#your honor the evidence is damming

[in-the-tavern]

the way arthur casually walks out into his room talking to merlin butt-ass naked like this canonically proves that merlin has seen him naked multiple times...maybe he has even bathed him...

[anatay004]

THERE WAS A TANG of venom in your mouth. You could taste it, the bitter crimson that seeped through your teeth as you chewed on the inside of your cheeks. You tried to keep your head from aching, perhaps, if you shut your eyelids for a moment — just for a second, you thought you might actually escape him.

"Ms. (Y/N), how wonderful it is to see you again," Snow spoke from across the desk, his voice was quiet but vehement— it almost made you shiver. "Please, take a seat."

Nauseously, you sat across from him.

The study ensued with a straining silence that made the skin of your arms prick with uneasiness. Snow had bothered to travel across the districts to visit your home; it could only mean one of two things: either you were in trouble or he wanted something from you.

"I won't take much of your time, Ms. (Y/L), as long as we agree to not lie to each other, this will be a short conversation, I can assure you."

I'm definitely in trouble, you thought.

"Of course." You managed to answer.

Up close, you could see the lines of evident age that marred his face. How long, you wondered, until time peels the skin off his bones clean?

"Katniss Everdeen," Snow venomously spat, and you couldn't help, but give him your full attention. "Do you recall the name?"

The new Victor from District 12.

The threat of rebellion.

"I do." You limited yourself to answer.

"Good," Snow breathed out. "You see, she is causing me quite a few problems. None of which are tethered to you, of course, but they eventually will. Unlike you, Ms. (Y/N), she dismisses the cause of the Hunger Games, the mercy that we offer by keeping one of the 24 tributes alive. She's challenging, I’m afraid."

Unlike you.

You wanted to dart him a glare; his words were a backhanded compliment. When you killed your partner in the games — your friend, you involuntarily enlightened a sense of honor in the Capitol. Your disoriented conscious due to the venom of one of the jellyfish in the arena eulogized Snow's message: there are no real allies and no true loyalty between the districts.

This was far from the truth, of course.

You never meant to win the games by killing your ally from the same district. When the dam's collapsed and the waves of water drowned almost everyone in the arena, you'd managed to swim back to the surface. But the lack of oxygen and poison from the jellyfishes had already interfered with your sanity. And when he'd rushed to help you back to your feet, you'd confused him for a Career. It was only a matter of minutes before the cannon boomed.

Your eyes glossed at the memory.

"With that being said, she, alongside Peeta Mellark, will try to seek refugee in their act of love to gain sponsors and win the games again.”

Your eyebrows knitted together.

Again?

"I want you to dissipate that advantage, Ms. (Y/M)." He must have read your expression. "I want you and Finnick Odair to annihilate their strategy by doing exactly the same thing."

You blinked in sudden disbelief.

He wanted you back in the Hunger Games. He wanted you back with Finnick Odair, with the only person he probably knew you cared the most about. You tried to quench the searing pain that was burning inside your chest. The air started to rush out your lungs, but you managed to compose yourself in time as Snow tilted his head to the side to examine you quietly.

"There's nothing between – " You tried to come up with an excuse, with anything that could've eliminated Finnick from this plan, but he raised an eyebrow in silent question and the words froze immediately on the tip of your tongue.

"We agreed to not lie, Ms. (Y/M)."

You pressed your lips together. "Right."

He stifled a faint grin. "You are the Capitol's favorites, the most beloved Victors. Even more than Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

You didn't know what to answer. His plan was already arranged, there was nothing you could say that could make him change his mind. If anything, he was merely being considerate by taking the trouble of giving you a heads-up.

"Finnick and I haven't spoken in weeks." You breathed out, which wasn't a lie. After years of breaking up and getting back together, the romance eventually ended when you discovered the sexual arrangements that had happened behind your back for years. When Finnick had decided to finally shut you out his life after he’d explained his backstory and decided you were not good together.

The slight curve of Snow's lips indicated that he knew this already — of course, he did.

"I know," Snow confessed. "but the people from the Capital don't, Ms. (Y/N). Therefore, you have an advantage at hand, you can fool everyone, make the Capital forget about the lovers from District 12, and...you will have my protection."

You looked up then and examined his face very carefully. There wasn't a hint of deception in his expression, he was being honest and that scared you the most. He promised your safety; he promised your victory.

"What about Finnick?" You found yourself asking, without even thinking.

He smiled. "You see, you almost got me fooled, Ms. (Y/LN). Imagine just how easy it would be to fool the Capitol if you could just step forward.”

You swallowed hard.

"But to answer your question, Ms. (Y/L), Mr. Odair will be protected if he succeeds in convincing me. And, who knows, if you achieve to sell your romance act, the Capitol might even advocate for two winners again. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

He was lying.

He had to be.

Hope retaliated in the pit of your stomach. "I thought we had agreed to not lie to each other."

His eyebrows jumped. "So did I."

After the conversation ended, President Snow stepped out of your home without another word as a fugitive car approached your home. Within a few minutes, he swiftly disappeared into the leather backseat and the vehicle drove off.

You tried to keep your head from reeling, but your muscles momentarily numbed as you simply stood outside, inhaling the ocean's breath. You couldn't coherent a single sentence, for a moment, you even struggled to pinpoint whether the conversation with Snow had been real or not.

What would Finnick think?

What would anyone think?

You exhaled sharply, but before you could collect yourself, Finnick's frame stumbled into your line of vision from across the Victor's Village. You faltered on your spot almost immediately, muscles wracked with evident tension — and he must've noticed, because trepidation soon glossed over his green irises.

As if he'd suddenly realized who had visited you.

"(Y/N)!" He began to call.

Instinctively, you began to retrace back your steps inside your house (in hopes to avoid him), but he was faster and twisted the polished handle before the door could even shut close behind you. You jumped in shock, a startled expression donned on your face as he invited himself in. "What happened?"

Your mouth went dry. "I..."

"— Did he hurt you?" His voice went up a few decibels, and you struggled to find the strength to open your mouth. "(Y/L), did he hurt you?"

You managed to shake your head. "No, he..."

Finnick reached for your arm. His muscles were tense, but his touch was gentle and you instinctively leaned in. "He's going to reaped us into the games, he wants us to follow the love act that Katniss and Peeta pulled."

His eyebrows knitted together in thought. "What?" He breathed out, trying to decipher the mixture of emotions that flitted across your face in a matter of seconds. Every sentiment that threatened to register on your face before Snow was finally shattering before Finnick.

"He wants to kill them off," You found yourself repeating, a hint of desperation notched down the timbre of your voice. "He wants us to take their sponsors, but he said he would protect us, Finnick. He promised he would and I – "

A sob strangled your throat, for a split second, you couldn't manage another word. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to the side of your head. You immediately indulged in his warmth and your senses immediately heighten at the whiff of his scent. Belatedly, you realized it had been a while since he’d last embraced you. And it wasn't until he was rubbing your back and whispering that everything was going to be okay when you finally noticed that you were trembling.

"It's going to be okay, love." He whispered.

Love.

And then it finally clicked.

What he’d done to you.

You wrenched away from him as though his skin had suddenly torched you. You took several steps back as you tried to muffle the sob that was ripping through your lips. Finnick faltered for a second as he tried to find the right words to remedy the hurt that you felt, but when he noticed the familiar betrayal in your gaze — he pressed his lips into a thin line.

He didn't know what to say anymore.

"I need to get some sleep."

"Sweetheart, wait — "

"Goodnight, Finnick."

And with that, you turned your back to him.

[venus-haze]

Bad Ritual (Vincent Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: Some pageant queens sit on parade floats. Being crowned Miss Ambrose requires you to get your hands a little dirty.  [This is an AU]

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. Heavily inspired by The Wicker Man and Midnight Mass, as well as my own spin on St. Ambrose, who, among other things, is the patron saint of wax melters. Since this is a cult AU, please check the warnings before reading. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Emotional and spiritual manipulation, morally gray reader, religious sex negativity/sex shaming, elements of Catholicism, human sacrifice. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

The stage lights threatened to melt your carefully applied makeup off. You held a wide smile for so long your cheeks ached. Your eyes nervously flitted about the crowd of Ambrose’s residents, just barely able to fill three-quarters of the movie theater for the event. When your gaze fell on Vincent in the front row, he gave you a small nod of encouragement that manifested butterflies in your already twisted stomach. Could you help being hopelessly in love with your best friend?

“After much deliberation by myself and the other judges,” Trudy began in her soft drawl, harsh on the edges from her decades-long smoking habit, “we agree without a doubt, the winner of the third Miss Ambrose contest is—“

The microphone screeched when Trudy spoke your name, and the dam broke, bringing about uncontrollable tears of joy and relief. The sound of cheers and applause filled the theater, almost dictating the rhythm of your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done if you lost. In the weeks prior to the competition, you craved victory so badly that it filled the marrow of your bones.

With tears blurring your vision, you made your way over to Trudy. She smiled, placing the ornate wax tiara on your head and satin sash reading ‘Miss Ambrose’ in glittering crimson lettering over your shoulder. She wrapped her arms around you in an unexpected hug.

“Congratulations,” she whispered. “You deserve it.”

Hardly able to utter your thanks, you attempted to compose yourself while she addressed the crowd again.

“I believe we can all agree that this young woman here exemplifies the qualities this community holds dear,” she said, her gaze shifting to you with pride evident in her features, leaving you overwhelmed at the praise of your community’s leader. “If you’d like to share a few words, honey, now’s your chance.”

You nodded, trembling as you stood in front of the microphone. “First, I wanna thank the judges, Ms. Trudy, Father Julian, and Ms. Louann for giving me such a great honor. I also wanna thank my parents for believing in me as much as they believe in this town. Most of all, I wanna say that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than Ambrose, and I just—“ the tears began to flow again, and you managed to get a hold of yourself long enough to add, “I’m so grateful to St. Ambrose for everything he’s done for us. I don’t feel worthy to represent him on his feast day, but I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

Taking a step back from the microphone, you smiled as Louann handed you a bouquet of flowers. Louann was the previous Miss Ambrose and as such had the privilege of serving on the judge’s panel to decide who her successor would be. You were sure she would’ve preferred her own daughter, but she wasn’t interested in competing, an oddly reclusive girl around your age you’d long since given up befriending. Since there were so few people in Ambrose, the pool of young women eligible for the coveted crown was small, and therefore the competition could only be held once every seven or so years. Besides the feast day of your town’s namesake patron saint, the Miss Ambrose competition was one of the most highly anticipated events around.

Being Miss Ambrose was a commitment, but one you’d taken on with pride. Besides helping lead the usual procession through town, you’d serve as an ambassador to the hundreds of tourists who flooded your small town to view the spectacle. Most importantly, you’d finally be allowed to attend the celebratory mass held the night of the Feast of St. Ambrose. You weren’t sure what exactly the criteria for attendance was, but being Miss Ambrose surely meant you were worthy enough to finally go.

You were too young to remember Ambrose being on the verge of ruin when the sugar mill shut down, but your parents never failed to remind you how Trudy convinced them and the other families that comprised your close-knit community to stay. Her unorthodox ideas of shifting the town’s economy to reflect that of its patron saint was risky, but it worked, and Ambrose had carved out a niche for itself in beekeeping, wax-melting, and the artistry associated with it. As such, she was the person everyone deferred to for just about everything. Her word uncontested law. And why not? You all had it pretty good in Ambrose compared to the horrors you’d heard of going on outside the town’s limits.

The festival’s celebrations brought in abundant tourists who would patronize your small town’s shops and businesses en masse. While you understood the importance of the tourism during the festival, you found the raucous way they acted almost disrespectful to St. Ambrose and the reverence he deserved for providing so much for you.

