#(but talking about him and framing his mindset does help to get the urge to to write)

[aventvrina]

Was talking with @zorkaya as we're plotting and it finally gave me the push to put into words my thoughts on how Aventurine views his past.

It's not that he denies it's impact or that he's ashamed of it. He doesn't try to cover anything on himself that tips off just what he went through, neither his eyes nor the commodity brand are hidden except for his left hand when he's making a risky gamble. With that said though, I don't feel that he's very forthcoming about it either.

Sure, there's allusions and assumptions that can be made if people know the background situation of Sigonia-IV and the fact that the Avgin's are essentially extinct, however, if asked directly about it (unless under duress like when Sunday made him face Xipe's judgement) he would most likely give half truths. He wouldn't deny but wouldn't confirm either.

It is my headcanon that he's not as transparent about his time in Sigonia-IV not because of trauma but because of guilt. He was powerless and helpless, a spectator to atrocities while being encouraged to flee instead of taking arms. Though I don't think he feels regret since he was following his sister's plea, he does feel guilt for doing nothing.

In fact, I think he believes his "past" starts on the day he killed the slave owner. It was the first time he took life into his own hands and stopped being a passive actor under destiny's hand. The action of survival stopped being an action the moment he was forced to kill those slaves for the sole reason of testing his value, this was the turning point for him as he saw himself become more than a simple commodity. Avgin's always repay their blood debts.

On this note also, the line delivered by his sister is extremely poignant given that the clan truly believed they could repay the massacre with the IPC's help. Sadly we don't know the state of the Katican's to understand if they were indeed executed after committing massive genocide or if they are still in the desert. There's only mentions of Avgin's being made martyrs for the Amber Lord, but the Interstellar Peace Broadcast does state that the hammer of Preservation will fall on all beings, so it was publicly condemned just probably not acted upon.

Developing this string a little more, on his in game character story he mentions people who helped him and this is also a very telling line. Given that Avgin's have very specific easily identifiable features and that they were extinct, it makes sense for the IPC to try to cover his survival by moving him out of the planet and selling him into slavery. If news of a survivor were known he'd be protected but the Avgin extinction was a deliberate act in the name of Preservation so they couldn't let a single soul surface. On this currently unidentified planet, he was possibly helped by some people after killing the slave owner and those might be the ones who he's mentioning. Whether they died for helping him or for other circumstances it's unclear at the moment but it adds to his blood debt towards the IPC.

It's by no coincidence that he chose to appeal to Diamond, not just because he accepted talent regardless of origin, but also because of his direct opposition towards Oswaldo Schneider. The Ten Stonehearts are regarded as outsiders in the IPC, a near independent movement that feels like a small army loyal to Diamond alone. Diamond definitely has his own agenda within the IPC (also fascinating that he is an Emanator given that only P48'S should have that ability but I'll discuss that later) and that passes by preventing Oswaldo from rising to the board seat like him which is perfect for Aventurine.

I went on a tangent here, but this was all to say that Aventurine would sooner talk about the blood on his hands than on his soul because he feels humiliated to have been so passive on such a decisive moment of his life.

[rein4r1]

Portrait

Wc: 1.9k

Warning/s: Homophobia, Signs of Mental Illness, Mentions of Mental and Physical Abuse, Mentions of sexual activity, Dark Content

Pairing: [Modern AU] Mikasa x F!Reader (They/Them)

Genre: Fluff if you squint, Angst

Synopsis: On which Mikasa offers them a solution to their problems

or

They couldn't help but create a different reality

MINORS READ WITH DISCRETION

“So tell us Y/n L/n”

“Tell you what? I have nothing to tell you!”

“Tell us why you killed your parents.”

They pulled her knees to their chests, tightening their hold. The air from the AC doing nothing but worsen the already dreadful atmosphere. With shaking hands, they touched the side of their face, feeling the sting from where their father slapped them from hours ago. It wasn’t his aggressiveness that hurt them nor was it the shattered frame of a portrait that stood proudly on top of the island table, but it was their mother’s words; “I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!”

Their parents were always conservative, believing that people who like the same sex are nothing but sinful. In all honesty, they believed every word they fed growing up. At least until they met her. Maybe deep down, they were already different from what their parents fear, just hiding in the closet. The first time they saw her was in the middle of the hallway, junior year in high school. To be honest, they didn’t have friends, them having friends is far-fetched anyway.

Not only did they hate their situation at home, but they also hate their situation at school. It’s not like they’re physically troubled by other kids, but they can always hear their murmurings, clearly them being the subject of their gossip.

“For someone with a pretty appearance, they sure are crazy.”

“Shut up! They might hear.”

School was already hell for them; just in the middle of the hallway stood a girl with short black hair, there she stood in the sea of despondence. They always had a downcast look, when was the last time they stared at anything but their feet. They can’t help but be drawn to her dark orbs, something about her enigmatic look draws them to her. The felt their body move automatically towards her, but in the heap of the crowd, she was gone. Their eyes searched any nook and cranny for her, hoping that there’s something she left by. And they felt it, the erratic beating of their hearts, as if nothing will help to calm it.

The next time they saw her was at the school’s courtyard, sitting at one of the benches looking like she’s lost in her own thoughts. They slowly approached her, sitting just at the other end of the bench. As if sensing their presence, her head turns towards them. Her face shows aloofness, but their eyes bore in theirs with curiosity. She turned her head back to the horizon, clearly not minding their presence.

“You look sad.” ‘What?’

“You look like… you’ve been failed by the people around you…” she continues as they look at her with sadness in their eyes.

“Wha- What are you talking about?...” And out of the blue, she pulled them towards her, letting their head rest on her shoulder. She brought her hand to caress their hair, and all they could do is cry. It’s been so long since they became vulnerable, looking no different than a walking corpse. “Don’t worry Y/n, I’m here now.” ‘Huh but how does she know my name?’

“Wait how did you-“

“I’ve always been watching you Y/n, I’m sorry it took me a long time.” They look at her face and saw genuine repentance. “But I haven’t- I don’t know who you are.” As if sensing their growing confusion, she smiled; “Mikasa, my name’s Mikasa.”

Mikasa is their first friend and the first person they talked outside of their family. They didn’t feel alone anymore with the girl beside them. The once suffocating halls didn’t feel smothering anymore. Their eyes didn’t look downcast, it slowly began to look less dull and look more with vigor. But that didn’t do anything to lessen the outlandish look their schoolmates gave them, their mumblings only continue to worsen. It didn’t matter anymore, since Mikasa is by their side, and she didn’t feel alone anymore.

Mikasa slept over at their house, this was something they’ve been looking forward the whole weekends. Lying together in their bed as they faced each other, Mikasa brought her nimble finger to draw in their features as she reached stay strand of their hair and placed it behind their eye. As if there was an unknown force that compels them to each other, they felt her lips brush against theirs in a gently manner. Feeling the way their lips moved in sync with each other, Mikasa’s kisses were steady, gentle, and slow

She looks at them as if she revers them with her whole entirety. They felt her hands drag across their skin like an adagio. Mikasa looked at their eyes for any signs of discomfort, but they only brought themselves closer as an answer. And that night, they made love under the light emanating from the moon.

A few days later, Y/n sat at the dining area with their parents for dinner. Their mother was babbling about how charming their neighbor’s son is. It fell into deaf ears of course, only having Mikasa in their thoughts.

“Y/n you should meet Mr. Grice’s son, I heard he’s about your age.” They snapped their head towards their father, they could not believe the words that came out of his mouth. Never in her life did he appreciate them having any malefriends. “You ought to have friends at your age, create a network with people.”

“I already have a friend ‘pa” he could only dismiss their reply. Their mother clearly being insistent on bringing the Grice boy and them together. “I know both of you are taking your exams for university, it doesn’t hurt having room for more people in your life.”

“I thought you never wanted me to have any guy friends.”

“But it’s the Grices we’re talking about.” They came to understand their mother’s intentions. The Grice family were considered wealthy and influential, who doesn’t want to marry into a rich family anyway? Obviously, Y/n L/n who only has Mikasa in their heart. Plus, the Grice boy already had an army of girls (and boys) willing to be his significant other. It was supposed to be a normal dinner, with them minding their business, leaving their parents to whatever chit chat they’re engrossed in. That is until, their father said something that triggered more on her already displeased mood.

“God, those sinners, parading around for some rights when they clearly don’t deserve any.” Her father muttered in disgust. The television was on, displaying news about a protest done by the LGBTQ+ community in accordance with the rights of their transgender brothers and sisters, considering that there is a rise of crimes towards the group. “If only they weren’t that then people wouldn’t-“

“I’m gay.” Their parents snapped their heads towards her, their expressions full of vexation.

“Y/n come again? What did you-“

“I’m fucking gay ‘ma, and I appreciate that the both of you stop asking those people for liability for something they clearly didn’t do, especially that they- we, are discriminated by people like –“ SLAP

They looked at their horrific faces, hand on their cheek. They expected this, they knew they were like this, but they couldn’t stand them any longer. They couldn’t help but think of Mikasa, the fact that they have this kind of mindset already means that after learning Mikasa’s existence, they’ll get in between them.

“I can’t believe we have a homosexual under our roof!” Their mother cried and their father’s face full of furry. “Go inside your room! We’ll deal with you later. FuckI can’t look at you right now without having the urge to murder you! And I don’t want to commit a sin like you!” Their father��s voice echoes around the room, as they quickly left her unfinished dinner, seeking solace inside their room. Sitting at the innermost corner of their bed, they leaned against the wall and brought their knees towards their chest. They expected them to be like this, but deep down they were hoping that they’d understand, that they’d accept them for who they are.

They felt their phone ring as they moved towards the bedside table and saw a text from Mikasa.

They immediately dashed towards their mini balcony, and there she is, Mikasa in all her glory. Seeing her made them break down, they found solace with this woman. To them, Mikasa is their sanctuary. Mikasa held them tight under the dark sky and the cold wind of the early hours of morning. She listened to them as they bawl their eyes out, pressing kisses on their face in hopes that this will make them feel better.

“I have something for you.” Mikasa reached something in her pocket to reveal a necklace with a vial as its pendant. They looked at the necklace with an astonished look, Mikasa then proceeds to wear the necklace on their neck. “You know you can do this Y/n” Mikasa smiled at them as she pressed another kiss on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around them. “I know you can”

Their parents woke up at the delightful smell of breakfast. They were bemused at the food that is already prepared on the table.

“Oh, both of you are awake, I prepared breakfast.” Their father looked at them suspiciously, but she only smiled cheerfully.

“What is this? Didn’t we tell you to-“

“I would like to apologize for yesterday, I was clearly stressed because of my exams. I was probably just confused… Yeah just stressed” they chuckled, they felt a bit unsure of their words, but they only brushed it off, content that their child finally came into their senses. They took a sip of their tea, as they began to converse with their parents. “You know about Grice, maybe I’ll approach him later at school.”

“Really? That’s great Y/n!” Her mother chimes.

“Yes ‘ma” They continue to look at their parents. Minutes pass as something went eerie that they could not explain. ‘Something’s weird’ their father glanced at their grinning face. They suddenly lack the ability to speak. As they slowly grow limp from their chairs. They could only stare at their child’s retreating form as the light in their gets swallowed by darkness.

“Tell us why you killed your parents.” Are they out of their mind? Kill? Why would Y/n kill their parents? They may have hurt them too many times, but they could never hurt their parents.

“Kill? I did not kill them!”

“The autopsy showed signs of poisoning, and the investigating team found its connection with the tea they drank. In addition, you were the last person they were last seen with.” They were confused, the tea?... The tea!

“It wasn’t me… It was… It was Mikasa!” Their eyes widen in confusion. “She gave me a vial. It was her!” They wrote their claim down on a piece of paper.

“Mikasa?... I need her last name.” He probes. ‘Wait, she never did give me her last name.’ The officer slid a small envelope. The opened it to reveal a portrait that looks oh so familiar. It’s one of the portraits her father flounced in the heat of anger. A portrait of a young woman with a baby in her hands. ‘No this can’t be… this is just a coincidence. This woman-‘

“-is Mikasa Ackerman, the one who gave birth to your mother.”

That night, they never received a text from her. It was only their alarm setting off.

An: I feel like this is badly written so bsoibhaoibh

I apologize for any grammatical errors and improper use of punctuation marks.

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 9

( previous. )

Characters: c!Ranboo, c!Dream, c!Wilbur, c!Tommy Word count: 2081 Content: jokes about brain damage, hypnosis, ranboo remembers everything

----

“Do you understand more?” Dream’s voice sounds almost too far away. Ranboo is still trying to grasp onto reality, still mentally lost in the end. Part of him doesn’t want to shake off the peaceful haze, but another part of him is struggling to surface, if not for himself then for Tommy.

Tommy’s hand is in his own, caressing the back of his hand tenderly. Ranboo can feel the comfort from the other teen, but the comfort only seems to keep him in this suspension. Still, he lifts his head and acknowledges Dream with a dreamy hum.

“He’s still lost,” Wilbur exclaims. “We shouldn’t have brought him there without preparing him.”

“Is he going to be okay though?” Not even Tommy’s brash voice can snap him out of it. There’s a distant thought that maybe this isn’t entirely his fault. Is it really such a bad thing though? Ranboo feels utterly at peace.

“He’ll be fine.” Dream presses his hands to Ranboo’s shoulders. “We could use this, actually. It’d be useful if we wanted to access his memories.”

“How do you suggest we use this? He’s barely responsive.” Wilbur sounds curious; Ranboo turns to gaze at the man. In this state of mind, Ranboo feels as though he can actually trust everyone around him. Though, shouldn’t that be a cause for concern? It’s not like the men are exactly plotting anything good.

Tommy seems to understand what’s being discussed, because he’s yanking his hand away from Ranboo and lurching to his feet. “Oy, no. He’ll snap out of it soon enough, neither of us need your help. You’re going to give him brain dama-”

“What are you talking about?” Wilbur sounds amused. “Do you really think he’ll get brain damage from being in trance?” Ranboo dimly notes a smirk on Wilbur’s face. “Tommy, I don’t know where you get your information, but you’re clearly looking at the wrong sources.”

“I know enough,” Tommy grumbles, seating himself back by Ranboo’s side. “He’ll get stuck like this, he’ll get brain damage and turn into some sort of puppet, then end up in a coma. You can’t use him.”

Wilbur snorts, but surprisingly, so does Dream. It’s almost enough for Ranboo to fully come back to reality as he glances back and forth. When he glances at Dream though, he notes the way Dream is presented. Dream’s hair is hanging loose around his face, no mask in sight. He’s not wearing his usual green for once, and instead a simple blue t-shirt hangs loose around his frame, paired with tan cargo pants. Dream looks like an ordinary man that’d be hard to pick out of a crowd normally, but right now, Ranboo feels completely and utterly drawn to him.

“If you’re going to do something, do it right now,” Dream urges Wilbur. “Before he completely snaps out of it.”

“Shut up dickhead,” Tommy mutters, snapping his fingers in Dream’s direction. “What if you two hurt him or some shit? You shouldn’t mess around with things you don’t understand!”

Wilbur drops his voice to speak quieter than normal. “What makes you think we don’t understand, Tommy? Remember all those nights I read to you until you fell asleep, all the times I was able to talk you out of a rash decision? Even when I was able to convince you the day we stood by the ocean, gathering sand. People find it so easy to listen to me, even more so when they’re already suggestible.”

“Wilbur,” Tommy warns.

Cocky grin in place, Wilbur moves around to stand behind Ranboo. Hands press down on the hybrid’s shoulders, heavy enough to keep him seated, light enough that he could wriggle out of the grip if he chose to. Ranboo leans back into Wilbur, head resting back against Wilbur’s chest.

“That’s it Ranboo,” Wilbur murmurs. “You enjoy feeling so relaxed, don’t you? Already so lost in the memory of your homeland, you’ll find it so easy to open the rest of your mind and let us in.”

“Us?” Ranboo finally finds his voice, and it’s shaky. He remembers what Tommy said five minutes ago. “I’ll be okay?”

“You’ll be more than okay.” It’s Dream now, and Ranboo is unconsciously leaning toward him. Dream means safety, he always has. But why?

Wilbur laughs. “I think he wants you, Dream.” He nudges at Ranboo before stepping back. “Should I keep going, though?”

Ranboo feels another arm wrap around him, holding him close. With a light sigh, Ranboo leans into the new body, recognizing the figure as Dream. He nods mutely toward Wilbur, encouraging him to keep going. He might not know what it is Wilbur is doing, but his voice is nice to listen to.

“Ranboo I want you to listen to me carefully.” Wilbur’s voice drops again, weaving gently through the room, before settling in his mind. “Just listen to me and let yourself go, back to the end. It holds all the answers you could possibly need. More specifically, the ones you’ve locked away from yourself.”

“Wilbur are you sure this will help?” Tommy whispers. The response Wilbur gives him is finger pressed to his forehead. Tommy goes cross-eyes trying to focus on the finger, but Wilbur jerks his hand downward, with Tommy’s eyes falling shut and his body falling forward. The man gathers Tommy in his arms and holds him before continuing to speak to Ranboo.

“You can see them just beyond your reach, Ranboo,” Wilbur whispers. “They’re not locked tight in a box, they’re open and available for you, you just have to be willing to reach for them.

In his mind, Ranboo’s in the end again. The purple haze surrounds him, leaving him feeling as though he’s completely alone. Wilbur’s voice is barely even heard, but Ranboo’s listening anyway. He can see what he only assumes are his memories (in the form of obsidian chunks), strewn about by the dragon’s small tower. His gaze locks onto those chunks as he moves closer, reaching an arm out. Though, Ranboo stops short of touching one. What if he finds something that scares him? He’s contributed to hurting Tommy as well as other people.

He doesn’t want to hate himself.

“It’s okay Ranboo,” Wilbur continues. “You’re safe with us. Your memories will not destroy you. Just breathe.”

He sucks in a breath, trying to steady his emotions. Everything seems to stretch out endlessly between himself and the obsidian chunks. It almost seems hopeless, but he finally closes his fist around the first one.

Everything rushes back.

He sees himself in Dream’s vault. This is his memory, he’s not watching it from an omniscient point of view, he recalls it perfectly now. Ranboo is with the rest of the SMP as they rush in to rescue Tommy and Tubbo, though he stands back to watch Tommy enact his revenge. Ranboo recalls staring at Dream, too, as the latter is led away to prison.

When he comes to, he’s still not back in the cabin, but back in the end. Obsidian chunks are still surrounding him, no longer stretched out, but pressed too close against him. The sensation is almost suffocating, and the only way out is to grab and push at them.

He remembers everything now.

Not all at once, it’s not a painful barrage against his brain, but more of a trickle, each memory dripping back in one by one. Everything he’d done, everything he’d help plan, everything he wanted to do. All the memories leave him feeling spent, even with Wilbur’s gentle cadence echoing in the back of his mind.

The last memory Ranboo picks up is the day Dream escaped from prison.

He pulls a sword on Tubbo, not to hurt him, but to warn him to stay back. He never wanted Tubbo to get hurt in the crossfire, he never wanted Michael to see this. Tubbo had always been better off away from any of this, where he can remain safe and raise Michael in peace.

