feel as if hit by an electric discharge. Her body floated up above the floor and for a moment a flash of white blinded her. 

Find me at the worlds’ crossing, she heard the unfamiliar female voice.

“Wai… What?!” She screamed out finding herself back on the castle floor in front of smiling Morgyn.

“Did you hear something?” He asked, and by the meaningful expression of his face Cassandra understood that he knew the answer. 

“I think so,” she responded hesitantly. 

Morgyn smirked folding his arms on his chest. 

“Yet another evidence of you having a spell caster in your bloodline,” he said. 

Yet another riddle on my list to solve. 

Cassandra nodded.  

“So what do I do next?” She asked out loud. “I’m ready to learn my first spell. Would you agree to be my teacher?”

Morgyn laughed. 

“I really enjoy your boldness, Cassandra,” he said chuckling. “Very few dare to ask a Sage to be their tutor.”

“Why? Is it inappropriate?”

“A bit.”

“Perfect,” smirked Cassandra. “Kinda my style. So what’s your response?”

Morgyn laughed again. 

“It’s an absolute yes.”

[Part I] [Beginning] [Back] [Next]

[the-daily-dreamer]

Alright. THATS IT. TIME TO LOSE MY SHIT.

The fact that Alicent is even ON THIS LIST is just flabbergasting. Now, to their credit, she’s second to last on this list (somehow worse than JAMIE LANNISTER?!). But still. Most evil characters?!

So, for fun, I thought I’d take a look at her characterization according to the writer of this list and rebut.

For the sake of organization, I will post the whole paragraph below and then go point by point:

“This one is fairly low on the rankings as it's not quite clear how villainous Alicent could become, with her moral standing leaning toward "complicated" rather than straightforward good or evil. However, she isn't quite the most innocent character in House of the Dragon either, with her manipulation of the grieving and ailing King Viserys, covering up her son's sexual crimes and fiendish proclivities and politically maneuvering an underhanded coup from her former best friend raising more than a few eyebrows about how far she'll go to protect her family.”

“Her manipulation of the grieving and ailing King Viserys”

First of all: Alicent was a 15 year old girl, the same age as Viserys’s own daughter, and his daughter’s best friend. Viserys is a full grown man and also the most powerful person in the entire kingdom as, you know, the king. Grief is a powerful thing and can certainly cause us to act contrary to our characters; however, that is not an excuse to have sex with and marry a child you have watched grow up alongside your own child.

Second of all: Alicent was not the master manipulator in this situation. She tried to fight back against the plan as much as she was capable as a girl and child, against her father who is the second most powerful man in the kingdom. The blame should go solely on Otto for this.

Blaming Alicent for “manipulating” Viserys when: she was a child forced to do this by her father, she fought against the idea, she was 15 and Viserys was a full grown man, and most of all HE WAS THE FUCKING KING, is crazy. Alicent had no power in this situation, nor did she want it. It was Otto’s idea and Viserys’s fault. Y’all blaming a child and acting like she’s an insidious master manipulator instead of criticizing the full grown man who had sex with her is crazy. Grief is no excuse. The men in this situation took advantage of Alicent. Not the other way around.

“Covering up her son’s sexual crimes and fiendish proclivities”

Where is the accountability on the deadbeat dad? Everyone keep blaming Alicent for how awful Aegon is. But nobody utters a word on how the other parent in this situation has done absolutely nothing. Viserys is also Aegon’s father (though this may be a shock to even Viserys himself seeing how neglectful and abusive he is to his children by Alicent). Viserys is the king. He has the power to implement whatever he wants but sits back and does nothing. But sure, Alicent is to blame because she’s actually involved and therefor her son being ruined is only her fault.

Alicent does her best at parenting Aegon and dealing with the shit he generates. What exactly could Alicent do to Aegon, a prince of the realm, to rectify the situation? Y’all are never happy when she does anything. When she disciplines Aegon, you scream she’s “abusive”. When she tries to compensate and fix the situation to the best of her ability, you scream that she’s enabling and covering up crimes. She will never win. And btw, she didn’t cover up for Aegon. Alicent listened to Dyana and tried to compensate for the pain. There’s literally nothing else she could do.

Y’all will blame Alicent for all the actions of the men in her life. Why not hold Aegon, the actual rapist, accountable for the situation. Not Alicent for trying to fix it. Because guess who’s not on the fucking list…AEGON. How will you penalize Alicent for trying to help fix the situation her son caused, but not penalize the man who actually committed the sexual crime? It reeks of sexism.

“Politically maneuvering an underhanded coup from her former best friend”

Ok. Let’s get this out of the way. Alicent believes Viserys said it was Aegon who is the heir. Stupid or not she does. But even without that Alicent does not stage a coup in some sort of villainous attempt to seize power for herself and away from Rhaenyra. She does it to protect her family. She has seen what happens when one of them is harmed, nothing. There will be nothing stopping team black from killing her or her children. This is a fight for survival. Not villainy. Fear.

Also it’s worth reminding that Alicent is the only one defending Rhaenyra’s life. Otto and other greens are perfectly fine with murdering Rhaenyra. Alicent is the only one fighting to protect her and counseling Aegon not to harm her.

In the end, Alicent is not a villain. She is the personification of how the patriarchy has abused women and torn them down in every way. Alicent has done her best to make everyone in her life happy. She has tried desperately to satisfy the selfishness and power-hungry nature of all those around her and reconcile everyone in her life. Alicent is not malicious or evil. She’s not seeking war or bloodshed. She wants her children and herself to be safe. Nobody should have “raised brows” at her defending herself and her family after she has spent decades being abused and seen more than enough proof that she is not loved or protected.

Villainizing Alicent can only happen if you’re willing to admit all this as well:

Grown men can never be held liable for having sex with teenage girls.

Teenage girls are at fault for the feelings adult men have for them.

Women are responsible for how their children turn out and men have no accountability in raising children or how they grow up.

Deadbeat father’s are ok, and the women left with the children are at fault for anything bad their kids do because they didn’t do a good enough job at being both parents.

Teenage mothers need to be perfect parents and can never make mistakes or have no idea what they’re doing because they, themselves are children.

Parents (specifically mothers) are responsible for the crimes of their children

Men shouldn’t be held accountable for rape. It’s their mom’s fault

And most of all: women who experience consistent trauma and abuse for years must hold it all in, accept further abuse with a smile, and “keep to their place”

Go ahead black fans. Admit this all. Admit you hate women and have deeply sexist beliefs. Then I’ll let you call her a villain :)

[forcebewitht]

Force's Disney Geek Master Theory: Why Twisted Wonderland Is Called Twisted Wonderland

We have all grown to know and love various Disney characters over the years, correct? Yet, I believe a lot of us can argue that not many characters have the same effect on us even as adults today as the Villains do within their respective movies. In the game Disney: Twisted Wonderland as we all know and love, the select boys to Overblot are supposed to have the "souls" of their Villain counterparts, right? But...why is it called "Twisted" Wonderland, then? The truth may lie within something that has been right in front of us all along, my friends: the meaning of a mirror. Ready to buckle in for this one? If so, then here we go!

We have seen all of these guys share character traits, looks, etc with their Disney counterparts, correct? Well, what if I were to tell you that things in terms of the "main" guys that we are supposed to pay attention to aren't exactly what they seem? This could be analyzed in a few different ways, honestly, yet the most prominent way is this: the differences in their personalities- they are reversed. Let us take this bit by bit, shall we?

Ah, yes. The Queen Of Hearts. The ranting, raging, bundle of red, black, and gold we all know and love. (or else heads would roll, I'm sure) One of the things that everybody knows about her is that she's extremely hellbent on the crazy rules that she makes up and is prone to anger honestly very easily. Yeah, you can connect that to Riddle- but think about it for a second. While that rage and the rule thing is still there, it isn't as prominent with him as it was with her, is it? With the Queen of Hearts, her whole "issue" was that she wished to make everybody listen to her and follow her every command- but Riddle was essentially always following the rules of another- not his own. This seemed to make Riddle a little more calm most of the time in terms of how he handled and oversaw things. It wasn't until he actually Overblotted that the "listen to me and only me" thing came out- buuuuuuttttttt I'll get to that part in a bit.

Next: Leona and Scar. While we honestly didn't get to see a lot of what went on behind the scenes in the Outlands in terms of how Scar even met the hyenas to begin with at all, one thing can honestly be said- Scar worked very hard to get where he was. I mean, it's not like you can get an entire pack of rabid, hungry hyenas onto your side in the course of a single day, or maybe even a week (especially as a lion, no less). No, something to that extreme takes careful planning, wording, and stringing along to ensure that nothing goes wrong along the way. The way Scar spoke to Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed made it seem as though he had known them for a looooonngggg time before this- that's where that behind the scenes planning comes in. And then...you have Leona. Leona, from what we can tell in Chapter 2, planned the idea for the "endgame" alright- but he didn't actually act upon any of the plan for himself. Ruggie did. Even in the Lion King, we see that Scar had no problems whatsoever getting his paws dirty a little within his own scheme to take his "rightful place" at the head of Pride Rock- but Leona quite honestly did not a thing once Ruggie was in motion. See where this is starting to head?

