#<- horribly foreboding thing to say

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

I feel there is a very obvious common thread between the Top 3 Guys My Friends Have Been Comparing Me To Lately and I don't think I. Like it. Very much.(/lh)

(Shitty doodles are, in order, Shadow Milk Cookie, Caine DigitalCircus and Joey Drew)

[matt-murdockk]

request for spenceeeee (literally my boyfriend)

bau!reader and spencer are dating now, and they're just like talking about how they met and stuff casually and he's like you know i sorta tried to ask you out when we met? she's like what? you're telling me we could've started dating years ago??? he's like hey it's no big deal, ig you just weren't really into me back then and she's like not into you??? my brother in christ i stuttered and rambled for 3 entire minutes when we met what made you think i didn't like you

a whole lot of fluff badically thanks x

helloooo <3333 thank you so much for the request!!!! i had a WIP with sort of a similar theme as the ask so decided to combine them, i really hope you like it xo

Um, actually

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.0k summary: A flashback to when you first met spencer helps you realize just how oblivious you were. But so was he, so it's all good. warnings: fluffffffff, possibly incorrect etymology facts, Spencer being a horrible cook for funsies, minor Brooklyn 99 reference (if you caught it i love you so much), glasses spencer !!!!! (not really all that relevant to the plot but i am a sucker for glasses!spence <3), established relationship

"Beeves? Really? Come on, that cannot be a real word."

Dinner conversations were always lively with Spencer. More often than not, it involved facts about the recipe, the origins, the historical significance, different interpretations of the same dish in other cultures, and whatnot. Today, it was etymology.

"It is!" he exclaimed, pointing towards you with his fork, way too excited about beef etymology in the most endearing way possible.

"You see, in the context of 'meat from cows', the plural of beef would just be beef. If we're talking about fights, disagreements, that kind of beef? It would be beefs. But beef also refers to an adult cow, steer or bull. So in this case, the plural would be—"

"Beeves?"

"Bingo."

"Huh, the more you know. You got more weird plurals?"

"Well,"

"Of course you do."

"There's moose, whose plural is actually—"

"Meese, obviously."

"Oh, no."

Eventually, dinner was done, dishes were put away, and you were now cuddled on the couch, his arm around your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bicep over the sleeve of your sweater.

It was quiet. Silent. But not the kind of silence that came with warnings and omens. It wasn't the kind of silence filled with premonition that you had so gotten used to with your job. It wasn't uncomfortable, and it wasn't foreboding. It was the kind of stillness that settled like morning fog over a quiet lake. Gentle, unmoving, and content to simply exist. The air bore a sort of warmth and hope that neither of you had been familiar with in years. Ever, if you're being honest. Beautiful thing, domesticity. Naturally, you were reminiscing.

"Spence?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Remember how we met?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully, lips pressing together as though deep in concentration. “Hmm… you know, I have an eidetic memory, but I can’t say I do—”

You smacked him with the throw pillow. He laughed, pulling you a little closer. “Of course I do. It's one of my favourite memories of us," he admitted, kissing your forehead. He smiled into your hair. “Crazy how much has changed, huh?”

You nodded, eyes still on the soft knit of his sweater sleeve. “Yeah. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“You know,” he said, suddenly bashful, “I tried to ask you out that day.”

Wait, what? Your head snapped toward him. “You did not.”

"Oh yeah. Crashed and burned splendidly."

"Spencer, honey, I feel like I would remember that."

“Um, actually,” he said, adjusting his glasses with mock seriousness, “that’s literally the first thing I did.”

You stared at him, slack-jawed. “Wh— what do you mean? We… we could have started dating ages ago?”

He chuckled lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, maybe? I thought I was pretty obvious about it. But you didn’t seem interested, so I figured—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, practically sitting up. “Believe me, I was interested, alright? Spencer, I stuttered and— and rambled for like three entire minutes when I met you. I forgot to tell you my name. I—I asked you if you wanted the extra ticket to—"

His eyes widened as he realized where this was going. “Wait, wait. That was supposed to be flirting?”

"Yeah!?" you exclaimed, so exasperated it almost sounded like a question. "Honey, what else did you think it was?"

"I thought you were being polite! And I— I definitely flirted back," he promised, clearly going through that memory inside his head as he spoke.

"Sweetie, when?"

"You know, when I said there was someone I'd like to go with?" He stressed on the word someone far too much, waiting, hoping you would catch his drift. You finally did, after 10 really long seconds.

"Me? You meant you'd want to go with me?" you asked, still incredulous at what he had implied.

"Uh-huh!? Honey, who else—"

"Spencer, Oh my god, I thought you were telling me you had a girlfriend."

"...Oh."

You both sat there for a moment, letting that truth settle between you like dust in late-afternoon light. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Wow. Can’t believe we missed out on years.”

“I know,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, eyes trained on the space between you, like he was watching the shape of time itself. “We're idiots, aren't we?”

"Possibly, but at least we're idiots together now," you responded, leaning further into him, leaving no more space between you, if that was even possible with how close you were sitting in the first place.

"Agreed. If anything, I think our love makes me a better person. Remember when I boiled that egg last week?"

"That was really big. I'm proud of you," you affirmed, your voice sincere.

"Crazy how much hasn't changed, though."

"What do you mean?" you asked, head tilting to look at him. His eyes were already on you, fond, like he was enamoured with you. Like he was going to tell you he loved you, and even after you had already heard it a hundred times by then, it still made you nervous.

"You still don't double-check the mail, even after I specifically—"

Another throw pillow found him, this time directly across his face, muffling the rest of his declaration. He laughed in response to that yet again, smug bastard that he is. You feigned offence at that and attempted to push him off of you, and sat a couple of feet away from him, hands crossed across your chest, face neutral.

But he knew what you were expecting to hear. He also knew that he didn't have to say it loud for you to know. It went without saying how much you loved each other. With every word you ever exchanged, every sentence ever spoken, the unspoken part? The subtext? It was always there. I love you.

He sensed that he had to make it up to you now. He also knew that you weren't really mad, probably loving the banter just as much as he was. Still, he always enjoyed making it up to you way more than he'd ever care to admit, so if it meant he had to come up with an elaborate ruse to rile you up first and then pretend to ask for your forgiveness, then so be it. His arms were around you in record time.

Bonus— a flashback: how our idiots actually met

You were grasping the tickets tight. There had been an oversight. On your part, mostly (entirely, if we're being honest), but you had to fix it as soon as you could, nonetheless. The tickets in your hand did not belong to you. And the longer you were holding them, the more it started to feel like they were burning a hole in your hand. You had to give it to whoever was expecting it, apologize, and get out of their face before you started sensing their judgement. The tickets belonged to one Spencer Reid. Who the hell was Spencer Reid?

A small part of you wanted to get to know him immediately. You don’t find a lot of federal agents who take Halloween seriously, let alone someone willing to spend Halloween weekend at Phantasmagoria. Someone with that good of a taste? Sign me up, you thought.

Your eyes scanned the bullpen of the BAU, searching for any face that might look like it belonged to a “Spencer Reid.” You didn’t know what he looked like. But there was a tall, lanky guy— glasses, brown hair, cardigan layered over a dress shirt, tie slightly askew, gun holster hanging off his waist like it had no business being there. (Is that even allowed?) He was holding a cup of coffee and making his way toward a desk.

Unfortunately, the first thought your caveman brain was able to come up with was— cute. Nope. You were on a mission. You had to focus. Focus, damn it. You figured, if this nice, fine (really fine) and distinguished gentleman, whoever he was, wasn't Spencer Reid, at the very least, he looked approachable and helpful enough to point you in the right direction. Personally, you didn't want haphazard gun holster guy to be Spencer Reid. Hell of a first impression you'd be making, if that were the case.

“Hi! Sorry— um, where can I find Spencer Reid?”

He paused, blinking. “Hmm? That would be me.”

Well, shit.

“Oh? That—It, uh. You?” Brilliant. Very eloquent today, evidently.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, a little amused.

You nodded like that would help shake your embarrassment off. Be normal, you thought. You're a normal person. Words are easy. Speak. Say things.

“Right. Cool. Hi. I’m Sex Crimes. I mean— I work Sex Crimes. The division. Of the FBI. I don’t— I don’t go around committing sex crimes around town. You already knew that. Obviously. Why am I explaining this?” Oh, sweet Jesus.

He was staring politely now, wide-eyed and politely stunned.

“Anyway!” you barreled on, desperate to claw back whatever dignity you had left, if any. “Lester, the mail guy, yeah, he came in today with this orange envelope? With the pumpkins on it? I assumed they were my Phantasmagoria tickets, so I just took them. To be fair, he tried to, um, stop me, but I was sort of way too excited to listen, and it wasn’t until I got back that I remembered I’d asked for mine to be delivered to my house, not here. So then I looked at the envelope— which, yeah, is what I probably should’ve done in the first place—and surprise surprise, they didn’t have my name on them. They had yours.”

You shoved the envelope into his hands like it might bite you if you held onto it any longer. “So yeah. Sorry. These are yours, is what I am trying to say with way too many words than necessary. I took them by accident. Please take them away from me. Thank you.”

You were looking down at the ground, waiting for it to open up and swallow you whole. The seconds of silence that followed your very passionate ramble were not helping. Any time now, ground. His voice snapped you right back into reality.

“Firstly,” he said, smiling, “thank you. Seriously. And secondly, you don’t get a lot of FBI crowd at Phantasmagoria.”

He glanced down at the envelope. “You said tickets? Plural?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I booked them in August, thinking I’d go with my boyfriend. And, well, come October… I am yet to find him. August me was a little too optimistic.” Exactly why you trauma dumped about your love life to this stranger, you may never know. But he didn't seem to mind all too much, so yeah, what do you know?

He smiled again, warmer this time. It made your stomach flip in a way you did not have time to examine. NO. Nuh-uh. You promised yourself no workplace crushes, and you meant it. Did you mean it? In retrospect, maybe you weren't all that serious. You could make an exception, right? For him? Oh, absolutely. Well, that was a quick change of heart.

“But now that you mention it,” you continued, “there’s an extra ticket. I don’t really need it. So, if you know anyone who might want to go with you…” Smooth. Real subtle. Oh, yeah. Asking him if he's single? You were so smart, you should've been an FBI agent or something. You should've gotten a raise.

“Well, actually…” he started, almost sheepish. “There is someone I’d love to go with. But I have a feeling she already has a ticket.”

Of course, Halloween Jesus wasn't single, you thought. He was too good to be true, right? Your sweet, foolishly sweet brain, interpreted his advance as— Oh, he's taken. Well, couldn't blame a girl for trying (you would later be upset about this for a while).

“Oh. Right. Okay. Well, if there’s anyone else who might need a ticket, I’m two floors down.” You offered a tight smile and turned to leave before you could make it worse. His face contorted in confusion, a hint of disappointment flickered across too, before he quickly recovered.

“Hey— Sex Crimes?”

You turned.

“You got a name?”

a/n: this is all so how i met your mother to me hence the song, in this house we stan idiot4idiot romance, we ♥️ imbeciles, hope you liked it lol<3333

[theoddest1]

Let's Actually Talk About The Issues With Vivziepop

Okay, first off, hello you beautiful people! Sorry about this foreboding title, but I needed to catch y'all attention on this so I can break down the issues that I and many have with "Hazbin Hotel" and "Helluva Boss" creator, Vivienne Medrano. Now I am sure you all on here are already aware of at least a couple of the controversies that revolve around this particular creator and if you have seen my posts floating around already, some have been greeted with the problems surrounding her social media presence and just her overall as a person. I know seeing another callout on her seems very very tiring at this point, but I felt that a lot of the current callouts missed key details that were not at all addressed or properly delved on. I plan on shedding light on my issues with her and I hope you get where I am coming from when I say that she sucks.

BULLYING

Okay, I am starting off with Vivienne's blatant use of bully mentality, her agreeing or encouraging her fans to call people who see flaws in her works sub-humans or harass those who find issue or simply jest about her works trademark cussing and and overcrowded designs. She has had this issue for YEARS and refuses to grow up and act her age despite many telling her, even her own fans at times, that she shouldn't be acting so unprofessionally. Clearly, she doesn't care and thanks to her fanbase caring more about her feelings than her being better she feels as though she doesn't need to change or do better. This goes for her friend group as well, who defend her tremendously and act as though she is never in the wrong. Name one time a friend of hers called her out for acting childish, I'll wait.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Wtf could they have done to warrant such a response?"

Criticism...That's all they did. (White Text is random peeps they would speak with or maybe mutuals)

Keep in mind...they used to be a fan as well. They were also a minor at this point

But, Viv doesn't care, this person's critical yet harmless tweets about her shows is what lead to her painting them in a horrible light and making them out to be someone who has attacked her personally and as "nasty".