At the very least, photography wasn’t allowed in the church. It was there that the town’s offering to St. Ambrose was displayed, a wax figure, always carefully detailed to look almost indistinguishable from a real person. Tourists could marvel at the statue, but not document it. You didn’t care for them and how they seemed to regard you all as sideshow freaks for being so insular. It especially bothered you that Vincent had to wear his mask whenever they were around. You’d hear them whisper about it, speculating why he wore it. They had no idea it was because of them.

Otherwise, he presented his bare face to your community who regarded it with normalcy. When your family would join the Sinclairs in the pew at mass, you’d occasionally end up sitting next to Vincent. You’d feel his hands, strong and soft from his work, holding the one next to you a little tighter than you normally would during the Our Father. For the sign of peace, in which you’d exchange blessings between clasped hands and chaste kisses on the cheek, he presented the unscarred half of his face to you. Still, you silently wondered what the other half would feel like against your lips.

It felt like you blinked, and you were surrounded by the people you’d grown up with, all looking at you with an unfamiliar yet welcome respect. You basked in the attention like a sunbathing snake, each compliment and affirmation filling your chest with a warm pride.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” your mother said, giving you a hug with tears in her eyes.

Your father agreed, giving you a pat on the back. “You earned it! We’re so proud of you.”

“Y’all did a great job with this one,” Trudy said.

Your family was one of the dozen or so original families that stayed in Ambrose at Trudy’s urging. She never forgot your family’s loyalty and trust in her, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to sit with them at mass or be invited to their house for a meal or a holiday. You reveled in any extra time you got to spend with Vincent, although being in the presence of your town’s savior always left you in awe.

“C’mon, a lot of that’s thanks to you, Trudy, mentoring the kids and teaching catechism on top of everything else you do,” your mother said.

While Father Julian was the parish’s pastor, most spiritual matters went to Trudy, and her decision was final. She taught catechism and set the standards for receiving sacraments. It caused friction with the larger diocese, and not long after you made your first communion, St. Ambrose’s parish split from the Vatican. Trudy had explained they lost their way, and that Ambrose was the only place practicing real Catholicism. That was why new families moved in, looking for the truth. You felt lucky to live in such a place.

“I’ve got big plans for you, girl,” Trudy said. “‘Specially with the festival coming up.”

You nodded. “Of course, Ms. Trudy. Whatever you need.”

She walked away, and you noticed Vincent subtly motioning toward the service exit behind the stage. 

“Ready to head home?” your mother asked.

“I’ll catch up. There are a few people I want to talk to first,” you said.

Your father nodded. “Alright, well, don’t stay out too late.”

Once they had left, you didn’t see Vincent in the theater anymore, and managed to slip outside undetected a few minutes later, fending off your horde of admirers. There was only one person whose attention you really wanted, anyway.

He stood outside, waiting for you in the shadows of the building. Your heels clicked against the asphalt as you walked over to him.

“Congrats, Miss Ambrose,” Vincent signed. He smiled, reaching up to adjust the tiara atop your head.

“I don’t look ridiculous, do I?”

He shook his head. Your face heated up when his hands made gentle contact with your skin. He traced your gestures with the pads of his thumbs, brushing your forehead, down to your cheeks, and finally to your lips. Vincent cradled your face in his hands for a moment longer before kissing you.

Without hesitation, you kissed him back, taking in the texture of his lips, the warmth of his body. His hands fell to your hips, pulling you closer. Steadying yourself on his bicep, you silently marveled at his strength, gasping into the kiss and allowing his tongue access to your mouth. 

Despite having heard homilies at mass and ramblings from Trudy about the sin of fornication outside of marriage, you didn’t know what exactly they were talking about until the summer after you started high school. Bo had taken pleasure in explaining the dirty details, offering to give you a demonstration. You rejected him in disgust at how lewd he made the act sound, and until then, in Vincent’s arms, you didn’t understand how anyone could fall into that trap. 

You whined softly when he pulled away from the kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he signed.

“Why did you wait?”

He nodded toward the door. His mother. For how similar he and Trudy were, they always seemed to butt heads. Still, he was the son she spoke most highly of. Vincent, the focused, dutiful son who’d inherited his mother’s artistic ability and connection to the spiritual core of the town. Her feelings on Bo changed with the weather, though it seemed he was poised to become the public face of Ambrose. A good fit, he could talk his way in or out of almost anything. Lester kept a lower profile, but he was always around to help whenever someone needed a hand. If you were being honest with yourself, you thought he was the best fit to take over Trudy’s leadership duties in Ambrose, but she always had a clear preference for the twins. 

With Vincent being Trudy’s favorite, she’d be incredibly selective about who his potential partner would be. All relationships in town had to be cleared by her. She’d shut people’s requests down for petty reasons. Now that you were Miss Ambrose, there was no reasonable way she could object to you being with Vincent.

“Maybe after the festival, we can ask her,” you whispered hopefully.

He nodded, though he practically jumped away from you when the door outside swung open, clanging against the brick wall behind it. 

Bo stood in the doorway, a knowing grin on his face, partially obscured by the shadows. “Lookit you. Bagged Miss Ambrose herself. Never thought you had it in ya, Vinny.”

“What?” Vincent signed.

“Mama’s lookin’ for y’all. I can tell her you’re busy.”

Vincent rolled his eye at Bo, “We’ll be right there.”

When the door slammed shut, Vincent kissed you again, more quickly this time, and the two of you set off to find Trudy. 

Still backstage, socializing of course, her time was a precious resource nearly everyone in town was vying for. The Miss Ambrose contest was as good of a time as any for people to catch a few minutes with her, bring up concerns or ask for advice while she was available. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Vincent together. 

“Just the people I wanted to see,” she said, as if she hadn’t sent Bo searching for you. “Vincent’s gonna be making the offering for the festival this year, some other things too to help his old mama out. Can’t do as much as I used to. You’ll help around too, won’t you?”

“I’d love to. Anything you need, just tell me.” 

“You got a good head on your shoulders. Wouldn’t’ve dreamed of crownin’ those other two. Daphne had some nerve even competing after that stupid stunt she pulled last year,” Trudy spat.

The previous year, Daphne had publicly challenged Trudy on a new directive regarding new families that moved into town and their church attendance. It was an innocent enough remark, but the principle of the thing got to Trudy. She was spiteful and vindictive, one to hold a mean grudge, but you supposed those traits were necessary to be a leader like she was. 

“Then that Christine’s a hussy. Tried to make my Bo stumble.”

You had a sinking feeling it was the other way around, and Bo had sold his mama some backwards story after his advances were spurned. You once heard someone say he could flirt the panties off of a nun. Not entirely untrue, but he was too impatient and entitled to accept anything other than complete compliance with his sexual desires. 

“I’m sure you’re not surprised Louann’s daughter didn’t bother. Might’ve given you a run for your money,” she said, looking almost unimpressed by you for a split second.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” you said. “I can’t tell you enough how much this means to me.”

“You deserved it, honey. Gonna be a lot of work for you the next few weeks, but I think you can handle it.”

She shooed you away, telling you to go home before it got too dark. You almost laughed. In your small community, everyone knew each other. You were just as safe walking around at 2pm as 2am. Nothing bad ever happened in Ambrose. At least, not like the horrors of the outside world you’d gleaned from the few times you bothered to watch the nightly news. All it did was confirm how lucky you were to live in a place like Ambrose, where you wanted for nothing and had few worries, didn’t have to fear what could be lurking in the dark.

“I’ll walk her home,” Vincent volunteered.

Trudy nodded. “Good. You give my parents my best, now.”

“Of course, have a good night,” you said.

When you were a safe distance from the movie theater, far from wandering eyes, Vincent took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the top of it. The walk to your house would be short, but you wished for miles more to spend walking alongside him. Alone. He stole half a dozen more kisses from you while the two of you dragged out the walk to your front porch. If not a kiss, then his hands would be on you–the small of your back to guide you along or intertwined with yours as his thumb brushed soft circles on the top of your hand.

“I’m not going to see much of you for a while, am I?” you asked softly as your house finally came into view.

He shook his head. From what you understood, the offering was the most important part of the Feast of St. Ambrose. He’d already gotten lost in his work, whether additions to the wax museum or personal projects, but something so crucial would be sure to consume him until the day arrived.

A sad smile spread across your lips, though you understood. 

The next few days, you didn’t see much of Trudy or Vincent, instead helping around town with the various preparations for the Feast of St. Ambrose. You decorated the statue in the middle of town, an elaborate wax effigy of the patron saint, created by Trudy herself. As you covered it with carefully crafted floral wreaths and vines, people already began leaving small offerings at the base of the statue.

Just before the festival, you found time to visit Vincent, basking in the warmth of his studio, practically a furnace. Opera music grew louder as you approached. You’d spent time with him down there before, able to find your way from any of the subterranean entrances throughout town. 

Either the music was too loud, or he was too entranced in his work to notice you enter. His broad back was turned to you as he leaned over a work table in deep focus. A woman. Nude, bound to the table yet seemingly unable to move otherwise. Still you heard them through her gag. Her moans. Vincent’s hands were all over her body, caressing her curves with care, fingers tracing her features. A blinding envy flashed through you. 

“Vincent,” you snapped.

He turned around, shock that quickly twisted to rage. “What are you doing here?” he signed. “Get out!”

“No! Who is she?”

“It’s not what you think—“

“I’m Miss Ambrose!” you shouted. “Me! What does she have that I—“

“She’s the offering,” he signed.

You froze, your gaze shifting to the bound woman once more. “That’s not–you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“You’re going to kill her?”

He nodded. Her muffled screams grew louder. “The offering is killed and then encased in wax for St. Ambrose.”

No wonder photos weren’t allowed in the church during the festival. He eyed you cautiously, expecting you to run away screaming.

“Can I watch you do it?”

He hesitated. 

“Please, Vincent?” you asked softly. 

“I just don’t want you to think of me any differently.”

“For doing what’s right? For making sure we’re provided for? We’re not messed up. The rest of the world is.”

With a newfound confidence, he grabbed the knife on the tray next to the bound woman, and you watched in awe as he lifted his arm above her chest and swiftly plunged it perfectly through her heart. Before he could pull the knife from her still warm flesh, you placed your hand over his and dug the blade in a little deeper. 

[bonetrix-arts]

Here's your character description from a person who knows you on a surface level only;

Bonetrix-arts was a person who never did anything by half measures. When they were passionate about something, it didn't only bubble up inside them - it overflowed, breaking through the dam walls and spilling out to leave evidence in its wake. Their interests could be tracked as if they were an archeological dig, layers of plush animals, artwork, projects - all of them gathered with love and care.

They wanted to share these interests, draw others into the swirling maelstrom of their hyperfixations, enthusiastically crying 'yes!' whenever somebody new approached them with an idea or concept. As if the idea of 'too much' wasn't one they'd ever considered - or if they had considered it, they'd quickly dismissed it as something unwanted.

Why settle for less, when more was an option? Life was, after all, there to be lived. And if in living that life, one found happiness by surrounding themselves with stuffed toys, art, stories - immersing themselves in a world where others shared that same passion, building a soft wall against the harshness of the world around them - what was so wrong about that?

AW OHMYGOD 🥹🥹🥹 I'm honored this is your impression of me I an cherishing this until the day I become dust 🥰🥰🥰

[ask-the-attorneys]

(Just then, a man came out and walked up to the witness stand.)

Columbo: “Sorry your honor, I’m here to tell you that there is evidence pointing toward that report being forged and the person who forged it was Barry mayfield.”

Judge: “WHAT!”

Columbo: “yes I know, it’s quite odd, but here’s the actual fingerprint report mister wright.”