Azul and Ursula. Ursula, the Disney baddie queen of my heart Ursula, the Sea Witch. She was known all around the ocean floor for helping out poor little merfolk in secret, wasn't she? Yet, nobody ever really seemed to catch wind of the whole "her turning those who didn't quite fit the bill into polyps" thing, did they? That was one of the things that made her such a honest threat to Ariel herself- because Ursula was cunning. She did things behind the scenes, and sure- we could catch onto it out in the audience (annnddd maybe Sebastian and Flounder as well), but nobody else really seemed to, right? Azul is the complete opposite in this standpoint. He instills direct fear into his "workers" and those even beyond and within his dorm. Like- basically most knew that this dude was bad news to begin with. Azul, mostly, seemed to hide his cunning facade behind a fake yet still seemingly "soft and genuine" smile and act. But all in all, he didn't really attempt to "hide" anything- hell, he even proclaimed his entire plan of what everyone with those things on their heads were gonna do for him in the open! At least when Ursula sang as Vanessa, she was in an almost perfectly enclosed room with nobody else around.

Jamil and Jafar. This comparison here, given what occurs in the movie Aladdin, is honestly one of the biggest possible indicators of this reoccuring theme I shall clarify in a bit. Jafar, while being sneaky, was known for being a more "out there" Disney Villain in terms of his personality alongside that of his partner Iago in the film. He would smile in a sinister way, he would crack jokes out in the open, and let us not forget his crazed yet oddly interesting laughter. Jamil? He's the exact opposite. Given his past and what he has had to dealt with growing up with Kalim, he is much more reserved and barely releases a chuckle or cracks a smile at all. His personality is a lot more repressed than that of Jafar himself throughout the film. Jamil has been so used to having to hold himself back thanks to his parents in favor of Kalim's family, he doesn't seem to know how to "let go" whatsoever. Yet Jafar, while still maintaining that sneaky side of him as well, has no problems whatsoever letting a little hang loose whenever he so chooses to.

Vil and the Evil Queen. This one honestly may be a bit more self explanatory than the others- but the difference between these two is their expressions of themselves. The Evil Queen was the very first animated counted Disney Villain within Disney's history- yet, she barely had any lines throughout the film at all. Her ranges of expression were almost little to none thanks to the era in which the movie was released in- but she always looked like she was pissed, huh? Vil is the exact opposite of her in this sense. He is able to fully express himself through his various facial expressions, theatrical abilities, musical experiences, fashion style, and even how he behaves. Vil is able to do so much more than the Evil Queen did or could do within that time period, that it's almost a little staggering if you fully picture it.

Idia and Hades. Now, now. We haven't honestly seen too much of the flaming blue boy yet in TWST, but one thing is apparent here right off the bat- in terms of his personality? He is the exact opposite of Hades. Idia is much like Jamil but to a more "geek" degree- he's extremely introverted, shy, a bit snippy, yet mainly keeps to himself and his gaming tech. Hades is most often renowned as the Disney Villain with the most personality- and the best humor. Hades has no problem whatsoever being "out there" with his crazy puns, sassy remarks, anger, and even mocking behavior. I mean, please, guys- I haven't been this choked up since I got a hunk of moussaka caught in my throat!

Finally, Malleus and Maleficent. Ooooohoooooooo boy. We have to count out the live action movie Maleficent for this one (sorry horned queen fans). One thing that basically everybody even with their toe in the water in that of Disney movies kind of knows this fact- Maleficent is c r u el. She's got a bizarre set of dark powers and an even blacker heart than that. Hell, we basically had to "soften her up" a little bit in Maleficent thanks to just how seemingly irredeemable her character is in that of Sleeping Beauty. I mean, c'mon now- cursing an infant? And we get no explanation for that in the original? C'mon, now. Anyways, Malleus? As we all can tell by now, this dude is the compleeettteeeeeee opposite. Sure, he has those repressed bits here and there too, but it is evident that this dude has a heart crying out for the MC and it is big, bold, and golden to the core once you look past how he looks. He sent the MC a card for winter break, for crying out loud. Yeah, let me know the next time you see Maleficent do that smh.

Now, I have avoided using a certain word up until this point to see if anybody could catch on to what exactly is happening here. Did you figure it out? Reverse. The boys that either have Overblotted already or intend to Overblot soon stop holding out on us, Chapter 6 have had the exact opposite personalities compared to that of their Villain counterpart- until one prime point in their "character arcs". Their Overblot.

Riddle wished to have all bow before him and obey his rules.

Leona led his entire dorm into ruin and nearly sanded away the entire school in the process.

Azul let himself finally free of his personal shackles entirely and "took what was his".

Jamil finally let himself go and opened up more in his personality, almost seeming to be driven insane in the process.

Vil wanted to become the most beautiful one of all and would kill anyone within the way of that goal without any hesitation whatsoever.

The moment that the boys' Overblotted, that was the exact moment when the "soul" of their Disney Villain counterpart took control. Keeping that idea in mind, that should mean that this will happen in the upcoming chapters and their Overblots:

Idia will show off all of the personality, powers, and intelligence that he has been keeping down within this introverted self of his.

Malleus will become so broken by being left out and alone in the cold for the final time that he will turn into a completely cruel Fae and possibly nearly kill either the MC or the representation of Prince Philip within that Chapter in the process.

(Hello, my dear Readers! Guess who is trying to get back into her bigger pieces of writing? This gal right here~ feel free to drop a comment and tell me what you think of this theory- I'd love to hear your thoughts! 💕)

[thevindicativevordan]

thoughts on the Flash?

Which one? Giving the "main" contenders their proper due would require separate posts for each, so I'll just give my thoughts on the franchise as a whole.

Of the main two, Wally was the first Flash I knew - he was in the DCAU, his comics were collected in trades at my library so they're some of my first comics - and is still "my" Flash, but I've grown fond of Barry as well. Sad that a franchise defined by it's momentum has been hamstrung over fighting between which of the two of them should be the "main" Flash. At the height of the Flash's popularity we could have easily gotten two Flash books, one for Barry, and one for Wally, Johns was even setting that up to be the case before the New 52 reboot hit and everything got scrapped. Damn shame too because if the way the Flash CW show took off is any indication, Flash has it in him to be up there with the Trinity in popularity, something I attribute to the strength of the franchise's main hero, supporting cast, fellow heroic family members, and Rogues Gallery being severely underrated.

Conceptually the Flash is DC's answer to Spider-Man despite preceding him by a decade or so. Both Barry and Wally are Everyman figures at heart, both were superhero fans growing up as kids who idolized the Flash, both achieved the nerd fantasy of getting their idol's powers, and both got to eventually become the next iteration of their idol. The Flash is therefore a relatable figure despite the extravagant nature of his speed, because that core concept - alongside the powers - attracts people to his books. In our current world where everyone is hooked on superheroes, what could be more endearing than a superhero who starts out as just as much a fan of superheroes as we are? Certainly helped Kamala Khan/Ms. Marvel find an audience!

The emphasis DC places on legacy can often strike me as insincere, the Trinity are likely always going to be Clark, Bruce, and Diana as the main holders of the mantles, but Flash is one of the DC franchises where legacy is undeniably central to the concept. Jay may be the original Flash, but Barry was the one who reinvigorated the title, as did Wally afterwards. From Jay we get the name and concept. From Barry the Multiverse and time travel as a franchise storytelling tool, the Reverse-Flash and many other Rogues debuted with Barry as well, and of course Wally and the concept of "Kid Flash" originated here too. From Wally came the Speed Force, the Flash being characterized as the jokester/quipster of the JL (another connection to Spider-Man), the larger Flash Family getting involved and being a part of the DC Community, the Flash's Rogues being more "blue-collar" and organized than other Rogues Galleries, etc. If you were to remove one of the Flashes from the picture the whole franchise would change, which is exactly how many people felt when the New 52 erased Jay and Wally. All of the Flashes build on each other to help make for a stronger whole.

Add in one of the best superhero costumes - with the Flash franchise as a whole pretty consistently coming up with great new costumes bar Wallace's silver New 52 suit - and the versatility of their powerset allowing for a wide variety of stories from street crimes to cosmic catastrophe to Multiverse exploration, leaves little surprise that Flash in the right hands offers great entertainment. DC of course has completely failed to capitalize on the Flash's popularity every time there's been a surge of interest in the character, but Flash is a franchise that tends to surprise you with how often lightning strikes again. Under the new management, and with just the right amount of luck, Flash may yet breach the success barrier to stand alongside the Trinity as an equal.

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

The Only Woman

Pairing: (Henry Cavill!)Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Requested: Yep - “Hello Ma’amMay I request a Sherlock Holemes x Redaer?That when they were younger she was BSF with Sherlock and Mycroft. And all of the sudden they disappeared and never wrote to her a letter or nothing. And she got closer to Enola and when Edoria disappeared she reunites with Sherlock and Mycroft and Reader is Mad and Sad that he left without saying nothing. She always was in love with him and at the end she finds out he also was in love with her! And lots of fluffThank You so MuchAnonymous (she/her/hers)”

Summary: Basically just the request

Warnings: Probably some swearing, some 20th century misogyny, pining, fluff, angst, denial, all that fun stuff, probably ooc Sherlock but we vibe with it because he’s soft af

A/N: My first full length Sherlock fic! I should mention that my requests aren’t actually open right now, especially not for full fics but I was inspired by this request and so decided to make it into a full one! I hope you guys enjoy, please remember to reblog, comment or send an ask letting me know what you think and if you want to see me write more for Sherlock (and Henry and his other characters for that matter) in the future!

Y/N had been essentially another resident of the Holmes household her whole life, having been introduced to the family through the two boys - Sherlock and Mycroft, whom she had run into while out playing in the woods. Her family lived in the house nearest to the Holmes residence, technically making them neighbours.

Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t exactly do ‘friends’, that much had been clear even to Y/N’s young mind after meeting them. She was a year and a half younger than Sherlock and yet she still knew more about interacting with other people than he did. Not that either of the Holmes boys had ever seemed interested in other people, they had their brains to keep them occupied, and when they failed to find entertainment in learning, they had each other.

