#But her natural magic sort of bleeds that onto people around her so everyone always knows how she's feeling

[kakusu-shipping]

Speed Ran through Mario Galaxy 2 Yesterday while sick because I couldn't remember why I disliked it so much and wanted to see if that was just younger me being biased. It was not.

But I regained my love for Lubba and Dino Piranha, so that's something at least.

[saphirered]

Heyo! Saw you wanted some individual character requests! I'm a sucker for Grog, and there isn't enough out there for him, so I was wondering if you could do a Grog x Sorceress!reader where the reader doesn't think grog would have a reason to like her since she isn't a melee fighter. Thank you so much!

P.s. Your writing is amazing, and I always love reading your works! ❤️

Thank you for the request! I'm glad you like my writing and hope you enjoy this one! Turned out a bit longer than I intended but that means more content. Anyway, Enjoy! 😘

Seated on the stone balustrade feet dangling over the edge looking over the city in front of you you twiddle your thumbs. You needed a moment away from everyone to sort your mind on your own. There’s a solitude in the dark clouds looming above and the first drops of rain signalling an oncoming storm and it’s never failed you before. Even while there’s no one around, you can confide in such storms knowing your words will be heard but carried away upon the wind and drowned out by the rain and thunder. A good storm won’t judge or hold a grudge. It will simply accept and listen. So here you’ll stay speaking your worries into the abyss and hope for some clarity or ease of mind and heart.

Back inside Grog sits on one side of the table, Scanlan at the other. They hold their respective tankards at the ready as the gnome counts down. By the end of the countdown they swing back their drinks finishing them as fast as they can being cheered on by the rest of Vox Machina and other witnesses to this drinking game. Grog’s determined to win this. While he’s pretty sure his tankard is actually a bucket with a handle, it’s more to scale compared to the gnome’s. Ale spills over the sides of Scanlan’s drink but Grog keeps it neat. No wasting ale after all.

With one last big chug Grog finishes the drink, slams it down on the table roaring in victory as the table shakes beneath his hit. Scanlan puts the remainder of his drink down on the table wiping his face disappointed. Grog looks around the crowd. Some are happy celebrating with him, others pass over money to the happy people for paying up on whatever amount they lost in their bets. How could they even consider Scanlan would win. He’s the best of the best after all and no one can out drink the all mighty Grog. He doesn’t spot you among the crowd and the victory doesn’t feel as sweet anymore. He really hoped you could have seen this one. Where had you gone?

Before Grog can get up and go find you he’s given a refill and the next challenger approaches. New bets are placed, Vex massages his shoulders giving him a pep talk and noting how he’s been making her a lot of money so better keep it up. He doesn’t want to disappoint his friends. One more game. Then he’ll go find you wherever you went.

The next game comes along, and another, and another but he’s done. No more games. When another challenger approaches and the game starts he doesn’t pick up the tankard and pushes away from the table. People ask him what the hell he’s doing but he ignores them. They’ve kept him long enough so he just up and walks before they can stop him. Grog leaves the room but Pike follows behind him worried for her buddy. He never refuses a good ale or a challenge, let alone the two combined.

“Grog? Grog, wait up!” Pike rushes after him leaving the banquet hall behind. Determined Grog still keeps walking but slows down his pace enough to let Pike catch up with him.

“Where are you going? There’s still plenty of ale to be drunk!” Pike reaches for the goliath’s hand to pull him to a stop. He does and turns to face Pike.

“I think I’ve had enough.” Grog says and Pike gasps. Never, never does Grog think he’s had enough to drink. Something must be wrong with him. Is he ill? Does he have a fever? Did someone poison her buddy’s drink? She might go on a war path if someone did and ruined his fun! But Grog seems okay. Physically that is. He’s fine.

“Do you know where she went?” Grog asks, maybe Pike can help him find you and maybe she can talk to you why you left. He doesn’t think you’d want to talk to him about that kind of stuff and while he’d consider himself a good listener, if something’s really up Pike always knows what to do. She can help.

“Who?”

“The pretty sorceress.” Grog states as a matter of fact and it is. Anyone who dares say otherwise clearly need some of those glass thingies Percy keeps on his nose and make him look smart.

“Oh, I don’t know Grog. She left to go get some fresh air.” Pike searches her mind to see where you might have gone. There’s a few places that come to mind but it’s all narrowed down to just the one when thunder rumbles through the sky. She knows exactly where you went and by the looks of it so does Grog.

Grog knows there’s only one place you really love to watch a storm unfold. You’ve told him before and you’ve even watched some storms together there. He shares a look with Pike and picks up his step going where he knows you’ll be, still dragging pike behind. When she doesn’t move fast enough he swings her up on his shoulders, running up the steps as far as they’ll take him, dodging a torch and pushing aside a guard here and there.

Then around the corner he sees you. Feet dangling over the edge, a single push away from what could possibly be a death drop, hand outstretched catching the rain with a sad smile on your face. You’re absolutely gorgeous. More alluring than anyone ever could. If he could paint, Grog would make sure this moment would be captured for eternity just so he would never forget. Maybe he can get some money from Vex to hire a painter? If Scanlan did it, why shouldn’t he?

You’re seated alone at the top of the tower. Lightning flashes through the clouds, sometimes branching down to strike the ground be it mountain or forest, you’re in a valley of safety surrounded by the storm. The drops of rain hit your outstretched arm extended beyond the cover of the overhanging. Cold as they are to the touch you watch them glide around your arm with movement until they too, continue their descend.

“…Sometimes I wish I would just have the courage but I don’t.” You speak into the skies. A burst of lightning strikes in the mountains, the sound echoing and even this high up you can feel the slight tremor of the ground. You know a storm is no sentient being but you read it like a reply no less and continue.

“I’m not a fighter. I don’t know how to wield a sword or an axe. I can barely lift one. We have such vastly different lives. Grog’s got no reason to like me in any way.” Thunder strikes again you smile briefly. You’ve come to terms you’ll always like Grog and your feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated. The only reason you’re even spending time together in the first place is because you’re both involved with Vox Machina in one way or another. You’ve got hardly anything in common so if you hadn’t met through them Grog probably wouldn’t even have thought about you twice.

That may sound sad and you’re thankful for getting to know him but Grog has his own life and interests so why should he bother indulging you in yours. He’s already not a big fan of magic and you won’t bother attempting to teach him. It’s not like it’s any interesting stuff and he’d probably be bored out of his mind the entire time. Then again, the theoretics of magic might just not be your strong suit either. It’s more of a natural born gift.

Grog gets this weird feeling in his chest as if he’s been hit by something and it’s being twisted. Kind of like when he got shot by an arrow and Pike had to remove it. It’s not a good feeling. Checking for injury just to make sure he’s fine. It’s clear to him he feels this on the inside; his heart bleeds a little for you. You shouldn’t think that way. He likes you. He likes you a lot actually so you couldn’t be more wrong. Pike nudges him to set her down. He does as they remain around the corner, leaving you unaware of their presence.

“Go talk to her.” Pike whispers and Grog panics for a brief second. How is he even supposed to do this? What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t know how this psychology stuff works. That’s what Pike’s for. If people feel sad they often come to her, talk about their worries and problems and then they feel better. How’s he supposed to do that? He’s not Pike.

“She needs you, Grog. I know you like her and she needs you. Go talk to her.” Pike nudges him on into your direction. The goliath isn’t physically moved by her effort but he does move. If Pike says you need him, if you really need him then he’ll be there. Looking over his shoulder one last time to ask Pike for some advise she’s already half way down the stairs leaving you with him. Grog thinks hard for a moment but thinking isn’t his strong suit either so he’ll do what he always does; face the problem head on.

A throat clears behind you and you almost slip from the fright it gave you. A heavy step rushes forward and an arm wraps around your waist pulling you back before you can fall. You’d have spells to save you in case you did fall but you’d rather not and are grateful for your valiant saviour. The bare arm wrapped around your waist is covered in tattoos, markings and scars and engulfs the majority of your middle. It doesn’t take a fool to know this arm belongs to Grog Strongjaw himself.

Flustered you allow the goliath to pull you back onto solid ground and off the balustrade entirely before he lets go of you, making sure you’re right on your feet. How much of your conversation with the skies did he hear? Did he hear anything at all? Grog steps back and stares at his boots. He doesn’t only appear to be more embarrassed than you feel but also apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t fall again and please don’t be angry at me.” Grog closes his eyes tightly afraid you might be mad at him as he was the cause of you almost experiencing a death drop. You’re basically gods but if we’ve learned anything from Keyleth; that doesn’t save you from a splat.

You step forward grab one of his hands in yours drawing his attention. With your index finger you tilt his chin up just enough so he’s looking at you and not over you. These gestures are enough for Grog to open his eyes. When there’s no look of anger on your face the tension in his body falls away just slightly. There’s still some rigidness from nerves but he’s closer to usual Grog.

“Chin up, big guy. You saved me too. I’m not mad.” You smile and the smile is returned. The air is still somewhat awkward so you decided you best get this over with and clear it up.

“How much did you hear?” You ask. The blush rushing to Grog’s cheeks and frantic glancing around to make sure no one else is here to witness it tells you he heard enough.

With a deep sigh you step back to the balustrade sitting down upon it once more but now to face Grog instead of the sky, your hair blowing lightly in the breeze, the rain and occasional illuminated sky behind you leave him staring yet again forgetting your question. He’s just captivated but you calling his name snaps him out of it. Saved it. Still got it. As long as he doesn’t turn to ‘drunk Keyleth’ levels he’ll consider it a win.

“I-uhhhh…. Why don’t you think I like you?” Grog twiddles his thumbs rocking back and forth from his tiptoes to his heels in anticipation of your answer. He knows he heard you tell the sky but he wants to be sure because if he gave you any reason to believe he didn’t like you, he did do something wrong. He’ll pick you over any of those other fools down stairs. He might just even pick you over the best ale. He’d already picked you over the ale he’d been offered. If that isn’t testament to his fondness of you, then what is?

“Ah, so you did hear that. I just- I think-. Ugh, why is this so hard?” You try to express your reasons but words are difficult and feelings even more so to describe yet still you try. Grog waits patiently either way.

“Do you think we would have been friends were it not for our lives being tied together as they are now?” You ask the dreaded question. You don’t even know if you really want the answer afraid that it may break any semblance of hope you had somewhere in your mind. Grog’s brow furrows, deep in thought but mostly confusion.

“Of course we would be. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because I’m not like you. I’m not a fighter. I stay back with my spells and incantations while you run in axe swinging taking down anyone in your path. I read while you train. I sit around in my tower watching the skies while you go out and drink the town dry looking for a fight to enjoy. I could never do what you do and I do not dare to assume you’d have any interest in doing what I do.” The thoughts and feelings find words. A tension lifts from your chest like a breath you didn’t know you were holding just by speaking your mind to the goliath in question.