(Evidence updated: fingerprint analysis report.$

Columbo: “it’s quite damming actually.”

[Phoenix]

(It's this guy again... let's just look at this analysis.)

...

(! Mayfield...)

[appalachianapologies]

Okay the good news is that i got a 90% on my microbio exam the bad news is that i literally do not understand my linguistics homework. the other good news is holy crap i love you guys and your support is actually unreal!!!!! i am in awe and feel so honored ♥️♥️

So Mac, who has begun to slowly get his memories back (he still doesn’t know why, and it still is like. Hmm. weird.) is like “that can’t be right” because the Gwen that he remembers—the Gwen that is in the original timeline—turned over a new leaf right before she died. She realized in the dam that it was the wrong thing to do and made sure mac stayed alive in order for him to fix her mistake, so Mac is like “she wouldn’t escape” except for the glaring and obvious fact that yes, she did in fact just escape, mac.

So mac and jack go take a trip down to the blacksite and try and figure out what exactly happened, but while they’re there, they also come across murdoc (bc for some reason there’s only like one blacksite in this fic apparently lmao don’t judge me it’s for the plot) and murdoc does his creepy little murdoc things where he goes “oh macgyverrrrrr i had this wonderful dream the other night-” and at first mac just brushes it off because creepers gonna creep, but then he’s like “oh shit what if it’s not just the team that are getting these weird dream memories” so he decides it’ll be the lesser of two evils if he talks to murdoc.

Murdoc tells him about his “dream” which is 5x10, and mac is over here trying to act So Normal About This and is just like “wow haha so weird you’re weird and creepy anyway gotta go-” but mac’s poker face is awful let’s be honest, so murdoc gets suspicious. That being said Murdoc could not dream (pun intended) of the whole timeline shift thing, so he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, just that mac is acting weird as heck™ 

So anyway Jack and Mac talk with the guards and watch the security footage and there’s no denying it- Gwen snuck out of the blacksite and it most definitely isn’t for good reasons, but it’s not like they can do anything about it now but find her. Mac is still determined to prove that she’s a good person and that she’s changed, that she no longer agrees with Codex’s agendas and all of that, but everyone is like “bro look at literally all of this evidence. Sorry but she’s Not Good.”

Jack pulls him aside and is like “i know she’s your family but kid, she is not a good person.”

And mac is like “it’s not just that she’s my family, it’s that Gwen realized that what she was doing was wrong and tried to make amends.” to which jack is like “???? when??? I think I’d remember something like that” so mac has to exasperatedly explain to him that she changed back in mac’s original timeline.

Jack’s all “okay but this isn’t the original timeline” and then they get into an argument (they’re not mad at each other or anything, it’s honestly more like a debate) about how similar everyone is to mac’s original timeline. Mac mentions how literally everyone on the team is still normal and the same but then he starts to question it himself. Desi still has her same morals and everything, but it’s not like she’s the exact same. Neither is Russ, and somewhere out there Parker exists, but she never came to the Phoenix in this world.

The more Mac thinks about it the more he’s like “ohhhhh no. ohhhh fuck.” and then begins to question everything because hey why not give the man a lil existential crisis. Mac begins to wonder if he’s the one who has catastrophically screwed up the world beyond recognition or if it’s something else entirely- his only comfort is the knowledge that Mac didn’t have a choice in this, it’s not like he wanted to go back in time (though if given the choice he probably would’ve).

Anyway so Gwen has escaped and people are having weird memory dreams, and Mac just wishes they that could all go back to a couple of months ago when Mac had forgotten about the original timeline and everything was good and normal and dandy and everyone was alive and NOT having dream memory things. Buuuuut the fact of the matter is that they can’t go back in time, so Mac just has to figure out how to fix this and maybe figure out why people are having memory things happening while they sleep.

Mac, unfortunately, does not work well with theoretical science in any sense of the word. He much prefers the tangible parts of science (especially when they blow up). To Mac decides to get the entire team to help out. Riley starts trying to figure out if anything in the world was Not Quite Right when Mac got shot in the leg out in the forest and thus when he was randomly transported through space and time. Bozer and Leanna start to try and figure out how many people are having these dream/memory things while also staying on the downlow. Jack is just making sure that Mac is taking care of himself because he keeps having the headaches and jack doesn’t like it when his boy is hurting :( 

Mac also grapples with the fact that he’s going to have to tell Russ, Matty, and his dad (because oops James is still alive—i know this is my idea but like why couldn’t james stay dead. Mac is too good of a son for that to happen ik ik but STILL-), but at the same time he’s like “if i tell them they’re going to bench me and make me go through a psych eval” and nobody wants that to happen. On the other hand, James might be able to try and help figure out what exactly happened and how Mac got here.

Because the missions have slowed down for Mac and Jack, he has a lot of time to think about all of these things, and at some point he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t just be focusing on himself but also the other Mac. Because like. If he got magically transported to this timeline/universe, surely the mac that used to be here got put over there? And at first he agreed and thought that it was because the old mac here died when he was shot in the leg, so that makes sense that when he died in the hyperbaric chamber there would be some weird cosmic body swap or whatever. But. the more that mac thinks about it the less it makes sense.

If he died in the hyperbaric chamber he should’ve just done exactly that?? Died??? It doesn’t make sense that when he got transported to this timeline that he would be, if not well, then at least alive. So then Mac starts thinking about what if he didn’t actually die. What if his heart stopped and what if the old mac in this timeline also nearly died, but not quite?

There’s no way to prove this but Mac’s pretty sure this is what’s happening, but he also keeps it to himself. No reason to tell anyone if he can’t fully figure it out, simple as that. 

Also just as far as housekeeping goes, at this point mac basically has all of his memories of his past life back and honestly? He kind of wishes that he doesn’t. He’s all for the knowledge side of knowledge v ignorance, but not right now. He just wants to live in this better timeline and not have to think about the fact that he doesn’t technically belong here. And maybe that’s what it all comes down to- maybe he just doesn’t belong here.

It gets mac thinking about the other version of himself who might be in his original timeline—they’re both in the wrong place and mac feels guilty for taking the “better” life from… himself… it’s a weird thing to think about but one must not underestimate the guilt that mac can put on himself (in more ways than one?? Also literally??????)

So as much as Mac doesn’t want to, he starts thinking about how he can go back to his original timeline. It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t belong here, and now all of the people around him are being affected by his presence. And sure right now it’s just dream memory things, but what if it gets worse? What if other problems start to crop up because he’s been parading around in a universe that he doesn’t belong to?

He doesn’t dare tell Jack or anyone, but Mac thinks about how he needs to find a way out of this world for the sake of himself and everyone around him. And that brings us to everyone’s favorite emotional whump: Mac purposely distancing himself from his team (cough cough FAMILY cough cough) because he thinks that this will somehow make it easier when he eventually figures out a way to leave.

Everyone is instantly on high alert because that is!!! That is concerning sir you should get that checked out, but mac over here thinks that he’s being sly and sneaky (he is not). Mac stops holding the post mission get togethers, and because he now lives alone mac mostly just stays inside the house and slaves away in an attempt to figure out what the hell he’s even doing in this universe in the first place. At some point Mac convinces himself that he doesn’t even deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve to take advantage of the fact that jack and leanna and charlie (and james and gwen ig) are alive, even though he’s the one in the first place who saved them.

The guilt begins piling on and on and mac is purposely not seeking out help because he does genuinely think that he’s the problem here even though he isn’t!!!! 

At some point Jack finally puts his foot down and is like “okay. This has. Got to stop. Son i love you why are you so sad now :(“ but Mac just puts up his shields and lies but at the same time he’s also like “i should spend as much time with Alive Jack as i can because back home jack is dead” so he’s in this weird position of wanting and not wanting to be near jack during all hours of the day.

ANYWAY plot time surprise there’s actually plot in this part 3: The phoenix eventually figures out where the hell Gwen went after she escaped and much to Mac’s dismay, it does in fact look like she’s up to no good again, and that she hasn’t turned over a new leaf like Mac kept saying she had. This does not bode well for mac’s mental health but like cmon what actually does in my fics.

Anyway the thing that Gwen is doing is meddling with the people who made the nanobots (aka she made an agreement with the US government that she’d help them do Nefarious Things™ in exchange for her freedom, so yes she didn’t escape by herself but in fact it was aided with the government) BUT none of the Phoenix know that because in this universe they never figured out that it was the US government that was controlling the nanobots and so the Phoenix never separated and so they’re still getting fed lies that the nanobots were some terror plan.

(Basically at the point of the nanobots in this timeline, mac had all but forgotten what happened in his original timeline, so he couldn’t give hints to the team. By the time he re-remembered what the deal was with the government and the bots, it was kind of the least of his problems)

So Mac nor the phoenix know what Gwen is up to, but they did just randomly spot her on a security camera/social media post/whatever because Riley has facial rec programs running trying to find her. Despite the fact that Jack and Mac haven’t been going on many missions, Matty knows that this one is going to be important to them (bc of Gwen’s relationship to mac, again, they have no idea that the nanobots are being controlled by the government or by gwen’s new aid), so she sends them along with the rest of their big happy team: Riley, Bozer, Desi, Leanna

They all go out on an adventure to find Gwen and the whole time Mac is just so rattled because he wants to remember Gwen by what she did in his universe, by her finals moments sacrificing herself knowing that Codex was wrong and that Hey Maybe Terrorism Is Bad, but he just can’t. This is a new timeline, new universe, new Gwen.

Mac is eventually the one to corner her and is like “you don’t have to do this, this isn’t who you are,” blah blah blah, but Gwen is having absolutely none of it and is instead like “uno reverse, this isn’t who you are, you can still be on the right side of things” and mac is like “???? bestie you are on the wrong side.”

Gwen gives some self righteous speech about what the history books will remember or some shit like that (idk man every tv villain does the same thing just think of one of the pre-existing villain speeches) and then is like “it doesn’t really matter what you want or don’t want to do, we can always just control you lol” and then nanobot time teehee.

Anyway Mac and Jack wake up later, no memory of what they’ve done bc nanobots, all they know is that it couldn’t have been good. While they’re trying to get to a phone and contact the Phoenix and also try and figure out what happened while they were under control, Jack is like “we need to get these things out. I’m not letting them [the us government] control us for any longer” and mac is geared up to argue bc the whole hyperbaric chamber death thing… but then internally he’s like “wait what if this is the way that can bring me back to my universe! Perfect!” so outwardly he’s like “oof yeah i suppose so :(“

When they finally get back to the phoenix (im stil in the process of thinking about what gwen made them do via the nanobots, please stand by lol), mac casually slips in the old hyperbaric chamber idea and everyone is kind of all “...last time we suggested that you kind of panicked. And by kind of i mean a lot” so mac just shrugs and convinces them that he has since done research and believes this is the best way.

And the thing is is that mac told everyone (even desi who he told first) that he came here bc he “died” or whatever in his universe, he didn’t exactly say how… just that he did. Nobody knows that it’s because of the chamber (and if i wrote in that they did shhhhhh just pretend that i didn’t lmao. Pretend that no one knows except mac right now). 

So they set up the chambers and jack is like “see you on the other side :)” and mac is like “hahahahahHAHAHAH YEP” and is super normal about it (he is not and everyone can see through it but also they don’t really know what exactly is going on.)

So. chamber, suffocation, bad things. The nanobots leave jack’s body but not mac’s and mac is like “ah perfect just like what happened in my universe but with riley” so he has great hopes that this will work. Things go dark just like they did in the original timeline, and he’s planning on closing his eyes and when he opens them he’ll be back home…

…with most of his friends dead. But it’s fine. It’s good it’s fine it’s dandy and it’s totally worth it.