Rich coming from Viv since she is completely fine doing exactly that for "Ava's Demon". Not only does she criticize it, she takes a shot at the creator as well, but GOD FORBID others do the same towards her.

And according to someone who knew her well, it's all cause they felt creeped out by her.

Her hatred for criticism is so prominent that Ima makes that a section of its own. But let's get back on the topic of bullying.

Vivienne has a fanbase filled to the brim with pushy and overall annoying individuals who have harassed, threatened, disrespected, and wished harm on many people, all cause someone had a negative thing to say about Vivziepop's mid af show. One of the earlier known instances is the one revolving around a MEME of all things.

This was what started it all, and it led to both parties blocking each other and people being mad pushy and calling them an idiot and the like over their opinions. Now look, their take and you're opinion on said take is fine so long as you stay respectful and humane about it all, but don't dogpike someone all cause they think HH sucks. And while Viv can not control her fanbase, for they are not a hivemind (some of y'all act it tho, ima keep it real) she is seen here ENCOURAGING the behavior. Tell me how someone who doesn't even like your trash ass show has the sense to tell people not to harass others, someone with a smaller following, but not your grown damn near 30 year old ass?

Oh, but people wanna act like she can handle criticism, is a sweet person, and grew from her past experiences. Fam, she was 27 in this screenshot [December 16, 2019] and has shown no change from 2013 to fucking 2024. Over a decade of the same petty ass behavior, and keep in mind, according to several of her old friends and workers, she is worse behind close doors. WORSE. She's already acting like she got no damn sense out in the open, imagine behind closed doors.

Last but not least, a glimpse into her outright blatant slander towards Dollcreep, a once good friend of hers that she even visited and spoke with frequently!

She stated that they fetishized pedophilia yet according to the victim and friends of the victim who were once friends with Viv as well, Viv actually threatened to end their friendship if he hadn't drawn NSFW art of her character and his character having sex [Addi was 15 at the time this was drawn]

On top of that, she liked the post, something she didn't need to do. The art also depicted things she had regularly drawn on her own. Addi being tied up forcefully, being sexualized, being harmed to some degree through bondage, etc. The claim that she forced DC to draw this out is backed up by her own art depicting similar elements. Also, if my memory serves me well, Viv and Doll were 17-18 years old [Doll was 17 Viv 18] and have a 1-year age gap. The way Viv frames things here is as if DC was way older and imposed some sort of power over DC, which sources say otherwise. If anything, Viv had a LOT of control throughout all of this drama, which deserves its own section.

I'll be making posts that talk about the different issues regarding Viv, so one post isn't too long (this one is already lengthy enough) and that you can just pick at one post targeting certain issues around this creator.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 13

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3474

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, Dean and Benny being themselves, Courtroom drama.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 13

Oddly enough, the next day passed without incident. You showered that evening, though, wanting to make yourself at least look presentable in the courtroom the following day. It was that third morning that had your nerves on edge. There was a feeling deep down that you couldn’t quite shake, like something was going to go horribly wrong.

The sun wasn’t even up yet as you dressed in that conservative black dress Dean had put in the closet. You pulled your hair back in a braid and slipped on a pair of black flats that you also found in the closet. Dresses were things you weren’t used to, but you’d manage. When you saw Dean and Benny both in suits and ties, you could barely keep your jaw from hitting the floor.

Damn, they clean up nice, you thought as you did your best not to look Dean up and down. He gave you a playful smile, though, and you noticed how it pulled more on one side of his lips than the other. Not quite a smirk, but not quite a smile. Before any of you could say a word, though, two agents showed up in your doorway.

“It's time to go,” one of them told the three of you, and you felt almost like you were going to throw up.

The morning had gone far too quickly for you, even if you had managed to get in two cups of coffee. Making sure your necessities all fit into the little purse you had, you followed the two agents to the front door. There, you noticed six other people, dressed in the exact same way as you, Dean, and Benny. The part that sent a shiver down your spine was that they also looked like the three of you.

It must be worse than I thought.

The two agents directed the three of you to the front door while another set, composed of the same amount of people, went to different exits. You kept your eyes on the agents in front of you. It looked as though he was listening to something through the earpiece he wore. You barely heard a door close somewhere else in the house, and the vehicle pull away from somewhere outside when the agents in front of you opened the door, ushering the three of you outside.

Your heart was pounding as you stepped out into the darkness of the morning while the chill in the air took your breath away. The light jacket you were wearing didn’t do much to keep your skin warm. There was a black SUV parked on the street, already running. One agent opened the back door and climbed in, while the other ushered the three of you inside, then followed, closing the door behind him.

As the SUV turned onto a side road, another one pulled off the side of the road in front, and yet another began following the one you were in. One of the agents said they were the escort cars, but you were too focused on keeping your breathing even as Dean held your hand, attempting to help keep you calm.

“When we get to the location, we’ll be taking you in through the back. You’ll be in a safe room until it's time to testify. Then, you’ll be escorted to the courtroom,” the agent across from you explained.

You nodded, still having to focus on your breathing, as that foreboding feeling wasn’t going away. The drive felt like it was taking far longer than it should, but you knew that was only due to the growing anxiety coursing through your body. There was silence for the rest of the drive, but you did notice how the agents would occasionally touch the earpiece they were wearing. If it weren’t for the situation, you might have been curious as to what was being said.

The moment the three SUVs stopped, you looked out the tinted window. It was an alleyway between two buildings in the city center. One agent got out as four more appeared from a door on the side of the building, their guns drawn and on guard. Benny got out, followed by you, then Dean, with the last agent bringing up the rear.

The three of you were escorted inside, down empty hallways, to a secluded room with two doors: the one you went through and one on the far side of it. The moment the three of you were inside, and the door was closed, Dean pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you.

“Halfway there, Sweetheart, breathe,” he said in a calm, soothing tone.

You hadn’t even noticed how your breathing had gotten a little erratic during the walk to the room. So, you focused on him, taking slow, deep breaths. You were so focused on Dean that you hadn’t yet taken in the features of the room.

It was medium in size, with a couch against one wall, a coffee table in front of that, with a TV hung on the far wall. The doors were across from each other, requiring someone to walk between the TV and coffee table to reach each of them. Dean led you to the couch, helping you sit down so that he could still hold you by his side. Benny sat on the other side of the sofa. There were also two agents, one stationed on the inside at each door.

“Looks like we wait now,” Benny said, and you could have sworn you could hear uneasiness in the undertone of his words.

Dean held you close, even after one of the agents turned on the TV. You looked over at it, noticing it was of a courtroom: the judge, lawyers, jury, and a slew of people in the civilian section. You recognized the three men sitting near a lawyer as the Vaught family. On the other side you saw Sam and a man you didn’t recognize who was dressed in a black suit. You did notice Ellen, Bobby, Jodi, Mary, and even John in the civilian area, sitting behind Sam and the lawyer you didn’t recognize.

Your gaze may have been on the TV, but you weren’t paying attention to it, as your thoughts were bombarding you. You were aware that the judge spoke, as well as each of the lawyers, but had no idea how much time had passed for that. Then, the door to your left opened.

“Benny Laffiette’,” the man said, holding the door open.

Benny sighed before he left the room with the man, and before long, you saw him on the TV. You tried to pay attention but, again, only caught bits and pieces of it as your mind wandered. You thought about where Cas, Garth, and Jo were. Both lawyers asked Benny questions for a while before he returned to the room, and Dean was called.

“Keep an eye on her for me,” he told Benny, who nodded, then looked over at you.

Once the door was closed, Benny sighed, “Hey, I really am sorry about treatin’ you how I did. I didn’t know. It’ll be alright,” he tried to reassure you.

“It’s okay. I don’t hate you or anything. I hope you’re right, Benny. I just have this uneasy feeling that something bad is gonna happen,” you replied, again trying to focus on the TV where Dean was answering questions. “I saw the paperwork. Sam’s got this, and that Crowley guy is good,” he replied, trying to give you a reassuring smile.

Your eyes snapped up, though, at the mention of the name Crowley. That had been the lawyer your parents had mentioned in their last letter. Just as you were about to go back to paying attention to the TV, Dean came back into the room.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” the guard stated, holding the door open.

“You got this, Sweetheart,” Dean told you with a soft smile.

He kissed your forehead before you made your way through the open door. Your anxiety was through the roof, and it felt like all your nerves were exposed as you followed the guard. He led you into the courtroom and into the questioning box. You didn’t know the technical names for things and the site was overwhelming as all eyes were on you.

There were, of course, the formalities of the whole repeating telling the truth thing, and you somehow got through that. It was how the Vaught men were looking at you that made your skin crawl and your stomach turn. You tried your best to find something else to focus on, but that was difficult. 

Crowley rose from his seat, straightening his suit and giving you a reassuring nod before he approached the stand. “Good morning, Miss Y/L/N. Let’s begin with the basics. Could you please tell the court how you came to learn about this marriage agreement with Cole Vaught?” He had quite a thick Scottish accent, and there was something about him that looked like he could be ruthless if needed.

You took a slow, deep breath, focusing on Crowley, “I found out about it roughly three months ago. Cole showed up at my job and asked me to lunch. He was nice at first, but then he threatened me,” You answered, attempting to keep your breathing even.

“Were you aware of any discussions or documents regarding this agreement prior to that?” Crowley asked you, his tone still calm and collected.

“Yes. I found letters my parents had written me a long time ago with some details about it,” you answered honestly.

Crowley kept his eyes and focus on you while he spoke, “Let’s discuss your family history. Can you explain the circumstances surrounding your parents’ death and any connection to the Vaught family?”

You knew that one was going to be hard on you, remembering the letters from your parents that you had found hidden around the home they’d left for you. “Not too long after I turned two, my parents were in a horrible car accident. There wasn’t enough evidence at the time to say that it wasn’t an accident. Jodi Mills was the officer on the scene.” The longer you spoke, the harder it was to keep from fidgeting.

“I never asked about it because I was too young to even remember it. I didn’t learn the truth until only a few months ago when I found all the evidence my parents had gathered before they were in that accident.” When you finished, you felt your hands trembling a little, so you fidgeted with a crease in your dress to keep them busy.

Crowley nodded, his expression thoughtful but determined.“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N. Have you ever been harassed at your home by anyone within the last few months?”.

“Yes. Three men showed up at my home and broke in. Dean Winchester called the local police department. They arrested the men. It was all caught on video surveillance,” you answered, trying again to keep your breathing even.

“And do you have reason to believe that these men were connected to the Vaught family?” Crowley asked as his gaze intensified.

You swallowed hard, “I didn’t, not at the time. Dean Winchester recognized one of the men, though, having seen him before with the Vaught family in California.”

Crowley then turned his attention to the judge, “Your Honor, this is a clear pattern of intimidation and harassment designed to coerce my client into an unlawful agreement. The evidence of her parents’ investigation, the threat during her first meeting with Cole Vaught, and the break-in at her home all point to a sustained campaign of fear to force her into an orchestrated illegal marriage.” It was an odd thing, how Crowley pointed things out and worded them, and in a way, you were thankful he was on your side. The judge nodded and took a stack of documents that Crowley handed to him. Crowley then turned to address you again, his tone remaining supportive.

“Miss Y/L/N, can you tell the court if you have any indication of who your soulmate might be, considering the unique nature of your lineage?” he asked, keeping his eyes on you, seeming to ignore the prosecution completely.

You did feel a flicker of hope as you spoke, “My soulmate’s name is starting to appear on my collarbone, but it’s still in pieces and not clear enough to read.” And at that moment, you mentally cursed yourself for not looking at it, remembering how Dean had reacted that first night at the safe house.

Crowley nodded, “And as an empath, how has this situation affected you emotionally?”

With that, you looked down at your hands, still fidgeting with the crease in your dress, “Honestly, it’s hard to answer that. Because of how my soul was wounded, I can’t feel others, not even my soulmate. When his name didn’t appear on me at sixteen, and most of the town shunned me, that hole only got bigger,” you explained, trying not to get quiet so the court recorder could type down what you said and you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself.

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N. No further questions at this time,” he told you, giving you a final reassuring smile. Crowley then returned to his seat, whispering something to Sam. Abaddon, representing the Vaught family, stood up next, her expression cold and calculating.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she began, her voice sharp, pulling your gaze to her. “You claim you had no knowledge of this agreement. However, isn’t it true that your family has had long-lasting ties with the Vaughts?”

“That is a question I cannot answer, as I lost my parents when I was two. That would be a question better suited for my Aunt, perhaps. I’ve only ever met Cole, and that was one time when he threatened me,” you answered, more confident than you felt.

Abaddon’s eyes narrowed, “Can you please share this supposed threat with the court?” she asked, and you could almost see an evil smirk on her lips, no matter how small it was.

You took a deep breath, “He grabbed my wrist when I went to leave after I’d met him for lunch. He told me that I would be marrying him and that there was no way out of it. If Dean, Benny, and Cas hadn’t stepped in, I’m certain he would have tried something,” you explained.