Grog knows damn well you’re not a fighter in the traditional sense. No steel or arrows for you but that does not mean you’re not a fighter in your own right. If he’s learned anything a fighter comes in many shapes and forms and you fit the description perfectly. You’ve shown determination and strength, courage against all odds and immense skill. You are a fighter.

“When I run into danger kicking ass who’s had my back every time?” Grog asks. There’s a harshness and authority in his voice indicating he’s leading somewhere and you better answer.

“We all have-“ Grog cuts you off.

“No. You have had my back every time.” He corrects. “Who comes watch me train, throwing spells to keep me on my toes? Who does it while reading her books completing not one but two tasks at the same time?”

“I do.” You admit.

“And who helps me kick ass in bar fights? Who cheers me on or joins me in any gamble or drinking game? Who is the best drinking buddy? You are. Now, who spends time with you watching storms whenever they occur up here in the tower or anywhere else?”

“You… do…” Grog’s right.

“I like to spend time with you because I like you. I don’t care you don’t swing an axe. That firestorm you do works just the same and looks way more badass. I’m not the smartest but I know two of the same are not always useful and can be too much. What are you going to do with two when you only need one. You need difference so they compitry- complitarity- colmpli-“ Grog struggles with that word. He’s heard Percy use it in a similar context but why is it such a difficult word to recall. He still tries and just hopes you’ll get what he’s trying to say.

“Complimentary?” You ask. You fear Grog might get himself a migraine if he tries any harder. You still don’t think that’s the correct use of the word but you get it. He’s trying to lift your spirits and it’s working.

“That one. Yes. Complimentary. I don’t just like you, I love you for who you are. You’re special and being different makes you special.” Grog admits he tries to fight the heat rising to his cheeks from admitting what he did but when he sees your smile grow, that’s enough to push his pride aside and let it be. Maybe he can do this thing Pike usually does after all? Maybe not unless it’s you. When he tells you he loves you he means it. When he has to say it to the likes of Vax he’d rather eat his own boots for lunch.

You gesture with your hand and beckon the goliath over to come closer. You rise to stand on the edge of the balustrade and wrap your arms around Grog’s neck holding him close. You feel his arms wrap around you in turn and pull you closer to where your feet barely touch the stone.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” You pull back to look Grog in the eyes as he still holds onto you and take his cheeks between your hands giving him a quick kiss. Grog’s eyes light up and lifts you up higher offering you a kiss of his own. Sweet and short and filled with glee. He sets you back down on your feet but doesn’t let go of you yet.

“Do you want to go back downstairs? Last I checked there was a drinking game going on? Should we show them what we’re made off?” You grin and the proud look on Grog’s face tells you enough to know exactly what you’re talking about.

“Let me tell you the tale of my grand victories-“ Grog starts as he begins leading you back down the stairs, arm wrapped around your shoulders pulling you into his side as you walk.

[roachzrivia]

It's An Elf Thing

A series of events where the party (mainly Dorian) reacts to the Inquisitor doing weird things. Basically, if video game things actually happened. Supposed to be at least a little bit amusing.

Maybe it's just me who always forgets my horse and walks across the entire Hinterlands before remembering. Idk. I thought of this idea after jumping down a cliff and losing almost all my health because I couldn't be bothered to walk the long way round. Also, the trellis climbing at the winter palace makes zero sense, I'm sorry.How have I put 422 hours into this game? Where did my life go?

Gen, implied Dorian/Lavellan, brief implied Iron Bull/Dorian

Also on AO3 (link in my bio)

“Maker’s breath, can you slow down for a moment?” said Dorian, bending over to catch his breath. “It isn’t as if we’re short of time. Any normal person would allow for travelling time, you know.”

“I am allowing for travelling time,” Lavellan’s voice came floating back to him. “My pace just happens to be faster than yours.” But he slowed down, allowing time for Dorian to catch up.

“Couldn’t we have sent someone else on this task?” Dorian settled himself on the ground. It was damp, but he was tired enough not to care. “There have to be some perks that come with being the Inquisitor.”

“Aside from the castle, the army, and every noble in Thedas wanting to be my friend?” Lavellan sat down beside him, folding his long limbs gracefully beneath him.

“Aside from all that,” said Dorian, waving his hand dismissively.

“Nope, can’t think of anything,” said Lavellan, laughing. He leaped to his feet. “Come on, if we take a shortcut, we can make it by nightfall.” He held out a hand to Dorian, who grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Shortcut? There isn’t a shortcut around here,” he said, as he watched Lavellan disappear over the edge of the cliff. “Wait!” He ran over to the edge, heart pounding as he scanned the ground below, hoping desperately not to see Lavellan’s broken body on the ground.

“Ow!”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” muttered Dorian, as he watched Lavellan skid down the side of the mountain, rocks and dirt kicking loose as he went.

“Come on!” Lavellan sprang to his feet. Even from a distance, Dorian could see the cuts and scrapes from the tumble.

“I think I’ll pass on the shortcut,” he said, as he headed along the edge of the cliff, searching for a proper path down.

“Oh, for the love of…” Dorian watched as Lavellan tumbled down yet another cliff, feet sliding on the rocky ground, pebbles and dirt shifting beneath his feet. He took a tumble, somersaulting head over heels, his head bouncing off a rock. He collapsed at the foot of the cliff, body limp and bleeding. “You are going to be the death of me,” muttered Dorian. “You brought this upon yourself. You don’t deserve my magic.” He sighed. “But if I leave you here, Cassandra will probably convince everyone that I pushed you. Very well.” He brandished his staff, reached for the magic, and raised Lavellan back to consciousness with a blaze of green light. “Please,” he called out, as he began to tentatively pick his way down the mountainside. “No more shortcuts.”

Lavellan was already racing away from him, grabbing handfuls of elfroot as he went.

-

“We’ve been walking for absolutely ages,” Sera whined, as she dragged her feet along the path, kicking stones at Lavellan. “When do we get to shoot something? I signed up for more shooting, less walking walking walking!”

The party had been walking for hours. The weather was hot, the road dusty, and no one was feeling particularly cheerful.

“I can’t help feeling as if I’ve forgotten something,” Lavellan mumbled under his breath, chewing on his lip as he gazed around at the small group. “Got my daggers.” He patted the sheaths strapped to his hips, just to make sure. “I’m fully dressed…” He scanned the group. “You’re all fully dressed. Sera has her bow. Dorian has his staff. Bull has… whatever that is,” he said, gesturing at the massive axe strapped to the qunari’s back.

“If I may interject,” said Dorian. “I take umbrage at the comment that we are all fully dressed. What Bull is wearing hardly counts.”

Bull grinned at him. “Would you really have it any other way?”

“I would, actually.”

“Hush, both of you. I’m thinking.”

“Do you perhaps think,” Dorian said carefully, “that you’ve forgotten the horses?”

“What?”

“The horses. You know, the beasts of burden which we spent an awful lot of time and effort securing for the Inquisition, which are, right at this very moment, standing ready for us back at the base camp, half a day’s walk behind us.”

“You mean we could have been riding this whole time?” exclaimed Sera.

“Fuck,” said Lavellan softly, looking back the way they had come. “Horses. I knew I had forgotten something.”

-

“Are we done here?” Dorian watched as Lavellan waded into the lake. The water reached up to his thighs, and whilst Dorian had to admit that the elf did look rather striking in a rustic sort of way, he had been watching this activity for long enough that he was beginning to feel bored. “I would rather we reached camp before nightfall,” he called out.

Lavellan raised a hand in response, and then returned to bending low over the water. He reached down, plucking yet another handful of blood lotus from the water.

Dorian sighed and waited for the Inquisitor to finish.

Finally, Lavellan walked out of the lake, his soaking wet breeches clinging to his legs.

“Ready to go?” Dorian looked pointedly up at the sky, and the sun sinking low.

“Just need to grab a few more herbs,” said Lavellan, darting away to grab at a nearby stalk of elfroot. “And did you bring the pickaxe? There’s an outcropping of obsidian that’s calling my name.”

“Surely the Inquisition could spare someone other than the Inquisitor for this job,” muttered Dorian, as he followed after Lavellan.

-

The party arrived back at camp in good time. The Storm Coast had been wet and grey, as usual, but the rain had finally eased, and everyone was looking forward to a warm meal before crawling into their bedrolls for the night.

“Just a moment,” said Lavellan, stopping in front of the requisitions officer. “Just got a few bits and pieces I picked up enroute that I figured might help the cause.”

“Thank you, sir. Every little bit will help out men in the field.”

Lavellan began opening his pockets. First, out came handfuls of herbs, which he handed directly to the officer. She took them, her arms quickly overflowing as Lavellan laid more and more picked plants into her arms.

“Is this why you fell so far behind us?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Planning on quitting being the Inquisitor and becoming a gardener instead?”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” said Lavellan, pulling off his boot and tupping the contents out onto the requisition table. A handful of gemstones tumbled onto the table.

“Now that surely can’t have been comfortable.”

The requisitions officer watched on, eyes wide, as Lavellan opened his coat to reveal reams of fabrics tucked up in his belt and braces.

“For the boats,” he explained, as he laid them on the table.

“And here I thought you had just been eating more than your share at mealtimes,” Dorian quipped.

“Thank you-” began the officer.

“And the metal,” Lavellan said, turning to his horse to empty the saddle bags.

“By Andraste’s sweet arse, how did you manage to carry all of that without collapsing?” asked Dorian.

Lavellan just grinned and continued loading resources onto the requisitions table.

-

“So, the plan is to be as inconspicuous as possible?” asked Dorian.

“That is correct,” said Cassandra.

“To infiltrate the palace without any of the numerous political functions noticing us, and without disturbing the other guests?”

“Yes…” said Cassandra slowly.

“That what in Andraste’s name is the Inquisitor doing?” Dorian jerked his head at the scene behind him. Cassandra’s eyes widened.

“Inquisitor…?”

Dressed in all his finery, and in front of hundreds of guests, Lavellan was scaling the trellis up the side of the palace wall. People were pointing and tittering behind their hands.

“Might want to rethink that plan, Cassandra,” said Dorian, smirking as he watched Lavellan climb up and over the top, disappearing into the depths of the palace.

Later, when Lavellan reappeared, Dorian pulled him to one side.

“I have to ask,” he said. “All of this climbing. Is it another elf thing?”

“An elf thing?”

“You know, because of living out in nature, with all of those… trees.”