Despite this, they took a shine to Y/N when they found her playing make-believe on her own in the woods and insisted that she come over to have dinner with them and their family.

Mr and Mrs Holmes had gone out of their way, following that initial visit, to make Y/N feel as welcome as possible at Ferndell Hall. At first this was simply because they were astounded that their sons had actually made a friend and seemed interested in maintaining this friendship, but then it was partially as a result of the somewhat turbulent relationship that it became clear Y/N had with her family.

Eudoria in particular had ensured that Y/N knew she could always come and visit, that there was a spare bedroom that could be set up should she require it, which Y/N only began to take advantage of as she grew up and the rows with her parents over her future became more frequent.

However, it was always Sherlock that she was closest to. While she considered Mycroft a friend, and he had grudgingly returned the sentiment, they had never clicked in the same way that Y/N had with Sherlock. Occasionally Mycroft would storm off midway through a game, frustrated by Sherlock’s intelligence which so trumped his and Y/N’s, or he would simply decide that he was ‘above’ having friends.

Sherlock never much minded Y/N hanging around though. Truthfully, now that she was grown, Y/N looked back at their years of friendship and couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps his reason for tolerating her company was because she gave him the awed reactions that he secretly desired from his intelligence.

She had fond memories of her childhood with the Holmes. At Ferndell she never felt the need to pretend to be a young lady ready to be married that her parents so desperately wanted her to be, even as a child. Mr Holmes encouraged her to continue her studies beyond what her Governess would teach her, and Eudoria actively tried to teach her all that she could, going so far as to teach her alongside her sons on occasion - Mycroft wasn’t exactly fond of that, though Sherlock appeared to enjoy her company.

And then there was Enola, a surprisingly timid child considering the family that she had been born into - though Eudoria was convinced that her shyness was a trait that she would soon grow out of. Enola adored Y/N.

While Sherlock and Mycroft paid their little sister no mind, too caught up in their own lives to acknowledge their baby sister’s, Y/N was fond of Enola. Having grown up in a male-dominated household with only brothers for company, she had always wanted a younger sister.

It was Mr Holmes’ death that changed everything.

Not long after his death, Y/N was saying goodbye to her two closest friends as they left for Boarding School. Y/N had promised to write to them and had been encouraged to do so by Sherlock, who seemed thrilled by the prospect of their continued communication and Mycroft had also seemed somewhat in favour of the idea.

Y/N wrote to the brothers for a year after they left. Her letters to Sherlock in particular were long and full of detail about both her life, her parents continued attempts to interest her in marriage and her attempts to further her education, as well as the lives of Eudoria and Enola.

After a year of these letters, however, Y/N had yet to receive word from either brother and thus, with a heavy heart, she had halted her letter writing and turned her mind away from the Holmes brothers. 

Eudoria had ensured that Y/N still knew that she was welcome whenever she wanted to come over, however, and so Y/N’s life at Ferndell continued even with the absence of the boys she had considered to be her closest friends.

Y/N had been the first to be informed that Eudoria had disappeared, Enola having ran over to her house the day of her sixteenth birthday in a state of distress, imploring the older woman to help her. They had agreed that it was best for Sherlock and Mycroft to be contacted at once, with Sherlock’s career, Enola had been certain that her brother would make himself indispensable.

Y/N had been less keen on writing to the Holmes brothers, dreading having to see her old friends again, still far more hurt than she could care to admit about their silence following their departure. Every time in the past week that Enola had brought up the topic of her brothers, Y/N had been quick to change the subject.

A decision that she was coming to regret now that she approached Ferndell to find an automobile parked outside of it. Y/N bit back a groan, aware that its presence more than likely meant that Sherlock and Mycroft would be waiting inside.

Y/N didn’t knock before she entered, she never had as she had basically been a part of the family over the past few years.

She could hear the low mumble of voices coming from the drawing room, which were becoming steadily louder and Y/N’s expression dropped into a deep frown as she stepped towards the room, recognising Enola’s voice, breaking with emotion, even through the closed doors.

Before she could place her hand on the knob, however, the door was flung open and Enola rushed out, crashing into Y/N, who almost dropped the bags she was holding.

“Enola?” Y/N breathed, her hands gripping onto the young girl’s shoulders, steadying her. 

“Y/N!” Enola embraced her tightly, though not before Y/N caught sight of her face, flushed red and eyes shining with tears, her expression the picture of distress.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong? Why are you… in your undergarments?” Y/N asked in a rush as Enola pulled away. The teenager wiped fiercely at her face, clenching her jaw.

“My brothers are here…” Enola seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before shaking her head. “I wish to be alone.”

With that, Enola pushed past her and shortly after Y/N heard footsteps on the stairs. Y/N looked back to the door to the drawing room and caught a glimpse of a man holding a book, chestnut curls falling over his forehead, his brown eyes just visible, his brow furrowed as though he were frowning.

Sherlock was recognisable immediately. His eyes moved over to the door, away from the chair Y/N knew to be facing him in the room which she assumed seated Mycroft, and his book lowered, his head raising and his lips parting in slight surprise - an expression that Y/N had never seen on him in the entire duration of their friendship.

Before he could say anything, however, Y/N turned on her heel and walked towards the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Lane said from where she was kneading bread dough on the kitchen counter.

“Morning, Mrs Lane - I see that Enola’s brothers have arrived.”

“Yes, they got here yesterday,” Mrs Lane confirmed as Y/N placed down the bags of food she had bought and began to unpack them into the pantry. Knowing how overworked Mrs Lane had been, staffing the house alone, particularly since Eudoria’s absence, Y/N had taken to doing the food shopping for them.

“Enola seemed very upset,” Y/N said, unable to conceal her worry.

“Yes - Mr Mycroft has been less than impressed by both the state of the house and Enola herself.”

“Why?” Y/N demanded, her frown deepening, the beginnings of anger festering in her stomach.

“He doesn’t think Mrs Holmes did a good job of raising her,” Mrs Lane looked equally disgusted by the words even as she spoke them. “He wishes to send her to a finishing school to turn her into a proper lady.”

“But can’t he see that she’s happy here?”

“I don’t think Mr Holmes much cares,” Mrs Lane admitted.

“What does Sherlock think of all of it?”

“He has been rather silent on the matter, Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Lane said, shaking her head and sighing. “I fear Enola has been rather disappointed by the brother she so idolised.”

“She said she wished to be alone for a while,” Y/N said, leaning on the counter and rubbing her forehead, wanting to ease out the deep concern she was feeling for the girl she had come to think of as a sister. “I’ll try and talk to her in a little bit,” she decided and Mrs Lane nodded her approval.

Y/N ventured out into the garden half an hour later, figuring that that was ample time for Enola to think it over for herself. Y/N knew exactly where the Holmes daughter would be, she knew that Enola had a favourite tree in the garden where she would go, should she want to get away from the house for a little bit.

What she wasn’t expecting was to find Sherlock walking back from the direction of the very tree Y/N knew Enola to be hiding in. He looked deep in thought, but there was no denying the very slight smile that lifted the corners of his lips.

Y/N allowed her head to fall, her eyes on the ground, hoping against hope that there was even the smallest chance that Sherlock may not notice her.

“Y/N - it was you I saw,” there was an edge of something like delight in his voice as he spoke and Y/N wanted to look up, to see his expression, to confirm that he was smiling as he acknowledged her.

Instead, she chose to ignore him and attempted to continue walking.

“Y/N!” Sherlock called, and reached out a hand to gently take hold of her arm, pulling her ever-so carefully back to stand in front of her.

“Mr Holmes,” Y/N returned his greeting, lifting her head to watch his features fall into a slight frown.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be here,” Sherlock said, his eyes searching hers.

“I was always welcome at Ferndell,” Y/N responded stiffly. “Now I must go and speak with Enola,” she said, turning ready to leave him.

“Y-” Sherlock cut himself off from saying her name. “Miss Y/L/N,” he corrected, and Y/N risked a glance at her old friend over her shoulder, seeing his brow crinkled in confusion, an expression that she had rarely seen during their childhood.

“Yes, Mr Holmes?”

“How have you been?” Sherlock was floundering, that much was obvious. All the articles about him that Y/N and Enola had read, all her memories of him from her younger years had always portrayed him as being calm, collected, ready with his words. Seeing him now, in this state of uncertainty, caused by seeing her for the first time after so many years, it brought her a sense of satisfaction.

“Fine thank you, now if you’ll excuse me,” she didn’t give Sherlock a chance to respond, walking away from him as quickly as possible, though she could feel his eyes burning into her back as she left him behind.

Enola was sitting on the grass at the base of the tree, her back pressed up against it, her sketchbook balanced on her lap but her eyes were glazed over and looking at the scenery rather than at the pages.

“Can I join you?”

The teenager started, her eyes widening in slight shock but then she relaxed as her eyes landed on Y/N, who she offered a small, tired smile and nodded her head. Once Y/N had seated herself on the ground, Enola scooted over to rest her head on her shoulder and let out a long sigh.

“I’m glad to see you’ve put on clothes now,” Y/N finally broke the silence and the younger girl laughed a little.

“Apparently my proportions are incorrect,” Enola informed her.

“Yes, I often find myself thinking that,” Y/N teased and Enola giggled again, playfully elbowing Y/N in the side. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to go to Miss Harrison’s Finishing School for Young Girls.”

“Finishing school is the worst,” Y/N agreed. 

“I remember when you went,” Enola murmured. “Mother said you hated it.”