(and it doesn’t end here but i need brainstorming time to think about whether or not i actually want this to work or not work. Hmm. hmmmmmm hmm hmmm. I literally do not know yet lol. But in the mean time i just want to say you all are amazing and wonderful and i cannot believe how many people found this silly little idea of mine interesting it honestly!!!! It blows my mind and warms my heart and i just wanted to say Thank You so so much. I love you all sm <3)

Who wants to read an essay about the strangest MacGyver fic idea I've had yet

[yukiotacon]

Thanksgiving Haurchefant edition

Oh honey you can bet your ass he is gonna help you cook

He cannot bare the idea of you doing the brunt of the work

Will help you with all the food prep

Haurchefant would definitely be the type to sneak a bit of few marshmallows that were meant for the casserole

He would jokingly play it off though evidence was quite damming ( Haurchefant's cheeks were like a nutkin eating)

Will take every opportunity to hold you from behind

Haurchefant would enjoy every moment because it means he is spending time with you

He would feel extremely honored when you asked him to carve the roasted bird

All in all Haurchefant is happy to have spent Thanksgiving with you

[arcaneoddity]

Tell me your PH blorbos etc.!!

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED *cracks knuckles*

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) I would say it's a tie between Break and Reim but honestly... It's Reim. Anything else would be me lying to myself. Honorable mention goes to Elliot bc I don't think about him that much but mAN the kid deserved better.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) Gilbert. The Alices. Sharon. Echo. Also Lottie. The list is longer, technically, but MochiJun just makes almost all her characters look So Very Shaped, I can't decide, we'd still be sitting here tomorrow.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) Oscar!! Best Uncle Award tbh, give this man a medal. Also Lily in a please-somebody-adopt-this-ancient-minor-already kinda way.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) Shelly bc let's be honest she's A+, would let her step on me, and her being a Rainsworth she actually might. She really looked at Kevin and went, I can fix him AND I can make him worse, and she did. I respect that.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) Where do I even start, a lot of folks in this manga are problematic, controversial, AND pathetic, in a way. Kevin/Break. Vincent. Lacie and the entire Glen situation. Barma, Miranda and Rufus probably. I wouldn't call all of them faves but they're all so layered and interesting!!

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) Break but in a hurt/comfort kinda way (the fic I've written is evidence enough I guess). Vincent in an I would like to stab him in the foot a little kinda way. Oh and also Jack I guess.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) Yura and Zai and I wouldn't even blink. Maybe also Jury but she's like, on the cusp between horse plinko and eeby deeby, she's just out there doing her got dam job.

[coldmilkcreamery]

Luminescent Moonlight

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: nct dream x male reader 🥀🌹

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1862

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: y/n sneaks out of the dorms every friday night. the dreamies notice and follow him only to find out that…

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: degradation; swearing

𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 🌙

𝗮/𝗻: uhh... idk how to feel about this? at first i was proud of it but now reading it i'm like... meh but enjoy ig ^^ this marks the last day of our launch week, which means we won't be posting daily anymore :(( we have 2 requests and we're working on them, if you have any feel free to drop it at the ask box !! good night <33

> 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 <

-

Both hands on the clock point at 12 again, signaling Y/N’s departure from the NCT dorms. As their newest and youngest member, Y/N was thought of as the sweetest, purest, and on top of all, most respectable member of NCT. He graduated Neo High with honors, was friendly on campus and auditioned for SM only once, unlike the sea of trainees who had to audition for more than three times. Because of this, he was viewed as this innocent prince once SM told the boys that he would be joining NCT. But, just like any cliché scenario, none of them knew of what Y/N did in the dead of night, when the moonlight shone on the city and no one knew him, not even by his silhouette.

✦ 𝙨𝙞𝙭 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 ✦

“Has anyone noticed Y/N during the weekends recently? He usually isn't sleeping on his bed when he’s supposed to be.” Shotaro asks, genuinely worried about him.

“He probably just goes to the comfort room and stays in there for the whole night or something, no biggie.” Jeno says sarcastically, shoving a mouthful of popcorn into his mouth as he blabs his mouth.

“Hm,” Jisung mumbles, skeptical of Y/N’s actions, “there is definitely something up with him.” Jisung wasn’t one to get jealous often but with the addition of Y/N into NCT, the beloved, innocent, has-never-committed-a-sin Y/N, the attention wasn’t on him anymore. He was a tad bit jealous, but he would never admit that out loud.

“So what do you wanna do about it then?” Jeno replies, still staring straight at the television playing Titanic, “Confront him about it? It’s not like he’s gonna budge. What are you gonna do then, force him to tell you? Huh?”

“Quit being an asshole Jen.” Jaemin slaps Jeno sitting beside him, a frown on his face.

“How about we just, you know, pretend to sleep and wait till he gets up and leaves, then follow him?” Sungchan suggests, equally as worried as Shotaro. Both the former and the latter know how hard it is to be new members of a group that has already debuted. So, they felt the need to let Y/N know that he didn’t have to keep leaving the dorms, for an escape or whatever.

“Then it’s decided,” Jeno speaks up, finally peeling his eyes off the television, “tonight, we find out what the fuck Y/N has been doing for the past 6 weeks.”

✦ 𝙨𝙞𝙭 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧 ✦

Y/N rises up from his bed, making extra effort not to make a noise. He grabs the hickory duffle bag from under his bed and unzips it to check if he’s had everything for his night out ready. He zips it back just seconds after and drapes it over his shoulder, getting ready to leave. He pulls his hoodie up and ties his black converses before opening the wooden door and leaving the Dream Dorms, oblivious to the boys’ plans.

Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, Sungchan, Shotaro and Jisung are led from the warmth of their dorms into the cold autumn night as they follow the figure wearing a black hoodie in front of them. The 8 boys walk for what seems like hours, crossing street to street, going through alley to alley, main road to main road as they do nothing but stay in silence and tail the (H/C) boy in front of them. They don’t know how many neon signs they’ve passed by now, only noticing how red ones become more and more evident as they venture deeper into the city.

“I think we’re in the red light district.” Haechan blurts, being met with shushes from the 7 other boys he was with. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Y/N of course, who pauses and turns around, only to look at a dark, empty street behind him. Y/N furrows his brows, confused, as he resumes his amble towards his destination.

Hiding behind garbage bins, the 8 boys sit in disgust as they hide from Y/N, scared of being caught halfway through their stalking session. Haechan peeks his head out and speaks up once again, but this time quietly, “The coast is clear.” All 8 stand up synchronized, noses scrunched as they glare at Haechan.

“No shit sherlock,” Chenle whisper-shouts, hues of scarlet and crimson decorating his face, “it’s red everywhere! Of course we’re in the red light district!”

The others giggle as they stare at Chenle.

“No, you dumbass,” Haechan replies calmly, “a red light district is like a place full of clubs and.. you know…” He trails off as the other seven’s brows furrow.

“Let’s not jump into conclusions,” Sungchan cuts him off, remaining positive, “let’s just keep following him.”

They sneak behind Y/N once again, trying their best not to get caught. It was only a minute or two before they saw Y/N turn a corner. The 8 slowly creeped up on the opening of the alley, just in time to see Y/N enter a building with an indigo sign, which stood out in the sea of bright, neon red signs.

“You don’t think… he’s a…” Jaemin spoke up as all of them shared a glance. The eight of them stood in silence, too scared to speak up, under the illusion that Y/N may be a male stripper. That wouldn’t be a problem but he was… 17.

“Only one way to find out.”

♪♪♪♪...

The deafening music boomed from the speakers, resonating into the indigo aesthetic of the club. Contrary to the word, this side of the club was the opposite of aesthetic: sweaty bodies stuck together, giving the 8 boys an unsettling feeling. They had almost started contemplating on leaving the said club, but not before Jaemin spots a quiet section, free of the sweaty bodies grinding against each other. It wasn’t free of people, per se, as there were a few people making out here and there, but it definitely wasn’t as congested as the indigo dance floor they had previously stood on. They saw vacant seats at the bar and, just like anyone who had been walking and hiding for 30 minutes, took a seat. All 8 of them had their backs turned away from the bar as a familiar voice spoke up.

“What can I get for you?” Y/N asks, a smile forced on his face. Y/N’s blue velvet suit shimmers under the spinning disco ball, exhibiting various accents of blue. Azure, cobalt and lapis and sapphire compliment Y/N’s face as he looks down, glass in one hand and towel on the other, wiping. He’s wearing nothing but a blue velvet blazer as a top, chest out as if he was as the beach. The boys turn around, mouths agape and unable to speak. They lock eyes with Y/N when the latter looks up due to the long, uncomfortable silence, eyes wide open, his body frozen in shock.

Attempting to cover his exposed chest, Y/N drops the glass and immediately places his hands flat on his chest, the feeling of fear, embarrassment and surprise devouring him.

“Y/N what the fuck?” Jeno blows up, completely losing his self control, “What the fuck are you doing in this… this.. strip club? You’re sev-”

Y/N unsticks his palms from his chest and re-sticks it onto Jeno’s mouth, shushing the older. “Shhh. let’s…” he pans his eyes from left to right, staring into his hyung’s disappointed faces, “let’s talk outside. Wait for me.”

The boys head towards the exit as they pass by the cramped dance floor once again, the silver disco ball spinning endlessly above them. They exit the club, the chilly breeze of the autumn night slapping them on the face once again as they step out. They wait in silence, leaning on the wall, occasionally staring at the indigo sign above them. Just as Chenle was about to break the silence, the cushioned doors of the club open slowly, revealing a boy in a more decent outfit. Y/N steps out, head burning holes into the stone floor. As soon as the doors of the club seal shut, all 8 of them went into chaos.

“What the fuck?”

“Is this what you’ve been doing for the past 6 weeks?”

“What are you doing with your life?”

“I can’t believe you’re actually a fucking stripper. What made SM recruit a stripper?”

He let himself get scolded but got caught off guard when Jisung uttered those words. “Wait, stripper?” Y/N looks up from the now-molten floor, eyebrows furrowed, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, “I— how could you even call me that?”

“Don’t act like you didn't have your chest on display before we got there.” Jisung replies, disgust written on his face, “Is this really what you've been doing for the past month and a half? Whoring yourself out? I guess you love people’s attention on your body don’t you?”

The gates of the dam that had held his tears finally gave out, spilling endlessly as Y/N tried to find his words, “I— that’s just the uniform for us bartenders… I work in a club so… we’re required to—��

“Exactly Y/N!” Jaemin shouts, “You’re 17 for fucks sake, why the fuck are you working at a bar? You’re a fucking idol! You're going to be publicly announced as a new member next month! What if people start recognizing you, huh? Then what?”

“I-I’m sorry hyungs. I—” tears gushed from Y/N’s orbs, coating his face, “I just did this for money.” Disgusted looks turned to looks of confusion as the 8 boys stared at Y/N, puzzled.

“M-my mom is in the hospital, she’s dealing with stage iii breast cancer and,” Y/N says, shaking, unable to complete a sentence without stopping, “and my family couldn’t afford the hospital bills, and the company wasn’t paying me yet– and I– I couldn’t wait any longer so when I saw a poster one day, looking for a bartender, I applied and lied about my age. Hyungs I’m really sorry, I- I didn’t do it because- because I liked putting my body on display. To be honest I was really uncomfortable but– but I would do anything for my mom and—”

Y/N pauses as he feels a warmth envelope him, curing his heart’s hypothermia. “We’re sorry. You know we can always lend you a hand, right?” Jaemin says, regretting his thoughts. Renjun adds to the two boys hugging, then Shotaro, then Chenle, and soon enough, all 9 of them are one; all hugging it out in a giant fluff ball, in the aged alleyway under the moonlight.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung states, voice softer as ever, “for calling you that. And, I know your mom is strong, she’ll get through this.”