Lavellan laughed. “Dorian, darling, not everything I do is an ‘elf’ thing. Sometimes, it’s just a ‘me’ thing. Now, are you saving a dance for me?”

“Of course. If you don’t get yourself arrested or assassinated before the end of the night, it might even be the most scandalous event of the entire ball.”

-

“What is that?” The horror in Dorian’s voice was palpable.

“New horse,” said Lavellan, climbing up into the saddle. “There’s one for you as well.”

“I am not riding that monstrosity. I don’t know who told you it was a horse, but whoever it was has clearly been indulging in too much wine.”

“You’re scared!”

“I am not scared,” said Dorian, eyeing the creature with distaste. “There is a different between scared and sensible and I assure you, right now I am the latter.”

The creature stared back at him; its black, soulless eyes boring into him. It shook its head, and Dorian leapt back to avoid being impaled on the massive horn rising from its forehead.

“Come on,” said Lavellan, voice wheedling.

“Can’t I just ride a normal horse?”

“But we need to match.”

Dorian looked at the second beast, the one which he was expected to ride. It was so thin that its ribcage was visible beneath its black fur.

“I would rather walk.”

“All the way to Crestwood? It’s only a bog unicorn, Dorian.”

“You are an infuriating man,” said Dorian, scowling. “Very well. But next time, please can we use the Fereldan horses? They don’t smell as bad.”

[prose-for-hire]

Love, and dust, is in the air

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Do you think you could maybe do something where Spike always goes soft around the reader because he loves her? No matter what, even if he's yelling at the Scoobies and she walks in late he just instantly deflates and gets a dopey smile because he thinks she's so cute and innocent. Oo maybe he gets angry and protective cuz someone tries to attack her but she steaks them like a badass and then dotes on Spike cuz he got injured? And he's embarrassed cuz he wasn't scary but she finds him cute too?

Requested by: Anonymous

Part Two

Warning: Swearing. Fighting. Spike gets hurt.

A/N: Again, I got overexcited with writing the demon/backstory involved. No vampires today, but protective Spike and a reader who can handle themselves and be soft with him at the same time.

There was a demon out causing chaos in Sunnydale, which was not enough to haul you out of bed apparently. It was something that happened a lot, so you had to have a little pass for not hurrying just to have to sit in a long meeting that would probably involve a lot of reading and arguing about how best to get rid of whatever gross demon was trying to play havoc with the town you lived in.

At the Magic Box, everyone sans yourself, were discussing at great length the best way to remove the cursed Egyptian mummy that had started to suck people’s brains out through their noses. The mummy was flanked by two feral jackals that mauled anyone that interrupted the process. There was some debate around the ritual to return the mummy back into its resting place as it appeared that the jackals would not easily allow for the process to happen. They appeared to be the ones in control, not the mummy. This meant there would need to be some way of slaying the jackals so they could perform the ritual, but Giles and Willow were heatedly discussing the merits of humanely removing the jackals or just giving them a good stab from a big, pointy object. No guesses for who was arguing what.

This meant that Spike was getting irritated. It was annoying that the little group had to run the morality triathlon before it came back to what it always did. A good old fashioned fight. He was itching for it, ready to take them all on himself if none of them were willing to give over on the fight.

“But they’re sentient beings, Giles! You can’t just kill animals because they aren’t behaving how you like”

“They are bloody tearing half of the town limb from limb, Willow! To think that there is any other way is-”

“Bloody idiotic! The lot of you! You for entertaining the big song and dance about it and you for being, well, the bleeding bloody heart of the operation! They’re evil, they’re trying to kill you – it’s kill or bloody be killed so you can all have a big scholarly debate on the matter but I’m going out there and getting it done”

“Spike! You don’t make the decisions, we need to tread carefully or-” Buffy warned.

“Or what your head might bloody explode at the idea of actually slaying a demon and not shagging it to kingdom come? You wanna send it to hell in a nice neat little bow? Well let’s bloody go!”

“The jackals are just protecting the Mummy, something they’ve been bound to for centuries – we can’t just kill them for their loyalty!” Willow insisted, perhaps a little close to home for her. She had been with Oz for a long time and she knew that although the jackals were double the size they should be and highly aggressive, they could still feel.

“You’re fucking ridiculous – the lot of you! I’ve never seen so many self-congratulating, fake moral prats in one-” but Spike didn’t finish his sentence. You had walked in. His hand was still in mid-air from where he had been pointing around the room, but his face softened when he saw it was you. He didn’t want to shout in front of you, to hurt you, and he definitely didn’t want you to think that he was including you when he insulted the rest of the group.

He loved you, unconditionally. He was all-in, he just struggled to get close to you because the others were always getting in his way. You were sort of quiet, something he assumed meant you were somewhat innocent, but you weren’t necessarily shy around him. He liked the way your eyes lit up when he said something you found humorous and he liked that when you did manage to get a chance to speak to him, you were always kind to him. You even hugged him once after a fight and he thought he might pass out at how euphoric your affection made him feel. He had surprised you and wrapped his arms around you tight, making you smile so wide.

All of the fight that was in him had deflated when you walked in, all of the harsh words gone. His eyes were on you as you sneaked in and sat down without a word trying to hide the fact that you were late.

He appeared to have melted, smiling at you slightly, lowering himself into the seat beside you as you smiled back, despite Giles berating you for being late and the argument about how best to remove the mummy and it’s pets from the hellmouth started up around you again. But Spike no longer cared. You were here, they could talk in circles all night for all he cared, at least he’d be able to watch over you while they spoke.

Willow, Tara, Anya and Giles were staying behind to conduct the ritual so that when the jackals were either distracted or taken out (there still wasn’t a consensus) the mummy could be restored back to its sarcophagus in the Sunnydale museum with someone needing to attack when the Mummy was weakened. You had been paired with Spike to one part of Sunnydale with Xander and Buffy in the opposite direction. Spike had tried to insist you stayed behind but you told him you would be okay.

“You don’t need to be here, love, I can take care of this. Get yourself safely in bed, you look like you could use a nap”

“You think I look tired?” Your brow furrowed a little in that way he found cute. He spluttered, trying to assure you he definitely didn’t mean it that way. He had just wanted to protect you, it was more likely that Xander and Buffy came across the threat anyway, the demons had a tendency to go gunning for the slayer for some reason.

A figure started to stagger towards you both, interrupting the look Spike was giving you that was starting to make a heat rise in your cheeks. A figure started to walk slowly towards you, as if it could feel your presence. 

 “It’s the mummy!” You shouted, your eyes wide as Spike stepped in front of you, making sure he would be the target. Apparently, the threat was yours for today. It rounded on you, but Spike wasn’t having any of it.

“No you bloody don’t” Spike warned, spinning the mummy away with a hard kick to the chest after it lunged at you, knocking you to the floor. He helped you up, his touch in complete contrast to a second ago, he was gentle as he pulled you to your feet. As if he were scared to break you. The anger behind is eyes was evident, his jaw tensed when he saw the graze on your elbow. It was small and you were fine, but to him this was as if it had torn both of your arms off. He started to get brutal, as the jackals rounded the corner, prowling towards you both. Spike moved you behind him, a hand resting on you protectively, his touch always soft with you. The jackals circled you both, as the mummy walked towards you again, making Spike even more angry.

“You don’t come near them” He snarled, taking all of the attention from you. Spike, although he did have a brain that could be taken, wouldn’t be a target. They wanted human brains. Your brains.

The jackals leaped, both at Spike leaving the mummy staggering towards you, hands out as if ready to hold you down so it could extract what it wanted from you. Spike was violently kicking at the beasts, one had bitten into his side and the other was latched onto his leg. He had managed to fight one off but he was still struggling with the other. He looked over, the reason he was attacking them, even more aggressively than usual, was so that he could get to you. He was desperate to protect you. You had a sweet nature, he hadn’t been expecting what had come next. Even the jackal appeared to pause as it watched you punch the mummy before climbing it like a tree, kneeing it so it doubled over, allowing you to climb onto its back and secure it’s neck firmly between your hands, the way it had been threatening you.

Spike stared, his eyes wide at the way you so skilfully went for it. You didn’t even flinch as it thrashed at you. You struggled against it, trying to incapacitate it as Spike desperately tried to get out from the jackals jaw to help you. The ritual was complete, you could tell because strange golden light started to seep from cracks in the mummified flesh. It was now or never. You grabbed it’s head and twisted, it crumbled away in your hands and just as it did that, the jackals disappeared. A lot of dust started to pour from the mummy’s neck, flowing through the air as you ran over to Spike where he sat, clutching his side now the threat was gone. The mummy disintegrated as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

“That was…” He started, seemingly lost for words. He had forgotten his wounds at the sight of how capable you were in a fight. You didn’t usually get the chance to prove yourself like that, it was usually Buffy’s fight. You weren’t a slayer, just someone that had picked up some Sunnydale tricks along the way – you had to be like that on the Hellmouth, or you really wouldn’t last a week.

“You poor thing, it really bit into you” You said softly, kneeling beside him and stroking his side as he winced, “Sorry - come on, let me help” You had a mini first-aid kit you always brought on patrol that you took out and started to look for something to put on the wound. It wasn’t as deep as it could have been which you were grateful for. You didn’t want him hurt. You were really fond of him which is why you went kind of quiet around him sometimes.

“No, don’t – I just lay there like some useless git” He berated himself, his jaw tensing again in anger at himself this time. He had wanted to keep you safe. You shook your head softly, stroking your thumb along his jaw as you spoke.

“You didn’t, you looked out for me! You took on two were-jackals and lived, well – sort of, to tell the tale! That was so brave!” You insisted, giving him a smile that he savoured, your fingers still tracing his jaw. It was so sweet he was surprised when you came back the same sweetheart despite the rage he had seen as you attacked that mummy. He could tell you were being genuine too, you really found him brave. You smiled while he watched you begin to fuss over him, his gaze never leaving that face he loved so much.

As the last particles of dust lay upon the ground as a light scattering of icing sugar would, he made a decision. He was going to do it. He was going to tell you how much he loved you. He just had to figure out how.