“I did,” Y/N confirmed. “I begged my parents every holiday to not send me back, I think I even asked your mother at one point to adopt me so that I wouldn’t have to go,” Y/N chuckled at the memory, shaking her head. “It was a source of great amusement for my brothers.”

“Mine too,” Enola said darkly. “Mycroft is an utter pig, you know.” 

Y/N laughed again at the choice of words.

“Family reunion didn’t go quite as planned, I take it?”

“I didn’t have a hat or gloves,” Enola sighed. 

“So off to finishing school?”

“The only logical course of action,” Enola agreed, her tone biting. “You were friends with them, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, wary of where this conversation was going. “But I stand no chance of changing their minds. Mycroft was always stubborn, even when we were children, and I haven’t seen them since they went to boarding school.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could help,” Y/N said, her heart aching for the young woman.

“It’s okay,” Enola murmured. “I was just wondering, though… Sherlock was talking about me as a child - you must have known me at the same time as him, yes?” Y/N nodded her confirmation. “I think I have more memories of you than him or Mycroft.”

“I spent a lot of time with you,” Y/N shrugged.

“He said that I used to drag a pinecone around with me.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself from laughing as the memory struck her.

“Oh yes - a little pinecone, wrapped in wool that you dragged around on a string because of Queen Victoria’s spaniel. Called… Dash? I think?”

“That’s what Sherlock said, yes,” Enola straightened up, a slight grin on her face. “So it’s true?”

“Yes, you were rather obsessed with the thing,” Y/N confirmed, still chuckling a little. Silence fell between them, comfortable and thoughtful.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“What were my brothers like growing up?”

Y/N thought hard before answering, her mind going back to her childhood.

“They were fun,” Y/N said at last. “They both knew that they were smarter than me, and I think that that was at least part of the reason they kept me around. Sherlock would teach me things - things that my Governess wouldn’t have thought I ought to know…” Y/N trailed off. “They were kind,” she admitted at last. “Albeit a little aloof at times, a little arrogant, they were always kind to me. I think Sherlock could tell immediately that I was unhappy with my family, and that was why they brought me to Ferndell,” Y/N confided.

“Mycroft was kind to you?” Enola asked, staring at her wide-eyed. 

“He didn’t know any better until he went out into the world,” Y/N replied, smiling a little.

“I won’t let him send me to Miss Harrison’s Finishing School For Girls,” Enola stated defiantly.

“No,” Y/N agreed. “I don’t think that you should.”

///

Y/N was reading outside when the maid came to see her.

“Miss Y/L/N, there’s a Mr Holmes here to see you,” Freya spoke, her eyebrows raised just a tad in a teasing way, indicating that she thought it was a romantic house-call. Y/N frowned in return.

“Mr Holmes?” She repeated. “Not Enola?”

“If it’s Enola then she’s certainly changed a lot since I last saw her,” Freya said. “Mr Holmes is in the drawing room.”

Y/N closed her book and stood, following the maid inside, through the house and into the drawing room. She pushed the door open, still confused as to why either of the Holmes brothers would feel the need to make a house call to see her.

Sherlock was standing in the drawing room, his back to her as he stared at the painting hanging above the fireplace. She closed the door as quietly as she could, but the soft sound caught the attention of the detective anyway. Sherlock turned and offered her an unsure, gentle smile.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes,” Y/N said, bowing her head just slightly towards him. She thought she saw Sherlock’s smile falter just a tad before he returned her greeting. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m afraid I bring some bad news,” Sherlock said, walking away from the fireplace. Y/N stepped further into the room and indicated a chair. “Thank you,” he said as he sat down, Y/N seating herself in the armchair across from him. “Enola has run away.”

“Is that really all that surprising?” Y/N sighed, though his words did immediately cause her to worry for the young girl.

“Were you aware of what she was planning?” Sherlock asked.

“No. It just doesn’t surprise me.”

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment, seemingly analyzing her expression and finally he gave a slow nod of his head.

“So I take it that she hasn’t contacted you at all?” He asked.

“I haven’t heard from her since yesterday when I left Ferndell,” Y/N confirmed, attempting to keep her features as neutral as possible.

Sherlock frowned at her, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Even if she had, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

“No,” Y/N admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “But you can’t blame me for that. We both know that Finishing School is not where Enola’s time would be best spent. Besides, from what she told me Miss Harrison seems a foul woman.”

She thought she saw Sherlock’s lips twitch as though he wanted to smile, but then he schooled his expression into one of neutrality again.

“You know, there was a time when you would tell me everything,” he reminded her.

“And there was a time that you found me utterly insufferable for that,” Y/N countered, her words sounding like she was spitting venom at him.

“I never found you insufferable,” Sherlock said, a chuckle in his voice. 

“Is that so?” Y/N mused, quirking her eyebrow at him.

“Perhaps a little slow at times, but I wouldn’t take that personally,” she hated how teasing he sounded, as though nothing had changed since he left. Sherlock clearly picked up on the anger festering in the pit of her stomach and spoke again before she had time to lash out. “But I never found you insufferable.”

Y/N made a noise conveying how unconvinced she was by his words and she stood from the chair.

“If that’s all…”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with something similar to disappointment before he, too, stood and adjusted his suit jacket slightly.

“Yes… that’s all,” he said. “I thank you for your time.”

Y/N nodded and watched as Sherlock crossed the room to stand in front of the door, reaching out a hand towards the doorknob. Before he could turn it, though, Y/N was hit by a sudden wave of concern.

“Mr Holmes?”

The man paused and looked back at her over his shoulder at her.

“You… if you find her, or here anything… could you let me know? She’s only young… I worry about her.”

Sherlock bowed his head in a sign of consent.

“I will keep you updated, I promise.”

“Thank you… Sherlock.”

Just as Sherlock had promised, he kept her updated on the situation with Enola as best as he could and she received letters from him every other day, even if he had found no new leads.

On the days that he had nothing new to report, his letters were filled with updates about his own life, general musings, his theories about both Enola’s whereabouts and other, unofficial cases that had caught his eye. 

In short, they were the most un-Sherlock-like letters that Y/N could have ever imagined receiving and every time the post came she felt her heart lift in hope that there would be another one for her.

The only letter that Y/N had replied to, however, was one dated about a week and a half after Enola’s disappearance, in which Sherlock told her that he had asked Mycroft to pass over his duties and to make Enola his ward, filing Y/N in on the details about what had happened with Enola and the case of the missing Maquis. Sherlock had also let her know that he had attempted to make contact with his sister via newspaper and that she had indeed come to the meeting spot but had been disguised.

From the tone of that letter, it had been clear to Y/N that Sherlock truly cared for his younger sister, and that he knew that she would be capable of taking care of herself despite the worry that he so clearly felt over her.

After having received a response from Y/N after that letter, Sherlock had implored her to keep replying, but Y/N had not. She was afraid of falling into the same trap that she had when they were kids - of allowing herself to get too close to him, to feel something for him, when it was never going to go anywhere.

Y/N had allowed her heart to be broken by Sherlock Holmes once before, when she was too young to truly understand matters of the heart. She wasn’t going to do it again.

About a week after receiving the letter recounting the tale of Enola and Tewkesbury, however, Y/N got another surprise in the post. A letter from Enola herself, detailing Y/N with much of the same information that had already been given to her by Sherlock, though with more detail and far more reassurance that she truly was safe and secure and comfortable in her newfound lodgings in London.

In the final paragraph of the letter, there was a plea from Enola, imploring Y/N to go and visit her in London - she had attached a date for the following week and the address of a cafe that she said she thought Y/N would appreciate.

And so Y/N found herself boarding a train the next week, ready to meet Enola in London, agreeing to stay with her for a couple of days so that they could properly catch up.

Just as she was settling into the carriage, the train about to leave the station, the door slid open again and a familiar face appeared.

“May I join you?” Sherlock asked, a somewhat nervous smile on his face. Y/N returned it and nodded her head.

“Of course,” Sherlock entered into the compartment, closing the door behind him and placing his bag onto the overhead luggage rack and taking the seat opposite her. “I wasn’t aware that you were back here?” 

“Only for a night - Mycroft demanded my help,” Sherlock explained. “I thought about visiting you, but I was unsure of how much it would be appreciated,” he added. Y/N bowed her head a little, finding herself unable to maintain eye contact with him. “You didn’t reply to my letters.”

“Yes I did.”

Y/N risked a glance up and saw Sherlock’s lips quirk a little, holding back a smile.

“I apologise - you replied to only one of my letters.”

“That’s one more than you replied to of mine,” Y/N pointed out, raising her eyebrows challengingly. Sherlock didn’t even attempt to keep his smile at bay, grinning at her in the familiar cheeky way that Y/N remembered from their childhood.

“I wasn’t aware of how good you were at bearing grudges,” he mused, leaning back in his seat.

“Well perhaps if you’d come to visit you would have realised,” Y/N muttered, opening her bag that rested on the chair beside her and pulled out the book she was reading.

Before she could open it, though, Sherlock’s hand pressed down on the cover, preventing her from doing so.

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” he whispered and when Y/N met his eyes again they were so filled with genuine apology and concern.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew what an apology was,” but she smiled a little, seeing how Sherlock’s eyes brightened 

“Well I’ve been attempting to catch up on them as of late.”

“Enola?”

“I have yet to find her to give her one,” Sherlock confessed, leaning back at last. “You’re going down to see her, aren’t you?”

Y/N knew there was no point in denying it, Sherlock was always capable of telling when people were lying. He had always been particularly quick at picking up on Y/N’s lies as well when they were children.