Ranboo had pulled the sword and left him alone. He recalls the grief he’d pushed down in favor of guarding Tommy.

It was always about Tommy.

Ranboo had sworn to protect him from day one, hoping to guide him in the right direction, to steer him back toward Wilbur. Kind of a hard task to accomplish when he’s splitting his mind in half.

Everything makes sense now. Nothing’s changed, his mindset about Dream being evil has never changed. That much has always been true, the only difference now is Ranboo no longer feels remorse over being here.

He’d seen how everyone had twisted their morals and viewpoints into something barely recognizable. He’d seen how quickly everyone cast aside someone else for opposing beliefs, himself included. Everyone on the SMP is some level of selfish, and Ranboo had immediately gone to Dream, who had presented an idea.

He’d learned that Wilbur had the same mindset before he died. Ranboo had learned that in the deep pits of Pogtopia, where not even Tommy could reach, Wilbur had vented about his need to destroy more than just L’Manburg, that the two men had discussed starting over and creating a society where everyone would be on the same page. No more betrayal, no more destruction, no more pain.

Ranboo had loved the idea.

He still loves the idea.

When he sits up straight, he’s in the cabin again. It’s the same cabin, with the same beds and counters and furnaces. Wilbur is there holding a dazed Tommy, who’s glaring around the room. Dream is watching him with an expectant grin on his face.

The person Ranboo wants to speak to most isn’t there.

“Are you with us again?” Dream asks. “You look way more alert than you did before we started.”

Nodding, Ranboo stares down at his legs, wiping imaginary dirt off his trousers. “Thanks, I think. I don’t know what that was but-”

“Classic hypnosis,” Wilbur says smugly. “Tommy here thought it’d give you brain damage. Tommy, do you have brain damage?”

“I’ll smack you over the head with an obsidian brick,” Tommy grumbles. “That’ll give you brain damage.”

“I remember now,” Ranboo continues as though the brothers hadn’t just bickered. “I think I remember everything. Or at least, I know enough.”

“Do you still think I’m the bad guy?” Dream presses.

Ranboo snorts, but nods. “We’re all the bad guys, but I don’t mind as much. At least now I know what I’m doing.”

“Traitor.” There’s no bite in Tommy’s voice. “You lot are all traitors. Let me off this crazy ride.”

Reaching over, Ranboo gives Tommy’s hair a teasing ruffle. “You know you love us.”

“Two of you.” The younger teen shoots a pointed glare in Dream’s direction. “I only care about two of you.”

Dream shrugs. “That’s fair. I’m coming to terms with the fact that you hate me. I’ll live.”

“We’ve had a busy day,” Wilbur interrupts, pushing Tommy off his lap. The teen falls to the floor with a pained groan. “We should all sleep. We still have a lot of prep to do and things won’t be ready for awhile, but we’re making progress.”

“Wilbur you’re such a dick.” Tommy stretches out. “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

With a chuckle, Ranboo pulls Tommy up and drags him over to their makeshift double bed. “Just share with me again, alright?” He’s suprised when Tommy latches onto him, causing Ranboo to topple backwards into the bed. He makes a grab for Tommy in hopes of moving him, but it’s clear Tommy’s not moving.

“Don’t turn against me now that you have your memories back,” Tommy whispers. “I’m tired of losing people.”

Softening, Ranboo moves to grab at Tommy’s hand instead of his wrist. “No, never,” he promises. “It was always about you and your safety. I won’t let you down again, alright?”

“I’m tired of not trusting people either,” Tommy mumbles. He already sounds half asleep. “Just promise me that you and Wilbur won’t turn into Dream.”

“I promise.” Ranboo gives Tommy’s hand a squeeze. “We’re both here to protect you with everything we have. You can trust us unconditionally.”

“Thanks.” Mostly asleep, the teen’s voice is slurred. Ranboo settles for playing with Tommy’s hair to lull him down the rest of the way. He’d forgotten that in all this mess, Tommy probably doesn’t get very much comfort anymore.

That’s okay, Ranboo’s happy to provide. Just because they’re the bad guys doesn’t mean they have to be evil.

[peachfluffsoftstuff]

Beyond The Reef [1]

Content: Soft Vore, G/T Vore, Unwilling Prey, Shark Mer Pred, Eventual Safe Vore Reveal

Word Count: 2230

Fandom: N/A; Original Content

A/N: An older piece, but I’m still fond of it!! I have a few more chapters already written, too. I promise it gets fluffier.

-

Aless pressed himself flat against the rockbed, listening as the reef went quiet around him at the sight of two predators passing through. Neither of them seemed to notice, probably used to the attention, and were talking in low voices that still clearly travelled to all the smaller folk in the area, him included. 

He watched in half-stunned awe as the giant mers passed his hiding spot, neither noticing his tiny body camouflaged against the plant life. What a chance encounter… He was suddenly glad he had decided to venture out alone again today, watching them glide along with an unassuming steadiness to their pace. 

They continued their discussion as they moved, and despite, or maybe because of the danger, Aless darted after them, eavesdropping as he swam through concealing nooks and crannies. 

The one currently talking was seemingly younger, with wild dark hair flowing around a face with bright eyes. He had olive skin with dark grey scales scattered in patches around his fins. His tail was a lighter blue-gray, tipped with black, marking him as a reef shark breed of mer. Unlike stories Aless had heard, there was no constant anger in his eyes, but rather, crinkles around the corners that looked an awful lot like smile lines. 

At the moment however, he wore an expression of tentative concern as he frowned at his companion. 

“...I don't know Dev, doesn't it seem kind of harsh? Maybe there's some other way to find one, no need to-”

“Skim,” the other mer cut him off, and Aless wondered at that too. The older and, apparently, leader of the two had similar dark hair, though much tamer, and his tail was the deep mottled grey of a tiger shark. “I understand your concern, but this is the way it's been done for ages. There’s no need to make waves, it’ll work out alright. It always does. You’ll understand when it happens. Trust me.” He offered the smaller a slight smile.

The other mer-- Skim, allegedly-- seemed to droop slightly as he sighed, returning a weak smile and seemingly finally resigned to whatever it was they were talking about. Aless tilted his head, wondering for only a moment or two, before becoming distracted by the familiar surroundings. This… was the route to Hali Reef that the two were taking. 

Aless knew because he had just come from that very direction, hoping to avoid more harassment from the other teens his age. Nevi, at least, didn't try to draw attention to him, but it could only do so much when one’s been the whole village’s scapegoat for so long. 

What would two giant mers be doing in such a small mountain reef? Aless moved faster, an uneasy pit in his stomach, old folk tales suddenly springing to mind. These were still predators, after all.  

Soon, they came upon the opening into the underwater village, which looked uncomfortably recently abandoned. Aless could tell they hadn’t had much time to lock down and hide, and felt a little guilty for not immediately swimming ahead to warn them. 

Though, if the giant mers hadn’t come through and he’d raised a false alarm... Well, he caught enough flack from the townsfolk already without ‘attention seeker’ being added to the list. 

There was a tense pause, before Dev cleared his throat pointedly, much to Skim’s dismay. 

“You mean I really have to--?” Dev gave him a quelling look, and he sighed uncomfortably again but turned to the nearest patch of seagrass and reached out with one hand, slowly picking through it. Aless’s sense of horror mounted as he spotted a flash of silver amidst the waving plants. The only one in the village with those distinct glinting silver scales… was Nevi. 

Skim seemed to have spotted it as well, going by the way he was indecisively hovering his hand closer. Aless watched, his whole body tense with anxiety. In an instant, he saw as Nevi’s self-restraint broke, and she darted out of the plants and away like quicksilver. 

Unfortunately, Skim was even faster, slamming his hands together over her so quickly it seemed like it had been only his reflexes that caught her. He seemed to feel the same way as he looked between the prison his cupped hands had made and the other giant mer, who was looking expectantly at him. 

Hesitantly, he closed his hands together and used the position as leverage to hold the girl by pinching two fingers securely around Nevi’s muscled waist. She looked small compared to him, barely the size of his hand. 

“Why isn’t anyone helping her,” Aless murmured to himself, though deep down he already knew. She was the strongest and second-fastest one in the entire village. If she couldn’t get free, nobody could save her. 

Not without risking life and limb, with no chance of success. Aless reached for the carved dagger tied at his hip. 

Nevi was thrashing in Skim’s hold, gills and frills flaring, lashing out with enough force to break something vital in a mer her size, but only making Skim take on an expression like a kicked guppy. He started to lift her closer to his face, and a dismayed note of alarm wailed in Aless’s mind. He was moving before he could even think twice, shooting across the open water as quickly as his fins would propel him. 

He used his momentum to drive his small dagger into Skim's finger, hard enough to stick. Skim yelped at the unexpected pain and pulled his injured hand back to his chest, releasing Nevi. In the same motion, like clockwork, Aless was dragged along, the drag causing him to collide with the back of the hand he’d attacked. 

Before he could reorient himself, Skim’s other hand weighed down on him, leaving him sandwiched between the two, just as trapped as Nevi had been. 

“Aless!”

Unable to do anything about his position, he floundered for a moment, before managing to meet Nevi’s eyes. She had twisted to look at his predicament, caught in indecision, but there were two predators there and only one’s hands were occupied with him. 

“Go!” He shouted, harsh enough a command that she jerked and darted away, still stuck in the fight or flight mindset. It was a good thing he was probably about to die because otherwise she would have kicked his ass later for yelling at her like that.

He got only a moment to watch her vanish back into the reef in a flash of silver before the warm skin around him moved, one hand moving down to grasp his tail between finger and thumb. As soon as his bottom half was securely snagged, he was pulled back to look at his captor. His orientation shifted as the hold tugged him from the bottom end, leaving him hanging upside down. 

Despite the instinctual panic edging his mind, he didn't try to escape, common sense dismissing it as a fruitless effort. If nobody was brave enough to try and free Nevi, everyone’s darling, from Skim’s grip, then there was no way Aless, the local bastard, would be getting any semblance of help at all. Seeing as Nevi’s considerable strength hadn’t done anything for her, he wouldn't be able to make a getaway on his own, either. 

Still, he refused to cower or beg, glaring at Skim as he was dangled upside down in front of him. The mer was nursing his injured thumb, pulling the tooth dagger out of his skin with his teeth and spitting it into the open water. Aless watched somewhat mournfully as it sank down to the ocean floor below. That had taken him ages to find and fix up into a proper weapon. 

“At least it’s not deep...” 

Looking back up, Aless automatically flailed as he was dragged by the tail to in front of the giant’s face, and he stared at the big features, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the tip of that lightly freckled nose. It was close enough that Skim went cross eyed trying to keep looking at him, defeating the whole purpose of closer scrutiny. Aless stubbornly crossed his arms to keep from pinwheeling them, ignoring the way his fluttering gills and fins gave away his fear despite his best efforts. 

He expected Skim to pull back and send a desperate look to Dev yet again, but instead his expression was strangely dazed, his glowing irises near eclipsed by expanding pupils, gaze fixed on Aless with a strange intensity that sent a chill down his spine. He absently chewed on his bottom lip with sharp-looking teeth, and then slowly lifted Aless up above his head, looking up to keep him in view. 

Aless was only kept in the dark about his intentions for a second or two, before Skim made them very clear by opening his mouth, displaying rows of triangular white teeth framing a fleshy gullet.

“Ah,” Aless said, softly. 

At least Nevi wasn't in his place. At least they’d all know what happened to him. At least nobody would miss him too much. His chest jolted up in hiccups as his breathing started to speed up unsteadily. 

As if in spite of its inevitable end, his heartbeat was pounding a frighteningly quick tempo as he was lowered into the gaping maw, the prehensile tongue stretching out to receive him. He numbly watched as his head passed under the stacked rows of teeth, aligned neatly to tear prey apart. The rough muscle at his back was the only thing cushioning him from being skewered on the lower teeth. 

Abruptly, his surroundings went dark, Skim’s lips sealed around his torso cutting out all the outside light. His hands rose to push against the hard palate above him automatically, as if he could somehow keep the mouth from closing further. He felt the pressure from the fingers holding his tail vanish, apparently satisfied with his current level of immobility. He didn't try to move, too aware of the fangs barely scraping his stomach like a threat. 

The seconds stretched, and Aless was certain that any moment, the jaws would snap shut on his spine, interlocking and slicing him clean in half. The blood would be a mess. Distantly, he hoped that none of the children in the reef were watching. 

His grim predictions were interrupted by a pulling sensation on his skin, and he yelped as more of him was suddenly suctioned into the dark, enclosed space. More than ever, Aless could feel the difference between the warm, cloying atmosphere in the giant mouth and the cool ocean water brushing past his tail fin, which was still peeking out between Skim’s lips, twitching weakly. 

The top of his head gently bumped into something solid, and when he reached out with one hand to investigate, the smooth flesh of the throat rippled under his touch. He jerked away, seized by a primal urge to get out get out get out get out-- but at his squirming, the tongue beneath him rose up and pinned him against the ridged roof of the mouth, knocking the wind out of him. 

He was stunned for a moment, splayed out with his arms flung above his head. Then, there was another pull, an uncanny tug on his whole body accompanied by a thick sound, and his arms were suddenly surrounded on all sides by the same smooth, slippery muscle. He drew in breath to yell, terrified, and with the sound of another heavy swallow, found his entire head and chest stuck in the same constricting tube. Even as he tried to wriggle free, he could feel the rough tongue on the scales of his tail, tasting him, and he shuddered, squirming as the esophagus contracted and pulled in more of him. 

He only had a moment to think ‘I can't breathe’ before the final thick swallow resounded in his ears, peristalsis locking him in place and tugging him downwards. His smooth fish half went down easier, one gulp enough to tug the whole thing down, fins and all. Locked completely in the slick tube with barely enough room to twitch, Aless focused on trying to bring in oxygen from the meager water trapped with him. Everything pulsed around him, loud and overwhelming.

Just as the edges of his vision began to darken, his hands were released from the complete peristalsis, and the rest of him soon followed, sliding into a slick pouch full of warm seawater, contracting and relaxing rhythmically at his arrival. It was larger than where he’d been before, but filled quickly, his tail coiling and twisting in the meager space.   

After gasping in enough air to function, Aless looked around at the pitch dark space with growing despair, and began to run his hands along the stomach walls, desperately searching for some kind of exit. He found only smooth flesh under his fingers, and a rumbling purr started up above him, making him yank his hands away angrily. That giant bastard was enjoying this. 

As quickly as his temper had flared up, it died away, and he slumped against the soft folds of flesh around him. Of course Skim was enjoying this. In every way, he’d acted as the predator that shark mers were rumored to be. 

Aless was nothing more than a meal now, tucked out of sight and out of mind.

[gagmebucky]

anonymous asked: oof can I request beefy AU!Seb with a size kink, manhandling you, being super rough, leaving bites and marks and bruises and hickeys and marking his territory? extra points if you can throw in some cockwarming or creampie kinks or something along those lines 👀 (if you don't wanna do Seb, beefy Bucky works too 😘)

“Keep making those pretty sounds, let everyone know whose pussy this is,” he cooes while you babble his name mindlessly—Buck - Bucky, James - James Barnes—into the curve of his neck. The sound of your cries and slapping of skin undoubtedly fills this side of the compound; friend’s and agents getting an earful of how the Winter Soldier ruins you. 

in which bucky reminds you who you belong to. (includes beefy!bucky, possessiveness, jealousy, cockwarming, size kink, light bondage, unprotected and rough sex, dirty talk, implied voyeurism, overstimulation.)

[kotenok > kitten]

do not repost.

—

“Bucky, it was just a mission,” you speak slowly and carefully, your eyes fixating on him cautiously, resisting an urge to step backward. 

Your heart hammers as your boyfriend stalks forward like a starving wolf closing in on vulnerable prey; his formidable form managing both power and grace. Your shared suite door hangs on by one hinge in his wake. Steely blue pupils have dilated to near black, locked and loaded on your scantily clad frame, and they flicker dangerously. 

“C - calm down, calm—!” You squeal when he launches forward, hulking figure caging you against the bed. Cold metal kisses the column of your throat, fingers snug as he snarls above you, pools of raging waters submerging you in a masochistic warmth.

“What have I told you about touching?” he grits out, wild and borderline animalistic, nostrils flaring and chest heaving with ragged breaths. 

And, that confirms it. Although it had been abundantly clear by his entrance, you’re sure he witnessed the improv on your mission. He usually does, and you’ve otherwise anticipated his reaction considering his current state, and what that means for you as his significant other. 

As the Winter Soldier, you were one of the prevailing agents assigned to his case. In that time, you had a flurry of encounters, usually combative but there were a number of times where you seemed to inadvertently break through the haze. Once his brainwashing mindset was foiled, taken in by the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D, he innately stuck to you, being one of the only constants between his staccato evolution. 

With that, adjusting to the many changes and processing his past progression, he’s become highly possessive, clinging to you like you’re his life line. The extremity will pass with time, but you’re perfectly fine with it, either way. (You know if you voice any problems with it, he’d oblige you.)

Until his emotions stabilize, he isn’t fit for duty like you. However, he is allowed to monitor you in the surveillance room while you’re working. On this particular job, the use of your womanly wiles were necessary, and you perhaps got too close to your mark. 

“N - no one touches,” you gasp his mantra, a sound choking when his grip tightens for clarification in the fullest. “No one touches me. I don’t touch anyone else.”

“So what the hell were you doing, kotenok?” he growls low and deadly, his defined jaw ticking. Before you can explain, as if it’d help, he’s wrenching your head back by your scalp to hiss, “Have you forgotten who you belong to?”

You shake your head with a moan. “Bucky—” Your body arches against his, rutting into an immovable mass of hard muscles and swelling length at the apex of your hips.. Your temperature runs hot and tingles in anticipation. “I know! I know who I belong to.”

It doesn’t convince him. 

“You don’t, but you fucking will,” he promises roughly then he’s ripping your short dress off, forcing your arms up in the process, and he’s twisting the fabric to loop securely on your wrists. Immobilized, he strips you of your bra and tears your panties down your legs. 

His fingers grab your face, spanning your jawline, squeezing your cheeks so your lips are puckered. A wolffish expression returns inches away from you, blues mean and serious. “This?” With his free hand, he traces the seam of your mouth. “Mine.” He dips his head to tease, sucking your bottom lip briefly. “To kiss, to shove my cock between.” 

A high sound draws from your throat, baring to him eagerly when he trails down. Nipping and sucking, his teeth sink into your skin with a vengeance: suctioning bright bruises against the junction of your shoulder, the dip of your clavicle until he reaches the valley of your breast.

Both hands, big and warm, palm each twin and dwarf them in comparison. “These?” Calloused pads knead harshly and tweak your pebbled peaks while he shifts lower so his breathing fans the sensitive nub. “Mine.” His eyes flash ravenously into yours, and he closes his wet mouth around one. Cheeks hollowed, his tongue laves, and his teeth mark; stinging and warm, it contrasts against the metal caress fondling the other. 

Your shivering spine curls off the bed and into him, urging him to continue dappling your chest in his hickies. He’s making sure every inch is covered in his teeth prints, each sting resonating and puddling in your center. 