She raised an eyebrow, “And you expect the court to believe that a simple wrist grab and a few words constitute a threat. Clearly, he was just making sure to inform you of the legalities of the contract that he was willing to follow.” Abaddon was good, you could tell that much, and that nagging worry began returning.

“Now, Miss Y/L/N,” she began again, grabbing some papers off the table where the Vaughts sat. “I’ve looked over the documentation that Mr. McCloud submitted. I also have a copy of the collection order from a month ago.” She turned to face you, “They tried to serve the papers at your home, but no one was there. Miss Y/L/N, why were you not at your home that day? Mr Singer and Mrs. Harvell have already stated you were not working at either location on the day in question.”

That question was one you truly didn’t want to answer. Hell, how could you? It wasn’t like you could tell them the truth about where you were, so you came up with a lie you hoped was believable. “I was out with Dean Winchester on that day. Since they didn’t leave behind a business card or anything, it wasn’t like I could inform them when I returned,” you answered her, still more confident than you felt. At least, it was partially true.

Abaddon didn’t miss a beat, “Out with Dean Winchester? And what exactly were you doing with Mr. Winchester?” Now, you were mentally cursing yourself for not watching the TV when Dean had been the one on the stand. So, you had to come up with something. “Yes, but I don’t remember what we were doing on that particular day. Dean and I have spent a lot of time together over the last few months.”

“Alright, Miss Y/L/N, that is understandable,” she replied with mock understanding you didn’t miss. “I also understand all this must be overwhelming. But let’s go back to your family for a moment. You mentioned earlier that your parents gathered evidence about their accident before they died. Can you specify what kind of evidence they found?”

That was close, you thought to yourself, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “They saved all sorts of documentation. From what I understand, it’s all been submitted as evidence for this case. That also means you should have a copy of it, so I don’t understand why you would be asking me about it,” you answered, finding a bit of courage.

It was at that moment you noticed her jaw clench, even if only for a moment, and you felt a sense of accomplishment. You also noticed the soft smile Sam had, and an almost proud look from Crowley. You’d always been mouthy, at least with Jo and Ash, but it felt good to be able to use your wits and make a powerful lawyer flinch.

The judge looked from Abaddon to you and then to Crowley, “Have all the documents been submitted?”

Crowley stood to address the judge, “Yes, Your Honor, along with all the video evidence recorded by the surveillance cameras at Miss Y/L/N’s home. Including those from twenty-three years ago.” He then sat back down, his gaze returning to you and Abaddon.

Abaddon turned to the judge, “Your Honor, I would like to request a closer examination of these documents and video footage. Given the gravity of the claims, it’s important to verify their authenticity and relevance to this case, as none of them are the originals.”

The judge nodded, “Granted. The court will review the documents and recordings in detail. Now that you have the statements from those directly involved, the court will reconvene in two weeks.” With that, he thudded his hammer thing on his podium before standing. 

“Your Honor,” Abaddon began, giving him a sweet smile, “The defendant is under a legal obligation to wed Cole Vaught in two days-” but the judge cut her off.

“Due to the delicacy of this case, all legal obligations will be on hold until after this case is settled and a verdict has been reached. You have two weeks, use it wisely,” the judge told her in what almost sounded to you like a threatening tone. “And none of the Vaught family or any of its affiliates are to contact anyone on the defendant's side of this case or the defendant herself.” She looked pissed, as did the three Vaught men. However, Sam and Crowley seemed quite pleased with the ruling. Everyone in the courtroom stood as the judge exited the room. You were escorted to the other room, where you ran to Dean and threw your arms around him. All your nerves were shot, but being in Dean’s embrace felt like a soothing blanket of comfort, even if your mark was beginning to burn again.

“It’s time to go,” the agent near the other door told the three of you.

With a heavy sigh, the three of you followed the agent out of the room, where half a dozen more were waiting. They took you a completely different way through and out of the building. It was even to a different SUV, even if it was still black. During the drive, you leaned into Dean, letting him hold you close as you attempted to calm your nerves and racing heart.

“You did so good in there, Sweetheart,” Dean told you softly, his tone almost full of pride.

“It was nerve-wracking,” you mumbled.

“I love how she put that stain of a woman in ‘er place,” Benny chuckled across from you.

“That was pretty witty,” Dean chuckled back, which made you smile a little

“Shh,” the agent to your left whispered, pulling your attention to him.

He was holding one of his fingers to the earpiece, listening intently to whatever was being said. Then, the driver turned down a different road, following the escort car. You wanted to ask what was going on and what was happening, but you stayed silent, watching the agent. You missed the silent conversation between Benny and Dean as they only looked at each other.

The agent nodded, like he was agreeing with whatever had been said, and then his gaze fell on you, “There’s been a change of plans.”

----------------------------------------- Chapter 14

Story Master List Main Master List

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[aesthetic-olive]

My "Andor is The Best Show a Fangirl Could Ask For" Masterpost:

These are all my favorite moments from the S2Ep7-9 Arch (and some from earlier in the season)

(spoilers, obviously)

Okay so in no particular order -->

When the empire brings in what's-his-name-scarface-dude to start up the Ghorman Massacre then he starts things off by bringing in a bunch of New Recruits? Ohhhoho that was such a good incredibly foreboding moment. Then when the Empire has the green recruits assassinated by the sniper?? INCREDIBLE. One of those moments where I didn't expect it until it was happening then it just seemed so obviously inevitable. It's giving the USA's FBI/CIA. Absolutely horrendous despicable behavior 15/10

Also I am OBSESSED with the one Ghorman laborer singing when he notices the Molotov cocktails being passed around. Such an incredible mini character arch for him seeing as how he's introduced as someone seemingly ready to start violence at the beginning of the season. Also just the parallels it gives between this protest and Maarvas funeral in season 1 gave me chills.

On that note, the Brutality of the massacre was So Insane and I couldn't stop watching jaw dropped in horror as bodies were literally flung everywhere. I forget her name but the one girl that got flung and literally bounced across the ground??? HORRIBLE actually terrorizing to witness and the way she was so instantaneously dead with her eyes still open also reminded me of Ferrix's insurrection in season 1. A terrible time for everyone involved 1000000/10

The way Syril figured everything out was sooo well done bc you could watch the gears turning in his brain trying to find every way to avoid the inevitable conclusion of what was really happening. Then when he does finally accept it what does he do? Commit a Domestic Violence on Dedra!!!! Like this man is literally just a Bad Person no matter who he's fighting against and just bc Dedra is also a bad person doesn't mean we excuse the moment where he actually made her say "you're hurting me."

Actually Syrils entire character arch was just so incredibly well done way better than I ever could've asked for. Ive seen a lot of people talking about it already so im not gonna take too much time but literally every frame of him in the middle of the massacre, then him fighting Cassian, the face he makes after "who are you?". Absolutely perfect television zero notes they understood the assignment completely.

Cassian has so many perfect moments during the Ghorman Massacre it's hard to even list them all so I'm just gonna do my best knowing that I'm probably forgetting some. First off his convo with the bellhop who recognized him was awesome. I loved watching Cassian take a step back when he realized that he was actually figured out, then relaxing when he realized the bellhop is also on his side. Also the Genesis (that we know of) of "Rebellions are built on hope" being a random rebel that probably didn't even survive that day is just so true to the shows themes and so true to War. I saw someone else make a post about that and I can't remember who it was and I can't find the post so whoever op was thank you for noticing it and saying something before I had a chance to. Also the makeup did SUCH an amazing job during the massacre!! All the dust and debris cakes onto Cassians face as he gives the Signature Haunted Tear that absolutely summed up the entire ordeal he just lived through added so much to everything and makeup artists don't get enough credit for that. I normally am a hater of the Tough Guy Gives Single Tear to His Traumas but fuck if that face didn't give me chills.

Andor and Mon Mothma talking to each other! From him picking her up and having to literally get in her way and say the code phrase all the way to her noticing his comfortability in the safe house on coruscant. Every moment between them was perfect and I Need More. A duo I didn't know I wanted but now can't stop craving. Someone please give me fics of the two of them working together or even just eating dinner together.

Speaking of Mon Mothma, the build up to her speech was so incredibly well done. Her making the decision to do it while talking with Bail, her finding a listening device, crushing it in a panic, then instantly regretting it, her having to find a place to rehearse, no one having any clue of if she was even going to go through with the speech, all the other senators spewing lies and propaganda (especially the one senator Absolutely Crashing Out over his One (1) citizen that died in the Massacre). Everything built up so much tension and then? One of the single most succinct and poetic monologues on the horror that is Fascist Control over Objective Reality I've ever seen, in or outside of fiction. Genevieve O'Reilly the Woman you are 😍

A small moment but something I loved was when Cassian and Wil come into Ghorman hot and Wil's bugging out and Cassian's completely calm then gives Wil a little "you good?" After they've leveled out. An incredibly wholesome and human scene but also an awesome way to casually show off Cassian's amazing piloting skills.

Kleya also had so many small but mighty moments in this arch. I was surprised by how much of a range of emotions we got to see of her. When she's talking to Cassian about him being Done and says "I thought that's what we were fighting for" I feel like I saw a little bit of Genuine Surprise in her expression. Like how could Cassian not think he's allowed to make his own decisions? OR How could Cassian give up when the alternative is never getting to make your own decisions? OR maybe even oh no are we controlling people the same way the empire does? Idk maybe I'm crazy and it wasn't actually surprise she was showing at all but that's how I read the scene and I Loved it.

Jumping around a little the way Dedra was staying so Composed during the entire Massacre compared to her full blown panic attack/breakdown once she had a moment alone was so so good. Something something the way Fascism turns every complicit being into monsters sooner or later. And we already knew that Dedra wasn't a good person (cuts back to S1 her torturing Bix) but this is the first time SHE has to look herself in the eye and accept that for herself. It really made me look at all the little villains in Star Wars differently. Whats the story of all the officers that the ghost crew fights in rebels? How did they get to be where they are? Have any of them had to face the realities of what they were doing? Did any of them Like Doing It?

I also loved Vel's convo with Bix (another duo I didn't know I needed). Not a lot to say about that other than I wish we got to see them interact more.

Also about Vel going back to That Scene, the sheer uncomfortablility she creates when she forces that crying snot nosed kid that killed the love of her life to stare at her as she monologues about how horrible a thing he's done. Such an intense power move and interesting way to depict grief I loved it (and by that I mean I had to cover my face and watch between cracked fingers out of the awkwardness but couldn't stop watching bc CINTA 😭)

Cassian still holding onto his Avoidant Attachment Style with "the day I can't come and go as I please is the day I'm gone" as he leaves against orders to go assassinate Dedra. Such I nice little foreshadowing to the ultimate decision he makes to start the battle of Scarif in Rogue One.

Partagaz's repeated "I'm sorry I kept you waiting" to Dedra was such an awesome little detail. For one: who hasn't been kept waiting by their boss, teacher, authority figure at some point? Such a relatably annoying experience. And two: the way the chain of command in the Empire has disrespect for ones inferiors so baked in to its culture that people inside it don't even recognize when it's happening. Also I can't exactly remember but I'm pretty sure Dedra also kept Syril waiting when he was the one in that room so I thought this was an interesting continuation of that pattern.

Anywayssss if you made it to the end thanks for sticking through it and listening to me ramble!! Andor is/has been/will continue to be one of the best and most well crafted pieces of media I've scene in years and even when I get annoyed with little things I've got to give it the respect it deserves.

[nugromancer]

Veilguard Photodump (Spoiler Edition)

End Game Spoilers (mostly me gushing ab art direction (￣y▽,￣)╭ ) under the cut

I can't get over how stunning the light and colour design is in this game. Funniest thing I noticed was that, while treading through any area, there were a lot of very obvious "Photo Opportunities" where the map designer was like Hey. Hey. Come over here for this little bit of treasure haha. Oooohhh but maybe you can take a moment to enjoy the view? (we worked so hard on it please look pleasepleapspslelpeas) And it's banger after banger of beautiful scenery!

I want to get on this level where I can convey something so gd big. It's much more obvious how massive a Titan is when Rook is in frame, but even without, that's a big lad!!! Huge sucker for a good cloud cap that lets the sun peak through. Literal Silver Lining.

This shot from the end of the Corruption questline (and if you complete the Dreadwolf's Memories + Convince Mythal to help) is great. Like our lady's dragon form is beautifully lit, she's got a spotlight and everything!! And it looks natural. It looks like the sun managed to poke through the blight on this one place.

Also allow me to giggle and kick my feet because not only does Dragon!Mythal's design FUCK (look at that tri-crown horn formation like YEEESSSSSS THAT'S MY BITCH!!!!)