“Yes - she wrote inviting me down last week,” Sherlock nodded slowly.

“Would you… would you let me know that she’s safe - that her lodgings are comfortable?”

“I’ll let her know you asked,” Y/N said instead, her voice quiet and full of understanding.

“Thank you,” Sherlock swallowed hard.

Silence fell between them. The most comfortable silence that had existed between them since their reunion.

“I did miss you, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“When I left home - I did miss you. I know you think I didn’t, and it’s understandable, but I did,” Sherlock confessed.

“Why didn’t you reply?” Y/N asked and she hated the desperation in her voice, the plea to understand why so many years had passed in silence. “Why didn’t you come and visit?”

“I don’t have a good reason for why I did - or didn’t - do any of it. And I’m so sorry,” Sherlock sighed but Y/N frowned at him, noticing how his gaze briefly dropped her own as he spoke, how his fingers fidgeted slightly on his lap.

“I know you’re the detective of the two of us, but I know when you lie, Sherlock Holmes,” Y/N didn’t know what made her do it, but she lent forwards and grabbed one of his hands between her own. “Tell me the truth, Sherlock.”

Sherlock studied her hard for a long minute, his eyes sweeping across her face, taking in every inch of her features and there was an emotion that Y/N couldn’t quite place lingering in his eyes.

“Mycroft used to… make fun of me, when we were children. Because he knew how I… how I felt about you. I’ve never quite… understood why he did, he always liked you, even if he never admitted it, but I hated it. I hated Mycroft making fun of me, it made me feel like he was smarter than me…” Sherlock’s cheeks reddened. “I did not mean for that to sound as conceited as it did.”

“To be fair, you were quite a conceited child,” Y/N teased, squeezing his hand and Sherlock chuckled. “But… what do you mean, how you felt about me?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You said it yourself, I always was a little slow,” she grinned, “at least compared to you.”

Her heart was pounding out of her chest, she could barely breathe from the excitement at the idea that Sherlock was hinting at what she thought he was.

“You have to know by now that you are the only woman who I have ever held a place for in my heart.” He paused, shrugging his shoulders bashfully. “Or you were.”

“Enola?”

“Of course,” he confirmed. He lifted her hand tentatively up, pressing his lips gently against the back of it, keeping his gaze lowered. “I just hope that you know you never left it.”

The rest of the journey passed in a blur, the two of them having the final catch up that had been missing for so many years, everything feeling as though it was falling back into place, just like everything had been when they were kids.

By the time the train pulled into the station at London, Y/N had no desire to say goodbye to Sherlock Holmes, and by the way he loitered with her on the platform, it appeared that the sentiment was returned.

“Where are you headed?” Sherlock inquired. “I know Enola wouldn’t want you to tell me her address, but…”

“I’m actually meeting her at a cafe,” Y/N told him, adjusting her grip on her bag and smiling at him.

“In that case… would you allow me to escort you? London can be rather confusing at times, especially for those used to the country lifestyle,” he suggested and if Y/N didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was blushing a little in embarrassment.

“I would appreciate that yes, thank you Sherlock,” she agreed and Sherlock offered her his arm.

Enola did not seem overly surprised at Sherlock’s presence beside Y/N. There was a slight raise of her eyebrows, a knowing smile on her face and a gleam of amusement in her eyes as she walked over to them, her arms laden with a bunch of yellow roses.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” she said, completely bypassing her brother and embracing Y/N as carefully as she could with the flowers in her hands.

“I was so happy to hear from you, I was so worried about you,” Y/N told her, pulling away and examining her surrogate sister for any trace of hurt.

“I promise I’m fine,” Enola laughed, holding out the flowers for her. “I bought these for you, though.”

“They’re beautiful, thank you.” 

Enola’s eyes slid over to Sherlock at last, who was standing awkwardly to the side. Y/N could sense how his own gaze was flicking continuously between herself and his sister, clearly overjoyed at seeing her again but also wanting to continue the conversation he and Y/N had been holding on the train.

“It’s more of an apology, actually,” Enola mused. “I’m afraid that something has come up and my assistance is required… elsewhere. Perhaps Sherlock would take my place?” She raised her eyebrows at her brother.

“I-uh-”

“Fantastic!” Enola cheered, hugging Y/N once more and giving a nod to her brother before rushing away.

“Did your sister just set us up?” Y/N asked, turning to face the younger Holmes brother.

“I think so,” Sherlock confirmed. “For what it’s worth, she hasn’t gone far, I believe she has every intention of snooping on us.”

Y/N laughed at that piece of knowledge, rolling her eyes affectionately at Enola’s antics before placing her hand once more in Sherlock’s arm. He reached across her to take her bag to allow her to hold the flowers.

“Well we wouldn’t want to disappoint her, now would we?” Y/N said, nodding towards the door to the cafe, not missing the affectionate smile it brought to Sherlock’s face.

As he held the door open for her, Y/N reached up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

[onigiri-dorkk]

Y’all I think about RivaMika so often

I was a huge Petra x Levi fan for god knows how long, and used to be so distraught about how she was dead and gone. I’ve always loved Mikasa and Levi separately, and always has this lingering thought that they’d be pretty foineeee together but I never fully understood where Isa was going with the Ackerman clan connection (so to be safe, I disregarded any positive feelings I had about them as a ship).

It wasn’t until the last chapters, which revealed Levi and Mikasa to be alive and well after the war, and after defeating and killing E together in the end, and after a whole time skip where Mikasa is a grown ass woman and Levi is a grown as man that I was like… wait… hold up? You’re telling me they’re both alive and well? And both of them can finally live normal lives post-war? And they’ve gone through the world and back? These two people, who deserve all the damn happiness in the world??

And that’s when it clicked for me, all the reasons why I love RivaMika now, and the potential it had all along. Their dynamic and their will to literally fight for those they love. Both being seen as humanity’s strongest, meaning they both understand each others strength in ways no one else can. They never worried about the other keeping up with them because they both were so equally with each other. Mikasa stuck by his side through all their missions together, even when the others started to doubting his character and leadership. And he never once doubted Mikasa. In fact, she has always seemed special to him; he always had a natural soft spot for Mikasa and what she thinks. Everyone sees Mikasa for her combat skills but he was one of the only characters who really tried to listen to her words/reactions/emotions. For gods sake, Mikasa is the only woman comrade of Levi’s who stayed alive with him through all his battles; and there were many battles. He’s treated her like an equal from the beginning, and they’ve always had a mutual respect and implied admiration of each other. There was nothing ever established that Levi and Mikasa were closely related at all; in fact there were more clarifications by Isa that they were not!

Then I got deeper in the damn rabbit hole of potential for RivaMika. All of their parallels. The “I’m with you” to “Stay with me.” The side glances at each other and the personalities that create the best tensions and attractions.

Mikasa being obsessed with E, then having to kill him in the end; literally having to let go of her love for E that was never healthy for her. She can now move on and find a love that is healthy, with a partner who loves and respects her and treats her exactly how she deserves to be treated by someone she can grow to love, but also someone challenges her to be exactly who she is and more. Someone who sees her strengths and is never afraid of it, but wants to fan the flame. Levi is exactly that for her, romantic or not. That man values her not just a few levels better than E did, but in a whole other way that is by nature good.

Then Levi. Oh, Levi. The man who has been through hell and back, and has lost so many loved ones on the way. He has given so much of himself for the sake of others, for the sake of humanity, and has seen so many people give up their lives along the way. This man is hurt and tortured, but he still fights for the future. Battle after battle after battle, so many people are gone — but then Mikasa, sweet beautiful Mikasa, is there with him in the end. In the final battle she tended to him while he was hurt, she saved him, and she fought alongside him — just the two of them — to finally finally finally claim victory for what he had been fighting for all this time. And she does it. And because she does, now they can rest. For once in his life, he didn’t have to be the one delivering the final blow. And oh my GOD, the glimmer in his eyes returning when Mikasa told him to help her win, after he lost all his purpose after he killed Zeke. He must’ve thought Mikasa was fucking amazing.

Then the time skip. Levi is able to have a home and all the damn tea he can possibly want. Mikasa is also able to have a home and live a life of peace. Both have been through so much together, and they are the only ones left who survived the battle, and survived together. They are old comrades, but more importantly, permanent friends. And as friends they are bound to see each other again. And that thought of them being able to see each other again and again and again, and bloom a stronger bond in the context of a peaceful life ahead, was really what solidified RivaMika as my all time OTP. This man who gave up so much of himself for others, can now start thinking of himself and what he wants, and who he wants to share a future with. And this woman, who gave up so much of herself for the people she loved, can also start thinking of herself and what she wants, and who she wants to spend her future years with.

…I’m just emotional right now, smh. They deserved better. Y’all can’t tell me J*an’s dynamic with Mikasa was stronger than this; I love J*an but there is absolutely no competition when it comes to who has and who will treat Mikasa the best. I also freaking think Isa was planning on RivaMika to be end game but didn’t want his misunderstanding audience to be mad lol. I have all the feelings rn. I love RM so much. I’ve never felt this strongly about a non-canon OR canon ship ever in my life

[cozy-the-overlord]

Happiness

Summary: A daughter of Thanos, Eija had grown accustomed to the isolated nature of life on the Sanctuary. Only when her father orders her to keep watch over an injured prisoner does she begin to realize how lonely it is.

Written for @lucywrites02′s Lucywrites19 Writing Challenge on prompt #6

Word Count: 4,078

Pairing: Loki (Marvel) x OFC

A/N: Lucy: *puts together a list of really nice, sweet, loving prompts that would make for some wonderful, fluffy fics* 

Me: And I took that personally

Honestly, this turned into more of a separate challenge for me to see if I could take a fluffy prompt and write an angst bomb. I can say I’m both pleased and thoroughly ashamed of myself.