When he’s satisfied by his Picasso of toned red and purples, he’s settling up and moving on with his presentation: “Right here?” He cups your mound with the heel of his hand, maintaining intense eye contact. “Mine.” His middle finger traces down your clit, hovering for a millisecond before he’s plunging in without any warning or preparation. 

A cry breaks free as your system washes cold in a shriek of shock, hips jerking up then away against the thick digit. He easily remains knuckle deep with a hand at the cradle of your hips. “Mine,” he reaffirms throatily. “To pet and lick. . . to fuck and fuck until your tiny pussy is dripping white and abused raw. Is that fucking clear?”

Desire lashes out, spreading out and crackling like wildfire across your skin. Moaning, you nod vehemently. “Yes!” you answer with a whimper as your walls twitch pleadingly around his middle finger. “Buck, please. I want you. Only you.” 

His lips upturn, pleased. “Yeah,” he says approving and recoils to go for his pants. “Every time someone looks at you, there will be no mistaking that.” His gaze is lasered hot on you as he blindly pulls his belt off and unzips. “You are mine to love and fuck. Aren’t you? My pretty ‘lil doll?”

You nod dutifully and sit up, your hands pooling in your lap before you push to your toes. Excitement adrenalizes in your veins, anticipating so much you barely remember to breath. “I - I’ll get the door,” you say and edge to create some privacy (although does it really do anything?). 

“Oh, kotenok, I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he growls and hooks his big arm around your waist and easily swings you into his embrace. His hands grapple under your pits and hoists you high against his abdomen, shifting to support you by your ass.

Tortuously slow, he slides you down until your bare sex chafes against his erection. As you moan and receptively rock into his thickness, his lips tickle your ear. “I want the whole compound to hear how I make you scream.” 

Then he adjusts you, and his hips snap forward in one smooth thrust. Stout length crudely parts your resistant channel, his hold loosening briefly to allow gravity to sheathe him in hard and deep: bottoming out with your clit mashing against his pubic bone. 

“Bucky!” you shriek, and it ping pongs off the walls to echo unmistakably down the open corridor. Your walls spasm as you struggle to conform to well endowed shaft, pulsing hotly against the edge of your cervix. Sharp sensations prickling, you loop bonded wrists around his neck while he practically purrs in delight. 

“Fuck, yes.” He lightly nips at your bottom lip, blue eyes electrified with wicked specks, he’s nipping at your bottom lip, then at your racing pulse. “Your little pussy was made to take my big cock.” He presses and swivels you in close, tip bumping deep depths, nestling against your clit so tremors tighten around him. “Wrapped around my cock, kotenok, this is where you belong. One day, I’ll tie your ankles together so I can keep you on me all the fucking time, fuck you boneless whenever I want.” 

Fever claws through you, tearing viciously at your nerves, and you shudder. “Buck,” your voice cracks pathetically in a moan. “Please. . .”

He tilts you forth so his hands can slip under your knees. Wrapping entirely around, he abruptly prises your thighs wide. The furthest he can make you, your muscle strain stingingly in a near perfect split on either side of you. 

“O - oh, shit—fuck—” He’s spearing in even deeper, exacerbating the stretch and reach of his bulbous head, continuously nudging your tight limit. Still yet to attune to his size, composure is impossible when he fills you this greatly. “Bucky, Bucky. Oh, God.” 

Suspended in the air, hands prisoned by red chiffon, you’ve got no control both figuratively and literally. His grasp on you is steel and powerful, a guttural moan rumbling through his chest preludes a show of that reality. 

Like you’re his personal fuckdoll, he’s bouncing your squeezing folds up and down his length. With a speed that equivalents you to the weight of nothing, he works you along in pummeling strokes. Everything feels out of place, but he’s controlling you effortlessly and clean: a uniform decimation of your vice like tunnel. 

All you can do is cling to him and take it. You can’t even writhe with the way he pistons inside you: halting any involuntary tries. Mewling and choking in his ear, your body is rampant in a morass of pain and pleasure, coiling together to create something that unhinges you completely. 

“Keep making those pretty sounds, let everyone know whose pussy this is,” he cooes while you babble his name mindlessly—Buck - Bucky, James - James Barnes—into the curve of his neck. The sound of your cries and slapping of skin undoubtedly fills this side of the compound; friend’s and agents getting an earful of how the Winter Soldier ruins you. 

“Can you feel me? Against your stomach?” His shoulder lifts to nudge your head up, and your warmly-twinged face meets his. “Look, kotenok,” he orders huskily, nodding to where he’s pounding it, and when you do, there’s a subtle bulge in sync with him. “Ain’t that a fucking sight?”

It is. And it’s too much. 

Splotched fires unite, blazing in a flood of fiery and paralyzing desire. Licking flames up-rise within and roar into a taut reckoning you feel from your dangling toes to the ends of your hair. It suffocates you in a sob, hoarse in your esophagus. 

An appreciative groan vibrates when he feels you convulse. “Hell yeah, milk my cock,” he encourages roughly, voice like gravel underneath a sweltering sun. “Good girl. Good girl.” Inside you, he's throbbing quicker and quicker, thrusts faltering sloppy and frenzied, hands bruising. “Who’s gonna cum fill you up with cum?” 

“You - you,” you immediately stammer. “Bucky Barnes! Bucky—”

“That’s fucking right!” he gloats, and with an animalistic groan, blasts of lava spill inside you for what seems like forever, searing your insides with overstimulation. As it dies down, thrusts stuttering to a stop, he hoists you off. Slick wet dribbles out in his wake, streaming down your inner thighs and over his cock.

Bucky drops you unceremoniously on the bed. You land between pillows, back hitting the sturdy headboard, impossibly soft sheets against your skin. Through blurring vision, you make him out: towering before you, his cock is still hard as a rock like you aren’t brimming with his cum—the perks of the super soldier serum—glistening with your arousal, jutting against his scarred stomach all too ready to burrow inside you. 

“Turn over,” he says huskily but he’s already taking it upon himself. 

Snatching you by the ankle, he jerks you to your front and drags you to the foot of the bed. His body shadows behind you, and he tugs the knot on your wrists free then his forearm anchors across your hip bones. “Hold on, kotenok,” he breathes while he careens forth and rams inside you. In tandem, he stands and hooks his arms under your knees and— 

“Holy - Bucky!” you squeak when your legs are folded and bent high until they’re adjacent to your ears. Your hands desperately cling to his flexing biceps, nails rippling down his skin, as he hammers in with a brute strength at another ridiculously deep angle. 

“Would’ve thought I’d loosened you up by now but you’re just so small you can’t help but stay this fucking tight,” he growls in your ear, a groan shaking against your back, deep and guttural like you’re driving him crazy. “Only motivates me more to fucking destroy your pussy.” 

He’s going to make good on his word. Your sensitivity is short circuiting your nerves, and he’s merciless in his onslaught. Slippery and swollen, he smoothly juggles you up and down, battering your channel in long jabs: from the crown of his cock to where his balls smack against your ass. 

“Oh, shit. Fuck - fuck - fuck,” you choke and gasp, your lids lowering and lifting to clear the bleary dots. The position has your vision angled to him brutally gliding in, tanned girth glistening in a combination of your arousal, transparent and sluicing white. Your stomach tightens painfully: it’s too good. “Bucky—Bucky, I don’t think I can h - handle it.” 

He doesn’t slow. “Oh, yes, you can,” he says, words authoritative, determined. “I know what this pussy can handle. What—it—was—made for.” He punctuates every word with full and bouncing thrusts that has you seizing up around him. “Go on. Take it. Fucking take my big cock.” 

Your head falls backward on his shoulder, and your fingertips create a red trail down his arms. “Bucky!” you warble when the shakes overtake you. 

“Uh huh, kotenok. I want a good one, harder than the first. Rub your little clit,” he urges—orders. “Wanna feel you squeeze. C’mon!”

The second your fingertips touch your bundle of nerves, the current rips you under and submerges you in something so hot, it’s cold. Chills wrack you in a reckoning and that has you seeing bright stars within a flit of darkness. It impacts more powerful than before, the result of overstimulated pain infusing at a crux with pleasure. 

A fifteen seconds in heaven.

Following seconds after you, he’s spurting inside you, gleeful at the way you clamp down so exquisitely. Through the fanfare of your own orgasm, you can feel his heart beating a tattoo between your shoulder blades, broken pants fanning the top of your head, the gradual wand of everything.

“Fucking hell, Barnes,” you say hoarsely.

“Y’tired, kitten?” he dotes, hints of concern drowned out by the carnal pride, knowing and boasting smile you feel in his baritone voice. “Y’need a break, then?” You nod weakly, and he kisses your neck wetly. “Okay, okay. You can get a break, and you can keep my cock warm in the process.”

You can't be surprised. You aren’t. 

He changes positions. Manhandling you, he heaves you onto the king sized mattress, and follows behind. He pulls you back on his lap, and with a quick nudge, he’s slipping in: an audible slush, and your gasp filling the air. 

He’s still. You think you’ll be able to ignore the ticking heat throbbing in your belly, and find some sense of order. Resting your hands flat on the panels of his hard chest, eyes closed, you inhale and exhale shallowly in order to cool your fever. Your heart a kick drum, and blood roaring between your ears, you almost manage it. 

Bucky’s hungry stare is roving all over, cerulean blues a reflection of smug satisfaction as he recognizes how you’ll wear a badge of him. It tracks down to where you’re conjoined, and that mesmerizes him. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip with renewed interest, transfixed by his cock sheathed inside something so tiny, encircled by white, your engorged clit practically quivering to be touched—and he can’t deny you. 

That vein on his underside pulsate a beat faster, and he suddenly shuffles beneath you. In a smooth motion, his hips cant upward in as he perks, a hand on your hip as his other comes to swirl a saliva-coated thumb across your button.

Your lashes fly open, and you instinctively jolt away: a surprised bleat strangled in your throat. “Shit - shit,” you grouse half heartedly when your womb clenches warningly, a prickle of pain reminding you of your sensitivity, and a sporadic tightening around him potentially triggering another round of savage fucking (which you’ll probably be up to once you’ve adequately recovered).

Thankfully and shockingly, he doesn’t overpower you in stimulation. That’s because the action has you creaming around him even further, and he’s fascinated by it. “Lay back,” he rasps, masculine features wolffish as he flickers up to look at you. 

“Buck,” you whine, “I don’t think I can move.” But of course, that won’t stop it, and he does it himself. 

Altering his weight, he uses his pelvis to herd yours back, Before you sprawl out, his arm molds to the small of your back, and props an arch of your spine. Like this, the backward slide of your hips squelching, he has a better view, and boy, is he eating it up. 

You’re swathed around him in a vice of heat and slickness, leaking ivory around the base of him, glistening beautifully anytime you move. “Oh, fuck me. That’s hot,” he whispers, and he’s rolling you slowly over his length, not to get off, but just to marvel. 

Your muscles have officially lost any energy so you have to endure the sensitivity needling at your nerves. “You’re insatiable,” you whimper, sagged into his hold, feeling the flames rekindling, a likewise part of you wanting to rise up for the challenge. 

He chuckles, a low sound that has butterflies spazzing in your gut. “Feels like it when I’m with you,” he says before reeling you back into his chest. Both hands cup your cheeks, a fiery line leading from your collarbones to your lips. “But you’ll handle me, won’t you?” he murmurs against your Cupid’s bow, sweetly, a glimpse of vulnerability contrasting against the thumb strumming faintly across your clit. “‘Cause you’re mine.”

You moan. “Yes,” you instantly acquiescence, and the pressure hardens. “Yes! I’m yours.”

[send feedback here / my masterlist here.] 

[your-lady-star]

Fallen M!Corrin is Better Than Fallen F!Corrin

Bit of a hot take here for me to do, but I’ve honestly have had complications with Fallen F!Corrin for a while, and now that my baby boy has his own, I figured now is a better time than any to get into my issues with her fallen alt and why M!Corrin does it significantly better.

Now I’m not going to talk about their skills and usefulness in battle, mainly cause I don’t care about that at all, I’m going to be focusing solely on design and how well it connects to the thematic surrounding the story of Fallen Corrin. And that’s a good starting point.

I remember back when last years fallen banner was revealed and I saw a lot of people wondering why Corrin was on the banner since they never turn evil in game. I think people forget what the purpose of the fallen banner is; it’s not to show inherently evil characters, it’s to show, well, fallen heroes. Characters who’s mindsets, goals, an ethics were once just, but have been corrupted by a dark force, whether it’d be psychological or external. And, while it’s easy to forget, Corrin is fighting a psychological battle for his sanity every minute of every day.

Corrin’s dragon blood is very potent and very powerful, more so than any of the other royals, hence why he’s able to fully transform into a dragon. One downside of this is that dragons within the world of Fire Emblem are described as being inherently destructive and blood thirsty, something we clearly see with Corrin as his first transformation into a dragon had him go on a destructive rampage and attack Azura. He’s given the dragonstone for the express purpose of maintaining control of these urges and keeping his sanity in check. 

The fallen version is meant to showcase what would happen if they couldn’t maintain control, whether it’d be from not getting the dragonstone in time or the dragonstone not being of much help or maybe a completely different reason; it’s designed to show what would happen if Corrin surrendered to their draconic urges and became the monstrous killing machine they dread becoming, especially with the implications that Corrin may have possibly killed Aura during the initial attack. A Corrin who is lost to destructive urges and has become a monster that cannot be stopped, that is the theme to their fallen counterparts.

And while M!Corrin does that job fantastic, F!Corrin not so much.

Now we can finally get into discussing the art for these two and how well they do at showcasing this theme.

Let’s start with their default stance.

M!Corrin has a wide stance and is slightly hunched over, akin to that of an animal, and his tail being out further plays into that. The way its wrapped out to the front of his body with the spikes facing outward not only gives his stance a bit of a defensive feel, but also threatening, as though to let other know what they’re getting themselves into by challenging him. The way his hands are tensed up to look like claws makes it very intimidating and the way his left hand is positioned in that almost “come here” gesture gives a sense that he’s daring you to try to stop his, furthered with the way his right hand is placed in that cocky arrogance fashion that FE has used before. But the most telling feature is his eyes and face. That sense of cockiness is present with the way his eyebrows are raised and the slight curve of his mouth as well as that feel of lunacy with the ways his eyes seem to be different sizes, which anyone who has ever watched anime knows is clue number one that a character is a f*cking psychopath. But the most interesting thing is the dead emptiness is his expression. As though he isn’t truly there mentally, that he’s completely surrendered to the madness and is just a vessel for his cursed bloods madness. It’s downright terrifying and incredibly intriguing all at once.

Overall, this default art is fantastic and does a great job at giving a memorable first impression and teases for whats to come. It’s one of the best artworks to come out of Heroes for not only how well it does at displaying the theme of the character, but for being able to say so much with a single image.

On the other hand... 

Alright, so on an objective standpoint there isn’t anything wrong with the default art for fallen F!Corrin. It looks great, it’s nicely detailed and it’s clear that a lot of time went into it. My issue with it is how poorly it does at representing a corrupted Corrin. 

I get that the idea behind her design is that she’s slowly wearing herself down trying to fight back against her dark urges, but the art doesn’t do a good job at portraying that. The only real indication of her supposed exhaustion is a single bead of sweat running down her thigh and (maybe) one on her cheek, and everything from her facial expression to the way her arms are placed to her general stance comes off looking “embarrassed” rather than “tired”. She looks less like a woman desperately battling a losing battle to maintain control over her humanity and more like a typical anime girl who was walked in on by her crush while changing. The over-beautification of F!Corrin’s design already doesn’t do much to help with that (but that’s a discussion I’ll save for another day). Even the tail, one of the most striking features on fallen M!Corrin’s design, doesn’t have the same presence. It being mostly behind her not only loses that sense of defense and intimidation, but it causes the tail to blend into her and become less noticeable. I’m not even joking when I say that I didn’t even notice that she had a tail until the third time I saw this art.

Like I said, the art isn’t bad, it just doesn’t do the core theme justice. Rather than looking worn down, she looks slightly perturbed at best. Rather than looking menacing, she looks meek. And rather than fitting into a banner themed around great heroes falling into darkness, this feels like something that would fit in more in a summer or Easter banner (which is extremely ironic considering what I’ll get into later). It’s a build up for a set of art that’s supposed to make me feel sorry for her, but only accomplishes in making me think of how much she looks like me when I’m waiting for my brothers to hurry up in the bathroom.

Once more the dynamic weight and posing in the artwork shines brilliantly in his neutral attack pose. Lunging forward keeps in with the animalistic nature along with his hands once more tensed like claws, one reeling back to get ready to strike. With the way his cape and tail, curled almost like a snake or scorpion, flow behind him create a real feeling of movement and his expression dark but subdued, it makes for this real intense energy coming from his as he lunges for his prey. My favorite aspect being how the shadows form on his face, hiding it just enough to conceal his murderous intent while still allowing the harsh red of his eyes to shine prominently. And while there isn’t any discernible difference in his hair, the way it’s wrapped around his face and flowing to his movement give that much needed edge to his glare. And with the dark purple miasma flowing and highlighting points of interest, it makes for a truly great piece.

This isn’t really a problem that’s singular to fallen F!Corrin, as IS does struggle to give dragon units unique attack art that doesn’t just have the character either standing still or slightly curved with their arms either out at their sides or holding whatever stone they use to transform. So I can appreciate that they tried to do something different with her attack art. But, again, the problem is how it doesn’t fit with what they’re trying to represent.

Her expression is that of either mild annoyance or boredom, giving no indication that she’s in pain from having to fight. There’s no real tensity in any part of her body, having more of a grace and fluidity that is commonly used on dancer units. Her tail is more visible, but nothing is really being done with it. It’s not extenuating anything or highlighting a part of her body, it’s just curled on her legs. And any sense of intimidation is lost because the most threatening part of the tail, the spikes, are no longer in the foreground. Sense of movement is also an issue here. The way her cape and hair are framed makes it feel like she just jumped off of something and is having a rough landing and there’s no feeling for how she moved to attack, no ferocity in her actions. Again, it’s akin to more of a dancer than a feral dragon.

And this is small nitpick I have, but it really bugs me. I don’t like how the purple miasma for F!Corrin is lighter than M!Corrin’s. It might seem like a minuscule thing to be worried about, but the darker tone on his gives a real feel of dread and despair. The lighter tones are hers don’t stand out as much and don’t give any real negative emotion to her state. Yeah, she’s supposed to be fighting to maintain control, but having them be darker would help to represent that desperation and hopelessness. You can still have lighter hues, but they need to work in tandem to the darker colors.

Because when you do, you get beauty like this.

Just look at this masterpiece. The lighter purple flames mixing well with the darker flames, coming together in the center like a twisted mockery of where the dragonstone would be in any other art, curling around his body like a charging beast quickly closing in on you. His eyes glowing an ethereal mix of his natural red and the miasma around him, giving them a horrific shine that stand out a mile away and full of pure demented blood lust. And his mouth; wide open, fangs bearing in a horrific grimace, ready to sink into whatever stands in his way. 

I don’t usually throw this term around, but I don’t hesitate to use it here: this art is flawless.