She's also PINK AND PURPLE?? LIKE HELLO??? The lighting is absolutely saturating her scales (plus she's breathing lightning, which glows violet/blue, adding to the effect) so it's brighter than it probably is. But what a fantastic coloration none-the-less!!

End-game Arc doesn't fuck around either. The gold ring from the eclipse against that eye-searing magenta is just. Augh. Ough. Foreboding has never looked so damn pretty.

(Also this general area is one of my favourite places in the Lighthouse. The lighting is just so on point. I have a dozen other photos of this section bc I always stop to admire it lmao.)

That magenta is striking. You'd expect it to be solid red across the board! But once we're in the "real" world we get those warmer tones you would normally associate with this sort of thing... But now that I think ab it, it's probably from the amount of smoke rising from the antaam encampment. The Crossroads don't have pollution! Of course it'd be more jewel-toned! I wonder what our sunsets would look like if there was less of that. Sigh. Anyways--

The Regret Prison. Probably my favourite sequence in the game. Yes I love colour, but let's not forget CONTRAST.

It's soooo easy it end up with a horrible clashing of shapes if you don't balance contrast. So you gotta Contrast the Contrast... by reducing the Contrast. Yes there's depth-of-field shenanigans (making lines blur the farther from the viewpoint they are) but there's also mist/dust/atmosphere. I love this shit.

Not to mention that subtle introduction of colour by incorporating greenery (still heavily desaturated, as to not be glaring/distracting) as you make your way through the map. Like. The starting area was desolate and devoid of life. Any plants you saw were dead. Bare-bone roots. But as your proceed you find Life scattered around. Hope.

I didn't get a proper shot/video clip of the end sequence for this quest, where you're walking across a barren expanse and can see the ritual sight erect itself piece by piece in the distance as you get closer. That sequence knocked me out it was so fucking good!!! To the person(s) who all made that happen, I'm sending them a big sloppy kiss on the cheek it was so elegantly executed. <333

Anyways I feel like I said a lot without saying anything at all but hopefully this was somewhat interesting to someone thank you for coming to my TEDtalk <3

[d20brainrot5]

I wanna talk about suffering

The whole song is a very electronic song, which if you'll remember, indicates magic, divinity, or anything above mortals.

Literally the opening tripped me up when I first heard it because it's so different than what I expected from a song called SUFFERING.

It's very upbeat, and that's what makes it work

Additionally, Penelope's instrument is the viola. Everytime Odysseus is thinking about her (except for in Monster), a viola plays her motif. But here, when Odysseus is supposedly TALKING to Penelope, the viola is noticeably absent.

And the way her name is sung is so different than anything else in the show.

The entire song is hinting at this not actually being Penelope, simply because of how different it is to any other time she's mentioned.

Odysseus saying he's afraid of the water, while odd to bring up in the first song of the SECOND act, isn't entirely unbelievable.

It would really suck for him, especially being at sea for so long, and it seems like something that should have been established in like.. Full Speed Ahead, but okay. Sure. Fear of the water. Why not.

That's not something that immediately stands out to me as odd. It's Penelope's line shortly after that caught me.

"Come play with me and our daughter"

We, as an audience, know that Odysseus has a son. We know that he has one child, and that child is a son. Not a daughter. Now, where the hell did "Penelope" get a daughter? And why does she think they have a daughter when they don't?

It's such a quick line that it's quickly overshadowed by the chorus that follows, which doesn't give the listener much time to really think to far into it. Which makes sense.

The whole point of this is that the siren is convinced that Ody is under her spell. The siren song literally makes it so you don't question things.

Why would Penelope be here? Why does she want you to get in the water so badly? You don't have a daughter?

Those are all questions that wouldn't cross Odysseus' mind if he was under the spell. A lot of the time, Sirens straight up make shit up and sailors don't question it.

Because they can't.

That's how the siren song works.

Problem for the siren: Odysseus isn't under the spell.

But she doesn't know that.

So by quickly brushing past the mention of their nonexistent daughter, there is very little chance for Ody to think anything is off.

Assuming he is spell bound.

Which he isn't.

So that doesn't work.

I've seen a lot of people mention the tone of voice used on the "oh no"

I didn't catch it at first, but it is very much a sarcastic "oh no", like "oh, how horrible... if only I cared"

The song sounds like a really nice duet between lovers for most of it. It genuinely sounds like a conversation they could have had, but there is one part that breaks that illusion.

After Ody says "but only if you answer a question or two," the song enters a state of quick exposition dumping. It remains fast pace, giving Odysseus almost a rap-like verse.

The Siren's response is very different than the rest of the song. She sounds like she's reciting a proverb or something.

And that low piano note is what really breaks the illusion. At first, this section made me think it was a song of Odysseus reflecting on their journey, just framed as him talking to Penelope.

Made me kinda worry for Ody's sanity but what else is new at this point

The low piano note is very similar to the one in There Are Other Ways, after Circe says the prophet is dead. The point is to create a sense of dread.

In Suffering, when she says "the lair of Scylla", the piano indicates to the listener that at some point, when they reach that place, shit is gonna go down.

The rest of the music cuts out, leaving only the ominous tune and the foreboding lyrics.

Then the siren gets all upbeat again, the music cuts, and the upbeat, jumpy tune resumes like nothing happened.

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

You wake with a start later that night. Something feels off. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up and your heart is beating fast, though you don't know why. You get out of bed, making for the tent exit. Minerva is still sleeping soundly in her bed, as quiet as a mouse. You pull back the tent flap and pop your head out, immediately met with a panicked sight. People are running and people are screaming.

You feel panic setting into your body, but allow yourself a deep breath to keep yourself steady before hurrying back into the tent to wake Minerva. She's already stirring, looking around for the source of the screams. You quickly gather up your things, throwing your bag onto your back and thrusting your wand into your pocket. You quickly pull on your shoes, lacing them up as quickly as possible.

Minerva does the same and the two of you leave your tent, glancing around as you exit. Your eyes have always been good in the dark, and you're just able to make out the shapes of people running into the woods, fleeing something chasing them. You can hear loud jeering and cruel laughter, bright bolts of light darting from wands of the pursuers. Then, there's a strong burst of green light that illuminates the scene.

A crowd of tightly packed wizards, moving close together with hooded faces, are marching slowly across the field. They have their wands pointed high in the air, and above them were four human figures being twisted and contorted into impossible shapes. Tents crumple, and a few even set fire as they're pushed over.

You watch on in horror as, lit by blazing tents, one wizard turns the female figure ahead of him upside down, forcing her nightdress to fall and reveal things that shouldn't have been revealed.

"That poor woman..." you mutter in utter horror. "That is absolutely sick."

Another wizard spins what looks to be a young child at an incredible rate high above the ground, the child's head hanging limply at his side.

Minerva gasps beside you.

"We have to do something," you say. "I can't watch."

You pull your wand out of your pocket, holding it at the ready. You cast your mind back to your time as an auror; before James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was captured. This was definitely a group of sick people, but you've dealt with sick people before.

Constant vigilance.

You try to ignore the horrible pit of dread sickening your stomach. Where's Harry? Is he alright?

You and Minerva run towards the dark wizards, along with plenty of Ministry wizards attempting to stop them as well.

"Don't let those Muggles fall!" one commands as he throws a spell at the hooded figure.

They're picking on Muggles? What Muggles?

As you get closer, you realise that the masks the wizards are wearing are awfully familiar. It seems to be made of metal with unsettling swirly indentations etched into it. The mouth looks like its been stitched over with thin strips of metal. The eye-holes are dark and foreboding and you feel anxiety churning in the pit of your stomach.

Death Eaters.

You point your wand at the nearest one, exclaiming, "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Immobolus!"

The wizard straightens before toppling to the ground, immobilised. Beside you, one Ministry wizard is knocked off his feet and you run to his aid. His arm has been cut, a long line down the centre of his forearm. You pull him to his feet, saying a quick, "Ferula" and tapping his wound with your wand. Bandages wrap magically around his arm.

"Incendio!" a Death Eater yells, casting the grass in front of you on fire.

"BOMBARDA!"

A tent behind you explodes wildly and without thinking you launch yourself out of the way, landing painfully, but unharmed, on the grass nearby. You quickly get to your feet, just in time to see Mr Weasley deflecting a curse from the Death Eaters.

While he's busy with one, another fires a deadly spell at him and just in time, you yell, "PROTEGO!".

The spell bounces off harmlessly and Mr Weasley glances back at you for a split-second, a grateful expression on his face.

Then, something streaks into the sky over the woods. You watch as it takes on the shape of a smoky green skull, a serpent slithering out of its mouth. Multiple witches and wizards around you gasp, horrified.

The Dark Mark.

At that, the Death Eaters turn and see it too...and they all Disapparate. Even though you're distanced from the woods, you hear several shrill, panicked screams come from it. You know that the Mark has caused it.

The Muggles come tumbling to the ground and someone manages to cast, "Aresto Momentum!" and the victims' fall slows, landing gently on the soft grass.

"It came from the woods!"

At that, everyone bar the few that stay behind to tend to the Muggles, Disapparate and land in the woods, in a large circle. There's three people in front of you and you barely register what's happening when there's a chorus of "STUPEFY!" and the three duck low to the ground. The spells cross over their ducked heads, bouncing off trees and bounding into the woods, and you realise with a start that you recognise those three ducked heads of ginger, brunette and jet-black —

"Stop!" yells Mr Weasley. "STOP! That's my son!"

Quickly, you hurry towards the students, following Mr Weasley close behind.

"Harry — " you breathe, relieved to see your godson safe and sound. Well, thoroughly startled, but otherwise unharmed. You reach your arms out to hug him, before remembering the people around you and awkwardly pat his arm, doing the same to the others so it doesn't look like you're giving him special treatment.

"Ron — Harry — " Mr Weasley says shakily, "Hermione — are you alright?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," Barty Crouch says curtly. You know Barty Crouch S.R. well — he's the one who put Sirius in Azkaban without a trial. You feel your blood start to boil at the very sight of him.

Crouch's face is taut with rage as Ron, Harry, and Hermione stand to face him. Harry glances at you nervously.

"Which of you did it?" Crouch snaps. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

He's hardly being serious, is he? He doesn't actually think kids conjured that up?

"We didn't do that!" says Harry, gesturing up at the Dark Mark.

"We didn't do anything!" exclaims Ron, who is rubbing his elbow and looking up at his father indignantly. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouts Crouch, his wand pointing directly at Ron, looking like he's about to pop a vein. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Come off it, Crouch," you say. "They're kids, they'd never have been able to — "

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" Mr Weasley asks quickly.

"Over there," Hermione says nervously, pointing into the dark, thick trees. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words — an incantation — "

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch says, turning his bulging, beady little eyes on Hermione, disbelief written on his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy — "

But you've stopped listening, instead looking warily out into the dark woods, wand raised.

"We're too late," says a witch behind you. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," says a man with a scruffy beard, one you recognise as Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory's father. You've met him several times at parent-teacher meetings at Hogwarts. Nice man, very proud of his son. "Our Stunners went right through those trees...there's a good chance we got them..."

"Amos, be careful!" a few say warningly as Mr Diggory squares his shoulders and walks forward into the darkness. You watch anxiously, waiting for his reappearance.

Luckily, in the next few seconds, you hear him shout, "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's — but — blimey..."

"You've got someone?" shouts Crouch. "Who? Who is it?"

With the snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves and crunching footsteps, Mr Diggory reemerges, holding a tiny, limp figure in his hands. Mr Diggory deposits it in front of Crouch, and with a start you realise it's a house elf.

You stare at Crouch, watching as his jaw flexes erratically.

"This — cannot — be — " he says jerkily, wide eyes staring down at the elf. "No — "

He moves quickly around Mr Diggory and strides over to where the elf was found.

"No point, Mr Crouch," Mr Diggory calls after him. "There's no one else there."

Crouch is having none of it, however, and you can hear he's busy rustling around, pushing bushes aside.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr Diggory says grimly, looking down at the unconscious house elf. "Barty Crouch's house elf...I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," Mr Weasley says quietly, "you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark is a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," replies Mr Diggory. "She had a wand."

"What?" says Mr Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr Diggory holds up a wand, showing it to Mr Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

There's a sudden pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparates right next to you. He looks breathless and disoriented, slightly dazed, as he spins on the spot, gawking up at the Mark.

"The Dark Mark!" he pants, almost trampling the poor elf as he turns to your group. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Crouch has returned empty-handed. His face is ghostly white, a vein popping in his neck as both his hand and his moustache twitch.

"Where have you been, Barty?" says Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too — gulping gargoyles!" Bagman spots the elf beneath him. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," says Crouch, talking away in his typical jerky fashion. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why — "

Realisation seems to dawn on Bagman as he looks up to the smoky green skull in the sky, down to the elf, and then to Crouch.

"No!" he says. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," says Mr Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's alright with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Crouch says nothing, and Mr Diggory seems to take this as approval. He raises his wand, points it at Winky and says, "Rennervate!"