Happy Birthday, Lucy! I hope you don’t hate me too much after this one ...

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture (it’s not super graphic, but it’s definitely there), blood/injury, character death

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“Are you happy, child?”

It wasn’t the type of thing Eija had expected the hulking warrior to ask a street urchin like her, especially not after catching her wrist in his pocket. Really, she should have known better than to try to steal from someone so clearly capable of crushing her skull within his fist, but his golden armor had glistened so temptingly in the sunlight and besides, she had never been caught before …

When he caught her wrist and yanked her in front of him, Eija was sure that this was the end. The penalty for stealing was steep to begin with, but stealing from a noble (and certainly this man must have been a noble) could lose you your head. But he said nothing of punishment. Instead, he curled his purple lips into a smile and asked her that question.

“Are you happy, child?”

No one had ever asked her that before. No one ever really asked her anything—the most Eija ever got were the curses spat at her on the street, on the luckless days when pickpocketing had brought her nothing and she was forced to beg for sustenance. No one cared enough to ask after her.

No, she told the warrior-noble, no, she wasn’t happy. She was hungry and tired and cold, and she didn’t have money to buy food.

The towering creature laughed, caressing the brilliant hilt that hung at his waist. “I thought not. Come,” he said, stepping forward and motioning her to follow. “I have something for you to eat on my ship.”

…

Eija tugged at the laces on her boot. She had tied and untied them three times already, but she could think of nothing else to do in this tiny room, so she went in for the fourth. Besides her, the Jotun sagged against his braces in the metal chair, his labored breathing the only sound to break the stillness. He didn’t look very Jotun. Lord Thanos had explained that it was some kind of enchantment—the AllFather had magicked away his blue skin when he was a baby to make him look more Asgardian. Eija didn’t really understand the reasoning behind such an action, but she didn’t need to. Her job was simply to make sure he survived the night.

It was a frustrating assignment. Eija wasn’t a healer—she had no idea what she was supposed to do if death came knocking for the prisoner. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly an assassin either, and so unlike the rest of her adoptive siblings her role on the Sanctuary wasn’t considered to be of critical importance.

So here she was. Babysitting.

The Jotun groaned. It was a soft noise, but it was enough to rip Eija’s attention away from her shoes. He shifted against his restraints, but there was no force behind the movements.

“Hey,” she called. “Are you awake?” She shouldn’t have been talking to the prisoner. Somehow, she knew Lord Thanos wouldn’t like it if he were to find out. Still, the metallic room housed a lonely existence, and Eija was desperate for any kind of distraction.

Although the prisoner didn’t exactly seem to be the ideal conversation partner. He flinched at the sound of her voice, his feeble movement falling still as abruptly as it began. Perhaps she should have gone back to her laces, but Eija was intrigued. She left her stool to stand before the Jotun, peering down at him through his shackles.

“Are you awake?” she asked again. He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his head hanging limply against his shoulders, as if he hadn’t just been rustling about. The thought of some grand Jotun (Asgardian?) prince trying to trick her by playing dead was so comical that Eija had to bite back her laugh.

“Hey,” she said instead, trying to add some of that Black Order sharpness to her voice as she tapped his arm. “Knock it off. I know you’re awake.”

He looked up at her then, his movement slow and labored. It almost made her wince, just looking at the way he struggled to open his bloodshot eyes. Lord Thanos had allowed Proxima charge of the Jotun today, and she had clearly made the most of it—his face was so swollen that she never would have recognized the man Corvus had pulled out of the depths of space only a week ago.

“What do you want?” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. He was making a valiant effort to control his breathing, but Eija knew the look of fear when she saw it. She had seen it in the faces of almost everyone who found themselves in the presence of Lord Thanos and his children, although those faces were never focused on her. This must have been the first time she was the cause of such terror.

It was an odd feeling. Eija wasn’t sure she liked it.

She shrugged, dropping the serious tone. “I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets very dull in here.”

The prisoner only stared at her.

No, not the ideal conversation partner at all.

Eija sighed. It seemed she’d be returning to her shoelaces in short time after all.

“Can you tell me your name at least?” she asked. No one had mentioned it yet, and Eija had been afraid to inquire. Lord Thanos hadn’t been particularly happy when he gave her this assignment—his anger had been more directed at Proxima, for nearly killing the prisoner, but Eija didn’t want to give him a reason to turn on her. She wasn’t often the target of the Mad Titan’s fury, but the few times she was were enough of a lesson for a lifetime.

But the Jotun made no response. “Is this a trick?” he asked finally.

“No. I’m just curious.” A strand of black hair had fallen into his eye. Eija was tempted to brush it away, but she held herself back. “I’ll tell you my name, if it makes you feel better,” she offered.

She waited a moment for him to give some kind of answer. He didn’t.

“Eija,” she said. “My name’s Eija.”

He inhaled. “Did he send you to kill me?”

The question caught her off guard, although perhaps it was fair. “What? No, no I’m just— no,” she stuttered. “I don’t … kill people.”

He eyed her, unconvinced. “Why are you here, then?”

“To make sure you don’t die,” she said. “They were worried, you know.” Proxima had been quite proud of herself. Eija had overheard her bragging to some of the others earlier in the day about how she had the little prince calling out for his mother by the end. They had been laughing about it, how quickly he had succumbed to childish instincts, but the thought intrigued Eija.

She had never known her mother. Before Lord Thanos had found her, she had had no one but herself, scrounging up what food she could from what she stole on the street. She never cried for anyone, no matter how frightened she was. She had no one to cry for.

She wondered what it was like.

“Are you truly not going to tell me your name?” she asked. It was a bit disappointing. She had hoped he’d be at least a little more interesting than this.

He swallowed slowly, painfully. Whereas before it seemed he was afraid to take his eyes off of her, now he seemed unable to meet her gaze.

“Loki,” he finally whispered.

“Loki,” Eija repeated. The name made her smile, although she wasn’t quite sure why it would. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki.”

She asked him more questions as the night went on—questions about his home, his family, his childhood memories. At first, he wouldn’t answer any of them. He’d just stare at her blankly as she posed her queries or whip his head away as if he couldn’t stand to be faced with the words.

So, she changed tactics. She told him about growing up on Knowhere, before Thanos found her, about how when she was not yet six years of age the man she had known as her father dumped her on the side of the road and flew away into permanent obscurity, and about how she taught herself how to reach into another’s pocket and pull out exactly what she was looking for by practicing on the other unsuspecting urchins who lived alongside her on the street. It was strange, to relieve those stories before an audience. Because he was an audience, like it or not. He was listening to every word she said, even more so, she suspected, than he wanted to let on.

When she left that morning, after Corvus came to take over for the day, her throat was so dry she could barely speak. It was a nice kind of dry, though. The Black Order never demanded her voice anyways, so it wasn’t a noticeable inconvenience.

It was worth it.

“You again,” Loki muttered when she slipped into the cell the following evening. “Eija.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “You remembered my name!”

“You talked a lot.” He blinked sleepily. “You had a nice voice.”

Eija stopped. She wasn’t certain she heard him incorrectly. “What?”

He yawned. “You had a nice voice.”

She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. It was quite possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her, as ridiculous as it seemed. Eija doubted her siblings could even recognize the sound of her voice—if they did, it would have been to scold her for stepping so far out of line, certainly not to pay her a compliment.

“If you’d like,” she said eagerly, pulling the stool across the room so she could sit next to him. “I can tell you more stories?”

It became the part of the day Eija looked forward to most—the moments where she could talk for hours about anything she wanted, without the ever-present fear of her siblings’ mockery or the Mad Titan’s chastening. It felt … safe, in a way that she hadn’t felt safe before. Warm. She always felt so alone on this ship, wasting away whilst awaiting orders. There were points where even her own thoughts seemed to abandon her to the darkness.

But not here. Not with Loki.

He seemed to enjoy it as well. Of course, she held no illusions that he was quite literally a captive audience, but he listened. He remembered the things she said to him. On good days, he’d even ask her questions, add in thoughts and stories of his own.

“You said you don’t kill people,” he asked suddenly, on one such visit. “Did you mean that?”

Eija shifted uncomfortably. This had always been an awkward subject. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t have the training.”

“What do you do here, then?”

She inhaled. “Steal things.”

“Steal things?” he repeated. “What kind of things?”

Eija shrugged. “Anything he wants,” she said. “Weapons, passkeys, precious gems—whatever.” She remembered that day, when Lord Thanos had taken her from the streets to his ship, what he had said as she devoured the soup his servant placed in front of her.

“I have more trained killers than I know what to do with,” he told her. “But perhaps I could use a sneak thief.”

Eija had agreed to everything he said— it wasn’t as if she was in any position to refuse him, and besides, anything had to be better than sleeping in a trash bin. And so, she became the Titan’s personal retriever, sneaking her way across the galaxy and returning with the treasures he coveted in her pockets. Her methods were straight and to the point. She was in and out before anyone even noticed her presence, and, unlike her adopted siblings, there wasn’t a trail of bodies left in her wake.

“But if your role is to steal things,” Loki asked. “Then what are you doing with me?”

Eija didn’t answer right away. Thanos had not ordered her to continue her night watch over the Jotun prisoner. He hadn’t said that she couldn’t, but she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be pleased to find that she had. What was she doing here?

“I just like to talk to somebody, I guess,” she said. “Besides, somebody has to make sure you make it through the night.”