This art, however, I can’t attach flawless to. The mix of purple and dark pink and the lighting it casts does look really good, but it’s an intense mix to a subdued reaction. Her eyes don’t look anymore ferocious than they do on any of her other alts and there’s no glow to them to make her look like her darker urges are beginning to influence her. The clawed hand could be a cool feature, but it’s hard to see since it’s being blocked out by all the pink! I actually didn’t even notice that her hand was clawed until I looked up her artwork for this post! Such a distinguished feature shouldn’t be this hard to notice. Not to mention, even if the claw was more visible, it doesn’t hold the same level of intimidation as her male counterpart due to how thin and spindly her arms and hand are. This feels like a slight upgrade to her original forms special art and is extremely disappointing.

After the Adrift banner, I am pleased to see a M!Corrin alt where his damaged art doesn’t tear his clothes off. But even with the minimal physical damage, you can’t deny how good this looks.

The rips on his left hand give it a jagged look that nicely compliments how tense his hand is.His right is clawed and raised, poised to attack and surrounded by the miasma in a way that highlights it without overshadowing it. His tail raised and thrashing about in a fit of rage, further complimented by his crouched over stance and, of course, his face. Corrin’s facial expressions across each form of his fallen counterpart has been his best feature, and this is easily the best of the four. That look of pure, unadulterated, unrelenting rage is so disturbing and amazing at the same time. Damage art in Heroes typically has the character looking shocked, sad, perturbed, or not phased by it. This is the only damage art I can think of where the character is f*cking pissed. That is a look that screams “I”m going to f*cking annihilate you for doing that” and it’s utterly glorious.

Oh boy, this art.

Nearly everything I praised about M!Corrin’s damage art is the exact opposite for the female.

The stance is very generic and holds no emotion other than “Ow, I’m hurt”. Her facial expression doesn’t register pain at all, looking more like she’s inconvenienced because someone splashed water on her. Her tail, despite being very dominant, is just sitting there with no fluidity. Physical damage is far greater here, but all it does is distract the viewer who is too busy getting off to her exposed legs and thighs! And whether it'd be because of shaky perspective or shoddy work, but her hands and arms are distractedly small and thin. It looks like her arms would shatter if she pushed someone too hard.

This is my lease favorite of her arts entirely because it exemplifies the main problem with fallen F!Corrin’s design and why M!Corrin did it better.

It focuses more on making Corrin look cute rather than having her actually represent the theme she’s supposed to be.

The titles for the two Corrin’s are Bloodbound Beast and Wailing Soul. M!Corrin perfectly embodies his title while F!Corrin struggles to just barely hint at. Both of them are meant to show a pure hearted and noble individual being corrupted by the very blood coursing through their veins, yet only one of them is really putting in any effort to properly represent this. And while I can’t give any concrete evidence of this, I feel like the main thing that kept the female variant from properly doing the job was because they got the wrong person to draw her.

And look, I don’t have anything against Sencha, fallen F!Corrin’s artist; they’re extremely talented. But looking at their record for art in Heroes can tell you that they weren’t the right one for this. This is the same person who did the summer and adrift art for F!Corrin (they also did bridal Tharja, but that’s not related here), and both of them have a distinctive style to them. They’re graceful, beautiful, serene, cheerful. Sencha is very good at drawing Corrin very pleasant and lovely. However, Sencha clearly isn’t that good at drawing Corrin miserable and withered. And that’s understandable. Making someone completely shift the genre they’re used to is a serous challenge and it’d be no surprise if they can’t handle it. So, despite my claim that they got the wrong artist for her, I don’t blame Sencha for not doing as well.

Then again, I doubt that this wasn’t a challenge for Argon, fallen M!Corrin’s artist. Their Heroes portfolio consists of mostly seasonal alts for various male characters, though they also did Cormag, which shows that they do more dynamic posing and harsher color saturation. If anything, the fact that they did such a phenomenal job on Corrin shows they got some serious skill at drawing more demented characters. Hopefully they get to do this more often, I need to see more of their work like this.

So, at the end of this long diatribe, I’ll once again reiterate that I don’t dislike fallen F!Corrin for any personal bias towards the male version or because the art is objectively bad. It’s a nicely done art, but one that doesn't suit what the character is to represent. And the fact that fallen M!Corrin utterly blew it out the water in his artwork really made it worse for her.

... Was this all just on big excuse for me to gush about fallen M!Corrin’s artwork?

Maybe.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got orbs to hoard. 

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 10

What can be said when you finally break? Not a whole lot, honestly.

I broke. Killing Sofia, taking that responsibility from Dad, broke some tiny part of innocence I had left. I passed out and it took me all night and part of the next day to get through the trauma of killing the undead version of a little girl that Carl had been so hopeful would be rescued. Killing her, knowing that Carl would lose what sparks of faith he had left, it ripped me apart.

When I came to, Daryl was watching over me in our tent. His anger at my silence about the barn filled with walkers had passed. His worry was evident, apparently I had been talking while I was unconscious. He said I begged to die. To leave the horrors of our new reality behind. I begged for an end, for something to replace the terror we all lived in.

“Jessi, ya can’t,” he started, when he told me what I’d been moaning for, “ya can’t leave me alone here. Ya can’t.” He pulled me into his arms, as though holding me together would keep me sane. The pleading voice, the fear shined clearly in his eyes. And I nearly fell apart again.

“It was just bad dreams, Daryl,” I whispered, letting him hold on to me for dear life. “Just bad dreams, long overdue.” I pulled back so I could frame his face with my hands. “I’m right here, I’ll always be right here.”

Dad had apparently followed Hershel to a bar in town, with Glenn in tow. They’d brought back more than booze, or the smell of it anyway. A prisoner/hostage, named Randall. He was injured and our resident vet turned survivor doctor helped him heal. Of course there was dissent about what to do about the man. Two guesses who lead the charge for getting rid of him permanently, versus who lead the charge to release him once healed far away and leave him to fend for himself?

Of course the plan went to shit. Why wouldn’t it? This was the new normal wasn’t it? That you make plans and the world works against you to make sure that it all turns to crap. Shane and Dad tried, apparently, my dad’s way. Neither would go into too many details about what happened, but they both looked like shit when they got back. And Randall was still with them, so another issue.

While they were off on their field trip that made both of them look like they’d gone ten rounds with each other, Hershel’s youngest daughter, Beth tried to kill herself. First she’d gone comatose (who could blame her, I did too for a bit?), then apparently Andrea got the brilliant idea to give her the choice. Thank God, according to Lori that Beth changed her mind, and it wasn’t too fucking late. Lori told me that Andrea made some snarky comments about her and Shane, but I couldn’t focus on that backbiting crap. I was still trying to decide how I felt about being alive in this horror show.

Daryl offered to get information out of Randall. I couldn’t look at him when he returned. I couldn’t stand to think what he might have done to get any intel out of the man, not when he was wiping his hands of the blood. I focused on the living room rug. I focused on anything other than the voting going on around me about a HUMAN’S life.

Carl, my baby brother, actually told Dad that he should kill Randall. My heart broke when Dad looked at me with the terror I knew was clear on my face. My baby brother wasn’t just losing his faith, he was losing his humanity. I sat down on the sofa in Hershel’s house and missed the rest of the conversation. Had I sounded like that when I told Daryl that Andrea wasn’t going to survive? Had I been that cold, thinking it was pragmatic? What was going to happen to all of us if that became our mindset?

Dale, a humanist if I’ve ever seen one, voted against. I didn’t vote, I wasn’t listening. I stood up and walked out of the living room. I walked out of the house. I walked to the porch swing and sat down. I felt so mechanical. Like every movement since waking was just mimicry of what I’d usually do, but that I couldn’t feel myself do it. I sat on the porch, ignoring the rest of the group, their voices, their vote. I had to sit it out.

When Dale was killed the next day, by a walker who somehow found our new safe place, I knew that the world would lose to the walkers. That if a man like Dale, kind and human couldn’t make it, then what would the rest of us have to offer the gods that set this fucking plague loose on us? His funeral was a blur. So was Carol trying to let me know she didn’t blame me for ending the thing that her daughter had become. That Sofia had been dead far before I shot that arrow into her head. That I’d done what needed to be done. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

I barely noticed when Randall escaped. I hardly took note that Shane was the one who warned them. Not until Dad and Daryl stood before me telling me they were going to look for him did I pay the least bit of attention to what was going on around me. I was still lost in that same fog that I’d woken up to. Even when I laid down with Daryl at night, nothing seemed the same. When Dad and Daryl told me that with Glenn and Shane they’d go find Randall something sparked. A chill. A familiar chill rolled through me, but I couldn’t focus on it.

“Don’t.” I whispered, as they both stared at me. “Just don’t. Please.” I couldn’t say more, I couldn’t tell them why, but I knew that when they walked away, even more would change and I didn’t know if we would survive it.

DAYS AFTER SHANE’S DEATH, THE WALKER ATTACK AT GREENE FARM

Dad finally told us what Dr. Jenner had warned him about before blowing the entire damn CDC building sky high. He’d waited. Some would argue he waited too damn long, but he’d waited until things were at their absolute worst. The attack, after Carl was forced to put a bullet in Shane’s head, the rush from the farm, the side of a freeway, that’s when he finally had to tell us. Had to because Carl asked the question no one knew we had to ask. How had Shane turned when he hadn’t been bitten? Daryl had a similar question, because Randall had turned as well, and as far as he and Glenn had seen, there wasn’t a bite on him either.

And so, when things couldn’t seem bleaker, Dad proved they could. Now we knew. People didn’t have to be bitten to become a walking nightmare. They just had to die with their brain intact. I looked around the group and suddenly realized that it was even worse, we’d lost more people. Andrea, even if I thought it would happen didn’t mean I reveled in it, was gone. Patricia and Jimmy, gone. I blinked back tears. Enough, Jessi, I scolded myself as I watched the others become angry with Dad. Angry with his lack of warning. Enough.

“Enough.” I said, loud enough to be heard, not loud enough to get us attacked again. “Just stop. Stop being pissed. Stop being angry with Dad. Stop.” I looked up and realized that it had been days since anyone heard me speak. “Does this really change our situation? Knowing that we can all become whatever the hell those beasts are, does it change anyone’s urge to survive?” They all watched me. “I can’t do this. I can’t listen to the anger, and irritation at ONE more fucking thing we can’t change.”

Daryl slipped behind me to hold me. Offering what comfort he could. “She’s right. Don’t matter. We still gotta stay alive.”

“There’s a place for us,” Dad said, taking heart in my strength and conviction. “I wasn’t sure Jenner was right. Not until I killed Shane.” I noticed that Lori wasn’t looking at him and I knew that he’d told her before us. “Carl had to put him down.” The group grew quiet.

“Rick has honor,” Daryl’s voice shocked all of us. “I know he ain’t lying because I tracked Randall. He wasn’t bit. And Shane’s story didn’t match what we found.” My hands linked with his where he’d wrapped his arms around me.

Maggie speaks up to try to get Glenn to leave, that the rest of us aren’t for them. Hershel shushed her.

“I killed my best friend for you people, for Christ’s sake.” Dad nearly roared. I watched my baby brother bury his head in Lori’s shoulder. “Maybe you all are better off without me. I say there’s a place for us, but maybe it is another pipe dream.” I notice that no one seems to be leaving. “No takers? If you’re staying, this isn’t a democracy anymore.” He turned to walk away, and I pulled out of Daryl’s arms and rushed after him.

“Daddy?” I whispered once we’d gotten far enough away from the others. He turned and opened his arms. I rushed forward and let him wrap me up like he had from the moment I breathed air for the first time. “Thank you.”

“He was dangerous, baby, he was.” Dad breathed into my hair. “Lori knows it, but I’m not sure she’s gonna forgive it.” He sighed. “The others? They need to understand-”

I nodded against his chest. “I know.” I breathed in deeply, even through the sweat and blood, he still smelled like my daddy. “I know, I’ll try to help you as best I can. And I think Daryl will too.”

“Sure will,” Daryl’s voice spoke quietly from behind me. “I meant it, Rick, ya got honor. Bastard lied about too damn much.” He stayed a distance from us, letting me and Dad comfort one another for a moment. “Gonna be hard, gotta find somewhere before winter, and definitely before your next little one comes.”

“I’ve got the two of you,” Dad answered, releasing me and smiling at Daryl. “Should be a hellava help.”

[reddie-fangirl24]

Park (A Reddie Fanfiction)

NOTE: This is a one-shot based off on my story Eddie, The Patient. I LOVE this story! Enjoy!

Walking through the beautiful park a certain couple could not stop laughing. Their hysterics even caused them to stumble around, nearly tripping over a parked baby carriage. They weren’t drunk. Richie was having a good time entertaining Eddie with many puns he had been thinking up for his performances.

Eddie needed to sit down on the bench feeling as if his ribs would collapse. Laughing too much made his insides hurt. Anytime their laughter was starting to seize all it took was a short stare and Richie snorted making Eddie laugh hysterically all over again.

“eNOUGH WITH YOUR PUNS!” Eddie just barely argued as he held his stomach. Now, he had to stop. Breathing through his nose, Eddie calmed himself down.

Richie settled down and sat next to his husband on the park bench, placing an arm around his shoulder. The air was a tad chilly but it didn’t disturb the men. In fact, there were many other people out to enjoy this gorgeous Saturday. That was the pain having to work or being sick. You couldn’t get outside to enjoy the fresh air.

“Did we get to cuddle at all this winter?” Richie asked Eddie. Of course, L.A. winter was different from what Eddie was used to in New York, holidays were still an important time to be together.

Eddie shook his head, frowning. “Not much. Not counting sleeping together, we only cuddled under the blanket on Christmas night. But, that was last year.”

Richie sighed. “We’ve been busy.”

“I know,” Eddie laid his head down on Richie’s shoulder.

A little smile curled up Eddie’s face as he stared at the water lightly hitting the shore. People trickled passed every now and then. It felt so peaceful. Richie missed that feeling of contentedness. He hadn’t been feeling overly happy for some time now having to be away from Eddie. Now he felt like a new man again.

“Does your school ever allow bring your husband to work day?” Richie asked fixing his gaze back on Eddie.

Eddie giggled knowing what Richie was getting at. “They might, but I think you’d be too much of a distraction.”

“Distraction?” Richie asked, amused. “I won’t distract your students! I promise! I’ll behave like a good doggy and sit in the corner!”

Eddie lightly tapped his leg, giggling. “Not my students! Me!”

“Oooohh!” Richie understood completely, even licking his lips. “You’re worried I’ll get all frisky and slip into your pants during the biology lesson.”

“Would you stop it! And I teach history, smartass!” It didn’t help that Eddie was still smiling only seconds from laughing once more. Or that Richie’s hand was still resting on his knee. Eddie stared at the intimate touch and smiled brightly. His eyes sparkled like the water glistening from the sun.

“It’s great to finally get out, huh?” Richie asked Eddie.

“Yeah. I hate how being sick makes you feel miserable.”

“Oh, don’t remind me of that,” Richie sighed. He averted his eyes. “I could just feel how sick you were. Tossing, moaning, and crying. It was agony.”

Eddie moved closer. He put his head on his shoulder. “You were a good doctor.”

“Learned everything from you!”

Eddie brought his head back up to look at Richie with this look of pure adoration. Richie loved that look. “When you woke me up at school and I saw you, I could have sworn you were an angel.”

Richie snorted. “You envision me as an angel?”

“You’re the most glorious sight, Rich.” Eddie glossed over Richie’s frame, fixating on Richie’s bulky chest. His stomach didn’t match that, but who could complain? That’s what Eddie loved about him.

“You gonna tell your principal on Monday?”

Eddie looked at Richie strangely, almost cautious. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, she told me you were a little school girl whenever you talked about me,” Richie’s voice fluttered, rolling his eyes to the sky.

Eddie blushed. He rolled his eyes.

Nothing else needed to be said. They were purely content as Eddie sat back against Richie’s shoulder listening to the little waves hit against the rocks.

“Can we go home now?” Eddie quietly asked his husband after some time. Although he adored this view of the lake, Eddie yearned to be alone with Richie. He would never admit that he enjoyed the horrid days when he was sick, but he would never give up the time he spent with his husband. This time Richie had the chance to play the doctor’s role. And he did a fine job. Richie still continued to be so doting, holding him tenderly around his hip.

Richie smirked at him. They had been sitting on the bench in the park for a while. It was best to get home now. He did have a delicious plan for dinner tonight.

Standing up, their knees cracking as they did, the husbands strode down the pathway, holding hands.

The pond was so beautiful. And it was just them to enjoy it. This was the first weekend where it was just the two of them spending time together in a while. Feeling a small wave of guilt, Richie vowed to have more weekends free. Eddie was far more important. He was his husband after all. It was his duty to take care of him.

“We should come here more,” Richie suggested.

“What if we went for a walk every day after I finish work? You could drop me off in the morning if you need the car and then you can pick me up at the end of the day.”

Richie hummed, staring into his eyes. “Don’t know if I can wait that long.”

Eddie leaned against him, kissing his cheek. “I’m not sure if I could even focus when I return to work on Monday.”

“That a boy!” Richie cheered him. “Least you’re getting yourself back into that mindset!”

Eddie’s eyes briefly dipped to the ground. Then he was distracted by two young girls jump roping and singing a little song

“Do you think my students are ashamed of me?” He asked Richie.

Richie raised his eyebrow, surprised. “Come on, Eds, your kids think the same thing whenever one of them barfs in school!”

“Yeah, but this time it’s different. I’m their teacher! They look up to me!”

Richie shrugged. “Then it’s a learning lesson.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie blinked in confusion. 

“Well, since they look up to you, it means that they won’t come to school sick anymore. They don’t want to get you sick again.”

Eddie was quiet, thinking, staring into Richie’s eyes. A big smile creased along his face, unable to help it. Richie was so adoring, humble, and smart. And he was all his. 

Of all the moments he felt the urge to knock themselves in the dirt and make love to him. It had been so long. He craved to stare at Richie as he lay on top of him, basking in their connection.

“Hey, you feelin’ alright?” Richie caught his attention. They were almost at the car now.

“Y-yeah, just thinking,” Eddie confirmed, clearing his throat.

They buckled themselves in. “’ Cause I know that smile,” Richie told him flashing him a grin.

“Do you?” Eddie remarked slyly as they drove towards home.

[wunderlass]

California Love

3 Days of Echo day 3 - post-season one/future. Once more betaed by @maxortecho!:

“There she is,” Liz murmurs as the car rounds the bend, and the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean comes into view. A glittering expanse of sapphire blue topped with foaming white, framed by the last fringes of the treeline the road emerges from. Down below, the beach cuts a pearly crescent against the shore.

Max hums back at her, but his gaze is on the road winding ahead, looking for the turn-off down to the sand. Despite this he’s got a faint, easy smile on his face, and she knows he’s soaking in his first sight of the ocean in as much as she is. She’s spent most of her life in the heart of the continent—in the heart of the desert itself, or in the mountains—so it always takes her breath away, but Max…Max has never seen it at all.

She’s never seen him this relaxed, his shoulders loose and his fingers drumming along to the radio on the steering wheel. He hasn’t frowned once since the plane landed a few hours ago and they collected their baggage. Suggesting they try to pick up the fractured pieces of the road trip they once intended to take is the best idea she’s had in a long time.

Roswell is far behind them, at least for now. And before them—before them is an open sky, blue meeting blue at the horizon.