[redantsunderneath]

VAL and BILLIE EILISH: THE WORLD'S A LITTLE BLURRY

I shouldn’t be allowed to watch documentaries. All that any documentary seems to be about (at this point, to me) is the relationship between itself and the truth. I don’t know if it’s 2000's reality TV or that one time I watched Capturing the Friedman’s and Waco: The Rules of Engagement back to back that broke me, but what interests me isn’t the subject matter but standpoint epistemology of the thing. These two docs are very different, diametrically opposed in almost every way, but both are defined by the ways in which the text struggles against reality. Val is about an old man who used cameras (himself) to capture his entire life as he pretended to be someone else on film. He is infirm, occluding his laryngotomy tube to talk, and his handlers try to manage his naps around meet and greets where he sells the shell of the person he once was for the fans who still care. It’s forbears are archeological dead celebrity docs that try to find the elusive star at the center (Robin Williams, Heath Ledger, Amy Winehouse) and those about reclaiming memory (Alzheimer Project, Waltz with Bashir) but it’s just… he’s the cameraman and he’s still shuffling around. Closest comparison (minus the age part) is probably Kid 90, which was being cut at the same time. This doesn’t get at how weird this is, though. He used to make movies with his brother, who drowned during a seizure and haunts the movie (he would put up his brother’s drawings in shots on film sets, the talks about or around the event constantly). He often hands off the camera to people so he can be seen in his world with complex instructions (when I walk off, focus in on that speaker so when I go onstage you will hear my first line) and when the camera hits a mirror he lingers (as in the video of his newborn baby). He seems to always be performing, an aspect of life we are all familiar with by now but less common when this footage was taken. His wife is uncomfortable on camera, usually mugging or hiding, and you get the feeling the distancing from his life is intentional as he focuses on internal transformation away from ego resolution, but he still needs to be seen, his sense of self tied up in an object permanence issue. The movie is structured as someone trying to sort through memories of their life and come to terms with them, although the memories in this case is a small warehouse full of video tapes and film canisters. In his current life he can only communicate with difficulty and tries to convey reaction with meaningful-but-of-what glances and gestures. Effacement by time and looming death drench the whole enterprise - when his brother dies he says his father “lost his charisma” (just contemplate that). His current simulacra of celebrity makes him feel like a ghost, signing “you can be my wingman anytime” multiple times for people who this means something to. So he brings up the footage and tries to reconstruct his life (his credit as cinematographer is both funny, touching, and chilling). This thing is full of interesting moments. He is doing a line reading of Hamlet at Juilliard and Peter Kass stops him to ask where the performance is coming from. He responds that he has never considered killing himself which causes Kass to explode, insisting that no-one in the history of the world has not had that thought. This seems to rob us and him of a potentially revelatory moment as Kilmer seems different, spiritual in an unusual way… maybe the reason why he never thought of that was more interesting than that point. His entreaty to Marlon Brando to tell him what his earliest childhood memory is is responded to by Brando asking for him to rock his hammock with repetition of the question only yielding feedback on the rocking until neonatal-fat Brando’s satisfaction at being rocked seems like an answer. The argument with John Frankenheimer who does not want to be filmed is something else. The major things going on are here are being haunted vs feeling like a ghost and an arrested Lacanian mirror phase that complicates his intersubjective context, with the karmic

self-assessment of who he is trying to chill in the middle. The filmmaking knows this and orients itself as a process of evaluating memory where what is true seems elusive, heavily edited, and hall-of-mirrors-like. The question of what is performance is a subconscious struggle. Conspicuous in their absence are his own feelings on his decline beyond the fact that he “doesn’t believe in death,” real insight into his marriage (and breakup, other than an allusion to his method acting Jim Morrison being a problem) and relationship with his kids (who are around all the time, but seem like Sixth Sense characters), and the fact that he’s a legendary asshole on set. This last is, like, the one thing everyone knows about him. But you can sort of sense this stuff secondarily, right off the edge of the screen and in him relentlessly projecting onto his parents. The real crux is the study of a man who never feels seen, but tries to become so by disappearing into someone else, who needs recording devices so that he can capture himself properly, all controlled performance; someone unaware of his own loneliness brought about by not being very good at making himself available because his “self” is externally resolved and constant inner transformation masks the unformed nature of his ego at rest. The film accomplishes this by allowing him to reveal what is absent by his preoccupations and bearing witness to his deflection mechanisms, so that he is no closer to knowing himself but, by being manipulated in a way we can see the frame of, we kind of get a glimpse. Good experience, wish there was more Christian Scientist material (that seems like an angle of understanding the film wasn’t interested in). Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry is about a young girl who is followed by cameras capturing her entire life as she pretends to be herself on stage. She has a Simone Biles flavored psycho-physical compromise that everyone tries to “handle” while she sells herself as the person she isn’t to fans who care, at least right now. This is in the tradition of Truth or Dare mimics that seem de rigueur for female pop stars. Closest comparison is Miss Americana. This movie feels made by spreadsheet to contain scenes to develop the official narrative of an in-her-brother’s-room, in her suburban parent’s house, sui generis composite genius who is on the edge of mental unfitness trying to be as normal as she can in this crazy merry go round called fame. The obviousness of the put on is diffused by the relative lameness of the pieces. In some respects this is the typical documentary “look for the cracks for insight” play, but it is consciously using that as a tool too and doing it badly - the manufactured insight escape moments largely ring false. This comes off as a Zoom background era counterfeit, a series of YouTube clips where Markeplier or whoever lets the mask slip a little in the most forced bit of unbiddenness possible. There is a boyfriend who feels like a story mandated version of “from Canada.” But the interesting thing is the way it recapitulates the way modern pop is put together, not by writing, not by spontaneous “feel your way,” but by putting bits of ideas together and trying to emulate form. There are a lot of moments in the film that feel like they could have been real, but the non-actors were asked to do another take and can’t quite nail it. It actually has such a boner for produced casual that it is pretty much allergic to authenticity, which is quite a thing for a documentary. The major things going on are here are grappling with whether she brings anything musically to the table (the brother seems like the musical force, she’s afraid her voice is bad, they make a point to show her idea notebooks as work product), her wish to only perform if she can give the fans her best show (possibly her version of just wanting to call in sick, understandable) is at odds with her being the center of a machine that has to move, her as a product of a not entirely with it older parents who gave their kids an open creative runway

and now are instrumental in managing her as a resource that is tricky to work with, the work being her and her brother dicking around and making magic happen, and an attempt to paint her as a Beleiber who now is on the the other side of the fan dichotomy. Development of her style, arguably her #1 thing, is sort of left as her telling a video director “I drew this bleeding eye woman, can we do something like this?” and sort of suggesting through letting her point around that she is a de facto co director. At times, it feels like a try at icon forging that someone wanted to fail, but it is probably just the high school conception-to-production level tat ultimately comes off as a larger indictment of making a movie like you make modern pop music - overdetermined manipulation of flimsy elements without a satisfying ethos, that looks too be an insubstantial assemblage of spliced pieces that live of die by their stickiness. But it begins to feel, more and more, that it’s about how non-exciting pop stars can be as people and that a narrative that people respond to can kind of die if you show that’s it’s just work and somewhat normal people trying to be a piece of an illusion. It’s this partitioning away of the hyperreality and an attempt to show the official story acted by the sausage makers trying to pretend the banality is just crazy man. Where Val is a simulation of an habitual performer considering who they actually are selectively sorting their life and failing to confront the loneliness of age and death (more elusive to them than us), this is obvious hoax unintentionally (?) revealing the fabricated nature of the image-music industry by way of demonstrating the strangely normie creatives, green-yellow ombre or no, can’t be arsed to summon a proper freakout (the whining seems authentic, though). Music videos may lie to you, but the official story is strangely correct - kids living in mom’s house cobble together catchy stuff and pull off pop stardom due to social media age production savvy and a little zeitgeisty imagery, it’s just everyone is well adjusted if stressed and someone’s only donning the costume of the online archetype of a specific kind of girl. Val uses the constructed nature of these narratives as a tool wielded in the open to suggest the inner working of a mind failing to be honest with itself while the other is interesting in its transparency and failure to convince us of the loosely conceived fiction, leaving reality apparent as bong resin. Baudrillard would have liked this one more, probably.

[brucewhite]

Blood On My Hands | White Winter (BHG)

Bruce and Gliss confront their histories and find they share more than they had thought

TW: Discussions of violence, murder, descriptions of injuries (blood/cuts/burns)

@frcstedkiss​

BRUCE

The world was hazy to Bruce, from his vantage point in the distance.

He was sitting there, staring at the pool. There were fish in there, deadly, flesh-eating fish. He was thinking about how many of the tributes they had already taken. They didn't care. They had to eat. They had to survive. That was their job. 

It was supposed to be Bruce's job. But they weren't human. Bruce was.

So he barely noticed the screams. He barely noticed the struggle. And then, piercing through the noise: BRUCE! PLEASE!

Something caught in Bruce's throat. He was human. Being human meant being connected to other humans. And for a while, this week, he had slowly severed every bond he made here. He betrayed everyone he trusted. He even betrayed Gliss, disappearing right as she put herself in a three-against-one fight.

It wasn't the strategic thing to do. But Bruce couldn't stand feeling like he wasn't human anymore. Gliss needed him. Someone needed him. Maybe she was kind of scary, and maybe she wasn't all there, but maybe she was just a broken, grieving human just like Bruce was, and she needed someone to treat her like she was.

And so he stood up, and he ran. "GLISS!" he shouted hoarsely, grabbing onto her arms just as she hit the water. He looked around at the scene-- blood everywhere, grief everywhere, everyone ready to kill him and Gliss. He had to get out of there.

He scooped Gliss in his arms and ran, as fast as he could, and he could already see the bites blooming on her. "Hang in there," he muttered, as he tore across the landscape, as far away from that scene as possible. They didn't need to stick around there and deal with the aftermath. The vengeance of Drakken's friends. And the horrors that they had committed.

GLISS

Gliss was tired. She was still covered with blood and she was tired. With her luck, Drakken would live again and they’d find her. They’d find Bruce. And he’d suffer for her choices.

Still, she curled into the comfort of having him with her. There was another human that actually cared about her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, sniffling. “I’m so sorry... Is your head okay?”

In the arena, she knew where they were. Close to where she and Tigg spent their last moments. “Wait, watch— watch the vines,” she said between sniffles. “Tigg and I built a fort in the trees around here. We— we can stay there. It’s safe.”

BRUCE

Bruce was tired, too, his head throbbing from that rock. He would be okay, but it was going to be a long night.

He had never been to this part of the arena before. It looked surprisingly hospitable. No deadly animals, or mind-bending magic, or natural disasters. Just vines everywhere. Bruce almost reached out to touch one when Gliss told him not to. So he didn't. He should know better than to trust anything in this arena.

"Just show me where..." Bruce looked around, and then he saw it. It was pretty impossible to miss.

His heart dropped into his stomach. It reminded him of the shipwrecks he and his pod used to stumble across in the ocean, the shell of a life that once was. Bruce always thought they were haunted. This place certainly seemed so... and not the magical or technological ghosts the Capitol could think up. Just shattered dreams. Broken hearts. It was fitting, really, for the way Bruce was feeling. The Games cut everything too short, and all that was left were hollow husks where people had once tried to carve out a little bit of joy.