Although it became exceedingly clear with each passing day that such a task may be outside of her abilities. One night, she could hear his hacking all the way down the hall, rattling the walls as she rushed to his side. She found him sagging limply against his shackles, soaked in blood and sweat and goodness knows what else as he choked on his own breath.

Eija didn’t know what to do—she could only wipe the blood from his face and hold the bottle of water to his lips.

“What does he want from me?” he croaked, once he could finally speak. There were tears running down the creases of his face, although whether that was from emotion or pain Eija couldn’t be sure. “Why is he doing this to me?”

For once, she said nothing. She had no answer for him.

She tried asking Gamora once. It was no secret that the Zehoberei was Lord Thanos’ favorite—if he were to tell anyone his intentions for the prisoner, it would be her.

But the assassin gave her nothing. “He has a use in mind,” she said. “Don’t question him.”

“But,” Eija hesitated. “If that’s the case, why is he hurting him?” She gulped. “If he has a use for him, shouldn’t he be … using him?”

Gamora glared at her. “If he’s not strong enough to survive this, he’s not strong enough to do Thanos’ bidding.” Her tone lowered in warning. “Remember your place.”

Eija did remember her place. She was reminded of it with every passing moment—leashed to her lord’s beck and call, every day walking that delicate tightrope of anticipating his wishes without asserting herself too far in his eyes, living in fear of the day when the bottom finally fell through and he decided to unsheathe the blade at his waist.

Was this his plan for Loki as well? Torture him to death’s edge until it pleased him to make him yet another glorified slave? She thought of Loki, shackled to his chair, heaving and coughing up blood, sentenced to wither away until Thanos found use for him … for what? The mere crime of existence?

And here she was, letting it happen, watching as Thanos sucked the life out of him, simply using him as a receptacle to her own selfish need for attention.

She was just as awful.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Was there?

Unless …

The thought started as a hypothetical. Isn’t that how all treason began? A tiny what-if, buried under one’s daily worries? The hangers of the Sanctuary were hardly well-guarded. There was little reason to guard them, after all—few on this vessel had cause to sneak off of it, and those who did hadn’t the opportunity. And with the current position they had been holding the last few days, only a small way from the Krylor jump point, which could then take you down through one of the major galactical traffic-ways …

Stealing a ship would be almost too easy.

It wouldn’t work, she told herself as she stood amongst her siblings in Thanos’ court. The ship was one thing, the passenger was something else entirely. Loki’s chains were specifically designed by the Mad Titan to stifle the magic of that whom they held. They were the very definition of unbreakable. And the key—Thanos kept it on his person at all times, hooked to his belt alongside his blades. Any scheme was doomed to fail.

But sometimes, opportunities present themselves.

“And where are you going, child?”

Eija jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner and nearly collided with the lord himself. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“To watch over the prisoner, as you ordered, sir.”

He frowned. “That was weeks ago. You’re not still doing that now?”

She bit her tongue, so hard it hurt. “W-with all due respect sir, you never told me to stop.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. Such action is no longer necessary.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. “Apologies, sir.”

Eija stood there shaking long after he had continued down the hall. Her heart felt as if it might pound its way out of her chest. He had to have noticed. In a moment, he’d come storming back up the corridor, grab her by her neck, and crush her skull against the wall.

But he never did.

It was just Eija, alone in the hallway, clutching the golden key between her trembling fingers.

There was little time. Her theft could only go overlooked for so long. She didn’t have the chance to question herself as she rushed to Loki’s cell—any moment spent in doubt was a moment wasted.

Loki seemed to be unconscious when she first arrived at his side, but he popped up with a start the moment she reached for his chains.

“What—" he gasped, eyes wild. “What’s happening?”

The key clicked in the lock. He heaved a breath, falling forward as the shackles fell open.

“You’re going home.” Eija’s mind was racing at a mile a minute. They couldn’t steal a Q-ship—it was too big; they’d would be noticed immediately … “Can you fly a pod?” she asked.

He gulped. “Possibly?”

“Good enough.” She pulled him to his feet. It was at this moment she became aware of the fact that she had only every seen him seated. Loki was tall. Much, much taller than her, and when he sagged against her it took all of her strength to keep him from tumbling to the metallic floor. For a moment she feared that he was too weak to even stand on his own and nearly panicked, because oh goodness how was she supposed to carry him all the way to the hanger—

But he managed to stabilize himself, gripping her shoulder so tightly that she lost feeling in it, but standing on his own. Slowly, she was able to walk him into the hallway.

The hanger was only a few floors above them, but the elevator ride felt like an eternity.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop …

If it stopped before they reached their destination, they were both dead.

Besides her, Loki’s breathing was labored. He hadn’t said anything since she had come to get him.

She squeezed his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel how she was trembling like a leaf. “You alright?”

He nodded weakly. “I assume you have a plan?”

“The pods are lined on the far wall of the hanger.” She inhaled. “When the door opens, we run like mad and get you on one. And then you take off for the jump point, and don’t stop until you’ve hit traffic.”

Loki turned to her, brow furrowed. “What about you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. Surely you’ll not stay here?”

Eija gulped. There wasn’t time to think about that now.

The elevator doors clicked open to reveal a thicket of barbed shadows and twisted metal. The hanger was lifeless and barren this time of night, lit only by the glow of the cosmos streaming in through the glass. They made their way in perfect silence, the only sound being the pounding of her heartbeat behind her eardrums. Every dark shape seemed like a waiting figure. Now, it was Eija that clung to him too tightly, terrified that at any moment someone would jump out and rip him from her grasp. By the time they reached their destination, they were both wildly out of breath.

The pods were small, thin one-man transports. Calling them ships was really being too generous. They weren’t really meant for long term travel, but they could work for a few jumps—long enough to get to civilized airspace, which was all he needed. She helped Loki into the compartment, careful to keep him from hitting his head on the low ceiling. This damn ship had caused him enough pain already.

He sighed, leaning against the seat in one short moment of rest before turning back to her. “You still haven’t said what you plan to do.”

Eija hesitated. What could she plan to do? She had nothing waiting for her beyond this ship. As with all of his children, Thanos held a piece of her that he would never relinquish, no matter how far she flew.

“I’ll stay here,” she murmured. “For now, at least. They might pick up on something if too much is out of place.”

“But—"

“Please,” Eija hissed. “You remember what I said, right? Take the Krylor jump, and just keep towards Xandar.” She inhaled so deeply it hurt, trying to bury the aching dread building in her chest. “Stay with the crowds whenever you can—he won’t bother with you if it means he has to go through heavy populations.”

Loki nodded, but she wasn’t certain he was listening. There was a sadness behind his eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. He squeezed her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips in the lightest of kisses.

“Thank you, Eija,” he whispered. “May fate be kind to you.”

…

The alarm went off some hours later, when morning dawned upon an empty cell. They came for her only minutes after. Eija hadn’t been certain of what she would do—would she scream when they broke down her door? Cry for help? Fight for her life? But as the Black Order filed into her room with their weapons drawn, Eija felt only an overwhelming calm. It was good that they were here. The longer they spent with her, the more of a chance Loki had of getting away.

She went with her adoptive siblings willingly.

They took her to the same tiny room where this had all begun, shackled her to the same chair she had watched over so diligently. Eija barely registered it.

Surely, Loki was hundreds of star systems away from here now.

Surely he was safe.

When the pain did come, it filled every fiber of her being, burning through her body as if she were nothing but dry kindling. Her vision bled white. Her screams ripped her throat raw.

They asked no questions. She was relieved for that at least, because her every coherent thought shattered to pieces long before it could reach her lips.

She understood now why Loki had cried for his mother. She would have too, had she a mother to cry for. Instead, she just cried.

Eija wasn’t certain how much time had passed before he arrived. It could have been hours, it could have been months, but at some point when she dragged her aching head to look up she found Lord Thanos staring down at her, the stony weight of disappointment heavy on his features.

Gamora stood next to him. She spared a glance at her former sister, softer, sadder, almost sympathetic, before she turned back to her father.

“Sir, the Jotun is out of tracking range. There’s nothing we can do at this point.”

Out of range.

Eija thought of Loki, raven hair streaming in the breeze behind him as he pulled himself out of the craft, safe on some green, luscious, faraway planet that the Black Order could never reach. She smiled, blood dripping from her lips.

Thanos’ expression remained immovable.

“Well, child,” he finally said, looking down at her as he caressed the glinting hilt at his waist. “Look upon this mess. See what you have done. Are you happy now?” He reached out with his other hand, tipping her chin up towards him with a single finger, as if the mere thought of touching her disgusted him. “You look happy.”

Eija felt a laugh tickle her throat. It came out as more of a cough, blood and bile staining her tongue. Still, she could not bring herself to stop smiling.

“I am happy, sir.”

It was true. A beautiful warmth flooded her aching chest. She laughed again, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her.

She was still laughing when the blade severed her throat. 

[kopikokun]

Tell Me What You Want Me to Do to You༄ mark l.

↳ On an awfully planned trip with your best friend Mark, the place you end up spending the night in is not what you had in mind. Oh well, at least Mark’s there to keep you company. And apparently, he’s a pretty great kisser too.

pairing: bestfriend!mark x f!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, friends to lovers, college!au

wordcount: 1.8k words

author’s note: i’m so sorry that i can’t add the ‘keep reading’ thing. i’ve tried, but every time i do it, the whole post gets wonky and i can’t edit it on mobile anymore. i’ve even tried desktop tumblr but the same thing happens :(

Request 32: Mark + “I need a hug.” (42) + “Stop being so cute.” (67) + “Put me down!” (153) + “There’s only one bed...” (154) [F2L + Suggestive]

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

In hindsight, a trip with your best friend sounded like a more than sound idea. The two of you had combined what limited knowledge you had about general adulting, scrounged up most that you could considering your financial situations as two college kids, and, in essence, had made things worked.