The road dips down, back into the treeline, meandering to the foot of the cliffs. Things are so different than when she first saw the ocean all those years ago, and yet some things haven’t changed. Her heart is lighter, freed of many of its burdens, and fuller for the love she finally accepted. Her first real glimpse of the water had only reminded her that Rosa had never seen it, and never would—her first wade out into the waves had been to wash away her tears with more salt water, to drown them in their origin and pretend they never happened.

In those glorious few hours where she’d imagined traveling with Max, she’d become so nervous. Sharing a bed with him for weeks at a time had been a big deal, an unspoken promise between them, and it had left her flustered, eager, wanting. Now, she finds herself sinking into the same feeling, even if it’s ridiculous that she does. They share a bed at home—they share an entire house—but this is an opportunity. A chance to recapture who they were all those years ago. The idea of all this time alone with Max—no problems to fix, no lies between them—makes it easy for her to slip back into the mindset of the Liz who knew what love was but didn’t yet know sorrow or real loss.

Finally, they’ve reached the end of the road, and Max parks up in the shade of a grove of cedars. “I think we have to do the rest on foot,” he says, and she only smiles back, shoving her shades down and swinging herself out of the car.

He’s by her side seconds later, reaching for her hand to twine their fingers together, a picnic basket with food and beach essentials in his other hand. It earns him another smile, and she thinks if feels like this all day, she won’t be able to keep her happiness from leaking its way onto her skin and leaving a permanent imprint. It’s clear Max feels the same way, swinging their hands as they lope along the path through the trees, him modulating his long stride to match her own.

Then they’ve broken through, sunlight pouring down upon them and she tips her head back to bathe it, taking a deep breath of brine and ozone.

“Why does it just feel so much sunnier here than in Roswell?” she asks.

Rather than soaking up the sunshine like she is, Max is watching her, the softest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Because it feels like vacation.” The breeze is ruffling his hair, tossing around the long strand that always falls into his face, and she’s got the sudden urge to nuzzle into his neck.

She doesn’t. Instead, she kicks her shoes off, burying her toes in the sand. She’s only in a sundress, her bikini underneath and ready to be unleashed, but first they need to pick the perfect spot to leave their stuff before they go out into the water. They’ve got plenty of choice—the beach is empty, given it’s the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. She eyes the t-shirt Max is wearing above his shorts.

“Are you keeping all of that on?” she asks. “I’m looking forward to rubbing suncream into your shoulders.” They are, in fact, her favorite part of his anatomy. Mostly.

“I don’t need it,” he reminds her. “I won’t burn.”

“Please stop spoiling my fun.”

But he’s shrugging out of the t-shirt anyway, dropping it onto the sand beside her shoes. “Better?”

“Mmm. Much.” She steps closer, sliding an arm around his waist, and he’s always so warm beneath her palms. “And how is your first view of the ocean?”

He’s looking down at her, so earnest suddenly, that she props her shades on her head to meet his gaze. In this light, his eyes are almost amber and somewhere within them she thinks the way he feels about her has been caught, suspended for eternity. She doesn’t mind that at all.

“It’s beautiful,” he replies. “But not as beautiful as you.”

She doesn’t know how he manages it, but he always finds new ways to make her blush and make her heart stutter. It doesn’t matter if it’s a cheesy line—he means it, with his entire being, and God help her if she doesn’t love it. Love him. 

She looks away, but he gathers her hands between his, bringing them to rest on his sternum, right above the heart he’s always baring to her. “Liz.”

There’s a change in tone with her name. A change in mood, and she’s meeting his gaze once more, suspended in a moment where she’s sure what’s coming and waiting for it to come. Flustered, eager, wanting.

“Liz,” he repeats, his voice soft enough to blend into the crashing of the waves. “Will you marry me?”

No ring. No bended knee. No witnesses.

No hesitation.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

It takes him a second to process it—he’s still lost in his own nervousness, waiting for a blow to fall, so she answers with her mouth in another way. She goes up on tip toe to kiss him, and then he’s in motion, kissing her back, pulling her close enough to meld into one being. Yes, she keeps whispering between kisses, and he can barely stop smiling. Neither can she.

When he’s convinced, he rests his forehead against hers. Her hands are still caught in his and their noses brush as they lapse into giddy laughter.

“You don’t have a ring,” she points out, wondering if this was a spur of the moment thing. She’d kind of expected a proposal to come one day—if Max could love her from afar for a decade, he obviously wanted to marry her if he could—but maybe he’d gone with his instincts.

“I thought you’d want to choose it with me.”

He’s right, she loves that idea, rewarding him with another kiss. 

“And I know you don’t like the idea of public proposals,” he continues, and she doesn’t know who he’s been talking to—Maria, or Rosa, or even her papi, but he’s spoken to somebody who spilled about the disaster that was Diego’s proposal. She’d known that was coming, right from the time he booked the fancy restaurant, and all she’d wanted to do was get it over with and say yes like she thought it was right to do.

For Max, yes comes from the bottom of her heart. There’s no other possible answer.

“No, this was perfect,” she tells him. “Do you have celebratory champagne in that picnic basket?”

“Not champagne. Maybe a little tequila.”

And that has her laughing all over again. Max knows her, right down to the unconventional parts of her soul.

“But first,” he says. “Race you into the water?”

It’s not fair. She screams that he’s cheating as his long legs carry him across the sand, but in the end she’s the winner anyway: the sight of him, happy and bronzed and carefree in the water is the only prize she could ever want.

[cryptidcalling]

You know what? It’s Haywood time! Specifically “Haywood has a crush on Wren but doesn’t know how to handle his feelings” time. 

So, yes, Haywood has a pretty massive crush on Wren. However, in canon they’re not in a relationship (yet). 

Haywood isn’t that old (41) but he’s old enough that he’s been raised with some more negative mindsets. One of which is that being gay isn’t “normal”. He personally has nothing against gay people, and he is one himself. He’s just severely in the closet. So, when he first started developing feelings for Wren he tried to make excuses for it. They’re just good friends, he just likes spending time together, Wren is just fun to be around, his happiness is infectious, etc. All of those things are true, but they’re reasons that Haywood developed romantic feelings in the first place. Of course, he does also find Wren physically attractive, but it was a situation where Wren seemed more attractive the more attached Haywood got to him. 

Haywood has been developing his feelings for around a year and a half. A long time, but considering that they’ve known each other for 10 years it’s not too crazy huge of a time frame. Pretty much everyone can tell except for Haywood (who is in denial) and Wren (who, the poor guy, is just too oblivious to realize). Wren clearly has some “special privileges” when it comes to the grumpy man. He’s the only one who Haywood lets call him by his first name (Arlo), Haywood calls him by nicknames such as Birdy or Puppy, and if there’s ever some sort of issue with Wren where his coworkers are worried about him, they get Haywood and ask him to check on Wren because Wren is the most open with him. 

Wren also has pretty regular overnight stays at Haywood’s house. His RV is old, as well as difficult to keep up with when the battery is out. So, whenever he needs it Haywood lets Wren stay at his place. It’s honestly a regular enough occurrence that Wren will just show up sometimes, and Haywood won’t even bat an eye. 

At this point Haywood is well aware that he feels differently about Wren than his other friends. Usually, those feelings manifest in gentle ways. He’s very caring and gentle around Wren, and he clearly cares very deeply for him. He keeps Wren out of trouble, and has actually helped him avoid some toxic friendships a number of times. He’s also the best at getting Wren to open up, followed by Seph. Those feelings also manifest in more intense ways. However, he often uses Wren’s naivety and sweet and trusting nature as excuses for that. Wren needs someone like Haywood, because without someone to keep him safe he’s going to get hurt. That statement is true, but sometimes Haywood takes it a little bit to far. 

Even when they’re not in a relationship and Wren doesn’t even know about Haywood’s feelings, Haywood can get sorta possessive sometimes. He often will get jealous when Wren hangs out with friends that aren’t him, and when attractive people in general are seeming to be having a conversion with Wren Haywood often feels the urge to end the conversation. It’s all encapsulated under the desire to sort of mark Wren off as ‘his’. Not like property, or like no one can ever talk to Wren, just to make it clear that Haywood is his closest companion and no one is allowed to take his place. 

Thankfully, Haywood is aware that this jealousy and aggression towards Wren’s other friends isn’t healthy, and he almost never acts upon them. However, he will make it clear that he doesn’t trust one of Wren’s friends if they seem suspicious to him. He’ll tell Wren directly that he doesn’t trust them, but if he thinks the situation is dire enough then he’ll confront them in private as well. The times this has happened it’s been for the best, but obviously it’s not his place to decide that for Wren.

Over all, Haywood does have negative qualities and reactions to his feelings for Wren. Because he won’t accept that they’re romantic feelings they often build up intensely and cause him to feel strong jealousy and possessiveness. However, he cares about Wren enough that he knows that acting upon those feelings most of the time isn’t healthy and will hurt Wren. He loves Wren very very much, and would do anything for him. But just because he loves Wren so much doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have things he needs to work on before they can be in a healthy relationship.

[lovedsammy]

stars in my black and blue sky -(sam & castiel)

Coda to 14.13. The events of the altered timeline leave a profound effect on Sam and Castiel, one that neither of them can seem to shake without reopening - and healing - old wounds.

Note: I know I’m not the only one that was horrified about the fight that prev!timeline!Cas had with Sam in 14.13, right? Castiel has never physically harmed Sam like that before, and it disturbed me quite a bit. I figured it might’ve bothered Sam, too, and that was the reason for that anxious look he had when Cas came into the bunker at the end of the episode. I used this scenario to bring up instances where Cas HAS hurt Sam by breaking his wall or when Lucifer used his body to hurt Sam, and how this event triggered some of those memories for Sam. Because one thing about PTSD that is common is sometimes things happen, and they can be either completely unrelated or semi-related to the previous trauma, and it can bring it all back. Sam’s behavior in this fic is a result of that.

I also feel like it’s worth mentioning that some of these darker, self-deprecating thoughts are Sam’s, not mine. I disagree with how he views himself. But Sam has a habit of keeping his emotions inside, and trying to placate others when it comes to them. He brushes it off with “the problem’s me”; he’s said before, and that’s the tone I went with in this fic. Sam’s come a long way from his s5 self-blame days, but he still tends to make issues be his problem vs others who want to help him. That’s what people who’ve experienced PTSD and Depression do (I’m guilty of it), and it’s a very real mindset I wanted to address.

Here you go, guys! @avalonsilver @wendibird @sealionfoam @flightoftheseraph @stargazingbros @avacynangell @spectaculacularmooseketeer @winchestersoldiersblog @casquecest @sastiel-daily

Also on Ao3: 

-

Sam’s barely had a moment to gather himself, to try to slow the tremors in his still shaking hands, when he hears the bunker’s metallic door open. His mother and Dean, both blotchy-faced and red-eyed, exchange a quick glance with each other, and then at Sam. And as if on instinct, as though they are all thinking the same thought, they head into the main room. Sam’s heart lurches, and he tells himself not to cling to any half-hopes. They’d just seen John disappear minutes ago, and the temporal paradox should have corrected itself with him returning to the past. But maybe something went wrong, Sam reasons. Maybe it was already too late to change things back. And maybe, some selfish part of him hopes, they could really have Dad back for good. Maybe the universe, maybe God, was finally giving them a win for all that they’d sacrificed, maybe…

A whirlwind of beige and a flash of dark hair appears from behind the door, coming to a stop at the guard rail. It’s not John, but Cas. The presence of the angel was usually one that, for Sam, bestowed upon him a sense of peace and calming. He was his best friend, his family. A constant, gentle wave that always kept him afloat above the surface when Sam otherwise would’ve drowned. All of those long days and nights without Dean, stretching on into weeks and months…. Cas was the only other person besides his mother that Sam could remember being by his side for almost the entire time. Cas always had his back, and apart from Dean, he was the only other person to be involved in Sam’s life for as long as he had.

But instead of being a welcome sight, Sam finds that this time… he isn’t. And it takes him a moment to figure out why. It isn’t that he’d been wishing for his father instead; it’s something else entirely.

His body still aches from the earlier altercation with the angel - or the previous version of him, anyway, well before Cas had met him and Dean. But even with knowing the difference between the two, Sam can’t help the shudder of discomfort that radiates down his frame, and he is only half-aware of acclaiming a defensive stance, his expression wary.

“Mary. Sam, Dean,” Cas greets them, his eyes roving over each of them pleasantly, and displaying a softness that had been absent in the other Castiel. Nevertheless, Sam’s guard stays up, palms clammy at his side. He flexes his fingers, whether or not it’s to reach for an angel blade for protection or just out of nervousness, he’s not sure. Because if he looks hard enough, he can see that version of Cas still, and if he looks even harder… he can almost see Lucifer.

Castiel notices, because of course he does. His angelic powers could surely pick up on the mood of the room. It’s not just Sam that’s feeling apprehensive at his arrival, but Dean and Mary as well. Yet, Cas’s fixation lingers on Sam, his brows furrowing worriedly.

“What happened?” He asks.

“What happened,” Sam scoffs, and God, he feels so emotionally drained, still reeling from it all, that he can’t quite bring himself to speak. He looks to his brother for explanation, and he’s so damn grateful that Dean knows him so well, knows when Sam has reached his limit.

“Well, there’s a story,” Dean says. “Come on, let’s go talk in the kitchen. Where’s Jack?”

Cas gestures over his shoulder. “He’s getting our things from the trunk.”

“I’ll go help him,” Mary says hurriedly, and she brushes past her sons, giving each of them a gentle, comforting caress as she does. And Sam doesn’t know how she does it. How she can comfort them, her children, when she’s just lost the love of her life. How she could be so strong for them when she was coming apart at the seams herself. They were supposed to be the ones comforting her right now. It wasn’t the first time they’d lost Dad. For her, it was.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean’s hand on his shoulder pulls Sam from this thoughts, and he nods, realizing that Cas has joined them at the base of the stairs. He can feel the angel’s gaze on his back, but he doesn’t make any attempt to address him.

A few minutes later, Jack and Mary come find them sitting at the table in the kitchen, and the boy is just as concerned as Cas is about what transpired. He asks Sam outright, but Sam only shakes his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He wants to comfort Jack, to assure the kid that it was okay, that nothing was wrong, but he can’t. And he thinks that must make him a failure of a co-parent. All of this time, through everything that had happened, Sam had been strong enough to console Jack, to be there for him and encourage him. But right now it was like all of that strength that he’d somehow managed to conjure up through the past few months had all been drained out of him, leaving him fragile and withering, weakened.

Sam had thought he’d reached his breaking point the night with Dean outside the hospital after Donatello’s recovery, when he’d launched his fist into his brother’s face and clutched onto the back of his jacket in Dean’s arms. But it was just a precursor to this. He’s cried more in the past six months than he’d cried in his entire life, it seemed.

They remain there for a long, long time, well into the night.

It’s Dean who does most of the talking. Sam manages to chime in every once in a while, and Mary does so even less than her sons. When Sam does muster the courage to look at her, his mother’s expression is distant, faraway, reliving the past twelve hours. She holds on to her can of beer as gingerly as if she were still clutching onto John’s hand, afraid for the moment that she’ll have to let go. It’s a painful realization, that he and his mother were alike in that way, that they both tended to close off when dealing with things that hurt them.

At a quarter past two, Mary retreats back to her bedroom. Probably to cry her eyes out, Sam thinks. He’s not confident that he won’t do the same. Part of him wants to get up and escape back to his room, too, but he quells the urge down. He doesn’t think he’d be able to sleep, anyway. He’d only lie awake with his thoughts, the desires and regrets, especially of his father. But more than likely it would be the other, much darker corners of his mind, the thoughts that he was barely avoiding to succumbing to, that would haunt him. And he was going to put off facing those as long as he could. So he stays, finding some solace in being among his friends and family. Even with how conflicted he was feeling about being near Cas, it paled in comparison to the pain that he’d feel of being alone.

He reminds himself that this Cas, their Cas, has never done what the other version of him had done. He didn’t deserve the blame that Sam was indirectly casting at him. The angel had healed, protected, and safeguarded him, almost from the moment they’d met. Castiel had fought off Lucifer to keep Sam safe, and even his own brethren at times. So, Sam’s issues - they were his own, and he didn’t need to drag Cas into them.   

“Your father,” Castiel murmurs around his bottle of beer, awestruck. “I still can’t believe it. I wish I’d been here. I’d have liked to have met him.”

Dean snorts, getting up to toss out the empty beer cans. “Oh, yeah, buddy, believe me, I wish it’d been you, too. Not the asshat version of you with that dickbag Zachariah. You really were Heaven’s soldier. He tells you to kill, and damn, man, you listened.”

At the mention of the other Cas, Sam stiffens, clenching his jaw. “Dean -” He cuts in, warningly. But he must go unheard, because the angel speaks at the same time.

“What version of me?” Cas inquires, tilting his head. “Was there more to it than your father showing up? You said the timeline had changed, but… me and Zachariah…?”

Jack’s curiosity is once again piqued, as it had the entire time they had been explaining what happened. “Wait. Who’s Zachariah?”

Dean waves a hand absently. “Ah, he was just some jackass head honcho angel that we killed who wanted us to start the Apocalypse and really had it out for us. He was Cas’s boss. Anyway, uh, yeah…. I’m guessin’ time was trying to fix itself, like Sam said. You and Zach showed up to try and fix it, found out it was us, and tried to kill us. Almost did, too.”   

“Kill you?” Cas demands, incredulous, and for a second, the angel catches Sam’s eye, and it all seems to click in place. “That’s where all of those cuts and bruises on the two of you are from. I did that to you. I… I’m so sorry, I -”

Dean gives a one-shouldered shrug, finishing off his beer with one swig. “Nah. Hey, man, no hard feelings. You had a stick up your ass back then. It isn’t the first time you’ve beat the hell outta me. Besides, you’ve changed for the better, all right?” He reaches over to pat Sam’s face gently, and Sam soaks it up, amazed that even after all of these years, his big brother’s touch can still soothe him so easily. “Anyway, I’m gonna call it. ‘Night, Sammy. You know where I am if you need me.”

“Yeah. Night, Dean.”

He watches his brother leave, mouth going dry, and chugs the rest of his now warm beer. It burns the back of his throat, and he forcibly clears it. He wants to try and make conversation with Jack and Cas, but without Dean and his mother here, he suddenly feels exposed. Maybe he just needed the night to cool off, to reign in this state of panic he seemed to be in, and get a handle on it. That usually did the trick. If he managed to get some rest, he’d be good again in the morning. And he’d be able to brush off this - whatever this reaction was to his friend, and Castiel would be better off for it.

“You know, I, uh…” Sam says after a long moment, “I should… I should probably go to bed, too.” He flicks them a strained smile, and clamors to his feet. They’d gone slightly numb from sitting for so long. “Sorry if I… um, see you in the morning.”

Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t feel so weird, so raw, and like something had broken in him. He gets to the doorway before Jack’s voice sounds from behind him, sad and desperate.

“Sam, wait,” The boy calls, and it makes Sam pause. Sam hates that it does. He can’t refuse the kid anything, even if it was at the expense of himself.  “Sam… are you all right? I’m worried about you. Please… just tell me if you’re not okay. Tell me how I can help.”