He set Gliss down gently by the little shelter and then sat down next to her. Maybe he should be worried about her turning on him, too. But he wasn't. Bruce understood, now, that Gliss wasn't evil. She was just in a lot of pain. It didn't change what she had done. But it made Bruce ache in a different way. And it replaced any fear he might have had.

"...How do you feel?" he asked quietly.

GLISS

Gliss pointed out their fortress and before she knew it, she was back where she started. Only this time, she was with Bruce rather than Tigg. It broke her heart in a way, but to look up and see such a kind face when she felt like no one cared about her— it meant everything.

She knew he killed Winston. She didn’t know why, but it hadn’t really bothered her either. To her, he would never be a monster the same way the girl she loved would never be a monster. He saved her and she trusted him.

As they sat in the fortress, she curled up into a ball and shook her head, tears shedding silently down her cheeks. “My Mom was right, I’m a monster,” she said, sobbing loud. “Everything hurts and I’m so thirsty and guilty and I miss her so much.”

BRUCE

Bruce had expected a lot of things, but not that. And it cut right through him, her screams and sobs, because it was exactly how he felt. A monster.

The first thing he was supposed to do was look at her cuts, clean them before they got infected, but Bruce just couldn't stop himself. He had never been very good at comforting people-- he would sit and listen to them, and then he would feel awkward and inadequate about it. But it was like watching his own inner demons play out in front of him. Bruce felt a surge of affection for this girl, this kid, who just lost the person she loved and wanted someone else to hurt as much as she did.

He didn't have an excuse. He was a different kind of monster entirely. A selfish one.

Nevertheless, Bruce wrapped his arms around Gliss and held her tight, as if he could hold all of her grief in himself, replace his own, so he could feel that instead of his own guilt. He wanted to say something comforting, but he found himself crying, too. "So am I," he choked. "So am I."

GLISS

Gliss fell into the embrace of yet another person she would choose to care about. In the end, she was just a girl that was chosen by some higher power and forced to go into a killing arena with the person she loved most in the world.

She bled too. She cried too. She was someone’s child. And she just wanted some other person to hurt like she was. It felt like someone had been squeezing her heart, bleeding her dry.

So, she gripped onto his shirt and she sobbed. Especially so in knowing he understood what it was like to be a monster. She didn’t think that of him, but that bond was something only two very broken individuals could share.

After some time, some silence…

“I— I don’t have anything to give you for saving me,” she muttered, pulling away only slightly. “I— I have iodine to… To replace the rubbing alcohol? I don’t— I really didn’t know it was yours.” Her lip quivered, her mind a jumble of thoughts as she tried to do something to make it up to him. “I’m sorry.”

BRUCE

It wasn’t smart to get attached to someone. But Bruce couldn’t control it at this point. Gliss’s grief had buried itself somewhere deep in him, because he felt it, too. Different, but the same.

When she mentioned the rubbing alcohol, a chuckle slipped from his lips, a real one, in spite of all the reasons not to. The rubbing alcohol. That goddamn rubbing alcohol.

“It’s a gift,” he said, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve and opening the bottle. “Don’t be sorry. When I... when I was growing up, it was sort of a ritual, after you went on a hunt. Everyone got together and patched each other up. And ate food, but we don’t have much of that...”

For once, the memories of his pod weren’t painful. They ached, but in a way that reminded him that he was real, that he was a person.

“Show me where it’s bleeding,” he said, offering the bottle. “It’s what we do.”

GLISS

Gliss hadn’t even processed the thought that they would be forced to try to kill each other. At this point, she wasn’t sure if she could anymore. He’d been so kind to her. She felt like she didn’t deserve it.

When he laughed, she was a bit taken aback but then, at the same time, it felt like her sanity returning. He had such a nice laugh. It fit him.

She smiled. The first real smile in awhile as he talked about home and hunting. She never had that experience before. She never really had a father or mother for rituals. “It sounds fun, actually. Having a family like that.”

She wanted to know more. Anything she could know. It was a good distraction from the Hell they were in.

“My— Leg. The most.” She showed him her wounds, the burns, the small bites…

In that time, she rummaged through her bag to find the antibiotics to prevent infection and stopped in her tracks as she found a small ring… The ring she got Tigg. She realized right then that she had left it with her before Tigg ran off. “She’s so stupid,” she said, smiling and laughing through the tears. “I can’t believe it.”

BRUCE

Bruce didn’t have a bandage, but the tarp would do fine, he supposed, until maybe the next sponsor felt kind enough to send something more. Gently, knowing it would sting, he tried his best to clean the cuts. His mother and father would have been better at this. Bruce had been left before he really had the chance to learn.

He was thinking about his pod a lot lately. Huh.

He peered at the ring. He wasn’t sure why Gliss was laughing, but he supposed something equally ridiculous had made him laugh just earlier.

“That’s... nice,” Bruce said, only seeing the way the ring caught the fading light. “Was that... hers?” He was hesitant even to say her name.

GLISS

The pain was something Gliss could handle. It stung, definitely did, but her nerves were shot after the day’s events. She didn’t even mind.

At the ring, Gliss nodded, still smiling as she dried her tears with her sleeves. She felt like a little girl. Snotty and teary faced but smiling.

“I bought her a promise ring a long time ago… She bought one for me too,” she showed him the matching ring and sighed. “When she ran off, and um… died… She must’ve left it in my bag.” The smile was fading slightly as the reality sunk in. “She wasn’t a bad person. I know she did really terrible things… But… Growing up all we know is training and violence. She was so alone when we first met. Just— consumed by rage. But then I got to know her. She was funny and witty and a goofball… She lost when she had a weakness and that was well— me. She stole things for me… That’s why I just— That’s why I’m so sorry.”

She let out a breath. It felt nice to talk about her grief. “If I know she’s watching over me, she’s grateful for you. I know that may not mean much but— that’s all I have. You will always have an ally in me.”

BRUCE

Bruce listened, focusing on taking care of Gliss’s wounds because he wasn’t sure if he could meet her eyes. And his head hurt, anyway. It was kind of painful to look up with the sun where it was.

He didn’t know if he could promise Gliss that he would always be her ally. Right now, he didn’t think he had it in him to betray another friend. But he got the sense that there was something breaking down in him, that if it really came down to it, he might still make the selfish choice. So he stayed silent.

“I... you don’t have to apologize anymore. We all did things we regretted,” Bruce said simply. He didn’t want to deal with the thought of what Tigg might think about him. He had hurt Tigg, too. “I’d been training for this, too. My parents found me when I was fifteen. Tangled in a fishing net. They didn’t have a lot of money and they never had enough food, so I was their only hope. I thought if I won, it could help them. But it’s a lot different, training and being actually in it. When you’re training, everyone’s your enemy. Here... it’s complicated.”

GLISS

“They don’t really tell us what’s happening in other districts… The families, the stories. Money was just— never really a problem for us.” The winnings were hardly even a thought in her mind. Now she was beginning to feel guilty about that too.

“Hey, um, I know this sounds awful but… If something happens to me, even if it’s you that did the awful thing, can you go to our mentor John and get Tigg’s letter for me? When and If you win? Just… Leave it with my body?” She let out a breath. Her mouth was dry. “In turn, if I win, I’ll give your family 50% of my winnings. I just… Want a little for Tigg’s home she wanted for us. But that’s— way beyond now. I hope.”

She really wanted to give him something. If that was reassurance, that’s what she wanted to provide. They had a lot more in common than she had originally thought.

“And I hate to ask but— you have something to drink from the tree, right? My sponsors must despise me.”

BRUCE

Bruce stared at her.

He knew that she knew that he might. If it came down to it. It was a horrible thought, but it was a real one, and Bruce knew that he was capable of it. Winston had been someone he cared about. That wasn’t something he had done lightly.

But if it came down to it, and if he had to kill more people, there was a part of Bruce that really wondered how he would ever go through life like this. With all these people haunting him. People celebrated Victors and held them up, but everyone knew they were deeply haunted people. So it scared him, to hear Gliss say that. He wanted to survive. Obviously. He wanted to make it home, for his family’s sake. But it was occurring to him that he really might die here, and it was a small comfort that someone else might take care of them. If that was even allowed.

He had been in the process of taking the spile out of his bag when he dropped it. Shaky hands. Bruce picked it up and put it in the tree silently, still not sure how to respond.

“I promise,” he finally said, because there was too much there for him to really unpack right now. “Do you want some water?”

GLISS

Gliss wasn’t stupid. She had spoken with Winston just the night before he was murdered. Their alliance was solid. The only way it could’ve been broken was if Bruce had killed him in a betrayal. Winston was kind, Gliss less so. It would be a lot easier to kill her.

So she stared back at him with sympathy. If she had to die, she was happy to die by his hands at least. And honestly, she’d take him to end at this point. If only because she thought he deserved it.

She’d come to terms with death being inevitable, it was only ever a matter of when. Maybe she’d make it out, maybe she wouldn’t. And life would go on.

She laid her hand on his shoulder, comforting him because she knew how uncomfortable it all was at the moment. Still she was so incredibly grateful for that promise. “Thank you and I promise too.” Another deal, another day. It was what it was. But she was still comforted by it.  “Please?” she leaned forward taking a few sips and using some excess to wash her hands and face. “Thank you so much… How… How’s your head by the way? Do you need me to look at it?”

BRUCE

Bruce shook his head, though the pounding was getting worse and he really wanted to sleep. He knew you weren’t supposed to sleep with head injuries, even when you wanted to, at least until you could get it checked out. Bruce couldn’t get it checked out. He could only try and remember what he knew, from the sailors on smaller vessels who came back from storms having been tossed around by them.

But Bruce was doing okay. He wasn’t seeing double. His vision wasn’t blurry. And his mind felt clearer, at least, since earlier in the day. Still, as the sun slipped below the trees, Bruce thought he ought to take the first watch.

He didn’t trust himself to make any promises. He just didn’t think he was a good enough man not to break them, not at this point, with his track record. But he could, at least, try and show with gestures that he hadn’t completely lost his heart. That the Games hadn’t taken all of that from him yet. He had to, or otherwise he didn’t know how he was going to survive these next few days.

Maybe he wouldn’t. But he was going to try.

“It will be better in the morning. You should go to sleep. I’ll take the watch,” Bruce offered. There was more to say, but he couldn’t. It would have to be enough, for now.

[chemicalmagecraft]

The Gamer Hero, Deku Chapter 23

So

I may or may not have forgotten to do this. And then had to do like three essays...

xoxoxo

"Sorry about that again..." I apologized to Tsu, holding a small flame in front of her.