Y/N felt warmer, and suddenly, under the moonlight, all his worries and doubts vanished. Nothing was more calming than a hug from the 8 boys he loved the most. They stayed like that for as long as Y/N needed, the moonlight’s luminescence lingering in the air.

End.

-

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙: 01.11.21

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙: 01.12.21

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 42

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor loses patience.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, brief but intense torture

AO3

It was the beginning of the fourth day when your captor spoke with you again. The Alp had been delivering your meals and exchanging your buckets lately, so you’ve been without conversation and another human presence for a full day.

His appearance was not comforting. He was unshaven with hollow bags around his eyes, his lips chapped and his expression thin. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

Good, you thought with no amount of sympathy. I hope you’re sleeping on a bed of nails.

He dragged the folding chair in front of the bars and sat down, staring at his hands for a moment before speaking. When he did, the words were heavy and drawn.

“My name… is Helmut Zemo.”

You watched him carefully. Learning the name of your captor wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Why reveal it now?

“I am formally an officer of the Sokovian Armed Forces. I was there, when the Ultron army attacked my country, and I was called upon to defend it. I did so with pride and determination.” He glanced down, voice flat as if he was recounting a report. “I lived in Novi Grad with my wife and son. It wasn’t safe for them, so I took them to stay with my father. It should have been safe.”

You digested what he said; it made sense and his accent did sound Sokovian now that you thought about it. But you couldn’t figure out why he was telling this all to you now, so you decided not to speak.

“My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, ‘Don’t worry. They’re fighting in the city. We’re miles from harm.’ When the dust cleared, and the screaming stopped, it took me two days until I found their bodies. My father… still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers?”

He shook his head, emotions creeping back into his voice.

“They went home.”

A hollow pit of dread grew in your chest.

“The irony of it is, I was a great believer of the Avengers, once. I always wished to see them, especially the Iron Man, and fighting alongside them should have been an honor. Instead, my dreams turned to nightmares and my hopes to ash.”

He met your eye and the rage in them was so palpable you drew back a fraction. It was the gaze of someone who had nothing left to lose and would stop at nothing for revenge.

“I knew I couldn’t kill them. More powerful men than me have tried. I have been seeking the solution for years. An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.”

You fought to suppress the chill that shot up your spine. It didn’t work.

“But how to do it? What weapon could I wield against the Avengers that would achieve such a goal? I turned to HYDRA for answers. I explored their old labs, the ones that were left untouched. There are many with evidence of their demonic experiments. And there was one in particular that caught my eye…”

Zemo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he peered at you.

“Do you know what secrets it held within it? A large stone archway. Ancient. Powered by a piece of the Tesseract itself. It could create portals to other realms. Or at least, that was its purpose. I had no intention of walking through something so untested. HYDRA’s idealism is more realized than its creations. But… I was able to summon a demon. I bound it to me. And it had a very, very interesting tale to tell about another demon in this world… along with the human he protected.”

His smirk was thin.

“I’m sure you can guess who the demon was referring to.”

The Alp that Bucky had banished… had ended up in this lunatic’s hands. The odds had to have been astronomical, and either this man was lucky or you had the shittiest luck in existence.

As if he knew your thoughts, his eyes brightened with dark amusement.

“It was as if the universe was answering my prayer, and the opportunity to end the Avengers was within my grasp.”

Zemo rose to his feet, adjusted his brown coat, and looked you in the eye as he added:

“Who better to kill a Stark than a demon who has done it before?” He clicked his tongue. “Captain America’s own childhood friend.”

You jumped to your feet, prepared to scream every obscenity you knew at him, but then Zemo snapped his fingers. Black smoke poofed next to you and a pair of claws grabbed you by the shoulders.

Your shout was choked off as the Alp teleported you out of the cell. Even the short distance was enough to disorient you, sulfur cloying in your nostrils as you stumbled and gagged.

“I did warn you,” Zemo said, the regret there surprisingly sincere. “Your cooperation will be given. How painful it will be is your choice.”

You were still coughing, unable to respond, and the demon dragged you beside its master as you left the room for the first time in days.

The hallways were made of cold stone, much like your cell, with bulbs spacing the ceiling every few feet. There was nothing to be heard except scuffling footsteps and ragged breathes as you tried to break out of the demon’s hold around your neck. You might as well have been trying to fight with a statue all the good it did you. The Alp was very strong despite its jutting bones.

The room where your journey ended was considerably large and cylindrical in shape. You glanced around in confusion, and it took you a minute to realize you were in some sort of silo. Metal catwalks spanned overhead, tied to them were strings of bulbs, but the thing that drew your eye were the glyphs. Covering the walls, the ceiling, and there was even a large, elaborate circle carved into the floor made out of chalk. It looked like an especially evil children’s game.

Your struggles increased when Zemo pointed toward your destination and the demon obeyed. Directly in the circle was a table with wrist and ankle restraints built into the metal.

Every primal instinct in your body screamed that this was a bad place, but the demon dragged you onto the table and fastened the shackles around your limbs without difficulty.

“Don’t do this!”

You didn’t exactly know what he was planning, but you desperately didn’t want to find out.

Once the demon stepped out of the circle, Zemo bent down, and you had to turn your head to see what he was doing. He had a piece of chalk and scribbed in the last piece of the circle.

You wanted to know what it meant, but when Zemo approached a lectern a few feet away from the table, you grew still. It was covered with black cloth, and what he lifted from the surface froze your heart. A dagger, curved and constructed of ink black metal, flashed sinisterly in the light. Glyphs were carved into the handle and blade, leaving a cold wash of fear across your skin.

“This blade is called an athame. It’s necessary to the process of creating and binding demons.” Zemo drew closer, studying the blade as he slowly turned it, appraising it with quiet reverence. “It’s a sort of demon-bane. No doubt you are feeling that affect right now. The part of you tied to a demon will respond very strongly to this blade. But don’t worry. The human part of you will not be harmed beyond a physical wound.”

He was right—just staring at the blade filled your stomach with a sick churning, and you flinched when he used the blade to rip open the shoulder seam of your jacket and shirt. You tried not to whimper, heart racing as your chest tightened in panic. He lowered the blade toward the unchanged, faded mark on your shoulder.

You could have sworn the faint lines of the pentagram turned red as the edge drew closer. Once the flat of the blade touched your skin, you couldn’t watch anything at all. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but scream as cold agony ripped through your body.

The blade was removed from your skin long enough for you to take a breath, and then it was applied again, sending you into another ripple of agony. You thought Zemo might have been talking to you, telling you this was a last resort to draw in Bucky short of killing you, but you were already dying. How could your body tolerate so much pain and still survive? How could your mind continue to function and not break as the agony lit up your nerves like a power grid?

And then, something changed. Through the electric pain that was so intense you thought you would catch fire, there was a shift. Small at first, like a leak that had sprung in a dam, and then all at once it released, flooding your body with warmth, a balm against the pain.

It felt so wonderful you actually laughed, throat raw from the screaming so the sound came out broken, but it was unmistakably a laugh.

Zemo pulled the blade away, but you ignored him. All of your thoughts were turned to the golden thread in your mind, no longer cold and dead, but alive and thrumming with… with… confusion, and then worry, and finally…

Rage.

Your smile died. The emotions you were feeling weren’t your own.

“That’s enough for now,” came Zemo’s soft voice. He seemed pleased. “Your cooperation is appreciated.”

“Nnn…” You struggled to speak, finding your control over your body was sluggish and distance. “No…”

His retreating footsteps were your only answer, leaving you tied to the table where you were helplessly bound.

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears leaked from the corners. You should have fought harder. Should have resisted instead of letting that crack form within you.

Because of your carelessness… Bucky was awake.

And he was furious.

Next Chapter

[murdocking]

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

c𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣; 𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗆𝖺 𝗄𝖾𝗂/𝖿𝖾𝗆! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒. 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁. 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗂𝗄𝖺𝗐𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗌...𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇...𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗌𝗁...𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖫𝖬𝖠𝖮𝖮𝖮 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗐𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇

Lights adorned every crevice of the wonderous palace, the land decorated with vibrant flowers covering the twisting vines on the archway to the prince’s home. Carriages and stallions littered the entrance of the stone castle, beautiful people with smiles on their faces made their way to the open doors where music played by the talented Takeda swarmed the main room. As couples whispered small compliments to each other and gossiping mothers chose appetizers for their husbands and children- the prince was being dolled up by his irritatingly clingy friends.

“please tsukki- it’s just a little more left-“ “I cannot even breathe through this disgusting paste on my face- god can these imbeciles leave this is pointless.” The prince sighed in heavy annoyance, his blonde hair being tied back (he swore he was going to grab one of Miss Yachi’s knives and cut it himself) and glasses thrown on the vanity’s hardwood. “oh be quiet- its only for a few hours not to mention you enjoy ridiculing your people Tsukishima.” Sugawara grumbled, tired of his complaints as he mixed more water in his brush to loosen its bristles; to which Tsukishima jerked his head, standing up to look down on his older companion. “don’t you forget your place.” Yamaguchi simply stares at the articulate tile below his foot, wanting nothing more than to be immersed into the joy the people displayed outside of the stuffy room he was currently in.

Ukai stands behind his companion, Takeda, while his delicate fingers hit every key on his piano perfectly- simply whispering to him about future songs the two would be playing later during the prince’s ball; Takeda would answer with a distracted tone to all the questions Ukai posed, frustrated the blonde to no end.

“you’re lucky you have an excuse not to be paying attention right now, Takeda.” “of course, that’s perfect monsieur Ukai.” “god dam- “

The moon seemed to be even brighter that night, and to Tsukishima Kei- it was as though the gods had decided to mock his name as he spent another year alone for his birthday, hands of his ‘servants’ fixing his appearance while Sugawara spoke with faux pride in the main room to introduce his prince. The room filled with harsh silence as Tsukishima’s tall stature stepped quietly down the carpeted steps with an uninterested gaze over the crowd of people he didn’t know, and didn’t wish to know. “my prince, it is my honor to begin your-“

The dark doors that had been shut close suddenly opened, the creak of its hinges holding more volume than Sugawara or Takeda could have ever wished to achieve. A battered down woman limped in, her hair was thin against her fragile face- her wrinkles holding dirt and mud, evidence of tough travel conditions. Tsukishima could barely contain his chuckle at her appearance.

“m-my prince…! Please, if you would be so kind a-as to help me, I seem to ha-“ “and you have the pure audacity to enter my home, disgustingly ruining the beauty of this ball…and not even bring me a gift…? You are a bold woman…” Tsukishima scoffed under his breath, Yamaguchi frowned at just how hurtful his best friend had become. “b-but my prince, I do bring you a gift…” she turned to her worn down and sopping satchel, pulling a beautiful rose that even Sugawara could smell from his place in the middle of the room. Its petals shimmered in the candlelight of the party- and its green stem was of such a pigment that all attending were sure not even the finest of painters could achieve such a hue.

Tsukishima breathes hard, walking closer to the elderly woman before gently taking the rose. He stares at it a moment, his hands moving on their own as he throws it behind his back with a small “oops”. the woman stared at his highness in pure disbelief, his arrogance had upset her to the highest degree.

“very well.” she stands up, and its as though she was growing in front of Tsukishima as he stared at the elderly woman morph into a beautiful woman who seemed to only be in her 20s. ‘well fuck?’ she held a strong glare at him as her ripped hood lifted off of her short brown hair, twisting into dark silver crown that never met her strands of hair. “Tsukishima Kei.” He gulped slightly, his hands grabbing onto the end of his shirt as he tried to focus on the (slightly blurry) scene before him, the lady easily moving behind him to grab the flower he had earlier discarded. “although appearances may be deceiving, all should know who you really are at heart” her delicate hand pushed harshly against his chest, her eyes never moving from his “I damn you to become what you really are” her finger snapped in front of his face and stole his coming breath instantly. “a detestable beast.”