The question makes Sam open and close his mouth several times, and he surprises himself when he answers,  “I… I don’t know, Jack. I don’t… ”

He feels lost, in a haze, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. He just stands there, staring at the floor, for what feels like an infinitely long time, in pregnant silence with nothing but the ticking of the clock. For a second, he wonders if he’s dissociating again, like during his post-wall days, unsure if Cas and Jack are even there, and resists the urge to finger the scar on his palm. This was real.

“Jack, can you give a moment to talk to Sam?” Castiel implores the nephilim after the pause, but his eyes are on Sam, who finally meets Castiel’s gaze guiltily, shamefully. Jack appears hesitant, his eyes glossed over and sorrowed, but a nod from Sam encourages him, and he leaves the two of them alone.

Sam wants to say something. Anything. “Cas - ” He tries.

“Sam… it’s not just what happened with your father that’s bothering you, is it? It’s much more than that.” Castiel appraises the younger Winchester, his features pained. “It’s about what happened in the alternate timeline. With the other me.”

Sam stiffly nods. “Yeah,” He says, hoarsely. There was no point in being dishonest, not when Cas could already tell that something was going on with him.

Cas knowingly returns the gesture. “I understand. I hurt you, and I tried to kill you, as well as Dean.”

“Yeah. Well, not you-you,” Sam quickly amends, because damn it all if he was going to let Cas carry the burden for this. “It was the you before you met us. Or, from another dimension or something. But it wasn’t you. And that’s… that’s something that I need to keep telling myself, because it’s so damn stupid that I can’t seem to stop myself from - from reacting like this. It’s not your fault that I can’t deal with my own bullshit.”

“Don’t,” Cas interjects sternly. “Don’t you dare turn this on yourself. Whatever it is that you’re feeling, whatever it is that you need to express, do it. If you need to hurt me back, do it.”

Sam pales, stunned. How could Cas even suggest that? “Cas, I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that to you, man. I’m not gonna hurt you just to make myself feel better. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never hurt me, so why would I -”

“Now we both know that’s not true,” Castiel disagrees kindly. “I may not have splintered your bones or drawn your blood, but I’m no less guilty of hurting you than that version of me had. I tore down your wall and made you relive the horrors of the cage, and experience all of that suffering all over again.”

The admission makes Sam’s chest clench in remembrance. He practically chokes out, “Cas, I… I’ve forgiven you for that. You know that. It’s not the same thing.”

Castiel sighs. “Yes, maybe you have. Even when you shouldn’t have, you have. But what about how I hurt you when I let Lucifer possess me, and he drove his fist - my fist - into your chest cavity? Was that not a horrible violation to you?”

“Yeah, but you saved me,” Sam answers, readily. “You fought back, you took control, and you stopped him.”

Castiel takes a couple of steps towards him, and Sam has to fight the urge to flinch. “Sam... let me ask you… right now, do you see me? The other me? Or do you still, at times, see Lucifer?”

The question is still spoken in that soft, empathetic tone that Cas has used so many times with him, and yet it leaves Sam breathless. At his reaction, Castiel continues.

“You’ve experienced a great deal of trauma, Sam, and some of it has been at my hand. I am truly sorry for that. This was yet another instance. You need time to process it, and hopefully come to terms with it and be even stronger for it. But that isn’t something you can make yourself do over night. And you never need to feel sorry for reacting to something that has affected you, especially if it involves me.”

Sam’s vision blurs with wetness, and he quickly swipes at his eyes and exhales hollowly. “I thought I was past it. Or at least the worst of it. After Lucifer died, and I confronted Nick, I thought… I thought maybe the fear wouldn’t be as bad, you know? That maybe all that he’d done would just leave like he did.”

“Often, a completely unrelated - or even related - event can trigger a fear response to a situation,” Castiel tells him gently. “The human mind is incredibly resilient, but also very fragile if it’s hurt enough. Your strength amazes me everyday, Sam, but even the strongest people have their breaking point. With everything that has happened recently with Dean, and your father, and now this. It’s no surprise that your mind and body are reacting this way. It takes its toll.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Castiel understands, and that was all that he needed from him.

The angel finally approaches Sam further, and this time, Sam doesn’t flinch away. “I am truly sorry for what happened, Sam. I’m sorry that I hurt you, no matter which version of me it ended up being. I’m sorry for this - and all the other times.”

The younger Winchester feels a weight lift off of him. Not enough, but a bit. “It’s okay, Cas. I don’t blame you. Not really. I forgive you. I just… you needed to know, I guess. But… don’t feel guilty about it, okay? I’m glad, so glad, that despite what happened, despite Dad, and everything… that you’re who you are now. Like Dean said: you’ve grown. You’ve changed. And man, even… even with who you were back then. It wasn’t bad then, either. You weren’t. It was the situation, just like this time.”

“And the reasons for those changes are down the hall and standing right here in front of me,” Castiel smiles. “You and Dean, and now Jack - you’ve made me who I am. You saw it. I was just another, obedient, mindless soldier who had very little regard for my father’s creation. I was merely emulating what my brothers and sisters believed, and did what my superiors directed. Heaven is my family, Sam, but it’s not my only family. And while on the subject of family… I am so glad that you were able to speak with your father. I know you’ve wanted that for so long.”

“Me too,” Sam croaks. “We said some things that, uh… needed to be said. For years. I feel like we finally understood each other. And I feel…” He considers. “I feel lighter, when I think about him, you know? Like some part of me has finally healed.”

“You got closure.”

“Yeah. Closure.”

“Sam. May I?”

The question is readable on Castiel’s face, and after a few seconds, Sam closes his eyes in assent. The fingers that tickel his forehead are warm and so is the grace as it flows through him, leaving his skin unblemished and no longer painful, healing.

Sam feels himself start to relax for the first time that day.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Castiel asks.

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can try.”

The angel nods. “All right. In that case, I’ll go talk to Jack. He’s probably still worried.”

“Let him know that I’m okay,” Sam says. “And that… tomorrow, I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him everything. It’s time that he knew.”

He knows by the look on Castiel’s face that he understands what Sam means, and that it wasn’t just what transpired over the past day, but a lifetime of events that lead up to this. His friend jerks his head in response.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your rest. Good night, Sam. If you need anything… just let me know.”

“‘Course,” Sam smiles, and this time, it’s genuine. “Night, Cas.”

He heads to his bed room, shaking his head with amusement at the sound of deep-rumbling snores coming from Dean’s room, and plants face first down onto his bed. He falls asleep within minutes, and there are no nightmares that night to plague him.  

[kariachi]

Okay, here we go again! Starting with ‘King Coil’! It’s got a snake dude, it has to be fun.

I’m with the kids, put down the banjo Max.

“I’d rather go to a farm full of snakes than-” Is immediately abandoned with his cousin at a reptile-themed tourist trap. Good job, Ben. Also really Max? Really? If they hurt so much as a lizard I’m coming after you.

Aw, a Ben-themed snake, all green and black.

Oh gods, Ben talking himself into a fear of snakes while trying to explain how they are nothing like tentacles. This child

Sorry Ben, this particular snake has claimed the Omnitrix as it’s own. We have no choice but to take it off you and make it the main character now. Here it up for Snake 10!

Stick with the reptiles Ben, the look on her face I’m fairly certain she’ll kill you to avoid Banjo Town

That’s the weirdest snake enthusiast I’ve ever seen, and I know snake enthusiasts

Mortimer! His name is Mortimer! Mortimer 10 for second next series, after Kevin 11! Let them team up! Kevin 11- an entire series about Kevin’s life having been adopted by the critters at Repto Ranch!

Mary Jo Fourfeathers, that certainly sounds like somebody who would name a snake Mortimer

Also yay for assuming someone is here to volunteer! Of course they’re here to volunteer! Why else would you go to a place like this?! (and yes I mean it)

“I think we’re just gonna hang out here” “That’s not what your Grandpa said on the phone.” Max you sly bastard.

She designed a state-of-the-art massive fucking sunlamp system so she could build a giant enclosure in which to keep reptiles. It’s a bad idea in some respects, mostly in that she’s mixing species with vastly different environmental needs, but maybe she planned for that? Plus, it’s a cartoon and I’m fairly certain in a more serious work she’d have done it right. Still, this is a woman after my own heart.

Ben don’t work up the lizards damnit. And behave.

Oh my god that is the derpiest looking noodle I’ve seen in a show in that one tank. First down on the left, all green, derpy as shit.

King Koil, releasing his slithery brethren.

Mary Jo firmly convinced that if the Tennysons get to know some snakes better they’ll like them. Also has a tree full of snakes she is using as decor for a reptile education musical number. Mary Jo Fourfeathers, you are a woman after my own soul. I am officially putting you in my stuff, you glorious queer icon.

(no canon has not yet said she’s queer but come on- cishets aren’t like this)

“Does it have to be a musical?” “Maybe if you’d read a book she wouldn’t have to sing facts at you.”

Are those snakes flying? Is King Koil’s doing or does Mary Jo just keep flying snakes? Did you train them to do this? If anyone could-

And brief cut to Max at Banjo Town to go with the background of banjo music in this song. This is wonderful.

Gwen Tennyson, officially believed reptiles shedding their skins are disgusting, but not as disgusting as Ben’s bunk. It’s canon people.

The snakes are loving this as much as Mary Jo.

This is the most extra thing I’ve ever seen I’m fucking dying

“There must be some way to get you to see the majesty of snakes. I’ll think on it while we feed the komodo dragons.” Let me marry this woman.

King Koil showed up, freed a bunch of snakes, and then took the time Mary Jo was singing to just casually shed his skin.

...okay, those aren’t komodo dragons, they look more like large iguanas, but honestly this show canonically has earth-native dragons so I am totally cool with these being actual baby dragons Mary Jo is tending. Is she their mom? Is she babysitting? Who knows.

Proof Ben requires Greymatter, he’s dumb enough to go for Greymatter when being ganged up on by snakes.

Also I’m glad Gwen listened when told not to hurt the animals

He’s not a reptile darling, he’s an amphibian. Different branch of the tree.

King Koil, speciest against non-reptiles. Also, referred to the Tennysons as ‘you and girl’, which is certainly something new for this series.

Is, is King Koil throwing a hissy because someone other than Mary Jo is at the ranch? Oh my god.

He’s a snake-person, Mary Jo. And I love that you noticed your snakes were upset before you noticed the snake-dude threatening the kids.

Mary Jo sees a snake-dude and immediately loses her fucking mind wanting to know everything from his habits to diet and also to snuggle him (literally, I am paused on a frame of her snuggling his tail she is enraptured.) And at the moment he seems to be confused but also glad somebody likes him.

I love how his standard for being a worthwhile creature is ‘is good to reptiles’, while also hating fucking everybody who isn’t a reptile or Mary Jo (the Only Good Mammal).

Also what are you, King? Lor’s been theorizing you’re half-human half-naga, but really you seem much more snake in your mindset than either of those so far. I’ve still got another episode of you after this one, but.. hm...

Now King, I can’t say I blame you for your world domination urges, reptiles would probably run things better than us mammals have, but cool your jets. You can’t just declare someone you’re future reptile queen, you gotta wine and dine a bitch first. Humans don’t work like snakes do, we need proper and extensive courting. At least bring her a rat or something. Tend her dragon-kids.

“That’s completely bonkers! I’m a scientist not a queen! I wanna help reptiles, not rule them!” She is so offended by the idea of being queen y’all. And King is so fucking confused. Like “I literally just offered you the world and you’re telling me you don’t want it?!”

Did he just shed his skin and gain new limbs? I think he did. Huh.

I like how Mary Jo has not had a single moment of fear in this episode. She is being kidnapped by a snake who wants to make her his queen once he’s taken over the world and given it to the reptiles and her response so far is essentially “Bitch I said no!”

“You have hair? Reptiles are hairless. I should be mad at you, but I’m just so fascinated.” Mary Jo you fucking disaster. I repeat- Mary Jo Fourfeathers for Queer Icon.

Oop, you’re willing to sacrifice her snakes for the greater good, now she’s gonna have to kick your ass herself, King.

Wait, no, she’s too bound up and more concerned with making sure her snakes are out of the way anyway.

Exit, pursued by frilled lizards. Was nice knowing you Ben.

Not entirely accurate, but I’ll let it slide because I’m still not sure what this guy is. Also, ya know, the fact King found nothing suspicious about Mary Jo seemingly floating and was in fact merely confused that she apparently could.

Wow, it’s lucky all those limbs Ben keeps hacking off King regrow...

Ben chases King Koil off, King Koil vows to return for Mary Jo and honestly seems to lament that this didn’t go as planned. Just, dude, you’re not bad looking for a snake-person, find somebody else who’s, ya know, into the whole ruling thing.

Gwen has discovered a love of snakes and now wants one, Ben is still creeped out but less so.

Hold up, she’s got a piece of Koil’s shed and apparently a crown? Is that his crown? No, he still had his crown. Did he come back long enough to leave her a crown? Welp.

Also Morimer is still adorable. Everyone petition for a Mortimer 10 spinoff.

9.999/10, because I said I wouldn’t give 10s until after Kevin’s episode. But this is certainly a favorite so far.

[theonceoverthinker]

Season 3 Overview

Another season has come and gone. And now that the season is over and I’m all Smash Bro’d out, it’s the perfect opportuni-THREE to talk about it! XD

Season 3 was a whirlwind, but in the best way possible. Once Upon a Time really took this season to come into its own, blending the real emotions of a drama with the fantastical elements of a fairy tale. And with two seasons of developed dynamics at its back and the buildup of having all of our main characters finally on the same side though still with the same qualities that allowed for real and interesting conflict, this was shaped up to be an incredible season.

And what an incredible season it was!

Damn, it feels so sad closing the book on Season 3. Look, this is my favorite season, both critically and emotionally and rewatching it only proved that twice over for me. In terms of its final score, it got 94%, the highest of the three seasons I’ve reviewed so far. Additionally, HALF of the season scored Golden Apples, the highest honor I can bestow on an episode!

So, with all that, what more specifically did I like about it and what (if anything) went wrong? Well, let’s get into it under the cut with our Pro/Con lookback!

Pros

The Concept of Belief - Often in other seasons, belief is something that acts as a platitude and while it doesn’t bother me as much as other platitudes on the show, it wasn’t especially effective either. However, Season 3 did something different. Here, belief was made both tangible and intangible. To elaborate, it’s more than a meaningless platitude. It’s belief in something real and exuding the energy to make it happen. In Neverland, believing in each other was a strong point and that belief came through trusting others that they normally wouldn’t in pursuit of a grander cause (Saving Henry). It’s the belief that everyone wants the same thing and that there might be some strength in the others’ mindsets. This continues in the Wicked Witch Arc and it’s the reason why Regina is able to defeat Zelena with light magic. This concept is present all throughout the season and the practical terms and language that the characters use as well as the actions that follows them transforms that belief into something that can actually be used to solve problems rather than something vague that is just said because it sound right. It’s like Tiana’s dad says in the opening of “The Princess and the Frog,” wishing is only half the deal. You have to make the rest happen and by trusting each other, that’s exactly what the Nevengers did.

Villains – Season 3 had the best villains, plain and simple. I wrote an entire essay about Pan and I wanted to write one about Zelena, but to put it simply, both villains had big and hammy personalities that made them intimidating and memorable, strong connections to our main cast that allowed for them to be characters in their own right with a thematic presence, strong effects on both the plot and story, interesting motivations that lent themselves to high stakes, and satisfying defeats and “deaths.” Rebecca Mader and Robbie Kay both additionally contributed performances that positively OWNED their interpretations of The Wicked Witch of the West and Peter Pan. They were intimidating, but at the same time, had their own bits of charm that still made them villains that I wanted to see on screen. Like, they still did terrible things – their villainy was never questioned – but at the same time, I never felt an urge to fast forward past their scenes because it was so engaging to watch them do their things.

Redemptions – I feel like I could talk so much about Rumple, Regina, and Killian’s individual redemption arcs in Season 3. There’s this understanding among the writing staff of the people these characters are and what they want them to be and with that cohesion, they put their all into making that happen this season. Because of that, all three characters got emotionally satisfying developments that were carefully built up over eleven episodes. And, what I like about these developments is that those changes did account for bumps in the road and allowed for some pretty sensible deviations from those roads to redemption. At some point in the season, Rumple, Regina, and Killian do villainous things to some degree that take their redemptions down a few notches, but it doesn’t undo the work they’ve done.

Cinematography and Locations - I feel like Season 3 was the most diverse the series ever got with its locations and camera work. The camera work this season allowed for the locations, moods, and characters come alive. Storybrooke has such a rich geography and so often in later seasons as I was watching this one, we don’t get to see it. The mirror shot lake stands out the most to me and I want to give out more honorable mentions, but…well, this is why you don’t wait so long to do an overview XD! But if you’ve read my reviews, then you know that there were too many locations that I called pretty and amazing and I feel like it’s a failing that a lot of locations in the coming season just stick to the some of the more common places. The woods never look so beautiful afterwards.

Cons

Walsh’s Framing - ...Look, I had very little to complain about this season. Thematically, shit just came together nicely. BUT there was a failing or two, as small as they were and Walsh’s was a really small but strange fuckup. Like, Walsh is supposed to be framed as a bad man who got his just desserts by being turned into a monkey and later killed. The latter part of this works well enough since he does attack Emma before he dies, but the former half…well, it doesn’t. Glinda’s justification for finding Zelena’s punishment of him to be appropriate is that Walsh promised hope he could never fulfill. The only thing is that in the one instance of Walsh being the Wizard that we see, he is not only helping Zelena, but gives her something that physically allows her to do what she wants them to do, only asks for a payment as an afterthought, AND advises Zelena about her jealousy, which is just needed advice for her. He’s not shown to be callous or make unfulfillable promises. He lies about his abilities, yes, but how he keeps up his ruse still enriches the lives of others, and if it’s not, it should have been better shown. Have Walsh not give the advice, or maybe set a deadline for when Zelena has to get the item from Rumple. Like, make him more of a douche! As it stands, I just feel bad for Walsh and hope he moves on to the better place in the afterlife.

The Island of Machismo - This isn’t a critique of Neverland, per se, but dammit, this aspect of the arc was just frustrating! It feels like if one was a male in this series and present on this island, they got affected with a bug far more dangerous than Dreamshade: Machismo. At least once per episode, the men of this show would argue over something stupid for no other reason than showing that they’re a “real man” to either their opponent of the object of their affections. The dumbest example was of course the lighter fight in “Dark Hollow,” but dishonorable mentions to a lot of David’s behavior prior to and during “Good Form” and the attitude of the Lost Boy’s at Pan’s camp. Just...it really shows that this show was made by guys and as a show that normally doesn’t do this, it’s really disappointing.

...And honestly, that’s really it. As I said, in terms of broad strokes, this season gave me very little to complain about. While some episodes or scenes were off in either their framing or the sturdiness of their stories, they were more or less one offs!