She harrumphed jokingly and leaned a bit more into Uraraka's chest, her arms crossed. She was using Uraraka's new sport uniform jacket like a makeshift blanket. "You're such a hypocrite, Midoriya. You yell at Todoroki for freezing up the audience, then you go just as cold as him when you fight him, kero."

"Sorry, I was hoping Blaise and Pyra working together would be enough to keep everyone from getting cold..."

"Hey," a lazy voice drawled. I turned my head to see a basic fire elemental suddenly sitting on the railing in front of me. His hair and clothes were mostly black with a few orange stripes. He had black cat ears, a black cat tail, and catlike orange eyes with yellow sclera. "I helped too, ya know."

"Oh hi, Charlie!" Uraraka said.

"Who the fuck are you?" Kacchan asked him.

"That's Aizawa-sensei's fire elemental," I said.

"And I'll have you know I helped out," Charlie grumbled.

"Only because you were forced to, niichan," another voice said. A girl with sky-blue hair in a sort of bowl cut that covered her eyes appeared in midair. Upside-down. She had very pale, actually outright just white skin and two weird red horns that formed a sort of deformed heart shape when seen from the side. She had a simple white dress, almost exactly the same color as her skin.

Tsu waved at her. "Hey, Cass. Kero."

"Hey, Tsu-chan," Cassiopeia, Aizawa-sensei's gravity elemental, said. "Are you and my aunt finally dating yet?" Tsu and Uraraka both spluttered, now blushing. "Iiii'll take that as a no, then." She smirked, and with a momentary glow of her horns Tsu's head was suddenly shoved into Uraraka's chest by an unseen force that was probably gravity. "C'mon, you guys've obviously noticed the attraction between you two~"

"Th-that's because you're literally making Tsu-chan gravitate towards me!" Uraraka shouted, blushing heavily. Tsu said something that was probably agreeing with Uraraka, but it was muffled so I couldn't tell for sure.

"I have no idea what you're talking about~" Cass taunted. She cheekily stuck out her tongue.

Even though I wasn't the direct target of it, I could feel Aizawa-sensei's glare from all the way over in the announcer's box. Was that what Enji felt when I used Fear on him?

Good.

Tsu and Uraraka stopped being attracted to each other. By gravity, at least. "H-hey, look at the time!" Cass said. "G-gotta go!"

"That girl..." Tsu muttered, still blushing heavily.

"Tsu do you need me to heal you?" I asked. "Your nose is bleeding a little."

She felt her nose. "Oh. Yeah please do that, kero. Sorry, sometimes my nose bleeds a little easy." I placed my hand on her face and cast Healing Hands.

"Do I have to beat up a child?" Kacchan offered.

"D-don't worry about Cass," Uraraka said. "She doesn't do stuff anything as bad as that a lot, and she always apologizes later after Shō gives her a lecture."

"And this is the first time she drew blood, kero," Tsu commented.

"I feel kinda bad for Aizawa-sensei," I said. "Some of my elementals are, no offense, a little hard to manage..."

"Hey!" Rayne shouted.

"...but at least my other elementals help keep them grounded." Blaise put Rayne in a headlock despite the fact that they were both immaterial. "Aizawa-sensei, on the other hand, only has those two."

"Yeah, lazy elementals are annoying to deal with," Kacchan said. I looked at him. "I am assuming," he added suspiciously quickly.

"Alright, then," I said. "Hey, shouldn't you be heading for the waiting room, Kacchan?"

He shrugged. "I trust Birdface and Sparkles-"

"Tokoyami and Aoyama."

"-Birdface and Sparkles to give each other a good fight. Unfortunately I won't be able to watch their fight, directly anyway, but at least I can watch Glasses'."

"His name is Iida, problem child," Aizawa-sensei said over the speaker.

"Thaaaat's right folks!" Mic-sensei shouted. "It's Iida Tenya! Versus! Shiozaki Ibara! Who will win, technology or nature? Let's find out!"

"Start!" Midnight-sensei announced.

And then it was over. Iida was really fast.

"Damn, that was quick," Kacchan said disappointedly.

"That's what she said," Tsu muttered.

"I'll kill you, Frog," Kacchan threatened flatly.

"That's also what she said," I joked.

Kacchan twitched. "That one doesn't even make sense!"

"Maybe you should go now?" Uraraka suggested. "Iida's fight's over."

He sighed. "Fine, just tell me what happens in... Tokoyama and Aoyami's fight?" He glared at what appeared to be thin air. "Did I fucking ask, Pyra!?" Kacchan grunted and stomped off, grumbling about fires and... leaves for some reason?

A few minutes after Kacchan left, Tokoyami and Aoyama walked onto the arena. "Get ready!" Midnight-sensei said after Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei said their part. At her command, motes of dark magic started to emanate from Tokoyami. At the same time, Aoyama started to sparkle with light magic. It occurred to me that Tokoyami and Aoyama were both, in their own ways, among the most showy people in our class...

"I wonder which one of us shall win?," Tokoyami remarked. "Your holy light, or my curséd shadow?"

"Hey!" Dark Shadow protested. "I have feelings too!"

"Shall we see, mon ami?" Aoyama replied. "But do keep in mind that I won't go easy on you!"

"I wouldn't dream of it!"

"Start!"

Aoyama shot first, all of his sparkles turning to lasers at once. It seemed that Tokoyami anticipated that, because just before the lasers hit him a shroud of darkness spread out in front of him. Dark Shadow shot out from behind the shroud, slightly enhanced by spending a few moments in darkness, but was blown back easily by Aoyama using a sparkling light bomb. Aoyama tried to hit Dark Shadow with a few more lasers, but was thwarted by Tokoyami shooting them with bolts of darkness. Dark Shadow lashed out at Aoyama again, but he dodged out of the way, hitting Dark Shadow with yet another point-blank burst of light.

"Tres magnifique!" Aoyama said, striking a pose that reminded me of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. "Your desire to win shines bright in your fighting!"

"Of course!" Tokoyami agreed, and that was definitely a JoJo pose. "What student of Yuuei would I be if I didn't give this fight my all!?"

Aoyama's grin widened. It faltered for a moment when his stomach started to glow, but then went even wider. He clutched his stomach, but in a confident way and not just nausea. His hand glowed and he twisted it, drawing a ball of sparkling blue light out of his stomach. I couldn't be certain, but it looked like he removed the light his Navel Laser was building up before it fired out and hurt him. Dark Shadow lunged at him again, so he shaped the ball into a sort of spear shape and tossed it at him. "SPARKLING SPEAR!" he shouted as the javelin pierced into Dark Shadow and then exploded in a bright light. Dark Shadow shrank down and retreated back into Tokoyami, muttering something about it being too bright out.

"Impressive, you managed to defeat my Dark Shadow!" Tokoyami said. "But don't think this means you've won!" To back up his threat, Tokoyami made two balls of darkness.

"I wouldn't count on it!" Aoyama shouted. He created another spear from his Navel Laser to match Tokoyami's shadow balls. Tokoyami threw one of the shadow balls at Tokoyami, but Aoyama threw his Sparkling Spear at it. The spear pierced through the shadow ball, not even slowing down, then exploded right in front of Tokoyami. He was knocked back, landing near the eadge of the ring.

He groaned, then summoned Corvo. Now that I could see him properly it looked like he'd ranked up, as he looked older than the last time I'd seen him not in a shroud of oppressive darkness. "It seems I'll need more than just my own power to best you," Tokoyami said as he got up. "I shall defeat you with the power of shadows!" As Corvo charged at Aoyama, Tokoyami created and fired several feather-shaped projectiles. Aoyama created yet another Sparkling Spear, which he used to slice through all of the black feathers. He then caught Corvo's sword when he tried to swing at him.

"Splendide!" Aoyama beamed. "Two knights crossing blades! How I wish I were wearing my armor! But wait!" Aoyama jumped back and released his spear, which floated in front of him and then unraveled into ribbons of silvery light. I used Eye for Magic while watching him do an entire magical girl transformation sequence, except instead of a cute dress he made himself a suit of armor similar to his hero costume out of light. Honestly there need to be more magical girl transformation sequences into full plate armor. While he still had some of his Sparkling Spear left over, it looked more like a Radiant Rapier than anything. That didn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, he seemed delighted that he had a vaguely sword-like object to wave around. He grabbed the rapier and thrusted at Corvo.

Corvo blocked with his shield, then swung at him with a shadow-enhanced sword. Aoyama dodged nimbly, only the tip of the sword scraping off of his armor and taking a few motes of light with it. Aoyama riposted with a series of thrusts. Corvo blocked the first two, but the third touched him in the chest. Aoyama caused the rapier to shoot forward as a laser, pushing Corvo with it. Tokoyami shot some more feathers at Aoyama, but his starry cape curled in front of him in defense. The cape was destroyed in the attack, but before it could fully dissipate Aoyama's stomach started to glow. With no warning, a Navel Laser shot out at Tokoyami. In a last-ditch attempt to block it, Tokoyami summoned Dark Shadow again. Dark Shadow tried his best, but he was still weakened from earlier, so he basically evaporated when the laser hit him. Tokoyami was hit, punched out of the ring. Aoyama, meanwhile, collapsed to the ground from the backlash of using his Quirk. His armor dissolved in a flash of light.

"Tokoyami is out of bounds! The winner is Aoyama Yuga!" Midnight-sensei announced.

"Well fought, my friend," Tokoyami congratulated him.

Aoyama gave himself a few moments before saying, "Same to you. It was un match difficile." Then he retched. "Excuse-moi. Quirk backlash..."

Tokoyami nodded. "I know how it is."

xoxoxo

A few minutes later, Tokoyami and Aoyama had left, replaced by Kacchan and Kirishima. "Heck yeah!" Kirishima shouted with a big, toothy grin. "This fight is gonna be so manly!"

Kacchan grinned and punched his palm, exploding it slightly for intimidation factor. "You're pretty damn manly yourself. Try to keep up."

"Start!"

Kacchan blasted himself towards Kirishima, aiming a firey kick at him. Kirishima raised his hands in a block and activated his Quirk. Kacchan responded by using his fire and explosions to pivot in midair while keeping his momentum, then exploding in Kirishima's face right before he could ram into him. They were both knocked back by the explosion, and Kacchan naturally recovered easier because he was used to being thrown around by his explosions. Kirishima wasn't too fazed after he landed, though. He skidded along the ground for a bit before creating a rock wall to stop himself. "Not bad," Kirishima said as he got up.

"Not bad yourself," Kacchan responded. "That was a pretty powerful explosion."