Winky stirs weakly. Her big brown eyes open and she blinks several times. She raises herself into a sitting position.

She looks slowly, as everyone is silent, up to the Mark, and she gives a gasp, quickly followed by terrified sobs.

"Elf!" says Mr Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky begins to rock backward and forward, her body racked with shakes and sobs.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," says Mr Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I — I — I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasps desperately. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Mr Diggory barks, whipping out the wand and brandishing it in front of her. Harry's eyes light up.

"Hey — that's mine!"

Everyone turns to look at Harry, you doing the same. You give him your subtlest eyebrow raise.

"Excuse me?" Mr Diggory says incredulously.

"That's my wand!" he says. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeats Mr Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" says Mr Weasley angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er — of course not," Mr Diggory mumbles abashedly. "Sorry...got carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," says Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," says Mr Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turns to look at Winky once again. You feel bad for the poor creature. It's obvious to you that she didn't summon the Dark Mark — why would she? She's a house elf! She wouldn't even know the incantation for it. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squeals Winky, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I is...I is...I is not doing magic with it, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" says Hermione, looking nervous to be speaking in front of all the Ministry officials and both you and Minerva, but still determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looks to Harry and Ron for support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," says Harry, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron agrees.

"Well, we'll soon see," growls Mr Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand has performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembles and shakes her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raises his wand and places it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" says Mr Diggory.

You watch with bated breath as before your eyes, a much wispier version of the skull in the sky forms in the air between the two wands.

"Deletrius!" he shouts, and the skull disappears. "So..." he looks at Winky with a sort of savage triumph, revelling in his rightness.

"I is not doing it!" she squeals in pure terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands — I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr Diggory roars. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," says Mr Weasley loudly, "think about it...precious few wizards know how to do that spell...where would she have learnt it?"

"Perhaps Mr Diggory is suggesting," Crouch cuts in, cold anger evident with every spit of the letters, "that I routinely teach my servants how to conjure the Dark Mark?"

The air stills and you feel the unpleasantness biting into you, making you want to Disapparate on the spot.

Mr Diggory looks terrified. "I — Mr Crouch...not...not at all..."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barks Crouch. "Harry Potter — and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

Two least likely people? I mean, Harry, of course...but Barty Crouch? Bit of a stretch, he's the exact same as any one of you here — except he has a rather precarious case of his head being shoved so far up his own —

"Of course, everyone knows..." Mr Diggory mutters, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

"And I myself, who have proclaimed profusely how I despise and detest the Dark Arts with all of my being?" Crouch continues, glaring at the red-faced Mr Diggory. "I don't understand how you could be placing so much suspicion on me, when the wife of a notorious Death Eater stands among us!"

Crouch's cold, beady eyes settle on you, causing heads to turn in your direction. Before, people hadn't really taken much notice of you, everyone was too busy with Winky and the Mark. A woman gasps as she recognises you, taking a fearful step back. You glance around at the faces. You're used to this — these expressions followed you everywhere you went that first year after Sirius was captured. Everyone knew your face from the papers, and they didn't like to see it.

Mr Weasley and Mr Diggory are both taken aback. They clearly forgot your face. It hurts you to see the worried, almost scared looks on their faces. These are the parents of your students, two people you respect, and they're looking at you like you just stabbed someone.

Harry is looking between you and Crouch, anger on his face when he looks at Crouch. He knows Sirius is innocent, and Crouch just insulted his godfather. Hey, and his godmother too! Harry can feel anger bubbling up in his veins, wanting to jump up and defend the both of you, but he's forced to sit and watch as the wizards and witches around you stare, their faces a mixture of different emotions — and none of them good.

"I am not a Death Eater, never have been, never will be," you reply steadily, not breaking your eye contact with Crouch.

"Oh? Yet you married one?"

You grit your teeth, trying your best not to punch Crouch. Will you ever hear the end of this?

"I am more than just my marriage, Crouch!" you snap. Stupid, stupid man. "When will you understand that I am a real human being with my own thoughts, feelings, motivations — and that I'm not a decoration only fit to blindly follow what my husband does!"

You're so sick and tired of being accused of something you would never do, something you would never be apart of — all because these prats put Sirius away without using their pea-sized brains, and were somehow outsmarted by a fucking rat.

How stupid do they have to be? You are not Sirius. Just by marrying him that means you must be guilty by proxy? What a senseless notion.

Harry wants to help you, he really, truly does. He wants to tell them all that Sirius is innocent, and so are you, but knows he can't. He feels bad. He feels like he's doing nothing, watching as you glare at Crouch, who just glares right back.

Crouch's nostrils flare and he opens his mouth to say something further but you couldn't care less, cutting across him quickly.

"Look, it wasn't me. First of all, I'd have no reason to because I am not a Death Eater — and secondly, I've been with Professor McGonagall the entire night. If I had conjured it, she would have seen."

Minerva nods beside you. "She was by my side the entire time, and I can assure you — she is no Death Eater."

You can see that Crouch is reluctant to argue with Minerva. She's a very well-respected figure amongst...well, everywhere. She's practically taught every witch and wizard in England.

"She — she was with us too," Mr Weasley says, giving you an almost imperceptible nod. He seems more relaxed now after Minerva has defended you. "Helping us against that group of Death Eaters."

You look to Crouch expectantly, arms folded. "Are you done? Can we get back to finding out who actually did this, considering we have the wand in question?"

Crouch is still fuming. "I — "

"I agree," Mr Weasley says. He turns to Winky, a kind expression on his face. Winky stills shrinks and flinches like she's expecting another shout. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

"I — I is finding it...finding it there, sir..." she whispers, "there...in the trees, sir..."

"You see, Amos?" says Mr Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have only been a few feet away from the real culprit!" says Mr Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky trembles violently, her big brown eyes looking feverishly from Diggory, to Bagman, to Crouch. Then she gulps and says, "I is seeing no one, sir...no one..."

"Amos," Crouch says curtly. "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr Diggory's brow bends just the slightest, betraying his apprehension of this idea. Despite this, he says nothing.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Crouch adds coldly.

"M-m-master..." Winky chokes, her eyes spilling with tears as she hobbles over to Crouch, clasping her tiny hands together in a begging manner. "M-master, p-please..."

Crouch just stares back, so coldly that you swear you feel your body temperature drop.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he says slowly, eyes fixed on the sobbing elf below him. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→→ read chapter sixteen here!

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

sad to say I spent most of this chapter copying from the book 😔 would be better if crouch didn't talk so much 🙏

a massive thank you to all my taglist loves for all their kindness and support:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @hyperspeedo @carpe000diem @jennifer0305

[acourtofthought]

Elriel's love to quote this👇🏻 scene from ACOFAS whenever a reader says that elriel seemed platonic before Azriel's BC. Why do you think sjm wrote this scene? What was the purpose behind it?

“Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary.”

I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight. “Lucien is away right now.”

Az’s brows rose. “Where?”

I winked at him. “You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?”

Az crossed his arms, face as elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side. “I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.”

“Why?”

Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited.

“It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

To know when and if Lucien sought her out. What they did together.

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly.

Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I straightened at the pure order in the words. But I said, voice slipping into a drawl, “He went to the Spring Court. He’ll be there for Solstice.”

“Tamlin kicked him out the last time.”

“He did. But he invited him for the holiday.” Likely because Tamlin realized he’d be spending it alone in that manor. Or whatever was left of it.

(.......)

I shoved the thought away. “I’ll discuss Vassa and Jurian with Lucien when he returns. See if he’s up for another visit.” I angled my head. “Do you think he can handle being around Graysen?”

Az’s expressionless face was precisely the reason he’d never lost to us at cards. “Why should I be the judge of that?”

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track Lucien’s every movement?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. The shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. Too much. Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

I was inclined to agree. So was Feyre—and Nesta.

I don't think this scene is evidence of Az having feelings for Elain for two reasons.

The first is the sigh of relief Az seemed to have when Rhys told him they didn't need to get Nesta and Elain gifts. Not to mention the way he asked, "Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?"

If Az had started feeling something for Elain, if he even considered her a friend at this point, than shouldn't he have wanted to get her something to help her celebrate her first Solstice? It was her first real holiday after being turned, having her fiance reject her and losing her father, that he was possibly relieved not to have to think of what to get her doesn't read as a guy who is worried about her happiness and helping her feel a part of the festivities.

Elain, ELAIN, newly turned fae and barely over a half of a year living in the NC still went out of her way to shop for others outside of her sisters for a holiday she's never celebrated yet Az couldn't be bothered?

The second is that if he had truly had any feelings for Elain it looks pretty bad that he had heat and yearning on his face for Mor while Elain sat in the room with them. Can you imagine if that were you, how horrible that would feel? A guy that is supposed to like you but is drooling over someone else in front of you?

I think the entire point of the above scene is to show Azriel's animosity towards Lucien. Whether that's because Lucien is an Autumn Court male, whether it's because he was irritated with Lucien for making himself so useful to the IC in ACOWAR and the novella, taking on jobs that they used to rely on only Az for, or whether it's because he hates that Lucien had a very similar upbringing to his own but did not turn out to be quite as dark as Az, I'm not sure.

The Az bonus shows us that he's ashamed of the things he does, he's afraid that those things have tainted him (while also seeming to revel in them as he's doing them considering he taught himself how to conduct a symphony of pain with his torture sessions) and Lucien is the complete opposite of that.

Az was tortured by his brothers / father and Lucien spent his childhood being tormented by his, we're told they did their best to break and kill him. We also know that Beron killed Lucien's lover.

Az chose to seek out revenge on his brothers. Lucien has never sought revenge on his family.

Both Az and Lucien have a polite exterior while having an underlying rage at certain things but only Az tends to lose control of his rage whereas Lucien rarely does and when Lucien does it's more him being a smart-ass whereas Az turns things physical.

I do think Az struggles with his moral-grayness (something he needs to learn to accept about himself) and seeing Lucien who is genuinely a good guy without being quite so morally gray probably triggers Az's issues of self-worth, especially because this really good guy ended up receiving the gift of a mate compared to Az who has pined for Mor for centuries but was not given one.

So yeah, I think the above scene really doesn't have much to do with Elain so much as Azriel's unjustified dislike of Lucien.

Az is a constant simmering pot, ready to boil over at any minute though he adopts an outwardly calm and occasionally soft spoken demeanor. I think he's learned to play the game for his job, learned the social cues and how to act but I think he sees Lucien and realizes it's not an act for him. I believe Lucien is often just being himself; he's more sad over his past than angry, more hopeless at his current situation than angry (that's not to say he never feels anger, I just think it's a fleeting emotion verus Az who seems ready to Hulk out at the drop of a hat), and I think all of that pisses Az off because even after 500 years he still feels like he doesn't know where he belongs and here comes this "good / nice guy" who doesn't even have to try, who just easily fits in to wherever he finds himself.

Side Note, I also think that's why Az acted a bit boastful about Elain to Rhys, how "she has no interest in him anyway" in regards to Lucien. It feels a bit like something Az secretly gloats over, that Lucien's own mate doesn't seem to want him rather than Az showing any sorrow for Lucien's suffering the way we saw with Cassian.

It's interesting that Az was thinking back on how Elain hadn't gotten Lucien a gift the previous year but got him one. It sort of feels like that was the catalyst for Az's sudden sexual interest in Elain, something for Az to try and one up Lucien on, to try to make himself feel better to believe the "good guy" doesn't always win.

(Though I think we're going to see a very humbled Az in the future with all that, how loyal mates do get the girl, how he won't easily defeat Lucien and eventually that will all translate to Az finding his own HEA and the realization that he's a good guy too even with his darkness).

[z-eusie]

awww rly liked your last fic!! any thoughts/hcs on how the pregnancy went? Or any of heras previous pregnancies tbh

thank you!!!

i won't say too much about the current baby, because i actually intend to write about the pregnancy a little bit more, but i can talk about the others!!

when hera was pregnant with hephaestus, it went so smoothly on paper. there were no real physical complications, a relatively easy pregnancy, no real morning sickness, etc etc. mentally though, hera struggled significantly with all of the changes, which contributed greatly to, what i headcanon as, severe PPD that was directly correlated with what happened after. excited as hera was to be a mother, there was so much anxiety and heartache attached that made it super difficult for her.

ares and eris were horrible. hera was so ill the entire time, and had zeus working extra hard to look after her. she was seriously down for the count, not to mention the increased strain of carrying twins. it definitely foreboded what little hellions she was going to bring into the world, lmao. but she eased into motherhood a lot more this time around, so she flipped the script that way, and felt significantly more prepared for what was to come (and more determined to get it right)

eileithyia was textbook. everything hera had watched other mothers experience in their pregnancies - the average, i guess you could say - is exactly what happened with thyia. it wasn't super easy, but it wasn't very difficult either.

enyo was weird. not too difficult, but came with a lot of really strange experiences, like weird cravings and strange body changes she hadn't really had with the first two pregnancies. when enyo was born with blond hair - almost white, far blonder than her father - it was just another weird thing that was added on top.

hebe was a stubborn one, who caused several complications when it was actually time for her birth - not to mention, hebe was a big baby, which hera refused to let her live down for a long time lol. this is actually the delivery that scared zeus the most, even though hera was much more confident and comfortable at this point - he just could not stand the anticipation or pain hera was in, and the uncertainty in it all.

zeus was there for each birth - i'd like to see anyone try and stop the king of the gods from doing so. i think the first few babies were also delivered by rhea and leto (the last few.... not so much). eileithyia was present at the birth of hebe, probably only about 12 or so, but starting her journey!

new baby will be an interesting endeavour for sure :)

[blackjackkent]

OK, back to the main quest for a bit. Next up is "Something Wrong," which means we're off to Hossberg again to hang with Antoine and Evka!