Okay! Now that we’re done talking about some of the season’s less than stellar qualities, let’s go back to talking about the good shit again! That’s right, it’s time to talk dynamics! Now, like last season, these are in no particular order, and that’s because...well, when you spend the better part of two weeks playing Smash Bros, you kind of forget some of the intricacies of dynamics and thus which ones you think are better! XD But honestly, there were so many good ones this season that I could’ve extended this to a top ten without even trying (Honorable mentions go to Emma and Regina, the Charming Family, Zelena and Regina, Regina and Snow, and Killian and Henry).

Captain Charming - Killian and David’s dynamic is mostly a dynamic that develops under the surface, save for “Good Form” where it’s given its day in court. What I like about it is how David’s never portrayed in a negative light for his distrust of Killian. It comes from a sensible place given Killian’s misdeeds, but is still shown as something that he’s better off for moving on from. And Killian’s struggle to get his approval is not without its merit. Killian’s real effort is portrayed. Additionally, they have a nice bit of snark between them. Seeing these two guys grumble as they work together and comment on their budding friendship is funny and quickly becomes endearing as the snipes become just a little kinder over the season. I finally want to point out how David warming up to Killian is one of the few instances of The Island of Useless Machismo failing in that regard as by the end of “Good Form,” they trust each other enough to let the fucking toxic masculinity go for half a second.

Swan Believer - Believe it or not, a lot of what makes the Swan Believer dynamic so good is the fact that Emma and Henry are separated for so much of it. Through each other’s absences, we see so much of their feelings for each other come through. That’s not to say I like them apart but every moment that that was the case, we saw further just how much that separation made Emma determined. Henry blatantly informs every decision she makes and allows for her character to explore her magic, understanding of morality, and identity. And in the latter half of the season, we get this fantastic mix of frustration and love from Henry as he deals with the truth being kept from him. He knows his mother has his best interests at heart, but every piece of information that he knows isn’t being shared and every time he’s left on the sideline proceeds to make him angrier. And on Emma’s side, no matter what her approach is to where she wants to be, what doesn’t change is how much she wants Henry with her. But when they are together, we see just how close the two of them can be. “New York Serenade” has so many great moments where we see a possible life that Emma and Henry could’ve had and they’re so emotionally comfortable and aware of each other. One can understand why Emma wants to return to their simpler life upon seeing how cozy they were in their New York apartment. To summarize, the Swan Believer dynamic was one of the most subtle and loving dynamics of the season and I happily ate it up!

Regal Believer - Like with Swan Believer, so much of the season doesn’t involve Henry and Regina being together. But unlike Swan Believer, they get a different means of development. There are certainly similarities between the two, but I want to focus on what makes them unique. First, I’m gonna do that by pointing out a similarity! XD Just like how Henry’s absence informs all of Emma’s choices, the same can be said for Regina’s too. She puts up with the Charmings for far longer than she normally would like to, explores the type of role she can play in the group dynamic (A mentor to Emma’s magical skills and a willing user of dark magic), and faces off against all manner of dangers without a moment’s hesitation. Her determination is so fierce that one can completely understand when she’s had too much of the group and needs to hit the highway. And of course, I have to touch upon the “Save Henry” flashback. We really see that for as much growth as Regina is doing and for as much remorse as she has for her sins, she can never fully regret any of it because she loves Henry that much and we know exactly why. He gave light and purpose to her life and was enough that she was willing to put herself at a disadvantage in order to give him the love that he deserved. And that love, while held back by  two seasons of villainy, finally gets to show itself from Henry’s side. Now that Regina’s doing better, Heny reciprocates her love fully. And in the latter half of the season, watching every small interaction between the two of them as Henry doesn’t know his mother, but still really likes her company is so heartwarming and makes the moment where he reclaims his memories and they break the curse together a moment of utter triumph. They fought so hard to be together and now that they are, I couldn’t be happier.

Pan and Rumple - I could go on and on about Pan’s dynamics with practically all of our mains, but let’s focus on the best one. Rumple is a character so steeped in nuance that one has to wonder about his origins. With Pan, that was partially delivered on and so effectively at that! Pan is an utter monster who knows every one of Rumple’s buttons to push and partially because he laid the foundation for some of them. Even as Rumple tries to be noble in order to save his grandson, Pan presses those buttons relentlessly and without mercy, no matter if it comes at the cost of destroying his son’s confidence or severing Rumple’s tepid connection with Neal. Nothing is sacred. And Rumple reaction to this is fascinating as well. His hatred for Pan is without question present, but at the same time, Rumple is not entirely immune to Pan’s powers of suggestion. He nearly falls for the fake Belle’s scheme and when the doll first shows up on the island, Rumple meets it with tears. With the possible exception of Cora, no villain has ever intimidated Rumple like this before. And watching Rumple have to use every supply in his arsenal to take Pan down as it culminates in Rumple realizing the sacrifice he must make is such an integral part of his character growth this season. And every time that happens, Pan just becomes more and more of a threat to the audience. It’s a dirty, disgusting, and utterly despicable dynamics that they share and I love every second of it.

Rumple and Neal - I feel like Rumple and Neal’s dynamic really gets the attention this season that it deserved last season but didn’t get. While their time together was shorter, every second of it counted. Neal’s distrust of Rumple really gets to be explores and it was further kicked into high gear as a result of the urgency of their mission. Because Henry was taken, both an initial alliance was able to take place and in the same breath for that same reason, destroyed. And then, it was rebuilt. Rumple and Neal’s reconstructed parent/child relationship is so satisfying for me because Rumple really has to earn trust back from a situation that he got himself into. That entirely deserved bitterness on Neal’s half is given the attention it’s deserved in an entire episode dedicated to it as well as a few follow up scenes in future episodes. And it’s brutal. Nothing is held back as Neal tells Rumple exactly how he feels and why he’s worried about a chance at betrayal and every word cuts like a knife. Because of that, the moments when Rumple disproves those doubts feel so satisfying to behold and the ensuing reconciliation is applause worthy.

Okay, not that all’s been said and done about dynamics, it’s that time again! Yes, it’s time to tackle the best writer of the season! And may I just say, this season was FANTASTIC for everyone! We had TWO writers get a perfect score and A&E were just one point off from joining them! But as they did not, let’s crown our winners!

And the best writers of Season 3 are…

Christine Boylan and Robert Hull!

Both writers finished off the season so remarkably! When looking back at their work, not only did every episode get a 10/10, but ALL of them received the Golden Apple, a score I reserve for episodes of exceptional quality and a first for writing accomplishments for this rewatch. These are classic episodes like “Save Henry,” “Think Lovely Thoughts,” and “Snow Drifts,” as well as two new absolute favorites of mine like “Nasty Habits” and “The Tower.” All of these episodes have powerful and effective themes, compelling character interactions, and risks that take the story to new heights.

Well, that’s everything for you. We can close the door on this season and move on forward!

So now that Season 3, often regarded as OUAT’s best season (By myself included) is over...where do we go from here?

I love the Frozen Arc, and I’m really excited to watch it again. In fact, I’ve already started it, and I just finished reviewing “White Out!” XD The Frozen cast rocks, I get some fantastic dynamics and storylines out of it, and it feels quite balanced. I’m also excited to start this season as well because this is the point where I started watching the show live when it aired and because of that, I think my reviews and rewatch will transform into more of a discussion of my experiences and changes with these episodes and less as basically reviewing them for the first time. As you’ve already noticed if you’ve been reading my most recent reviews, I’ve condensed the format so that I can spend more time focusing on the core elements of episodes.

That said, I know there is a drop in the quality of OUAT going forward. I’m positive, but not naïve in that regard. That also having been said, I’m going to go into this new season like I always do: With anticipation for the good! And I hope you’ll be there to join me!

Thanks as always to @watchingfairytales and @daensarah! See you all...well partially through the next season! XD Puns, critiques, and gushing galore await you there!

[watery-lane]

Contradictions.

Pairing: Thomas x Reader

Summary: Human psychology has never been a mystery for him. Until she came around.

Warnings: Light angst.

Words: 4k

A/N: I promised myself to not get back into writing fanfiction again. Oh well that didn’t work. Anyway, new writing blog here, will probably fill your dash with angst. Enjoy!

There is something odd about the human mind. Something twisted, ironic. How we claim to be different to everything from our surroundings, how we distance ourselves from even those of our own kind and convince our sorry minds that we are unique, better somehow than the ones right in front of us. But, at the same time, our actions give away our thoughts in the exact same way everybody else does: a blink in a specific moment, a tug on a hair strand, a sigh after a touch. The human kind is an open book, you just have to know the language its written in.

Thomas Shelby was an avid reader. No, he was not a newspaper aficionado, nor a novel hunter— He liked to read people. And hell, he was good at it. He spoke the language of the unconsciousness, he understood the behaviour of the soul.

He also liked challenges, jigsaws that seemed to be a mix from different puzzles at first, strings that look way too tangled to untangle without a pair of scissors. No need to say that he could resolve them all, whether with scissors or by forcing each piece together.

He had the knowledge of a scientist and the mindset of a soldier.

And with that, he obtained the power of a monarch.

There was only a period of time in his life where he had to leave his books aside. Not because he wanted to, but because he lost his ability to read. Those four years where he lost his sight, the darkness of the tunnels blinding him and the war corrupting the sanest man turned him into an illiterate: he could not predict any move, he could not plan ahead.

But every con comes with its benefit. Sure he could not read in the battlefield, but he had tons and tons of books waiting for him in Small Heath. He picked his first read after four years at the cramped train station when he arrived back from France: Polly, who was waiting for all of the Shelby brothers with a serious countenance but a fast breathing that made her chest heave noticeably under her thick coat gave her true colours away to Tommy. Polly Gray, the strong stone cold woman was praying for her boys to come back in one piece.

Maybe that’s why he fell for Grace. She was a book hard to read, a puzzle that he set himself to solve, and solved it at the end of the day. A book that became his favourite novel, a novel that he carried close to his heart and ended up receiving a bullet for him.

What a great surprise he felt the day he saw you walk in The Garrison for the very first time: humble clothes wrapped around your body but a wealthy man clinging on your arm. His lips felt dry as he spoke, a bitter-sweet déjà-vu flashing in the back of his mind as he asked, “Are you a whore?”

Your response surprised him even more, your arm letting the oblivious rich man go as you grabbed the amber filled crystal glass, leaning towards the Shelby and resting your other arm on the bar counter, hooded eyes with a glimpse of mockery staring right through him. “What would you do if I said yes?”

Tommy studied your features, mind working like a factory. Your face looked way too pure for you to spit words like those, your manners way too sober to be someone who looked like the daughter of a humble family. You were a theory full of contradictions, and he was eager of solving you too.

“I would take you with me and put you to work, then.” He mumbled, taken aback when you gave him a side smirk and focused all your attention back to the man you came into The Garrison with.

That could be the reason why he felt the urge of moving all his strings in order to find you. Not your criminal records or medical report, but you. He wanted to play fairly this time, he wanted to enjoy the experience.

But you were difficult to read. He could find you at the market fabric bag in hand, stacking it with fresh oranges and vivid green vegetables, serene smile on your face as you smelled the crimson apples, enigmatic eyes as your irises made contact with his. You didn’t exchange any words, your looks doing the talk. 

Or he could find you in the most prestigious gala in Birmingham, the most beautiful dress helping you steal all the looks and get all the compliments, same man next to you with his hand on your lower back. But your smile was tense and fake, the same one he puts when he has business to do, he reckoned. Your eyes dull and wandering, as if your mind were in any other place but there.

“I must confess I am starting to fear for my life, Mr. Shelby.” Your voice rang in his ear like a sweet melody, his body turning around to face you. You knew his name. You might even know what he does too, while he didn’t even know your name. It seemed like you were a step ahead of him in his little game. “You’ve got the fame of the grim reaper and I am seeing you quite a lot around me lately.”

“Oh have no fear darling, I’ve met the grim reaper in person and he’s not the one we must be afraid of.” He said back, making you release a genuine laugh and pulling one out of his lips too. 

“What shall I fear, then?”

“A life where It doesn’t chase you.”

Although you knew his words were for pure entertainment they hit you right in your chest. Tommy seemed to noticed that, the funny spark in his eyes waning little by little as he detected your uneasiness. Before he could open his mouth again, someone blew up the little bubble your conversation created.

“(Y/n)!” A deep and authoritarian voice called. You breathed in, your eyes dull again and your posture rigid like a porcelain doll. You cleared your throat.

“Sorry, I must go.” You murmured shyly. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Shelby.” You walked away, the man you came with taking you with him again, resting his hand on the same spot, again.

“Nice to meet you too, (Y/n).” Your name rolled in his tongue like poetry, the sip of the whiskey he took afterwards sealing the taste after the words escaped from his lips.

“You should not mess with her, Tommy. That man she’s with has more nobility titles than men under our orders.” Arthur’s cautious voice talked behind him, worry seeping through his statement. But his eyes were still nailed on you, your figure barely visible as you reached the other side of the gigantic hall. “Don’t mess with her, Tommy.” He repeated again after hearing no response from his younger brother.

“You know them?” He asked, absorbed in his thoughts.

“Tommy...”

“Gather all the information you can find about them, specially about that lovely lady I was talking to.” He ordered. He tried, but he felt like he couldn’t solve you without cheating a little bit. “Tell Michael to write everything down and leave it on my office before noon.” He walked away without even looking at his brother who protested loudly, turning some heads who watched him storm out of the party.

He couldn’t understand what got him. As his eyes focused on the dark road in front of him, his mind wandered elsewhere. Everything was happening again, like a vicious circle: his eyes capturing the face of a beautiful woman, his mind filling his thoughts with images of her. His brain incapable of reading her, his hands unable to reach for her touch. The only thing that made you differ from Grace was that her secrets were based on family honour and morals, whereas yours seemed to come from sorrow. Thomas shut his eyes briefly, waiting impatiently to reach his bed so he could sleep and wake up with the story of your life resting on his office desk.

“This is a bad idea Tommy, you could get us all killed. We’re not talking about Russians, Italians or coppers, Thomas. We’re talking about fucking British nobility.” Arthur stormed into the office, John and Michael following behind.

“I can track them down if you want to Tommy, pay them a visit in your name.” Michael offered, ready to help.

“Shut up Michael.” Shouted Arthur, who was getting more and more impatient at the sight of his brother losing it again for a woman. Behind him Michael rolled his eyes at his cousin, lazily lighting up a cigarette. “How well grabbed by the balls must that woman have you to have to use half of your men to get to her, ey? We have business to do Thomas, we have business and all you’re thinking about is-”

“Wait, is this because of a woman?” John mocked as he leaned against the door frame, amused smirk perking his lips. “Thomas Shelby is pinning after someone who doesn’t even want to give him the time of the day?” Thomas shot him a deadly glance which made John’s smirk even wider for much of his dismay.

“It’s business.” He promised, his mind already tracing a map on how could he benefit his family with the outcome.

“Trying to stick your cock in a noble’s woman is not business, it’s a suicide attempt.” John supported his oldest brother, nodding slightly at his direction. “Just go and ask Lizzie or go and get a whore, we’ll pay all the charges.” Thomas rolled his eyes and sighed, stood up and grabbed his coat.

“Where the fuck are you going now?” Arthur shouted behind him, raising his arms and letting them fall on his sides as he talked.

“To the market, have to get Polly some groceries.” He shouted back as he walked out the door.

“Don’t we have maids for that?” Asked Michael sarcastically.

The market was unusually crowded today, people wandering around happily as the unusual sight of the sun shining above them made every person in Small Heath stick their noses out and sniff the fresh air. He needed no effort to walk through the crowd, every person who recognised him moving out of his way.

He found you at the fabric stall, a meek and plain dress adorning your body as you laughed with your head back to whatever the seller said to you, your features showing no worries and your body language showing your happiness.

“The silk looks pretty nice, how much?” Tommy asked to the lady behind the stall, whose face turned pale at the sight of a Shelby in front her. You looked at him, surprised at his presence but with a hint of pleasure and relief, as Tommy noticed when he vaguely glanced at you..

“On the house, Mr. Shelby.” The lady stammered, grabbing the piece of cloth clumsily.

“Oh no no no, no need for that.” He gestured with one of his hands making the old woman stop, confused. His other hand went to his pocket and grabbed ten pounds. “Here.” He handed her the note as she blinked gobsmacked.

“Thank you Mr. Shelby, god bless you.” She thanked, both of her hands feeling the ten pounds note with delight.

“Talking about God...” Tommy commented. “I was going to visit the local church, it’s been awhile since I’ve confessed my sins.” He turned to look at you, a small smile spreading on his face the moment he saw yours. “Will I have the pleasure of your companion, (Y/n)?”

“Sorry, not a religious person.” You teased, fighting your smile to become wider.

“Then let’s take a stroll around the lake.” Thomas proposed, offering you his arm for you to wrap around yours. “God can wait.” You calmly accepted, nodding goodbye to the seller, who was watching the scene in disbelief.

“So, not a believer, huh?” Thomas broke the ice. “Wouldn’t take you for an atheist.”

“God only takes care of those who are privileged.” You answered absentmindedly. Tommy simply nodded in support, not sure if you were merciful or if you were affected by such injustice, just like him.

“Wise words. Guess you are the compassionate kind.” He commented, watching your reaction through the corner of his eyes. You sighed, eyes losing brightness.

“I guess I am.”

“How about heaven and hell, huh? Not afraid of those?”

“It’s not like I’m living a life where the Grim Reaper keeps chasing my soul.” You sighed, remembering his words the second time you met. You stopped by the lake and gracefully walked down the muddy slope, not caring one bit about your dress getting dirty. Tommy watched your movements, brain filled with confusion as he watched a refined woman carelessly feeding the ducks as mud stained her dress. At that moment, he felt it. He felt the heat pooling his stomach, his cheeks warm and his heart skipping a beat. He shut his eyes for a second, collecting himself and concealing the wreck of emotions he was experimenting.

“I must assume by that statement that you want to be chased by it indeed?” He asked as he saw you returning with an empty bag. You looked at him, ignoring his question as you got closer to him, reaching for the cigarette Tommy had resting on his lips and putting it between yours.

“It doesn’t even matter. Neither heaven or hell exists for me, so what’s the point?” You whispered, releasing the white smoke from your lungs, getting closer and closer to Tommy as if you tried to reach the afterlife as you tried to drown in those crystal clear eyes. Like a reflex he automatically wrapped his arm around you and pulled you even closer, chests colliding as you looked up in order to keep your stare on his eyes. He didn’t know what he was doing. He lost himself in the book, he was way too distracted to think about the puzzle you were. He just wanted to get a taste from you. And so he did, as Thomas Shelby gets everything he wants.

And joy pumped through his veins when he felt that you were melting like wax with his touch just like he did with yours. He wanted to prove you wrong, he wanted to show you that heaven exists, and how this was closer to earth than you thought.

So he took you to a church and with heavy breaths and sinful words, he brought heaven to you.

“I can’t believe you fucking did it, Tommy. I can’t believe you managed to fuck a stuck up lassie with titles on her name.” John Dogs laughed at the backseat, an inexpressive Thomas swallowing his words.

“It’s not the first time he does, though.” John remarks. “Women like her love to mess around with bad men like us. Turns them on.” Tommy’s nostrils flared at the two men laughing in the backseat, his eyes still focused on the road as he made his way to your man’s mansion. For business, he claimed. Arthur simply sat next to him silently, looking through the window.