Kirishima's grin widened and he showed off his hardened arms, which were still steaming. "It'll take a bigger blast than that to take me down!" Then he stomped the ground. Spears of concrete shot from the ground, aimed at Kacchan. He exploded upward, then destroyed the spears with a second blast when they followed him. The blast propelled Kacchan forwards, over Kirishima.

"DIE!" he shouted, then put his hands together for a big blast. He waited until Kirishima hardened to hit him with a blast hard enough to drive his feet into the ground.

"That's so manly!" Kirishima shouted as he used earth magic to eject himself out of the concrete.

And right into Kacchan's trap. "DIE!" he shouted, then placed his hands on Kirishima's back while he was still in midair. Kirishima was sent flying, and just barely managed to erect an earth wall to crash into before he sailed over the arena boundary entirely.

Kirishima laughed as he peeled himself out of the Kirishima-shaped indentation in the cracked wall. "That was a good one, man!" he said as he turned to face Kacchan. "Getting me into the air like that? Manly!" His grin widened as the rock wall broke apart, though the pieces didn't fall. "Guess I'll have to up the ante!" Kirishima pointed at Kacchan, and the rocks from the wall shot at him. Kirishima's rocks blocked off all angles of escape aside from dodging back, which would make Kacchan ring out.

Kacchan stood his ground. Before the rocks reached him, he burst into flames. Kirishima winced as the rocks... went through him? I focused my eye-enhancing skills on Kacchan just as the last dregs of the spell wore off. It looked like it was still unpolished, considering the fact that Kacchan's clothes were burned in areas and his skin was red and steaming, but that was definitely Fire Embodiment! Kacchan charged with an explosive dash while Kirishima was still in shock, punching him in the gut. Kacchan followed up with a small explosion that pushed Kirishima out of bounds.

"Kirishima is out of bounds! The winner is Bakugou Katsuki!"

Kirishima laughed again. "Damn, that was manly!" He hopped back onto the arena and clapped Kacchan on the back. Kacchan frowned a bit, but... was that a blush? "The way you just went through my rocks! I've seen that spell before and I still didn't see that coming!"

"You weren't a slouch yourself, Kirishima," Kacchan said. "If I didn't pull a stupidly advanced spell out of my ass you might have won there. Just remember not to gawk the next time someone does something like that and you should do fine."

Kirishima beamed. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, you're good."

I got up from my seat. "I should probably get ready for the next round. Bye!"

"Bye, Midoriya," Tsu said.

"Good luck, Deku!"

xoxoxo

"That match was awesome, Aoyama!" I told Aoyama when I saw him in the hall. "That armor trick was pretty great!"

He grinned. "Merci. I suppose it's a good idea to use it on Bakugou?"

I nodded. "You didn't hear it from me, but you should probably think of some offensive magic for your next fight as well." I winked. "Wish me luck!"

xoxoxo

Iida got into a ready stance on the opposite side of the arena. "Midoriya. I hope we will have a pleasant match."

"Me too, Iida."

"Begin!"

I Flash Stepped to the side when Iida charged at me. He turned back around to face me and continued his charge. When I Flash Stepped again, I was tripped by a raised rock that wasn't there a moment before. Apparently having a mutation that gives you metal engines in your legs gives you earth affinity. Who knew? "You won't be able to dodge this! Reciproburst!" I stood up just in time for Iida to slam into me. My physical defenses may have meant that that didn't hurt, but he was still pushing me back easily. I tried to use magic to grip to the ground and...

Ping! Ping!

My feet stuck to the ground. No, my shoes stuck to the ground, first from the spell Grip and then because of my new Quirk, Magnetize. Even though Iida was pushing me as hard as he could, and with a special move at that, my shoes were not just gripping the ground better but also strongly magnetized, as was the ground under them. The good news was that Iida was nowhere near strong enough to uproot that combination. The bad news was that Magnetize was one of those Quirks that the user can't exactly turn off once it's applied to something, and instead wears off after time, so I was stuck for about five minutes or until I set my shoes on fire, and it would probably look suspicious if I did that.

Wait, no it wouldn't.

"Well... you certainly didn't dodge..." Iida muttered as his engines stalled. I figured that was what took his Quirk out in the cavalry battle. Now that he couldn't push me off the edge, I punched him in the stomach with a sonic-enhanced fist. While he was knocked back I coated myself in Fire Aura, concentrating it on my legs. The heat burned off the magnetization on the cement completely, but only weakened my shoes because I didn't want to melt them. I Flash Stepped at Iida, leaving behind footprints of fire. He blocked my kick with some basic defensive magic and pushed me away. I landed on the ground in front of him. "Impressive, Midoriya!" Iida shouted. Then he grinned. He also set on fire, though it looked like he couldn't quite focus it on his legs as well because he wasn't nearly as skilled with Fire Aura as me.

"Oh right," I said. "Internal combustion engine."

"That's right. I won't just let you win."

"I wasn't planning on it."

Iida used fire magic to compensate for his lack of Engine when he charged me. I dropped on my hand and kicked at him. It wasn't perfect, but my DEX made up for that. Iida countered with a kick of his own, creating a small wave of heat. I grabbed Iida's leg between my legs, using it and a fire jet to pivot and launch myself upward. I had Halitus create an air platform, which I kicked off of. I flipped in midair to axe kick Iida. He dodged backwards, which was to be expected with how much wind-up that attack had, but that wasn't its point. "LIMIT BREAK!" I shouted when my heel hit the ground. "EARTH SURGE!" Iida's eyes widened as the ground rose up in a wave. He was pushed all the way out of the arena, which was mangled beyond recognition.

"Iida is out of bounds! Midoriya wins!"

I stared at the aftermath of Earth Surge. "Um... I can probably fix that," I offered Cementoss.

He waved me off with a smile. "You're fine, I'll do it."

I walked around the wall of rock I'd made. "You okay, Iida? I might have overdone it a bit."

He sighed as he got up. "I'm fine. I... suppose I still have some training to do before I'm able to catch up to you."

"If you want I could spar with you sometime," I offered. "I could really use some experience with pure physical fighting."

He nodded. "I'd love to."

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Pure (5/14)

Summary: Belle wanted to wait until marriage before she had sex for the first time. It was the one thing that still stuck in her mind after leaving her small town upbringing steeped in religious doctrine and abstinence culture. When her wedding night comes, however, the purity ideals of Storybrooke’s sex education are hard to shake off, and making the transition from virgin to sexually active is more difficult than she anticipated. With the help of a patient husband, Belle begins an intimate journey into understanding her body, her desires, and her identity as a woman.

Rated: E

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

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Pure

Five

Gold had to admit that, prior to their wedding, he had not really given Belle’s virginity a lot of thought. Sex wasn’t the be all and end all of a relationship to him, and he’d been happy to wait for her. His own first time was so long ago and so unmemorable that he could hardly recall it.

In hindsight, he should probably have made more of an effort to discuss it with her so that they were both better prepared for the big night. In his defence, Belle had artfully shut down any conversation that he had tried to start on the subject, but he knew enough about her upbringing. He should have known that she wasn’t going to be magically completely relaxed about the whole thing when push came to shove.

The other reason that he had avoided the topic as much as Belle had was the fear that he’d end up patronising her. Belle lacked practical experience, but she didn’t lack knowledge. She was well-read; she didn’t need him to go back to basics. He didn’t want to treat her as clueless and naïve, but at the same time, the lack of communication between them on the subject had left him guessing him as to exactly how much she did know, and how many of the myths upheld by her incomplete education were lingering – her fears about hurting and bleeding on the first go being a case in point.

That was why he was so eager for her to set the boundaries of how far she was comfortable going at any time. He didn’t want to push her too hard and end up traumatising her, and he didn’t want her to push too hard in an effort to please him. He was sure she would have gone further last night; their current snail’s pace was at his insistence.

It was late into the evening when they got back to the hotel after the show, and Belle flopped back onto the bed with a resounding sigh of happiness and satisfaction.

“That was wonderful,” she said. “Normally, I’m one of those people who’ll always think that the book is better on principle, but I really enjoyed that. And I think there’s something special about seeing a show on Broadway. Well, apart from the price, of course.”

She held up her arms and Gold pulled her back into a sitting position.

“Aiden…”

“Yes?”

“Are you ok if we don’t do anything tonight? I’m exhausted and I just want to sleep.”

“Of course. We’ll take as long as it takes, you know that.”

“Yes, I know. But we’re on our honeymoon which sort of implies that we should be having all the sex, and we were kind of on a roll. I don’t want to lose the momentum and have to start all over again.”

Gold had to chuckle at that. “I’m pretty sure that sex is like riding a bike; it’s not something you forget how to do.”

“Hey, humour me here.” Belle batted his arm. “I’m still learning.”

“I know.” He leaned in to kiss her and Belle hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

“I love you,” she said softly. “You’re so good to me. I don’t think that there can be many men as patient and understanding as you when it comes to all my stupid hang-ups.”

“They’re not stupid. Your feelings are always valid and should be respected.”

She let go of him and he began to get undressed.

“You’re not frustrated, are you?” There was genuine concern in her voice, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth.

“Not at you. None of this is your fault. I’m slightly exasperated by the town that you grew up in and their puritanical attitudes towards sex, though, I will admit that.”

“Well, that certainly makes two of us.”

“None of that’s directed at you, though.” Gold sighed, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “I’m just annoyed that it’s affected you so badly and knocked your confidence so much. You’ve overcome so much; we’ve laughed about all these ridiculous tales from your childhood in the past, and it’s sad that it’s had such a deep and lasting impact. At the same time, though, I don’t want to be too disparaging of it. It’s your home and your life, after all.”

“It’s my life, certainly, but I stopped thinking of Storybrooke as my home a long time ago.” Belle smiled. “You’re my home now. As long as I’ve got you, I can live anywhere. The moon if necessary.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be. There are no bookshops on the moon.”

Stripped down to his boxers, Gold went to brush his teeth; by the time he came back, Belle had changed into her pyjamas: a silky black camisole and shorts. He’d seen brief glimpses of them before when she’d stayed over in the summer, but something in his stomach still flip-flopped at the sight of her.

“You like?” Belle gave him a twirl as she headed towards the bathroom.

“Oh, very much so.”

Belle just grinned at him, and Gold got into bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the last time he’d had sex with someone.

Cora had been an interesting rebound after Milah had left and taken Neal with her. It was a good thing that Neal had returned to his full custody when he had done and Cora had broken it off, unwilling to be considered as potential stepmother material. If they’d carried on much longer, the thing between them would almost certainly have turned toxic.

After that, Gold had sworn off women for life. Of course, all that had changed when he’d met Belle three years ago, but he’d had Neal cheering him on from the side lines all throughout his relationship with her.