Or at the very least, you think, eyes scanning the room, taking in the general gist of the next addition to your mountain of already existing issues, made things happen.

And to answer a question; yes, there is a significant difference between work and happen.

Mark sighs wearily. It’s most likely due to the ridiculously lengthy car ride the two of you had been subjected to just to get here (and the back-and-forth bickering over whose bright idea it was to decide to go on holiday when the travelling industry is at its peak—it had been Mark’s, by the way, something about promotions and discount prices) and the even more absurd hike—or as the cheery staff liked to call it—expedition to your room.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to take a trip to the middle of nowhere, Mark.”

“Excuse me, this is not ‘the middle of nowhere’. According to the website, this is a ‘refined establishment which offers a fresh look into life alongside Mother Nature’,” defends Mark, letting the duffel bag stuffed with clothing he has slung over his shoulder slip to the ground with not an ounce of care.

“Well, that’s marketing for you.” You roll your eyes. “Just admit, you screwed up.”

Mark scoffs, unwilling to admit his defeat. “Not my fault that you’re a city girl.”

“This has nothing to do with me being a ‘city girl’. And you say that like you’re not a city boy.” Mark is tempted to say something petty in response but bites back his words. “And we have a bigger problem at hand right now, Mark.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a big problem…”

“Dude,” you deadpan. “It’s a big problem. There’s only one bed.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “We can come up with something… I, uh, I could sleep on the floor?”

“In this weather? You’ll be dead of hypothermia by morning. So, no.”

“Christ, alright then I guess we’ll just have to sleep on the same bed,” says Mark casually, falling onto the linen sheets. The bed creaks under his weight.

You shoot him an incredulous look. “Together? On the same bed?”

“Yeah, why not? We’ve done it before when we were kids.” Mark stares blankly up at the ceiling. “What’s so different about back then to now?”

You laugh wryly. “What’s different? We did it when we were kids, Mark. Kids.” Your face warms as you give Mark a once-over, taking it how much he’s grown into his good looks over the years. “I can list off plenty of things that have changed since we were literal children.”

Mark flips onto his side to face you head-on, an elbow propping him up. “Why? What’s wrong? You got a crush on me now?”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks pool with even more blistering heat. “Ugh, as if.”

“Damn, alright then, Cher Horowitz,” jeers Mark.

You stick your tongue out at Mark. “Whatever. Pass me a pillow. I’ll take the floor.”

Mark jolts upright like a meerkat on the lookout. “What? No, you take the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“No, I’m good. You can have the bed to yourself. I don’t mind, honestly.” You jerk your thumb towards yourself, pushing your chest out proudly. “This ‘city girl’ can handle a little bit of cold.”

There’s the muffled rustling of sheets and the padding of feet against the floor before a pair of arms coil themselves around your waist from behind you, which by the way, doesn’t help your cheeks which only grow hotter by the second. You turn to face Mark who stares at you with nothing but genuine concern.

“No way. This ‘city girl’ is taking the bed.” His arms curl tighter around you, pulling you even closer to him. “Come on. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, Mark it’s—”

Your refusal is cut short when you feel your body grow weightless as your feet are lifted off of the ground.

“Oh my God! Holy shit, Mark.” Like a hapless ragdoll, you’re almost effortlessly thrown over Mark’s shoulder. You’d be impressed by how surprisingly strong he is given his skinny-looking exterior, but you find that this isn’t quite the right time to be complimenting his physical abilities just yet. Mark grunts when you writhe in his hold. “Put me down!”

“With pleasure.”

You yelp, startled when Mark nonchalantly drops you onto the bed, following suit not too long after, his face inches from yours. His arms cage in your face and you feel your head grow dizzy, intoxicated by his scent. Your heart lurches when the bed groans with all the brute force being heaved onto it.

Mark grins cheekily at you, an airy laugh leaving his lips. “Jesus, you should’ve seen your face! It was priceless.”

You stare up at him, subconsciously drinking in his beautiful features; from the hairs of his eyebrows to the flutter of his eyelashes to the rosy apples of his cheeks and right down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, you gawk at him in silence for a moment or two. You realise that it’s actually been a moment or two too long since you’ve said something by the way Mark’s smile falters and his eyes begin to roam your face with just as much intrigue.

You clear your throat, averting his keen gaze. “Yeah, alright. Haha, very funny, Mark.”

For once, Mark doesn’t have any witty comeback for you in response. In fact, the room is drop dead silent save for the mechanical whirring of the ceiling fan. Mark’s adam’s apple bobs up and down in apprehension as his eyes scan your face once more. You can’t look away from him. Your eyes are glued to his as your heart hammers in your chest, its vibrations ringing in your ears.

He makes a move to get off of you but freezes when he feels your hand wrap around his bicep, urging for him to stay as he is. Mark watches you with interest, waiting for something more, but all you can do is continue gaping at him. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, blinking up at him. You wait with baited breath as Mark licks his lips.

“What?” he whispers. “What is it you want from me?”

You inhale sharply.

Mark’s voice drops several octaves, turning almost gravelly, which is so out of character for him you nearly blanch. “Come on, I want to know. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You mumble your words incoherently, your mind too clouded over to formulate an actual sentence.

“Speak up, pretty girl. I can’t hear you.” Mark leans into your ear, his hot breath making your hairs stand on end.

“Want you to kiss me, Mark.”

“God, you’re so cute. Stop being so cute. Say it again.”

You huff, growing impatient. “Please, Mark. Just kiss me already.”

“Holy shit.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “That's really hot.”

Mark kisses you tenderly. His lips press softly against yours, testing the waters and gauging your reaction. He tastes of the spearmint gum you gave him on the ride here and he smells like the fabric softener you always use when you go over to his place.

His hand cups your cheek, and at your hum of appreciation, he finally decides to kiss you with a little more fervour.

You’re not sure how, but you soon find yourself in Mark’s lap as he rests his back against the headboard. You chase after his lips when he pulls away and he giggles, the sound so bizarre considering the atmosphere. You don’t stay displeased for too long though, as Mark begins kissing down your jaw, which tickles, if you're being frank.

Mark’s grip on you turns bruising when you scratch at his nape, savouring the way his breath hitches. As things progress, you can’t help but wonder how this exactly happened. Sure, you’ve had those moments where the idea of being more than friends with Mark excited you, but it’s not like you dwelled on the thought often. All throughout your friendship, you’d never had any moments like this, but you’re surprised you two hadn’t done this sooner, because God, this feels amazing. Thinking back on it, there have been moments where you’d caught Mark staring a little too intensely at you and vice-versa, but you brushed it off as a common occurrence, being friends with a guy. But, you suppose, given the fact that you and Mark are making out right now, probably means that those stares meant a little more than you had first surmised.

You pull away when Mark grips the back of your neck. He pauses, his gaze finding yours.

He swallows dryly. “You okay?"

You exhale shakily, a whirlwind of thoughts consuming you. “Wait- I- Can we,” you take a breath, “can we stop?”

Immediately, Mark’s expression melts into one of distress. “Yeah, of course we can.”

“Thanks.” You nod timidly, climbing off his lap and sinking into the spot beside him. You chew on the flesh of your inner cheek, guilt washing over you. “I- I’m sorry.”

Mark’s head swivels to face you. “What? No, don’t be sorry. It’s fine.” He fiddles with his fingers. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“What? No, no, you didn’t.” You laugh reassuringly. “I just- I don’t know- I just—”

“No, it’s okay. If you want to stop, I'll stop. No explanation required.” Mark smiles at you. “But… we’re still cool, right?”

“Of course we are, dude.”

Mark snickers. “Wow, I can’t believe you just called me dude after we made out. You’re really something else, huh?”

“Hey! You should take that as a compliment.” You shove him playfully. “I don’t call just anyone dude.”

“Well then, it’s an honour. Dude.”

Your conversation dwindles into silence. You feel anxiety begin to make its way up your spine as it latches onto you, sinking its gnarly teeth into your back. What now? Can you two really go back to being just friends if that’s what you ultimately decided? The faint spinning of the fan is the only thing that nulls your worries. Cautiously, you reach for Mark’s hand beside you and thankfully, he reciprocates the gesture. You sigh happily, finding solace in the warmth radiating from his fingertips.

“Can I—no I mean—can we cuddle?” You await a response from Mark, only to be greeted by nothing. “Uh, I’m sorry. That was dumb of me. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

You attempt to pry your fingers from Mark’s but he refuses to let you slip away. Instead, he brings your hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your palm. “Hey, no. Let’s cuddle. I’m down for that. I need a hug, anyway.”

It’s astounding how easy it is to get into a spooning position with Mark. And as corny as it sounds, you feel like you fit perfectly in his arms, snug against his chest. You allow yourself to relax in his embrace until you feel something digging into your thigh.

“Is that—”

“Yeah, sorry,” says Mark sheepishly. He shifts in his position, but to no avail. He just hisses in discomfort. You smother a giggle. “I’m still, uh, a little… excited?”

“My bad.”

Mark pokes your waist, fishing that repressed giggle out of you. “Dumbass.”

And as you lay there with Mark, your laughter fading as the moon rises, you can’t deny the sparks of attraction that have ignited. You’re not quite sure exactly how you feel, but you think, whatever the outcome, the two of you will be alright.