He walked his way through the long hall, his two brothers and John Dogs covering his back while a bunch of maids received them and guided them to the archduke.

Truth be told, there was not much business to do with that man. Tommy listened to his brags with an interested demeanour, his haughtiness testing his capacity of restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He had sent John Dogs to check all of his horses before the meeting, and he was informed that most of them were malnourished or did not fit the standard for competing. On the other hand, he kept checking the door, praying for a certain woman to show up. He didn’t care that you were not his. He knew you wanted him, and that was all it mattered. An archduchess, pinning over Thomas Shelby.

After a long speech and the realisation of the lack of interest Thomas was showing, the archduke cleared his throat.

“Well, seems like none of my offers are good enough for you, Mr. Shelby.” He clicked his tongue as he looked out. “It’s getting late, how awful would it be from me to not offer you and your men a stay for the night?” He exclaimed, raising his hand. A servant appeared next to him, ready to receive orders.

“Oh no, there’s no--”

“Oh Mr. Shelby I must insist. I have something that may be from your interest.” He said, a certain mocking tone tinting his words. “Bring them in.” He ordered, his servant nodding slightly and proceeded to approach the door, disappear behind it and then opening the gates widely for a trail of young looking maids. “These ladies will fulfil every single need for you during your stay.” The man left his chair and stood next to Tommy, who was wearing his cold expression like a mask, covering his uncertainty. “Oh, and here comes my favourite.” He celebrated, clapping his hands loudly as he laughed.

You shyly stepped into the room, your eyes automatically leaving the floor to lock your gaze with Thomas’ for an instance, humiliation washing over you as John Dogs snorted loudly. 

“A fucking whore! HA! She was a fucking whore, Tommy!” You couldn’t avoid looking at him anymore. Your pleading eyes scanned his face. His lips were parted, eyes wide open as he looked at you as if you were a complete stranger.

“Not exactly a whore,” The archduke corrected, making Thomas finally tear his gaze from you to look briefly at the man standing by his side, who was now moving slowly towards your small figure. “but she’s not in the position of rejecting anything I put her up to, are you dear?” He mocked as he grabbed you by the chin with his thumb and his finger, making you shake your head with disgust.

“I’ll take her.” Tommy decided, his two brothers who remained silent during the whole meeting looking at him with surprise. The archduke turned around to look at Thomas, who was now standing and fixing the neck of his shirt. “I’ll take your favourite whore.” He remarked, looking straight at you, a pinch tearing your heart and watering your eyes.

“Great choice, Thomas.” He called him by his name. “I’m pretty sure you’ll choose your future horse wisely just like you did right now!” He reminded. “Now (Y/n), please take Thomas to his room as his family picks, okay?” He slapped you in the ass as you proceeded to leave the room, making you flinch. Tommy, who walked next to you, did nothing but keep his stare straight.

As soon as you closed the doors behind you and turned around, Thomas grabbed your wrist and put a few coins on hand.

“I guess I am not very good at distinguishing actual statements from sarcasm. Here, this is for your service at the church.” He said coldly before walking away from you.

“I am not a whore.” You whispered weakly, hand still on the knob, fighting back your tears.

Opposite you, at the other side of the king sized bed stood Tommy, who had already taken off his shirt and was in the process of taking off his belt, ice cold expression looking at you, head slightly tilted upwards as if he was superior than you. You wondered if he was hurting just like you did. He did. Maybe not from sorrow, but from pride. You managed to twist his wires, you managed to blind him. You managed to make him forget about Grace, and you were not even half of a woman she was.

“Take off your clothes.” He commanded, something clenching in his chest as he saw the hurt cross your eyes.

“I am not a whore.” You repeated, your hand leaving the know as you got closer to him.

“Now.”

“I said I am not a whore!” You shouted, taking longer strides until you reached his side, hand flying across his face. Your hand stung the moment it hit his cheek, his head turning to the other side. “I am the daughter of a baron and you shall treat me with respect.” You didn’t know where did you get the strength of doing so. You didn’t know where you get the courage from. Maybe it from was the old you, the one who would fight anybody who doubted your worth, your bravery.

He looked at you, not ready to show his surprise at your words.

“A baron.” He repeated, still trying to put all the pieces together.

You stood there silently, giving up and letting all the tears stream down your face. He wanted to act upon it. He wanted to take a step forward, clean your face and pull you into a hug. But he knew he wasn’t in the position of doing so.

“A ruined baron who’s desperately seeking fortune and a higher rank.” You confessed weakly, fighting back the sobs as you proudly hung your head up high. “A baron who is willing to give her daughter to a heartless archduke who will use her as a token, who will use her as a deal sealer until he finds the “right time” to marry her.”

“And a daughter who’s willing to do anything for her family.” Tommy finished your statement, eyes looking down as he finally put all the pieces together. Sure he solved the mystery you hid, but why couldn’t he read you still?

What people also don’t understand is that no matter how good you are at reading those surrounding you, there will always be a book you will never learn to read: yourself. Because we will never be able to think outside of our own minds, because we will never be able to look past ourselves. Tommy couldn’t read you, because he’d have to learn to read himself first. Life had put you through circumstances so similar you two managed to shape ourselves in an almost identical way. You two were broken by the same reasons, but your remaining pieces were shaped differently.

“When I said that God only took care of those who were privileged,” You broke the silence, now an empty void where your heart used to be, making your voice resonate in a way that made Thomas Shelby flinch at his spot. “I meant the ones who had the freedom of choice.” You chuckled. “That wasn’t a problem for me, you know? Until you came around.”

“You have it now.” Thomas reassured, fighting for his legs to remain firm. “The freedom of choice, you have it now.” He repeated again, the real meaning of your words starting to seep into his bones, his heart starting to beat faster and faster at the premises. “I can get you out of here.” You shook your head at his words, which were sprouting out of his lips senselessly. “The Blinders have men that can protect you, we control half England and--”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your family, Tommy?” You asked, finally taking a step closer, your hand cupping his face, silencing him.

The truth is that there wasn’t. But he would never admit it to you, not if that would give you an argument to leave him when he didn’t even get the chance of make you his. But you took that silence as a no, and you slightly pinched his cheek, trying to cheer him up.

“That’s what I thought.” You whispered, sniffing as you kept looking at him. His hands were now around your waist, holding you close as if it were the last time he was going to have you again.

“What would you choose?” Thomas asked after awhile, now his head resting on your hair, taking in your scent. “If you had a choice, what would you choose?”

You intertwined your fingertips with his, head resting on his chest, hearing his heart do the talking.

“I would’ve chosen a life with you.”

Wanna be tagged? Ask here

[wonderwafles]

Demon Therapy

A short, probably dumb story I wrote for a prompt on Reddit. I thought perhaps you guys here would like it!

He'd been seeing the client for about three months now. A young girl named Sarah, she was going through the abrupt death of her mother. Her father was nervous and clearly traumatized himself, but he was devoted to her, and she'd never missed any of her weekly appointments since the incident, except for last week. There was no word from either of them about it, but that wasn't out of the realm of the ordinary.

Dr. William Herman Weber liked to think he was good at his job. He prided himself on being able to connect with the children he worked with, and having nearly all of them leave with a better mindset than they came in with. Sarah, too, was showing signs of improvement. He just hoped that today's session would help her even more.

"Dr. Weber? Sarah and her father are here to see you." His secretary poked around the door to his office. Speak of the devil.

He smiled warmly. "Thank you. Send her in."

His office was fairly large, with room enough for his desk, a couch, and a table positioned against the wall, which was a blessing with what happened next.

The enormous paw appeared first, almost as big as the door frame. It paused, then, through a process that William couldn't figure out, squeezed through and under it. Its face was like something out of nightmares, with bones protruding from every corner, like its face was just something hastily tacked onto its skull. He tried not to focus on it too much.

It saw down like an enormous dog. Sarah poked her head in just after.

"Hi, Doctor Weber! I brought my friend here today!" She paused, as though considering something. "I hope you don't mind!"

His mouth was agape. The creature met his gaze with a measured look.

"Really, if it's any trouble at all," the creature said anxiously. "I'm just along, because, um, I heard you were really good at your job, and..." he shifted his paws nervously. "Well, there's some things I wanted to talk to you about."

William managed to shut his mouth, but not yet to speak.

"He slipped a note under my closet door," Sarah continued. "He was too shy to ask me directly, isn't that cute?" Her face split into a grin. "But he wanted to come along, so here he is! His name is Akamothammar!"

"First of those taken in battle by the demonic hordes," Akamothammar commented, looking mildly embarrased. "It's really not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal! Listen to this guy!" Sarah punched her companion on the arm, or leg. He barely seemed to notice. "Like he didn't sink Atlantis in the first of days!"

"Helped sink Atlantis," he clarified, but he looked pleased.

Words managed to come to William's mouth, although he didn't know how. "So," he said. "Well. I mean. It's not really protocol to see two patients at the same time-"

"Oh, it's ok!" Sarah said. "I can wait outside!"

"Sarah, no," Akamothammar said. "Really, it's OK. I don't want to cut into your time."

"I don't mind at all!" Sarah said. "Just for now, OK? How's that sound?"

The demon considered this, then inclined his head. "Yeah. OK. Just this once." He grinned, splitting his face mask like it was made of rotten wood. Before William's eyes, it reformed again, flesh re-knotting itself over exposed bone.

Sarah hugged him. "Good luck!" she said, and left.

William was alone with Akamothammar.

"Don't worry," Akamothammar said. "No one else can see me except for you two."

"Er," William said.

"Now," Akamothammar said. He looked apologetic. "I'm afraid I will have to eat you."

William stared.

The demon shrugged. "Sorry about that, really. You seem like a nice man. And Sarah seems like a nice girl. But I have to move on - Sarah just isn't afraid of the dark anymore. You've really done a stellar job. But I have to eat someone, else I'll go hungry, and I've gotten kind of fond of the girl and her dad, so I suppose it'll have to be you."

"Wait," William said in a strangled voice.

Akamothammar waited. "Hmm?" he asked, eminently polite.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you want to talk about? Anything about... your family, maybe?"

The demon was shaking his head, but stopped when he heard family. "Well," he said. "Uh. My mother was the deepest parts of the earth and my father was the darkness behind the stars, so I guess I never did get to see my parents much."

"And how does that make you feel?" William urged.

Akamothammar shook his head violently. "I know what you're trying to do," he snarled. "You're trying to trick me. Just like my sister tricked me into a cage for a thousand years-"

He paused. William seized on his chance. "Tell me about that!"

Akamothammar sighed. "You know, when you emerge from the same firmament as someone, you think you could trust them! But no! She never even said sorry!"

"That's horrible," William said. "Have you talked to her since?"

Akamothammar flopped down on the floor, causing the shingles above them to rattle. "You know, I haven't! I don't really want to, though. I don't want anything more to do with her."

"That's entirely fair," William said. "You don't owe anyone who treated you badly anything."

"I keep telling myself that," Akamothammar said. "But, you know, it hasn't really sunk in."

"Well, it's true. You deserve better."

Akamothammar sighed. "You know, Doctor Weber. I was really set on eating you today. Do you think it would be OK if I came in next week with Sarah to eat you? I'm really enjoying this session, and I think I shouldn't eat someone I'm feeling so positively disposed towards, you know?"

"I - I believe I do, yes."

"Good. Thank you, Doctor. I should get going, though. I'll send Sarah in. See you next week! Please try not to stress too much about it, it makes your meat chewy."

With that, the great beast disappeared in a cloud of smoke. William set the fan turning again.

He slumped down into his chair. Next week, he would die.

He supposed that now he would just have to get really, really good at demon therapy.

[nobaettadr]

[sinister voice in the background: talk about seliph!]

                                      send me a topic to write a meta on!

ooc.

…………….where…….do i even begin. the way leif feels can be pretty much summed up in two separate categories which influence and feed off of each other, so i think it’s probably the most organized to talk about them separately, though do keep in mind that they’re not at all separate in his mind and they all sort of end up collapsing in on the complicated melting pot of feelings labeled ‘seliph’.

1. admiration / inferiority. in many way, seliph represents what leif has always aspired to be and what he wishes he could have. while seliph lost his parents as well, he had a relatively stable upbringing and more or less made his own decision to set out and face the empire head-on with tirnanogue squad behind him; he was surrounded by people who supported him from day 1, and had a community within which he was accepted and, in a lot of ways, the center of attention. in contrast, leif never lived a secure life; as we know, he was on the run from day one, and while he did also personally want to liberate manster, for the most part he felt that he was destined to do so because this is the mindset that finn imprinted on him for as long as he can remember: you are the son of quan and it is your birthright to free manster when you come of age. no question. of course, there’s also the major holy blood thing. that goes without saying. and the fact he got to meet his parents.

it’s also really important to note when seliph comes into leif’s life: he comes in at the mentally and emotionally lowest point in leif’s life – he’s just undergone siege for six months at leonster castle. after finally fighting all the way there, tooth and nail, and reclaiming his homeland, he’s a hair away from losing it again ( seriously – depending on the game, he’s either defending it p much solo or he has like a paltry handful of forces left, he’s been backed into the last corner of the castle, and morale is the pits ). both he and narration express hopelessness and the inevitability of defeat. the sense of failure and worthlessness that leif feels at this time ( the siege also takes place after dorias’ death due to his mistake ) cannot be put into words. these six months, in my leif’s canon, are the darkest of his life.

it’s also important to look at how seliph is introduced to him – through august, his chief adviser and the one he looks to the most after dorias dies. august, first, drops his title: “the isaachians call him the ‘child of light’. then, he tries to frame seliph in a kind of ‘heroes are made, not born’ way which, while the premise is good and i do believe august was trying to make leif feel better here in his augusty way, leif doesn’t quite take it that way. august says “And [Sigurd’s] son, Lord Celice, is fighting to fulfill his father’s wishes… The people are overjoyed. They wouldn’t hesitate to give their lives to his cause. It’s the perfect scenario.” coming off the back of his own recent experiences with the people of leonster and his own army slowly losing faith in him and his abilities, it’s no surprise that leif compares himself to august’s narration of seliph and automatically considers himself inferior.

the battle to defend leonster ends when seliph’s forces arrive on the scene, and august himself, despite having spent the pre-chap urging leif to still have heart, immediately says “lord seliph’s army has arrived! we have been saved!”, which, to leif, automatically registers as ‘of course, i had to be saved by my cousin. i couldn’t do anything for the people i was supposed to protect. everyone’s already lost hope in me and has just been waiting for him to get here and save us.’ then, actually meeting seliph for the first time, it’s clear to see that leif already considers himself lesser and assumes a subordinate position to him. for instance, i’m pretty sure in the original japanese that he refers to him with respectful honorifics, whereas seliph simply calls him ‘leif’, implying automatic familiarity because they’re cousins ( and bc it’s seliph who’s like you’re cousin! :D we’re automatically close! ). leif also continues to apologize for wanting to go to manster and rescue eyvel rather than joining seliph’s campaign in conote, thanking seliph for granting “my selfish request”; we know it’s not just him bowing and scraping in front of seliph because he refers to it the same way in private later with august.

following that, the conversation with august:

august: lord leif, how was your meeting with lord seliph?leif: he’s an admirable individual. i can’t believe he’s only a year older than me.august: yes. he has gathered an army ten times our size, and has crossed the yied desert at that young age. he is quite a figure.leif: you were saying before that he was ‘made to be a hero.’august: of course, i won’t deny that. however, it is also true that lord seliph does have talent and ability that makes him worthy of being made a hero. he will become much greater than his father, sigurd.leif: i still have a long way to go. i’m ashamed of myself.

speaks for itself, really.

so i think it comes down to – does leif have an idealized vision of seliph? absolutely, to start. he most certainly sees seliph as the ‘scion of light’ and thinks he represents everything that leif wishes he could be. what i imagine – and you can offer your thoughts on this too, if you want, or correct me! – is that this vision eventually changes and develops as they become best friends over the course of fe4. what’s really important for leif is that, as they become friends, he comes to realize that seliph is not perfect, flawless, confident, a born hero. he realizes that seliph has doubts, fears, and insecurities of his own that, in fact, mirror leif’s, and by realizing this, he realizes that having doubts doesn’t make him weak or inferior, that seliph is just like him. this is what gives leif confidence and helps him grow as a person, and also helps him begin to respect and love seliph not as an idolized hero figure, but as a relatable person, someone he can stand on equal ground with and understand emotionally.

in fact, i think it’s really important that, in heroes, seliph talks about how he’s actually a coward, how many times he wanted nothing more than to run away from all his responsibilities and he cites this as one of the incongruities between who he is and how people see him. i think this is interesting in particular because leif, for all his flaws, has never thought of backing down or running away. he’s never been afraid of what he’s had to face. seeing this side of seliph would be vital for him to understand that he actually has characteristics that even make him more qualified than the person he’s idolized, and that they can mutually learn from and strengthen each other.

i’m gonna put the rest of this under a read-more bc a. this is already long and b. heavy tw: incest mentions so uh, look away? you asked for this

2. love. as far as my leif goes, he fell in love with seliph at first sight. objectively, i’m sure some of it was idealized, along with the rest of his feelings about him, but he felt drawn to him in a way he’d never to anyone else before. leif’s certainly had crushes, some of them rather strong ( mareeta ), but he has never, before or since, felt the absolutely flooring sensation of adoration and admiration and i-would-give-my-life-for-you intensity he felt upon meeting seliph for the first time. as they became friends, the emotions only developed and shaped around their growing relationship; if, as i imagine took place in canon, leif came to understand seliph as a person rather than as the ‘scion of light’, his feelings developed accordingly and he fell ever deeper in love with those open, honest eyes and that goofy giggle, the way he scrunches his nose at food he doesn’t like, the way he gestures.

it’s honestly really difficult to put into words adequately the sheer power of my leif’s love for seliph, so i won’t try. but is has most definitely kept him up at night and been the source of countless daydreams, heartache, and tears. ( hell, thinking about it too long makes mun cry so like. ) he would do anything for seliph. 

he does, however, also feel terribly ashamed about his feelings, which is why few know about them despite the fact that he’s also an open book, so people probably do suspect and he just doesn’t know about it. nanna knows about it because she knows him inside and out, and asvel probably because he’s the only one leif trusts 120% no strings attached no ifs ands or buts. seliph is his cousin, which means his feelings are taboo, and even if they weren’t, he doesn’t feel he could ever be worthy of him. for each daydream, each bit of longing, it’s almost immediately followed by a shame and self-disgust so powerful it makes him feel physically nauseous. he loves him so much he can’t articulate it. that’s pretty much it.

leif is convinced that, while he’s sure time will help him overcome it to the point where it’s not so painful all the time, he will always love seliph. he hopes he’ll come to love other people and that he will make them happy and they’ll make him happy and he’ll feel fulfilled, but he doesn’t believe that he will ever feel about someone else as strongly as he’ll feel about seliph – it’s just one of those things he knows, as surely as he knows the sun rises from the east. ( and from a mun standpoint, this is also what makes it hard to ship him with anyone in ferpcanon because no one really likes the idea of someone else being first in their SO’s heart, yeah? )

i…….think that’s everything. i could probably talk about it more but that more or less covers the basics of the intricate shitstorm of emotions. thanks for asking haha :’D