When he opens his mouth to retort, a scream erupts instead as his bones and joints of his hands felt like they were being stretched by a torture machine, his spine felt contorted against his caving and heaving stomach. the enchantress watches in amusement, her stare towards his party held no remorse as the flick of her wrist opened the doors once more. “I will count down from 30. You have that long until you join your dearest prince.” it was something out of a manic state that made families depart without a care for each other- a child being separated from their father, and a man being lost without his love. the cooks in the far back of the palace broke the windows with a poor attempt of leaving the horror of the castle as Tsukishima’s screams of pure agony and pain changed into animalistic growls. the enchantress twirls the rose in her hand, her voice of honey contrasting the words that fell out of her mouth “if by the last petal falls, and you have truly loved someone and they have loved you back- you and everyone here will be free from my curse. However,” she cranes her neck and motions her hand downwards- closing the gates to the castle and boarding up all the glass pane windows, “if not, you will forever be a beast. And everyone here will be part of your castle- for eternity.” And with a final roar of protest and pain, Tsukishima had truly become a beast.

 -----

“I don’t think I understand that- how could you be selling a whole loaf of bread for 3 coins yesterday and today it is 7 coins for half of a stale loaf? What sick game are you playing here, Bokuto?” You speak with annoyance, tapping your foot on the stone floor while your friend gives you a short smirk “im not playing anything besides business. That, my friend, was merely a discount. You have to pay my full price.” He retorts, giving a smile to a child as the boy hands the older one a bag of coins- setting two loaves of fresh bread onto the kid’s small hands “now I know you’re lying straight to my face, Bokuto.” You say, stuffing your hand into your dirty dress pocket, counting the silver coins in your head as you pull out 2 more before pressing them onto the wooden table. “there’s no way I’d be receiving your ‘discount’ for nearly 19 years. Just give me the bread and I’ll be on my way.” he ponders for a moment, his eyes getting lost in the crowd when he sees the black tuff of hair wandering through the middle of it. “fine, just this onc-“ “thank you Bokuto pleasure doing business with you!” You quickly snatch the fresh bread beside him instead of the one you two had previously agreed on, to which you heard his protests fade out as you stuffed the bread into your woven basket. you greet the widow by the bookstore with a wave and a quarter of poorly cut bread.

“you know, you never have to give me this my dear.” “it is alright though! Kou always lets me off the hook, so I don’t mind sharing Ms.” You say, giving a curt nod before departing- heading inside to catch the eye of Akaashi, his eyes quickly scanning your outfit and bag, seeing the bread inside. “he was looking for you again” “should I feel honored?” you scoff, and he lightly rolls his eyes as he hands you the newest supply of books. “im sorry to disappoint, Y/n- but all we have are the same old stories. Even I’m getting tired of them all” the male beside you sighs, rubbing his eyes as you coyly take the one on the top of the stack. “oh that’s just fine Akaashi, I don’t mind it. It isn’t like I have much to do anyways” “you could be making friends but I mean, that’s just my input…” “now you-“ “hey akaashi!” Bokutos face suddenly comes in, startling you as Akaashi perks up- giving his friend a wave as his shirt and pants is coated in scattered flour. “bokuto what did I say about cleaning off before coming inside…” “but…” “well! I need to be going! Thank you again Akaashi for the supply. I’ll be back later with the ones I took last week” “you know you don’t have to y/-“ he speaks as you stand up, not wanting to be in the middle of the tense atmosphere. “I don’t mind it, I’ll see you both around okay?”

And as every day, you walk through the bustling town- ignoring the stares and whispers directed at you while you flipped the page of the book you were currently reading, the characters felt more real to you than the literal people bumping into you. you kept walking, following the same dusty stones as the day before to lead up a small hill to your part of town- small chicks running beside your foot as their mother hens stood behind them. “father, I’m home.” silence, he wasn’t home yet.

“you know, in a few years- instead of you saying that it could be our child.” You jump, being caught off-guard by the taunting voice of the most annoying piece of shit you had ever met. “oikawa… I don’t know if you know this, but- you’re quite delusional monsieur!” you speak with a fake pep- his smile never faltering as he gives your free hand a kiss. “oh but imagine the sight y/n. wouldn’t you agree it would be quite exquisite?” “no.” “oh” he stops speaking for a moment before a ‘tsk’ leaves from between his lips. “you know y/n, im honestly doing you a favor by asking you to be my wife. Everyone adores me and…I suppose you- you would be comfortable with me. I mean not to mention,” he leans down a little to meet your eyes, “when your father passes, there will be no suitors for you. of course, you are stunning- but being a wife ah… you’re probably…last on the list there. You wouldn’t want to end up the new village widow, would you? living off the kindness of the townsfolk?” his harsh words slipped from his pretty lips, and you stared in disbelief- you were genuinely hurt. “well,” you cleared your throat, blinking a bit to stop any form of an emotional outburst from rising to the surface. “I would rather be a street rat stealing from whoever than being someone’s medal from his war to show off and be of use for pleasantries.” You say, begging internally you wouldn’t crack under his strong gaze. “wow, I wouldn’t peg you for the type to bite. That only makes you more hm…” he gasps. “irritating.” “you should leave oikawa.” “you know where to find me, Y/n.”

-----

𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘓𝘔𝘈𝘖𝘖 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 + 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬

[p-redux]

New to the fandom, and stumbled across your site. I see the Twitter comments on his posts of him being married or gay or whatever. Is there any point of making a simple comment that it isn't true, or does that just feed into it?

Hi, Anon, welcome! Sam HAS ALREADY addressed the he's secretly with Cait rumors and the gay rumors. On the positive side--it put the TRUTH in writing for posterity. On the negative side--it did nothing to stop Extreme Shippers or assorted Haters and Trolls from continuing to spite ship, hate, or troll. A case of dammed if you do, dammed if you don't.

Extreme Shippers, (who refused to believe when I told them my sources confirmed Sam and Cait were not a real life couple, when Diana Gabaldon told them, when EVERYONE associated with Sam and Cait told them), said that they would ONLY believe Sam and Cait weren't together in real life IF Sam and Cait said so THEMSELVES on VIDEO. Weeelllll, that's exactly what Sam and Cait did YEARS ago.

https://www.eonline.com/news/729472/are-sam-heughan-and-caitriona-balfe-dating-the-outlander-stars-set-the-record-straight

Aaaand, of course Extreme Shippers cried and wailed, and gnashed their teeth BUT, as they always do, they managed to discredit the video, reset the SamCait ship's course, and off they sailed to ship another day and month, and year, and YEARS.

Even after the infamous video, it STILL wasn't enough when Sam FINALLY posted a PUBLIC pic of him with his then serious girlfriend, Mackenzie Mauzy (2016-2018) right on his own Instagram account. Or that Cait herself and everyone who knows Sam "liked" the relationship-confirming, "Instagram official" pic...

NOPE, those who didn't want to believe it, didn't.

And even after Cait literally MARRIED her long time beau, Tony McGill (who I FIRST told the fandom about in 2014), the last of the Extreme Shippers still held on and hold on like barnacles stuck at the bottom of the long ago sunken SamCait ship.

As for the gay rumors, tons has been written about this and I've already DEBUNKED that many times (including posting source info of people who know Sam personally) BUT Sam himself has also ALREADY set the record straight (pun very much intended) ;-).

PS. There's nothing wrong with being gay, Sam simply isn't, so it's wrong to spread lies about him. That's all.

Here is an interview he did where he addressed it directly. Click link for full interview, but here's an excerpt

http://www.newnownext.com/spy-who-dumped-me-star-sam-heughan-is-honored-that-you-think-hes-gay/07/2018/?utm=share_twitter

And most recently, when Sam put out a statement about the harassment he has been receiving for so long and false allegations about him, including the gay rumors.

So there you have it. Sam has addressed BOTH himself, directly and publicly. There's nothing more he can do. Sane, rational people said "Thanks for clearing that up, Sam, we believe you." And went on with their lives. People who are out of touch with reality and/or don't want the truth and/or are trolls and/or are fandom assholes, said Sam must be lying, it's a conspiracy by the powers that be, and all sorts of convoluted mumbo jumbo that only tinhatters, haters, and trolls still spread. Simple as that.

ALL of the info is out there at this point, including on my blog. Irrefutable evidence that Sam is not married to Cait, has never been romantically involved with Cait, and that Sam is not gay.

So, anyone in the Outlander fandom in 2021 has a choice to either be in the sane part of the fandom or the um, opposite of sane part of the fandom. Choose wisely, Anon.

None so blind as those who will not see...

"I see," said the blind man, but he never did.

[wisteria-lodge]

lion or badger primary + lightly burned lion secondary (& intense badger model)

Hello there! I've been diving into the Sorting Hat Chats system lately, which has led me to your blog. I love reading how you type characters (Umbrella Academy and Anakin and Obi Wan were some of my favorites, with Scooby Doo getting an honorable mention), and I saw that you had been helping some people figure out their own sorting. I was hoping you might do the same for me, if you have the time/mental energy? 

I'm pretty confident in my secondary. I'm not charge-y like a Lion (but I can be bossy and relentlessly pursue my goal once I've decided on something). 

I dunno friend, that sounds kinda liony to me. “Charging” is a misleading term.

I do take time to analyze and organize things, so I guess that could be a point in favor of a Bird secondary? 

Or a Bird secondary model. 

And I'm not the adaptive Snake, I'm pretty much myself around everyone (unless previously burned by a person, then I'll retreat into myself and keep my distance). 

That’s REALLY lion. 

The reason I think I'm a Badger secondary is because my first instinct is to help. If I walk into the kitchen and see dishes in the sink, I do them. If someone at the store drops an item, I pick it up. I save the comfy chairs at the cinema for my friends because they're always late. That's how I make friends, really! Consistent acts of service, volunteering to help. Some on the outside looking in say that I'm smart, or that school is so easy for me, but they don't see all the work I do. Anyway, that was a long way of saying that the hardworking, community building Badger definitely suits me.

Interesting. Because yeah, that does sound very Badger. You’re either a Lion or a Badger secondary, and whichever one you don’t have you model. My guess is that you are probably a Lion who models Badger, just because I honestly cannot picture a Badger secondary saying “I'm pretty much myself around everyone (unless previously burned by a person, then I'll retreat into myself and keep my distance).” That is so distinctively Lion.

Now I'll dig into the primary, which is where I get stuck. The Sorting Hat Chats quiz usually narrows the choice down to Lion or Badger. I think that my morality is too "felt" to be a Bird, but it encompasses too many people to be a Snake.

Just a reminder that Snakes with huge inner circles absolutely exist.

Which, as previously stated, leaves me with Lion and Badger. For Lion... I like the idea of it. I always wanted to be a Lion (they were the main characters in the books, after all), but I don't feel brave enough.

Ugh, “brave” is such a nebulous concept. Annoying.

When the quiz asks me to choose between my family and the world, I choose the world, because my family is part of the world. And other people's families, just as important as mine, are part of the world too. So, I could be a Lion? Maybe I just don't have a cause yet.  

That’s either Badger or Paragon Lion (which looks super Badger a lot of the time.) 