Fantastic. Let's go hit some horrible monsters.

Helena finds the Warden couple crouched in the atrium of a large stone building. Judging by the griffon statue out front, it's a Warden outpost, although like most of the Warden structures Helena has seen, it seems like it's seen better days.

"Rook!" Evka is leaning on the hilt of her greathammer, watching as Antoine fiddles with repairing some sort of metal contraption; she straightens up at the sound of Helena's footsteps entering the atrium. "Welcome to the Hossberg Wetlands. I'd say make yourself comfortable..."

She gestures around wryly, and Helena laughs. Comfort isn't really in the equation; the air is incredibly damp and cold, and rain patters on the mud outside.

"This place is..."

"Foreboding?" Evka finishes dryly.

"Yes. Well, foreboding is normal here," Antoine puts in with a low chuckle. "But it's worse than usual."

Evka nods. "The blight's always a problem in the Anderfels. It's not strange to find a corrupted patch of forest or swamp."

"What is strange," Antoine says, picking up the thread from his wife, "is the sudden surge of blight through the Hossberg Wetlands." He frowns, looking up to meet Helena's eyes. "Much like the village you found, the blight here struck too quickly, and in strange forms.

"It's choked the whole area," says Evka grimly. "And the local village, Lavendel, was caught in it." Her jaw works, but then she brightens a little as she adds, "But there's survivors. We can be grateful for that."

Helena's neck prickles at the thought of another place like D'Meta's Crossing, overrun by blight and dying inch by inch in that strange miasma. That was just her and Neve and Bellara and Harding, though; now, at least, they have experts on their side. "If there was a place that needed Wardens..." she says wryly.

"Then here we are," Evka says, calm, firm, straightening up and steadying her hands on the hammer hilt.

Antoine turns his attention back to the mechanism he's fiddling with - a metal globe wrapped in other metallic strips, a device Helena doesn't immediately recognize. "As far as we can tell," he goes on as he works, "the gods you're chasing weren't here directly."

Evka nods. "If the blight's really changed, then the changes are widespread. As for how much..."

Antoine frowns. His head lifts, cocking to the side slightly. "I... I can almost sense something in there. Another sound, under the blight's usual song."

(A/N: Uh oh.)

Helena blinks curiously. "Stories say Wardens sense blight. I never thought it was literal."

Wardens are one of those things talked about in the abstract in Minrathous, more myth than fact. Sure, they existed, and saved the world occasionally when the South got into another mess, but no one had ever met one or really expected to. So talking with Davrin, with Antoine and Evka, is little surreal.

Antoine pauses for a moment, looks sideways at Evka, and then shakes his head. "It happens when you join the order," he says quietly. "But that's more than I should say."

A troubled look flashes across Evka's eyes. "When we met, you tried to block the sound out," she says. "Now you hear too much."

(A/N: UH OH.)

Antoine is only a half-second late in plastering the casual smile back onto his face, but Helena can see the hesitation. "If it helps, that's what we're here for," he says firmly.

Some of the nuance of this conversation is lost on Helena; she's too busy thinking about the idea of facing yet another D'Meta's, with all that that implies. "Okay," she says wryly. "This all sounds awful. And we're standing in the middle of it. Which is normal for me."

Antoine laughs. "For us too."

"So what's the plan?" Helena asks.

"We heard rumors of the surge here and volunteered to investigate," Evka explains. "The First Warden expects a report."

"If we want proof the blight's changed," says Antoine, "then this place is where to find it."

Evka frowns. "But the way the blight left the village - we've had our hands full just keeping it back and helping the sick."

Helena nods slowly. "You need more to study."

"Yes!" Antoine smiles brightly. "The odd growths the blight has formed - like boils. They surround Lavendel. I need more samples."

"So you two study the blight?" Helena asks slowly.

Antoine shrugs. "Formally? No. Well, maybe. It depends on your definition."

"We travel a lot," says Evka. "And tend to get sidetracked by weird problems."

"Who knew I'd roam so far from Orlais?" Antoine says with a soft laugh, before looking back at Helena. "if we want to help, we need to learn what we're dealing with."

Helena thinks about the blight pustules she's encountered previously, and how much she has deeply NOT desired getting any closer to them. Another in the long string of things she is in no way qualified for that keep landing on her to-do list. "Samples. That's going to be... gross," she says sardonically. "That's probably the best word for it."

"I'll give you something to contain the blight," Antoine says, chuckling. "And watch for darkspawn out there."

Helena gives a dramatic wave of one arm, turning away and trotting towards the exit and the steady drizzle outside. "Right. Darkspawn! Can't forget them!"

"Good luck!" Evka calls after her.

Right, Helena thinks, shaking her head. I'll need it.

[sokkastyles]

I don't know, it seems like Azula just wants Ursa to be proud of her coronation and achievements during the war, as "Azula in the spirit temple" also shows:

Ursa says mostly positive things to Azula, that she's proud of her and that she loves her, but it is Azula who debunks Ursa's line about not wanting to miss her coronation, because she doesn't believe her mother.

I just don't really understand why the line "I love you, Azula, I do" should necessarily be what Azula knows, because of that one line about Mai and Ty Lee?

Azula believes this line because Ursa scolded Azula in her childhood and we see that she, in fact, had succeeded in teaching Azula some morality, but because Ursa and Azula also parted on bad terms and Ursa didn't say goodbye to Azula, it's hard for Azula to believe when Ursa says some positive things to her, like when she says she's proud of her and that she loves her, meaning the only things that are the truth to Azula is criticism.

You're saying not everything the hallucination says is what Azula wants to hear, but why it necessarily should be everything she knows?

Maybe it can be both? Maybe there are some things she knows and some things that she wants to hear?

I never said it had to be one or the other. You did, when you came into my inbox framing your question as a dichotomy. Of course Azula wants her mother to tell her that she loves her, but she also can't admit that to herself, because that means she has to acknowledge that she was forced to choose between her father and her mother in her childhood and that the choices she made hurt other people. She has to acknowledge that love is stronger than fear, and that also means she has to acknowledge her own weaknesses.

You also have to acknowledge the difference in tone in the scene in Sozin's Comet vs the dream Azula has about her family praising her in Azula in the Spirit Temple. In the latter scene, what clues the reader in to the fact that it's not real is how bright and cheerful everything seems, and how that clashes with the reality. We know this is Azula lying to herself and imagining only what she wants to hear, because in reality, her mother and uncle and brother would not be praising her for continuing the war. She imagines everyone smiling and happy, and her brother without a scar, but the scene is perverse, because the reality is that Azula did horrible things, her father did horrible things, and her brother was scarred because he stood up for greater good.

In Sozin's Comet, Azula is immediately suspicious of Ursa because of her own self doubt. The entire scene is about her own inner conflict, the tone is dark and foreboding, and Ursa appears sad even while she appears to be praising Azula, which is meant to show Azula's awareness that she has brought about her own downfall.

Azula wants her mother to tell her she loves her, but she also can't admit this because she believes love is a weakness. When her mother criticizes her for using fear to control people, Azula says fear is the only way, and tries to prove it by saying "even you fear me." When Ursa refutes this, and tells Azula that she loves her, it contradicts everything Azula has wanted to believe about herself. Azula wants to believe she is in control. If Azula admits that she wants and needs her mother's love, and that her mother also loved her, she is not in control. Because her mother is gone, and this is not something she could control. Denying that her mother loved her is a way for Azula to control the situation and a way for her to prove that power is better than love. But Azula knows, deep down, that this is not true, which is why she destroys the image of her mother and weeps at the same time. The scene is meant to tell us that Azula has gotten the power she wants, but she's still not happy, because this has come at the cost of her relationships.

[rainba]

The street is cold, the ground still damp from the rain. A distant street lamp flickers as moths circle underneath it.

It's been roughly five hours, maybe more since Kairos staked out his Darlings home and he would be lying if he said he wasn't...concerned.

The apartment has been dark and still since you came home, well- there were the times he thought he saw a shadow by one of the windows, but when he tries to get a better look, nothing's there.

He really wants to see what's going on, but an eerily quiet home isn't necessarily unusual for you, what if Darling is inside and they're awake and then they see him? What if they call the police, or...or what if they say they hate him?! It's too risky, but the anxiety is eating him alive.

What if they're not okay? What if they actually need help?...WHAT IF THEY'RE DYING? Oh god, maybe they're dying, he has to do something, he has to do something, he has to do something, he has to do something, he has to!

It doesn't matter if they hate him for this, he just needs to know they're okay. Having made up his mind and a plan of action, Kairos darts across the street and climbs up the water spout to their bedroom window.

Their curtains aren't drawn and he can't see them in here either, in fact it doesn't even look like they've been in here at all. Their bed is still made, no items have been moved or taken, but he knows they're here, he saw them enter the apartment. They got out of their car, keys jingling in their hand, they opened the door, didn't turn on a single light when they did, and nothing since. It's like they just vanished after they crossed the threshold of the door.

This whole thing was starting to freak him out, were they okay or not? Should he leave and call the police?...No, better not. The police are too slow, what if they're in danger?

With that thought spurring him forward, Kairos opens the window and immediately regrets it. An overpowering sense of dread and foreboding enters his body as if the very air inside the home was made of it, every alarm in his body screams at him to leave. To escape and never come back, but he pushes forward, they could be in grave danger! He can't be a coward now! At least that's what he tells himself.

He carefully creeps his way inside, not daring to make a single noise as he feels it may spell his doom if he does. He quietly approaches their bedroom door and grips the knob, his palm sweaty as he slowly, very slowly, opens the door.

The hallway is dark, save for the nightlight towards the end. It illuminates the threshold of your bedroom and the guest bedroom in a cold, distant, blue light...and it also illuminates them.

They're sitting on the floor, their bare back facing him. They're...not wearing any clothes? Why are they just sitting on the floor, staring at the closed door of the guest bedroom? He wants to say something, but he also feels as though he shouldn't. In fact, he feels like he should leave.

Before he could think about it for a moment longer, their arms move, palms pressing against the hardwood as they prepare to stand, and immediately he knows something is wrong. Their arms are bony, and long, their palms seem abnormally large and your fingers are more like twigs than flesh.

As they stand, Kairos feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. A horrible bone crunching sound emits through the hallway as they rise, as if the very bones need to be broken and readjusted for them to move, their head disappears into the darkness above, the nightlight not bright enough to allow its light to reach that far. Their legs are about as tall as him, this...this can't be real? They don't look like that, humans don't look like that.

What's happening? Is he dreaming? He hears more crunching and he feels like he wants to vomit. Their spine twists unnaturally and he knows without seeing that its eyes are on him.

He made a mistake, he shouldn't have entered their home. No, maybe the mistake was taking interest in them at all.

I felt like making a spooky drabble, I hope Kairos is thoroughly frightened 💖 and yes the Darling is based off of SCP-096

oh. my. god.

anon... This was so good!!!! The atmosphere, the suspense, everything... Thank you SO much for sharing this with me! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Honestly? This totally sounds like a nightmare Kairos would have. Every night this scenario plays out in his dreams, endlessly repeating itself whenever he dares to close his eyes... His mind is haunted by the horrifying figure that's supposed to be his darling.

What does this all mean? Who knows...

(Oooh, now I'm also imagining Kairos being downright terrified of a monster-hybrid darling such as this, but his love and obsession still remains. ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶ Cold sweat pouring down his face as his darling's freakishly boney fingers slide down his jaw... His heart is throbbing in his chest, he's paralyzed with fear, but he still refuses to leave your side.)

[eldritchlibertine]

Michael Langdon x Nameless FMC Words: 5,462

The apocalypse has come and gone, and 18 months have passed at Outpost 3. Life is a monotonous, bleak expanse of tedium - until the arrival of Michael Langdon shakes the very foundations of her existence and she realizes how little control of she has over her own life.