There have been a few real life scenarios where I've had to choose between the community I'm part of and the right thing. When I was in public school, I ended up losing my entire friend group because I stood up to the girl who was gossiping and backstabbing people. In an experience much closer to home, I've lost an entire side of my family because I learned a secret. And once I learned it, I couldn't go back. I couldn't look at that family member the same way again, couldn't be silent. I couldn't keep my head down. So when they asked me to choose-- my reality, or theirs-- I chose mine. I chose the truth. I wouldn't go back and change it, but it still hurts. These situations and choices all feel kind of Lion, don't they? 

They sure do. Very publish-and-be-dammed. Actually it’s so Lion that I’m counting it as another point for a Lion secondary. 

But I only make decisions, walk away, etc. when I'm extremely pressed. Most of the time, I'm too indecisive

This could be evidence of a little bit of secondary burning. And if you have an extremely strong Badger secondary model (as I suspect you do) I would actually be surprised if you didn’t build it to augment a slightly charred secondary.

 or the issue isn't important enough to say anything. 

Ah. The Morally Bored Lion. Also known as the Chill Lion. Totally a thing. Some Lions get an intense gut response about pretty much everything they go up against, and some just... don’t.

Moving to Badger now (I apologize for how long this is). 

An apology. But a small one, quite a long ways down. A burned secondary, but you know. Just a little bit burned.  

I kind of like the idea of being all soft and sweet and dreamy, though I'm aware that this is definitely a Badger stereotype. 

Yep. Badgers are scary. 

I think that it's important to contribute to my community and volunteer to do service, give donations, clean up litter, etc. Sorting Hat Chats says that Badgers tie their self worth up in their communities, which might be true for me. I do hang some of my worth on being a good friend, so the fact that my friendships are limited right now due to circumstance does make me feel like a failure/loser a lot of the time. I wouldn't say that I'm loyal to tradition, however. Badgers prioritize the people who need them most, right? And I like helping people, I feel guilty when I don't have money to give beggars on street corners. 

This all Badger secondary stuff, and we know that you have one hell of a Badger secondary [model]

My goal in life is to help people and bring peace, which seems Badger? 

Or Paragon Lion.

Again, I'm sorry for how long this is, and if you're not in the headspace to answer it, I totally understand. Any insight you can give would be fantastic, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Happy New Year, wish you the best :)

[foreverlogical]

In his continuing quest to remain president despite having lost this month’s election, President Donald Trump has been trying to wrest electoral votes away from Joe Biden in states that Biden won. Among the most aggressive tactics that the President might use is a direct appeal to the Republican-controlled legislatures of Michigan, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania to hand him those state’s electoral votes.

On Thursday, the post-election narrative seemed to edge further down that path, as the Republican leaders of Michigan’s two legislative chambers—Senator Mike Shirkey and Representative Lee Chatfield—agreed to take a meeting with the President in Washington tomorrow. Until that point Shirkey and Chatfield were signaling that they didn’t intend to second-guess Michigan’s voters, who chose Biden by more than 150,000 votes. But by taking the White House meeting, they indicated their possible openness to changing their minds.

Politically, it’s possible that they see taking the meeting as a smart move, showing unhappy Michigan Republicans that they’re on the president’s side.

But as a matter of statesmanship—and, legally, for their own sakes—they’d be smarter to cancel it.

The scheduled meeting threatens two kinds of danger. At the largest level, it threatens the system of democratic presidential elections: If state officials start claiming the right to overturn elections because of vague claims about “fraud,” our democratic system will be unworkable. But in a more specific and immediate way, it threatens the two Michigan legislators, personally, with the risk of criminal investigation.

The danger to democratic elections is well-understood. The Constitution authorizes state legislatures to decide how states choose presidential electors. For more than a century, every state legislature has chosen to do it by popular election. According to one school of thought, though, a state legislature could choose to set aside a popular vote if it doesn’t like the result and choose different electors instead. This is a pretty undemocratic idea, as well as one that misreads the history of election law: the National Review recently described it as “completely insane.” (State legislatures have the power to change the system for choosing electors in future elections, but not to reject an already-conducted election just because they don’t like the result.) Nonetheless, the President is pushing for it. By so far refusing to go along with Trump, Republican state legislators have been standing up for the idea that fair, democratic elections are more important than any individual president. If Shirkey and Chatfield are reconsidering that view, they are playing with the possibility of throwing out the results of a free and fair election. That’s not something that the system comes back from easily.

The scheduled White House meeting also poses another kind of danger—one hanging specifically over the two Michiganders whose minds Trump seeks to change. Consider: Why, exactly, does President Trump want to see these two men in person, in his office? It isn’t to offer evidence that Michigan’s election was tainted and should therefore be nullified. If he had any such evidence, his lawyers would have presented it in court, rather than abandoning their Michigan lawsuitas they did today. It’s also unlikely that Trump is planning to persuade the Michiganders through subtle legal arguments about their constitutional role. Subtle argument isn’t really Trump’s way of doing things.

The president is a dealmaker, and it’s far more likely that his agenda is transactional. When considering a course of action, he doesn’t think about principles; he thinks about what’s in it for whom. So it makes sense to think that he is inviting Shirkey and Chatfield for a private meeting to offer them something. If they help throw the election to him, he can offer a lot. Give me Michigan’s electoral votes, he might say, and I’ll give you a cabinet post or make you Ambassador to Spain. President Trump is also not above offering cash: Give me the votes, and I’ll see to it that lots of money flows to places where you want it—to your state, or to you personally. (That would be an outrageous allegation to have made about Barack Obama or George W. Bush. But the president who paid illicit cash to Stormy Daniels to protect his first presidential run shouldn’t be presumed to scruple at paying more illicit cash to protect his second one.)

The danger for Shirkey and Chatfield, then, is that they are being visibly invited to a meeting where the likely agenda involves the felony of attempting to bribe a public official.

Under Michigan law, any member of the legislature who “corruptly” accepts a promise of some beneficial act in return for exercising his authority in a certain way is “forever disqualified to hold any public office” and “shall be guilty of a felony, punishable by imprisonment in the state prison not more than 10 years[.]”

To be sure, there’s lots of horse-trading in politics that doesn’t amount to bribery. There’s nothing legally wrong with “You vote for my turnpike project, and I’ll vote for your dam.” But the prospect before Shirkey and Chatfield isn’t legislative logrolling, with representatives negotiating policy or even pork-barrel spending. It’s the prospect of a promise to deliver something of value to the officeholder personally. In other words, we aren’t talking about Trump’s saying “Here’s what’s in it for your constituents.” The prospect, in a one-on-one meeting with this president, is Trump’s saying “Here’s what’s in it for you.”

Shirkey and Chatfield are already on record—admirably—as being against a legislative intervention to ignore the popular vote and reallocate Michigan’s electors. If they take a meeting with a man who desperately wants them to change their minds, and who has no scruples about what kind of leverage he might use to get it, and then they do change their minds and try to send Michigan’s electors to Trump, the possibility that they were bribed will be screamingly obvious.

To be sure, it might not be true: Maybe Shirkey and Chatfield fear Trump’s supporters in the next election so much that they’d change their minds without a direct bribe on the table. But the bribery possibility is strong enough that a responsible prosecutor might feel compelled to pursue it. And the relevant prosecutor—Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel—is a straight-shooting Democrat who does not pal around with Shirkey and Chatfield. If she thought the facts justified an investigation, Shirkey and Chatfield would be investigated.

If the risk of prosecution were federal, the two men might figure they had little to worry about: President Trump, in his second term, would tell the Justice Department to lay off. But the president can’t stop a state prosecution, and he can’t pardon a state crime. Nor would the president’s conversations with Shirkey and Chatfield be shielded from investigation by any sort of executive privilege: Shirkey and Chatfield are not members of the president’s federal policymaking team. So if the Michigan attorney general decided to proceed, Shirkey and Chatfield would be looking—in the best-case scenario—at the pain and disrepute of subpoenas and a criminal investigation. In a less-good-case scenario for them, they’d be looking at the loss of their office and their liberty.

The point here is not that Shirkey and Chatfield are shady characters who might be involved in bribery. Let’s assume that they are honorable and upstanding public servants. But one thing that people who try to stay clean know is that it’s unwise to put yourself in a situation where it will look like you’ve broken the law—or, worse yet, where you might be induced to do so. “Lead us not into temptation” is well known as a religious precept: it’s also excellent legal advice.

The Trump Administration is nearing its end. Any other president who got these results on Election Day would have conceded gracefully and now be cooperating in a peaceful transfer of power—giving his successor’s team the information it needed so that from the stroke of noon on January 20, it could begin protecting American national security, fighting the Covid pandemic, and so forth. President Trump is choosing to block all of that constructive work so that he can avoid admitting that the other guy won. He is doing a fair amount of damage on his way out. That damage is hurting the country in general, and it will also hurt specific people.

A drowning man grabs at anything, and a strong drowning man brings other people down with him. To this point, Republican legislators in Michigan—and in other states where Trump might try to tip the scales, like Wisconsin and Pennsylvania—have wisely kept their distance. That’s good for them, personally, and it’s also good for democracy. If they’re smart, and the country is lucky, that’s how things will stay.

VISIT WEBSITE

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

Learn some dam self care Keigo.

Dabi has noticed Keigo getting tired.

"What's the matter? Don't they don't give you Heroes breaks?" He mocks to cover up the sliver of concern.

"Not me." Is the short and bitter response. Its genuine for once.

Dabi puts off the next meeting for a few days to try and give him a break. Spying and working double shifts nearly everyday is obviously leaving the Hero with little time to rest. He’s not worried, really he isn’t, but Keigo may have stumbled a few times last meeting. He caught himself and didn't appear drunk wich leaves exhaustion.

When he messages the hero again it's just to tell him the next meeting time and location. Hopefully the dumb bird has rested up and they can get back to exchanging information.

Dabi ends up running a little late again. Toga wouldn't leave him alone about meeting Hawks and he had to shake her loose before he came to see him.

Keigo is curled into the corner of a sofa and is folded into his wings when Dabi walks into the warehouse.

"No greeting birdy? And after i let you have time off" Dabi notices that Keigo actually dosnt look much better than he had a couple days ago. He makes a note to check social media and see if Hawks had been pulling double shifts the entire time.

"It's fucking cold. Let's just get on with this." Keigo grumbles from inside the cocoon of his wings. He sits himself up straighter but keeps his wings around himself as a makeshift blanket.

It's about 20 minutes into the conversation before Keigo stops talking midsentence. A few moments later he falls forward and Dabi rushes to catch him.

That's it. Its officially intervention time. Keigo is obviously being overworked. He had stopped talking at several points in the meeting, loosing his train of thought or dozing off before jolting himself awake. He's looked him up on his phone while Keigo was struggling to stay awake and Keigo hasn't had a night or day off in weeks. Its past a burnout pace.

So it's not a complete surprise when he finally gives up and falls asleep.

Dabi calls Kuroguri and tells him to pick him up and prepare for a guest as Keigo struggles to wake up again. Keigo is mumbling at him and trying to stand but stumbling, so Dabi walks him straight back into the opening warp gate.

"Your meeting the boss. Oh and I'm kidnapping you until further notice." Dabi casually states and follows after him to see Shigaraki steadying him on the otherside. He had on his gloves he usually used for gaming and was scowling at Dabi already. Kuroguri had warped them right into the living room.

This is going to cause shenanigans and Shig knows it.

"Is he drunk? He can't even stand. What are you doing bringing him here right now?" Shigaraki let Keigo go when he tried to jerk out of his hold.

"I- I'm too- I can't, Dabi?" Keigo mumbled and moves toward Dabi.

"It's fine Keigo. Shig is just concerned. It's fine he's got his gloves on." Dabi muttered to the tired bird and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Is he drunk or what?" Shigaraki hovered nearby.

"Remember how I was saying the Hero commission was pushing him too hard? He's not drunk, just sleep deprived and exhausted. So I kidnapped him"

Shigaraki scratched at his neck.

"Is he always like this? Is there anyone coming to look after him?"

"Not as far as I know. Hey Magne can you start a bath? He's pretty cold." Dabi started leading Keigo down the hallway.

Toga appeared at his elbow and got a good look at Keigo.

"He can use one of my bath bombs. He looks like he needs some self care."

" You can lecture him on self care when he wakes up later." He continued supporting Keigo and was guiding him down the hall to the bath.

" Can you make sure he stays upright in the bath?" Shigaraki asked Shuichi in the corner.

Shuichi hoped up passing his game to Shig to save for him.

"I can bath myself." Keigo insisted and pulled away from Dabi. Waking up a little bit more. He stumbled again and leaned against the wall.

"This really isn't necessary, I appreciate it, but this happens all the time."

Shuichi grabbed his hands and pulled him upright causing a glove to slip off.

"Shouldn't happen at all" muttered a concered Kuroguri from the kitchen as Shuichi made a choked sound.

Keigo snatched his glove back and shoved it on.

"Fuck that's gotta hurt dude, no need to hide those here. I've got mine long. No one cares if I cut them or not bro" Spinner spread his hands out to show Keigo the talons Magne and Toga had painted just a few days ago.

He took Keigo's other hand and tugged off the glove. Keigo's nails revealed as talons clipped short and frayed.

"Dabi can keep watch." Keigo muttered. If this was going to be how he met the rest of the LoV it was better the devil he knew with him while he was vunerable.

Dabi wheezed behind him and coughed to clear his chest.

"Not a good idea" he coughed out.

"No he can not. He would be useless" Shig said while trying not to laugh.

"The hell you all standing around talking for? Let's get bird boi bathed changed and in bed. Not Dabi's bed. They're still not at that point evidently" Magne stated.

"I'm not a child. And I have patrol in 3 hours. I can't just skip." Keigo followed anyways. Sleep sounded so nice and technically he was still spying while he was here.

"Stage one kidnapping and get Kuroguri on a soapbox for Hero treatment and schedules. Got it." Sako grinned.

"You better give me that soapbox. First Shouta now this young man. I've got quite a bit to say to society on how much they demand from heros." Kuroguri appeared to be writing a speech already.

"I'm here so how are you going to fake a kidnapping?" Keigo was really getting tempted by the idea of that rest. Why the hell was the LoV so nice? Maybe if he asked Dabi would dry his feathers off for him?

Too nice. All this sounded too good to be true.

"Magicians never reveal there secrets"

"Wouldnt you like to know feather boi?" Toga cackled as she reappeared with gold and pink bathbombs.

"Keep your secrets then. Also thank you Toga I've been wanting to try these." Fuck it Keigo decided. He was tired and could spy properly when he more rested. This was somehow nothing what he expected the LoV to be and everything Dabi had implied they were for him.

"We are talking about whatever the hell these guys think is going on when I wake up" Keigo took the bathbombs and followed after Shuichi. Only bumping into the wall a few times.

Keigo only nodded off in the bath once and Shuichi threw a rubber duck at him when he did.

"What else does the Hero concil have you hide?" Shuichi asked trying to keep Keigo talking and awake.

"Um I have a 3rd eyelid my visor obscures? My talons are actually my fault at this point. I have to regularly clean and straighten my feathers or use them all up. They are a lot of maintenance but most of its second nature at this point." Keigo stuttered in some parts.

"Eye markings?" That's something Shuichi was actually curious about.

"Not makeup. Most people just assume its eyeliner but I was born with them." Keigo finished rinsing out his hair and held out a hand for a towel.

"Cool. Dabi thought so but I totally thought it was eyeliner."

"How often does Dabi talk about me?" Keigo shrugged into some sweats and a shirt that had a deep v already cut for his wings. That was thoughtful.

"He talks about you a lot."

"Does he like me or something? Do you think he would mind helping me dry out my wings? I dont want to annoy him" Keigo went to leave.

"How are both of you this clueless? You are literally wearing his sweats. Yes he would help you with your wings. we all would if he would challenge us to a pvp for the honor." Shuichi facepalmed.

"They kinda suck though, and make people uncomfortable. My feathers are basically a bunch of knives. Maybe Toga wouldnt mind? She likes knives" He muttered and shuffled towards the room he came into. There had been a couch and he could always use his wings as a blanket. Wet or not he would pass out almost immediately.

"I've never seen Toga and Dabi fight yet and I am not eager to see it now." Shuichi nudged him towards a diffrent room.

"Your rooms over here."

"I have a room?" It was probably because he was so tired but Keigo started crying. They were so nice to him already.

"DABI, your bird is crying. Come fix him." Shuichi yelled towards the main room.

There was some cussing heard and a few seconds later Dabi was beside him.

"Why you crying pretty bird?"

"I'm mostly just tired but you guys have been so nice! I have a own room already and you kidnapped me and my shirt has holes cut and no one minds my talons." Keigo babbles and leans forward until his head is resting on Dabi's shoulder.

"Well yeah, as soon as I started talking about you seriously joining us Shig set you up a room. The sweats and sleep and acceptance is just basic decency. Let's get you in bed." Dabi led him in the rest of the way.

"Wait can you dry my wings? They're wet and gross and Spinner said you wouldn't mind? I promise they won't cut you." Keigo muttered. Dabi would probably say no but he was too tired to detach them all and spin them around until they dried.

"Sure. Go to sleep already birdy."

Keigo finally got to sleep knowing it would be for more than a couple hours. Dabi running his heated hands through his wings was definitely something he was going to ask for again.

Fuck the commission he was staying here. Maybe Toga could give him a face mask next time.

[yafaemi]

i. | crescendo.

Ok then! Let the nervousness begin. :’) First thing for the WoL Challenge. The story is kinda... unrelated to the word itself, but I got the idea while thinking of ideas, so I just kinda went with it. :P A little nervous to be posting it- though that’s... me with just about everything writing-related, really. o.o

Description: The Final Days, they call it. Slowly encroaching, inevitable. The world’s greatest minds race to forestall it, as the world itself holds its breath. Yet one amongst those great minds, there stands one who believes not in the plan of their fellows. 

_________________________________________________________

“Ame, don’t you think you’re being a little extreme about this?” 

The words seemed to make the hooded mage stop in her tracks. She slowed, stopped, and sighed, not even bothering to utter a word as she pulled back the hood that cloaked her. Charcoal colored hair spilled out, going only as far as her shoulders. Prime, perfect, and well-groomed. Unsurprising for someone of such a prestigious position. Yet what was even less surprising was her clipped response, after several moments of silence. “Hardly. If nothing else, I think I’m not being extreme enough.” 

Styx let out an impatient sigh. Apollo, from beside her, only pinched the bridge of his mask. It was an unending game of back and forth, between the three of them. Though, the back portion of the argument was mostly disinterested retorts or refusal to at least listen to some of their points. 

“What is this going to prove?” It was Apollo’s turn. He jerked his head towards the cluttered desk, eyes settled onto the intricate red mask sitting on a pile of papers. “Do you really think the Convocation will stop its plans if you resign from your seat?” 

“Of course they won’t.” He didn’t even need to answer. Ametrine spun back to her friends, dark eyes boring holes into both of them. Apollo looked away, yet Styx held the stare. Piercing teal eyes met deep purple, unblinking for what felt like minutes. “But I refuse to play any part in their ridiculous schemes! And if that means relinquishing my place as Azem, then that’s what it means.” 

They were arguing over nothing, in her mind. All three agreed. Summoning Zodiark would not solve their problems. If nothing else, it would just be one bigger problem for them down the line. What they did disagree with, however, was Ametrine’s approach to disagreeing. 

And that was where they’d been stuck. For days. Wasting the precious time left before Amaurot would fall victim to the inevitable flood of destruction that raged across their star. 

With a quick move of his hand, Apollo tugged off the white mask, and then pinched the bridge of his nose once more. Wispy strands of white-blond hair fell over his forehead the second the mask was moved, almost held back like water in a dam. Yet now, it was allowed to go free. “And if it means having to leave your friends, too? What then?” The words were almost hauntingly soft. 

In just those few words, the tension in the air seemed choking. “Emet-Selch knows of my intent to leave the Convocation, and I’ve no doubt that he’s already dragged my name through the dirt right up to Hythlodaeus’s feet,” she replied, voice suddenly a hint more firm than it had been. Ametrine’s eyes wouldn’t meet either of them. They stayed solidly pointed at the ground, cold as her voice. “And if I must make peace with losing you, too, then I will.” 

“This is ridiculous!” Styx let out a frustrated noise, throwing their head back just at the right angle that the hood fell away. Short pink hair fell out of a hastily made bun, only adding to the tired look they shot towards their friends. “There’s no reason to be acting like this. Both of you.

“Ame- we both know you mean what’s best for Amaurot. You wouldn’t have been chosen for the role of Azem if you didn’t. But relinquishing the role of Azem- which you yourself strove to achieve for so long- is reckless, isn’t it?” 

“Then am I supposed to sit back and watch this happen? Just put my morals and beliefs aside, then acknowledge and observe as they would always insist before this madness began? They already leave our neighbours to fend for themselves, while desperately attempting to halt our destruction! It’s hypocrisy at its finest!”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Moments too long for her, made evident by the way she waved a dismissive hand towards both. “I have made my choice. You will not stop me. Either I will find a way to solve this, or I will die trying. But I refuse to accept the foolishness that they’ve come up with.

“I will not pay with the lives of our brethren. And I will not pay with your lives, either. There must be a better way. And if I am to seek it out, then I must not be held back any longer.” 

There were no other words that either seemed ready to retort with. Styx only dropped her shoulders slightly, head tilting downwards as the mask over her eyes seemed to slip. Even from such an angle, the displeasure in her face was evident. 

It was Apollo who finally moved. He looked up, icy blue eyes wide and uncharacteristically cold. “Then all I have for you is a goodbye.” With one step back, one half of the doorway that the two blocked was open. 

“Apollo! You can’t be giving up now!” His resignation seemed to reignite her once more. Styx ripped off her mask, full anger fully presented in the once-hidden glassiness of her eyes. Mixed into it, however hard to spot, was that same growing resignation that he wore, growing only stronger. When she spoke next, it was to Ametrine. “...Please, we can come up with something. This can’t be the best solution.” 

It hurt her as much as it hurt them. However much they refused to realize it. Ametrine took in a long breath, and shook her head slightly. The smile she wore stung more than it should have. Their faces were blurring together in a watery mess, only bright blobs and odd shapes. “We don’t have the time to think of another one. I doubt you’ll listen- either of you- yet believe me when I say that I would not be doing this were there any other choice. Yet there is none. And so the decision is made.”  

Some part of her felt it was made long, long before even she had come up with it. Some grand twist of whatever divinity guided their star, only pushing her along the path it wanted her to follow. The decision was made, indeed… yet not by her, or the Convocation, or by the nightmare that awaited them. 

After several moments of stiff silence, Styx moved away from the door. In the deafening quiet, it seemed as though time itself had slowed to a near trickle, only picking up as they stopped, looked at Ametrine, and swallowed hard. “...Be careful. Please. If there’s no way to convince you to stay, then… do at least that for us. Stay alive.” 

Neither of them moved from the spots they’d taken besides the doorway. Ametrine glanced towards both, cautious as she took one step towards the door. And then another. And another. Apollo’s eyes stayed focused onto her footsteps, as Styx watched the distant wall behind her. “I will fix this. I swear this to you, on my honor as Azem.” 

With a final glance to them both, Ametrine grabbed the mask from where it had been, and left.