They were all gathered in the library, waiting for an ‘announcement’ from Ms. Venable. And she might have been imagining it, but the air in this horrible, underground bunker felt even more still and oppressive than usual. 

Maybe it was the silence. 

While they would usually spend their evenings in the library, spending time before and after dinner reminiscing about the times when the world wasn’t completely fucked, tonight was different.  

Tonight, there was a stranger in Venable’s office and live snakes had crawled out of their dinner bowls, despite being definitely not alive just moments before. No. Tonight was very different.

Even the radio was silent. Maureen McGovern had been singing about a morning after ceaselessly for the last 18 months. She thought back bitterly to those happier times, when they thought the song was a good omen - a sign that perhaps their stint in this terrible purgatory would soon come to an end. But no, as time had dragged on without change, the stupid song had morphed into nothing more than a mocking reminder of their stagnation. 

So this silence should have felt like a blessing - but it didn’t. It felt like a threat.

It loomed over them like a black cloud, heavy with foreboding. The only sounds that punctured the quiet were the soft rustles of clothing as the others shifted uncomfortably, each noise amplified in the unusual stillness that had taken hold.

Finally, Venable arrived, shadowed as always by Ms. Mead, her faithful specter. The rhythmic tap of her cane interrupted the horrible silence, but she didn’t speak once she’d reached her position in front of the fireplace - she just watched them - waiting. The atmosphere of the room seemed to pull taut, like a violin string about to snap. Now, no one was fidgeting. It didn’t even seem like anyone was breathing. Then, cutting through the suspense like a knife, the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed from the passage outside. 

This was obviously who Venable was waiting for; the mysterious visitor that had arrived the day before.

He entered with an unhurried gait, footsteps echoing methodically in the oppressive silence that followed him like a shroud as he took Venable’s place in front of the fire.

Her breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was because his was the first new face she’d seen in what felt like an eternity, but she found her mouth going dry at the sight of him. There was something ethereal about him - captivating, but unsettling. Perfection in the flesh.

His golden hair framed his face like the halo of a fallen angel, and his eyes seemed to flicker with shadows and flames. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch him. 

"Allow me to introduce myself," his voice cut through the thick tension in the room, breaking her from her reverie. "My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative." He spoke with a theatrical flourish, and his lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; a facade of warmth unable to melt the ice there. 

Her mouth was dry again; this time, a primal instinct warning of danger. He exuded power and menace and his voice carried the intangible authority of someone who knows too much, who has seen things no one else has, and who wields that knowledge like a weapon.

He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back, savoring the moment. “I won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says, the ghost of a smile hovering around the corner of his lips. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. The three other compounds have been overrun and destroyed.”

Timothy voiced the question that was on all of their minds. “What happened to the people inside?”

"Massacred," Langdon drawled, drawing out the syllables. They rolled off his tongue like he enjoyed the taste of them, and she couldn't help but feel there was a sort of relish behind his words. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and for a moment she saw it—the glint in his eye that said he was enjoying telling them this. Her heart fluttered, and she told herself it was from fear.

"The same fate that will befall almost all of you. But," he continued with a casualness that belied the significance of his message, "there is a place beyond the reach of this devastation. The Sanctuary." 

A flicker of something indefinable sparked in his eyes as he leaned forward, the dim light catching his gaze and making it dance with something indefinable and sinister. 

“The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.” 

The next questions he fielded with a bland, “that’s classified,” before he said, “All that matters is that the sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive.”

"The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call Cooperating" he announced, the words dropping like weights into the silence of the room. "I will then use the information gained to find those who are—how shall I put it?—worthy and fit to join us."

The air seemed to thicken around her, charged with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She watched as his lips curled into what could have been a smile, though there was nothing warm about it. 

"If you belong," he continued, his tone almost teasing, seeming to relish the power he held over them, "you'll be safe within the Sanctuary's embrace."

He seemed to take a sick pleasure in their uncertainty, in the hope he dangled before them like a lifeline that might just as easily turn into a noose.

The air seemed to grow colder, denser, as if every word from Langdon's lips added weight to the already suffocating atmosphere and she questioned silently whether survival was worth enduring more of this.

Her thoughts must have been louder than she realized, because suddenly, Michael's gaze captured hers. His eyes - icy, sharp and discerning - held her own for a moment and a shiver ran down her spine as she wondered whether he could feel her inner turmoil. But just as quickly as their eyes met, his attention swept past her, continuing his survey of the room.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t even hear Coco’s objection, but she felt the palpable tension settle over the room, as thick as the shadows that played across Michael's face. His eyes fixed on Coco with a disquieting calm.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he said, each word dropping like a stone into the silence that followed Coco's outburst. Coco, her earlier confidence now shattered, shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

"What happens if we choose not to?" Andre asked, his voice scraping against the stillness of the room.

The question hung between them and Langdon’s lips curved with the hint of a smile; one that spoke of malice - a smile that knew too much, that held secrets and the power to unravel them at will.

"Then you stay here and die," he said, that cold smile leaking into his voice.

The declaration sliced through the tension like blade and the finality in his tone made it clear that this was not an idle threat. 

Without breaking eye contact, his hand delved into the pocket of his coat and emerged with a small glass bottle filled with white pills. The rattle of them as he held the vial was unnervingly loud in the quiet room. 

“But all is not lost,” he said. “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these." His eyes seemed to glitter as he continued. "And one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

The offer dangled before them, an alluring escape from the waking nightmare they found themselves trapped within. She could feel the pull of the promise—peaceful oblivion, an end to the fear and uncertainty that had burrowed deep into her bones. Her mind toyed with the idea, desperate for reprieve, Maybe she could skip the interview process altogether and just ask him for one of those pills. Anything had to be better than this.

Around her, the silence swelled, heavy with the unspoken thoughts of her companions, each person wrestling with their own demons, their own temptations. To her, the pills were a siren call, a way out that was both terrifying and tender in its cruelty. To the others, they seemed to be a threat - a warning.

Again, Michael’s eyes seemed to catch hers as her thoughts drifted to the darkness. For a fleeting moment, she felt exposed, vulnerable as if he had peeled back the layers of her resolve to glimpse at the turmoil swirling within. His eyes were sharp, piercing, and she couldn't shake off the sensation that he was sifting through her thoughts and was ill-pleased with what he found there.

"Once again," he said, his voice low and resonant, "I look forward to meeting each and every one of you." The words slithered through the room, wrapping around her like a shroud. His words were a threat, thinly veiled as a courtesy, and they hung in the air, ominous and foreboding.

He swept out of the room then, leaving them all reeling. At least Coco waited until Venable and Mead had also departed before she lay into Gallant for offering to take the first interview. Things snowballed from there, and she slipped out quietly while everyone continued to bicker, her presence dissolving into the shadows as if she had never been there at all.

—

She awoke groggily the next morning, dreading the idea of having to face another day in this interminable limbo. Venable’s rule echoed in her mind—no idle lounging in bedrooms during the ‘daylight’ hours. She scoffed. They hadn’t seen daylight in nearly two years.

The hallways were silent as she made her way through them towards the library - the heart of their little hell and the only place they could really spend their time when they weren’t just wandering the halls like ghosts as she sometimes did when she couldn’t bear another moment of banal chatter or Maureen McGovern. A wry smile touched her lips as she thought of Jane Austen's characters in their finery, forever seeking purposeful activity. "Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room," she whispered to herself, channeling Miss Bingley's persuasion to break the monotony of inactivity.

Stepping into the library, she was greeted by the sight of the others already gathered, their nervous energy palpable even in their quiet chatter. She shifted from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest in a subconscious effort to ward off the discomfort that seeped into her bones. She tried to focus on the lyrics floating through the air, words about hope and moving on, but they felt hollow, an echo of optimism that seemed out of reach.

She couldn’t engage with anyone, though Coco tried to pull her into a conversation. At some point, Gallant drifted in, looking pale and shaken, but she couldn’t even focus on that. The tension coiled tighter within her, a physical presence that made her heart race and her stomach churn. It was like the very air was laden with trepidation, and with each inhale, she drew more of it inside herself.

Finally, the oppressive atmosphere became too much to bear and she had to escape. With a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she murmured an excuse about needing a moment alone.

The narrow passage was dim, the only light filtering in from the sconces that hung on the dark walls. When they built this horrible bunker underground, they probably should have used some brighter colors so that living there wouldn’t feel so much like living inside a tomb. And before this, it had been a school - she pitied the students who had to live and learn here. 

She walked swiftly, with no particular destination in mind, her thoughts a tangled mess. 

Without warning, her forward motion was abruptly halted and a firm grip encircled her upper arms, steadying her as she collided with a solid chest.

"Careful," Langdon's deep voice rumbled, resonating through the close quarters of the hallway.

She looked up, her breath catching at the intensity of his icy blue eyes. The contact sent a jolt of warmth flooding her cheeks, her skin tingling where his hands made contact. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who seemed to be the living, breathing embodiment of menace, and yet it did little to ease the tight coil of anxiety in her stomach.

"I was just coming to find you," he said, his voice low and even. There was something in his gaze that made her heart race.

Nervous energy buzzed through her, and she couldn't help but take a half-step back as he released her, though the echo of his touch lingered like a phantom sensation. The air around him seemed to thrum with intensity, and she swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat.

As she regained her balance, she thought back to Gallant as he’d stumbled back into the library - his face a picture of unease, his shaky hands as he poured himself a drink. 

Now, standing before Langdon, poised for her own interview, apparently, she understood why.

And as she stood caught in his unwavering stare, she could only nod her acquiescence, motioning for him to lead the way. 

The click of their footsteps was the only sound as they made their way through the dimly lit corridor and she fought the urge to turn and run. Something inside her was screaming. 

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room that played on the walls and as Langdon closed the doors behind them, she felt like she was stepping into another world - one that was intimate and somehow more daunting because of it.

He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned before the fireplace, then settled into the other without a word. The silence stretched between them, heavy and laden with an unspoken tension. She found herself acutely aware of the subtle sounds—the soft crackle of the fire, her own breath as it hitched in her throat.

Langdon’s eyes remained fixed on her and she felt exposed—like a specimen pinned under glass. There was something about being in his presence that magnified her every flaw, turned each fidget into a scream of nervousness. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, the leather of the chair creaking softly under her shifting weight.

She caught herself running her finger along the armrest, tracing patterns in the soft leather - anything to avoid meeting his gaze. But it was futile; his stare was almost palpable, a force that commanded attention even when she sought desperately to escape it. Her hands began to tremble slightly, betraying her composure, and she clasped them tightly in her lap in an effort to still them.

The twitching of her foot, a slight bounce of her knee; they became her body’s metronome of anxiety, counting down the moments

She could practically hear the snap as her voice broke the silence - like a stone shattering glass. "I don’t even know why I’m here," she blurted. Langdon remained as impassive as the walls, his gaze fixed on her with unsettling intensity. Not a single muscle moved in his face, no twitch, no flicker of emotion. It was as if he had expected her outburst, as if he had scripted this moment in his mind and was now watching it play out exactly as he planned.

"I brought you here," he said simply, the words falling from his lips with an unnerving calmness.

She faltered. 

“I meant here, at the Outpost. Not here in your office. I don’t know why I’m here.” She felt the weight of his eyes, holding her in place more firmly than any physical restraint ever could. “I’m not like the others,” she said, her voice taking on a shrill edge. 

“I didn’t pay my way in like Coco and Evie. I didn’t luck my way in like Gallant. I’m not even here because of something special in my blood, like Timothy and Emily. I don’t belong here.” The last part was almost a shout - a confession that kept bottled up these last long months. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. 

Her breathing was ragged, and her heart raced in her chest. She felt the weight of her confession, finally acknowledging the confusion that had plagued her since her arrival. 

His stillness was a stark contrast to the storm raging within her. There was something in his look that disarmed her, leaving her defenseless and exposed. "I told you - I brought you here." 

Her breath caught, her mind struggling to parse his meaning, her thoughts ensnared by the gravity of what he was saying.

Suddenly, the fire was no longer warming the room, and she felt a chill seep into her bones as she wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt at comfort in the face of his unsettling composure and his wild claim. 

Distantly, she noticed the firelight playing over his features, making him appear both present and distant, a spectral figure in a world that was becoming more surreal by the second.

"What do you mean," she finally asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

He leaned forward then, the motion deliberate - predatory even. "What’s unclear to you?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers, a smile at the edges of his mouth. 

Her heart continued to hammer against her ribcage, a caged bird frantic for escape from the intensity of his scrutiny - the gravity of this exchange. Her eyes darted to the door for a fleeting moment before she anchored herself back in the room, back to him. 

"Wh-what do you mean you brought me here? Why?" The words tumbled out of her like a handful of coins slipping carelessly through the fingers of a clumsy child, laced with a confusion that was quickly morphing into alarm. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck, painting her skin with visible unease.

He remained still, a statue carved from darkness, his gaze locked onto hers with unnerving precision. "I watched you," he said, each word measured and deliberate, "before the world burned. I liked what I saw." His voice was low, dark and resonant, carrying with it an undeniable assertion of ownership.

She felt her breath hitch, his words settling over her like a funeral shroud. 

"I decided that I wanted you," he continued, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "and I always get what I want." There was a finality in his tone that frightened her - and sent a thrill through a deeper part of her; one that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

In that moment, it was as if she could feel the unseen threads he'd woven around her life, pulling her into an orbit she never would have chosen, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself against the dawning realization.

The color rose in her cheeks as his gaze held hers, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. Every nerve ending seemed to spark to life under the weight of his attention, leaving her tongue-tied and adrift in a sea of confusion. 

He leaned back slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. The soft sound of his chuckle sliced through the tension, mocking her inner turmoil.

 It was a sound that stirred something within her, a mixture of irritation and another inexplicable thrill.

Gathering the remnants of her composure, she squared her shoulders, attempting to project an assurance she was far from feeling. "And what if I don't want you?" The words came out steadier than she expected, even as her heart continued to beat a wardrum in her chest. 

The laughter spilled from him again, the silky sound wrapping around her like velvet chains. 

"But you do," he said, his confidence seemingly unshaken.

She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as if the pain could anchor her to her defiance. He was right - of course she was attracted to him - he was beautiful and new and she hadn’t been touched in years. She refused to acknowledge that secret, dark part of herself that thrilled at the thought of the power he must wield to have orchestrated her being here.

No. These last 18 months had been a horror - a slow march towards death, fraught with anxiety and fear. Just last night, she’d very seriously considered asking him for one of those little pills, so that she could finally escape this place. 

While she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, wanted him, she'd be damned if she let him see the full extent of his effect on her. 

Swallowing the knot of frustration in her throat, she straightened her spine and met his piercing gaze head-on. His smug assurance was a challenge she refused to lose. He didn’t have to know that behind the façade of indifference, she was like a sapling in a hurricane, bending under the force of his presence.

Her breath hitched again, a silent cue to the tempest brewing within her. With a swift surge of her will, she rose from the cushioned chair and pivoted on the balls of her feet, every muscle tensed for retreat.

But he was a shadow, a whisper of movement more felt than seen. His hand encircled her wrist with the sureness of a man accustomed to getting his way, his touch firm yet devoid of the malice she half-expected. The warmth of his fingers shocked her and her lips parted with a silent gasp.

"Let me go," she managed, her voice a whisper, fighting against the feelings his proximity stirred. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips.

His fingers uncurled from her wrist, only to trace a path upward, reaching the side of her face with a tenderness that belied his assertive words. "No, I don't think I will," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that resonated in the charged air between them.

The brush of his thumb against her cheek was maddeningly soft. It was a caress meant to soothe, to seduce, and she hated the heat that blossomed beneath her skin in response.

"Come now,” he said, “it's silly to fight this. I know you want me." The arrogance in his words sparked a fire behind her eyes, even as an unwanted shiver trailed down her spine.

She did want him - how could she not - and the honesty of that admission clawed at her pride. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a fraction of a second. To lie would be futile; the intensity of his gaze seemed to pierce through all her defenses, laying her soul bare.

A silent battle raged within her, a war between desire she felt and the fear and how suddenly that desire had come. Yet, in that moment, with his hand cupping her face and the world shrinking to the space where their breaths mingled, she knew that resistance was futile. 

She didn’t even have to say anything. He already knew. All she could do was surrender to the warmth of his palm against her skin, fingers expertly weaving through the tresses at the base of her skull. His touch was a paradox—gentle yet commanding—as he pulled lightly, eliciting a shiver that ran down her spine and sent her eyelids fluttering. 

"I should have saved you for last, but I didn't want to wait anymore," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet space between them. 

The admission hung in the air, charged with the electricity of anticipation and the gravity of his desire - a brief intermission in reality, as his lips claimed hers. The kiss was an unexpected storm, fierce and all-consuming. Her breath caught in her throat, heart still pounding. His hand, still entwined in her hair, anchored her to the moment, each gentle tug of the strands sending sparks of awareness cascading through her senses.

The world around them faded into a blur, leaving only the taste of him, the heat of him. With a fluid motion that spoke of a deep-seated need, he released her arm, his own sweeping around her waist possessively, pulling her snugly into him. 

Her trembling fingers curled around his arms - though whether to pull him closer or push him away; she didn’t know. 

The kiss was all-consuming - heated, and fierce and muddling her senses - but she came back to herself, just enough to yank herself backward, away from that burning kiss. 

"I shouldn’t be doing this," she whispered to herself, the words slipping from her in a breathy murmur. 

He only laughed again, his voice was low and smooth and laced with a dark humor. "Of course you should," he said. He leaned in, a mere whisper away, his hot breath fanning over her flushed cheeks. "I want you, you want me, why shouldn't we both take what we want?" 

The weight of his gaze felt tangible. 

"Chaos has won," he murmured, his voice a caress that sent shivers down her spine, her resolve splintering like sugar-glass. 

He seemed to sense the shift within her, and without a word, released her with a deliberate slowness. One step back, then another, he retreated to the leather armchair. She watched him reclaim his seat, the shadows playing over his features, enhancing the sharpness of his jawline and the depth of his stare. A predator at rest, yet every inch of him poised, ready—a coiled spring waiting for the slightest provocation to leap forth.

Chaos has won. 

The silence stretched between them for another moment and his gaze seemed to darken as he continued to watch her. “Take off your dress,” he said finally, relaxing into the chair as though he seemed to sense that all her resistance had finally fled.

But she wavered, muscles tense, heart finally ceasing its incessant hammering as it seemed to still completely. 

“What?”

His voice, still low and even, seemed to fray at the edges as he repeated: “Take. Off. Your dress.” 

Her dress, a relic of some bygone era, was a complex ensemble of layers and fastenings that required grace, patience and usually the assistance of a Gray to remove. But slowly, she began unfastening the tiny pearl buttons at the back, a task made more challenging by the limited reach of her own hands. 

Finally, with the buttons undone, the heavy fabric whispered against the floor as she let the gown slide down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her in only a simple shift. 

Her entire body was flushed, her limbs trembling and her breath coming in ragged gasps and she stood there, naked to his scrutiny despite the covering of her shift. “That too,” he murmured, his voice noticeably rougher. 

She couldn’t look at him as she lifted the shift above her head, leaving her completely exposed, but she heard his low growl as she finally stood completely naked before him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear, and she flushed again, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. 

Finally, she brought her eyes up to meet his, her whole body burning (with shame? With arousal?) and even in the dim light she could see that his pupils were blown wide, his whole body tense as though he was fighting for control. His eyes burned across her body as he took her in, his own breath seeming to come harder now.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding, holding out his hand to her. 

Slowly, nervously, she padded her way over to him, his gaze never leaving hers. She slipped her hand into his, a shocked gasp leaving her as she was pulled suddenly into his lap, her legs straddling him.

Then, his hands were all over her - a soft touch at her sides, his fingers caressing the skin of her back; reverrant - as though he was trying to touch all of her all at once. Once again, his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of her head, his fingers threading through the strands, and she was lost in the sensation of him - the heat of him, seeping into her skin in all the places they were touching, his fingers leaving burning trails. 

She didn’t resist when he pulled her in for a demanding kiss, giving back to him all the fervor he was pouring into her. His free hand drifted to her hip, and his fingers turned bruising as they pulled her further into him. His touch was hungry, possessive, and he moved from her lips to leaving a trail of desperate burning kisses along the column of her throat, eventually sinking his teeth into the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder - almost hard enough to draw blood. The shock of it, the slight pain 

She gasped in earnest then, grinding against him looking for friction, and he let out a guttural sound that was part growl and part moan, and his hand fisted into her hair, pulling her just far enough away for their eyes to lock. His glacial blue eyes were almost black with hunger, his pupils blown wide as his gaze bored into hers. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his fingers digging even harder into the flesh at her hip, the other hand still tangled in her hair. “Say it.” 

Barely thinking, eyes half glazed with lust, she just nodded, “I’m yours,” she murmured breathlessly.

Suddenly, the world turned on its axis and her back met the warm leather where he had been sitting less than a moment ago. Suddenly, he was kneeling before her, his hands pressed against the armrests and she was completely caged in by his presence, unable to move or escape his grasp. Her body was trembling, every nerve on edge as she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, his mouth working its way slowly down her body, punctuating each word with a kiss, or a graze of his teeth - “You’re mine, and I take care of what belongs to me.”

In stark contrast to the gentleness of his kisses, he grabbed the backs of her thighs roughly, pulling her down till she was almost flat, spreading her apart.

She held her breath, the anticipation making her heart race as he leaned forward. His lips were soft and warm against her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure through her body. 

His tongue traced a path from her knee to her hip, and she let out a gasp as his mouth finally reached her center and his tongue began to explore her.  Her back arched and her hands scrabbled for purchase on the armrests, eventually coming to rest on his shoulders. He growled against her as her hand found his hair.

His touch was like fire, igniting every nerve in her body, and as he continued to lap at her.

With each flick of his tongue, she arched her back and dug her fingers into his scalp. He knew exactly how to drive her wild, taking his time and savoring every inch of her. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, leaving her mewling.

All too quickly, that familiar pressure began to build, heat pooling low in her belly, like she would come apart at any moment. Her fingers like a vice on his shoulder, the other hand in his hair, she ground against his face, ready to drop off that peak into the oblivion of ecstasy.

But before she could, he pulled away, and a strangled moan left her throat as she blinked at him in confusion. He sat back, mouth glistening and eyes dancing with sadistic glee as he watched her, flushed and panting.

He kissed her knee again, his hands stroking her body gently, fingers dancing across her breasts and along her thighs until her body relaxed - and then his mouth was on her again. 

Again, he brought her to the edge, his skillful tongue and roving hands leaving her almost screaming and panting. Over and over again, he toyed with her, only to pull back at the last second. Her body was on fire, yearning for release.

She was frantic, bucking against him as he chuckled at her desperation, his warm breath tickling her skin.

"Go on, beg for it," he commanded in a low growl.

And she did.

[josefavomjaaga]

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

[glassfullofsass]

so i've spent the last 15 minutes with Landers Never Stand Down on repeat, let's talk 1.05 The Carmen Gambit (click here for notes on other episodes)

Arkady is so happy she's singing. I'm sure this means absolutely nothing and she's not going to be fucking devastated by the end of the episode. The foreboding opening lines from Park & McCabe definitely don't refer to anything related to Arkady. 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂

Someone give this girl a bonsai

Sana's concern about Arkady's mental health & the burden of being the team hitter is Not Foreshadowing shut the Fuck up

god, talking to Violet really fucked Arkady up. Like, Arkady is not new to running cons, she's not new to hurting people, but that Voice Out In Space and Violet just being ready to accept her death got deep in Arkady's psyche

Arkady your Eliot Spencer is showing (Re: Jeeter)

I am leaning towards Arkady not knowing what Brian did to incite the mafias, and maybe also Sana

Sana, (pained) peanut butter

Some glancing at the 4th wall done by characters other than the Agents in this one.

Arkady your Sophie is showing (There a fic in here about how Duchess Calpurnia Higginsworth-Cobb is descended form Charlotte Prentiss, Duchess of Hanover)

I really enjoy the line delivery in this scene. I think it's a combination of particularly snappy writing and the actors getting comfortable with their characters and the script (assuming this was recorded in any sort of linear order).

17 clean aliases...Arkady your Sophie Deveraux is really showing

Campbell, your crush is showing...but so is Sana's

Ah, the sandwich. the Leverage in this episode is load bearing. (i am laughing excessively at my own pun)

Walk and Talk. The ship is exactly as big as whatever plot is happening needs it to be.

The Carmen Gambit, otherwise known as "two bottles of Chianti and a story about my grandmother from Sicily".

(the sound of tires squealing) Sana, your Parker is showing

I've been thinking a lot about Krejjh. They tend to fall into the "this character deals with the horrible things they've seen and done by being aggressively joyful" trope. Their Hotel Virgo jingle makes me more sad every time I listen to this episode.

It only took me until this listen (what, the 5th or 6th time??) to realize that 1) McCabe's announcement describes but doesn't name Violet while they do name Brian 2) it's because IGR reported Violet as dead and can't risk that lie being exposed

....and Arkady kills the guy because Violet tells her that he "won't be okay" if he ever does wake up. I've been reading Parable of the Sower (Octavia Butler). There's a scene that's distressingly similar. I don't know what to do with this one. I think, keeping it tied to the story, it says a lot about how Arkady sees herself, and how little self worth she has. Parable, at least, maintains a character that holds onto the "mercy killing" as something wrong. We'll revisit this seriously in the next episode, but after that it's basically forgotten.