Unlike his time with Belle, his relationship with Cora had been mostly sexual; they were completely incompatible in practically every other area except shrewd business sense. Even so, despite all the sex, he still felt closer to Belle, more intimate with her, than he had ever done with Cora. There was really no comparison.

He pushed the thoughts of Cora firmly out of his mind; he absolutely did not want to be thinking about his ex on his honeymoon, even if the thoughts were wholly negative.

Belle came out of the bathroom and slipped into bed beside him, cuddling in close. They were used to cuddling. Belle was an instinctively touchy-feely person and she hugged everyone; snuggling in close came second nature to her and it had never held any connotations of anything more. Even when they’d been curled up naked together on that first morning, they were enjoying the physical closeness more than anything.

Of course, having a naked Belle in his arms for the first time had certainly worked wonders for his own self-control. When she’d pulled her nightdress off and let him look his fill with only the slightest pretty blush rising in her cheeks, he’d been completely awestruck for what felt like an age.

He was glad that all her qualms about sex didn’t seem to stretch to nudity in front of him. Well, most of the time; she’d been rather out of sorts this morning, but Gold could piece two and two together with that one from what she’d told him of her dream and from the chaos in the bathroom. If he could convince her that masturbation was nothing to be embarrassed about and not necessarily something that should be hidden away, hopefully they would be well on their way to finding out what made her tick, and in doing so, making their moments together so much more enjoyable for the both of them.

X

Belle was still curled up close beside him when Gold woke the next morning, and he smiled. She could latch on like a limpet when she wanted to. For a long while, he just stared at the ceiling, waiting to feel her stir and wondering what would happen when she did; if she would have another episode like she had done the previous morning.

He brought his hand down beneath the covers to his cock, hard with morning glory and the closeness of a beautiful woman. At least that hadn’t freaked her out the first time she’d felt it. He wasn’t angry with her, far from it. Like he had said to her the previous evening, it was not their continued celibacy that concerned him, more the deeper-seated reasons for it, stemming from her childhood.

Gold was no psychologist and he didn’t have the first clue how to go about trying to break down the years of conditioning that Belle had been through. Looking at it in the cold light of day, he knew that he was just as out of his depth as she was, although in vastly different ways. He was stuck. It was all very well letting Belle take the lead and set the pace, but if she didn’t know what she was doing and was second-guessing herself all the way, then they would be in a constant stalemate. He didn’t want to rush her, but at the same time, it felt like she would probably need the guiding hand of someone more experienced to help her along and help her realise her needs and desires.

He shook his head, pushing unwelcome thoughts away and trying to see the positives as he slipped out of Belle’s hold on him and went into the bathroom. This would be a learning experience for the both of them, and they would come out of it all much stronger and with a much healthier sexual relationship. As opposed to the one they had now, which was non-existent and resulted in Belle having almost daily freak-outs. At least he knew that it wasn’t anything that he was doing that was causing her to freak out, more her own reactions to what she was doing. Or not even doing, just thinking. Honestly, some people, namely the ones who had taught Belle her most fundamental lessons about relationships, could take the whole ‘impure thoughts’ thing a little too far, in Gold’s opinion.

He looked in the mirror as he washed his hands, grimacing at what he saw there. He don’t know what about him had attracted Belle in the first place, he was simply grateful that she’d seen something worth pursuing, and he hoped to be able to keep that trust. She had not been at all covert about liking him in a romantic fashion. That wasn’t her problem.

Belle had overcome so much of her small-town upbringing that it seemed almost inconceivable that this one thing could have stayed with her for so long and affected her so badly. Perhaps it was because this had more of an impact on her self-worth, her moral value. Most of the other things that she had been taught and had since unlearned were so ridiculous and paradoxical that once she was out in the wider world and being influenced by a far different set of people and situations, they were easily forgotten about and explained away. Sex just wasn’t one of those things. It was a big thing that most people did, a phenomenon that was so incredibly widespread, yet so little talked about.

Even outside of Storybrooke’s closed-minded community, sex was still a taboo topic; just in different ways. It was still something that people didn’t talk about, but not because they weren’t supposed to be having it or even thinking about it. It wasn’t talked about because it just wasn’t. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Broken down to its base components, sex was just another thing that humans – that a lot of living creatures in fact – were able to do. It was neither a moral act nor an immoral one, it was just an act, and yet there was so much meaning attached to it. No wonder everyone was so obsessed by it.

His analogy the other morning seemed to have worked, so maybe the key to calming Belle down about the whole thing would be simply talking about it. It would be no good if, whilst seeking to break her free of the idea that good girls didn’t talk about sex, he didn’t talk to her about it. Communication was going to be key.

Deciding that staring at his reflection was making him morbid, he came back into the bedroom and slipped back between the still-warm sheets, taking Belle back in his arms just as she began to stir. She smiled up at him sleepily, and as she stretched, he noticed that her pyjama camisole had ridden low during the night, a little glimpse of nipple peeping out.

“Hey.” He leaned over to kiss her and she accepted him readily. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Better than last night?”

“Yeah.” Belle sighed and ran a hand through her hair, giving a rueful little chuckle. “I did make a bit of a fool out of myself yesterday morning, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine. You’re still learning. Once you learn that there’s nothing wrong in what you’re thinking, or dreaming for that matter, then I’m sure that you’ll be fine.”

“I know that there’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, on the surface I know that. I can tell myself time and again that there’s nothing wrong with it, that there’s no moral judgement on being sexually attracted towards my husband of all people; but knowing something doesn’t necessarily mean that you automatically believe it, or that it makes it any easier to forget what you knew before. Uff.” She rolled over out of his arms and planted her face firmly into the pillow. “Maybe I need a brain transplant,” she mumbled into the cotton.

Gold touched her arm. “Please don’t suffocate yourself, we’ve only been married for two days.”

She rolled over again and smiled, carding her fingers through his hair, playing with the ends of it.

“What shall we do today?” she asked.

“I don’t know. What do you have down on our crammed itinerary?”

“Well, there are all kinds of places that we could visit. I’d love to see the Met. But I didn’t make any set plans for today. There’s nothing booked, nowhere that we need to be at any particular time.”

There was something hopeful in her eyes, perhaps a little questioning as well, but ultimately Gold thought that he knew what she was driving at. She just needed him to take the lead, and Gold needed to hope that he wasn’t misreading her signals.

“Well, I suppose that we have been very busy with sightseeing these past couple of days, and it would probably do us good to have a more relaxed morning. And even if we don’t get to see everything that you want to see during this stay, it’s not like we’ll never have the opportunity to come to New York ever again.”

Belle grinned, and Gold knew that he had hit the right note.

“So, since we’re both awake, did you have any ideas about how you’d like to spend our relaxed morning?”

“I was thinking about the, erm, vehicle maintenance analogy from the other day.” Belle’s cheeks were flushing a little pinker. “I was hoping that we might explore that some more. Maybe continue on from where we left off the other night?”

Gold nodded, finally chancing to adjust her fallen camisole strap, his fingers brushing over her nipple as he did so. He felt her twitch under his touch, the little bud pebbling under his fingertips.

“Yeah,” Belle murmured. “Like that.”

He continued to touch her nipple through the silk for a while, before chancing to skim his hand a little lower until it was resting on her hip, the tip of his thumb hooked inside her shorts.

“I want to find out what makes you feel good, Belle. I want you to find that out too. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about it. So, if you’re not comfortable, just tell me to stop, ok?”

Belle nodded. “I don’t think that you could ever make me feel uncomfortable. I trust you.”

“I’m glad.”

He began to pull her shorts down a little way, and Belle wriggled them off. He slipped his hand back round to her ass, about as far as he had got on their first night in New York, and he squeezed her cheek gently.

“What are you thinking about?” Belle’s voice was low and full of desire, but the question was a genuine one.

“Huh?”

“You’ve got your thinking face on.” She pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got that little frown line. I’m the one who’s supposed to be overthinking everything, not you.”

“Yeah, I am thinking.” As much as he wanted to find out what made Belle tick, he wanted her to be an active participant in that process as well. She had already been taught that sex was something that happened to her, not something that she should want to take an enthusiastic part in, and he didn’t want to perpetuate that notion even if what was being done to her was much more pleasurable than simply being rutted like an animal. “I think, maybe, it would be more… educational and enjoyable if you took the lead.”

“What?” Belle sounded unsure, her earlier confidence waning.

“Well, like I said, I want to find out what you like, and I want you to find out what you like too. Maybe we can do that together. If you find out what you like, then I can follow your lead. You know your own body better than I do, after all.”

“I don’t know about that.” Belle sighed, before finding Gold’s hand on her ass and lacing her fingers through his. “I think I’m flying as blind as you are here.”

“There’s no sin in knowing what makes you feel good,” Gold said. As much as he hated to be using the word ‘sin’ in the context of the bedroom, considering the problems Belle already had with its connotations, but it felt like the one that would resonate with her the most.

“I know. I just…” Belle tailed off. “Isn’t this supposed to be about two people? Something that I have to do with my husband and no one else? Part of me assumes that includes doing it with myself as well.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just because you’re doing some exploring yourself doesn’t mean that I can’t get in on the action too.”

Belle giggled. “OK. I guess when you put it like that. I don’t know that I’ll be any good at it. I mean, you saw what happened yesterday morning.”

“I’m still not entirely sure what happened yesterday morning other than you had a sex dream involving fauns in Central Park, and the bathroom looked like a small bomb had hit it when I went in there.”

“I was trying to take a look, you know, down there. With my compact. And then I managed to overthink everything, like normal, and I caused a small make-up catastrophe.”

“I see.” Well, that certainly explained that in full and confirmed some of his suspicions.

“So, you can see why I don’t have any more of a clue what’s going on between my legs than you do.” Belle managed to keep holding his gaze for a few seconds more before looking away in embarrassment, but she didn’t pull away from him, her breasts still pressed up against his chest. Gold untangled his fingers from hers and gently turned her face back towards his.

“Well, maybe it’s something that we can work out together. And if I’m here with you, then there’s no need to worry about doing anything without me.”

Belle nodded. “No, I guess you’re right. I like this loophole.”

Whilst it probably wasn’t a good idea for her to be thinking of it as a loophole, Gold would take whatever progress in the right direction he could get.

“So, how do we start?” Belle asked.

“Well, it would probably be a good idea if we could see what we were doing.” Whilst most couples’ first times would be consist of fumbling in the dark – his own certainly had done – this was no ordinary first time, and maybe a clear line of sight would be better. He began to push the covers down off them and Belle helped, showing no signs of self-consciousness. She was comfortable in her own skin for the most part, it was just when she started doing things to that skin that her troubles began.

“Now what?”

“Do you trust me?”

Belle laughed softly. “You already know that I do, Aiden. I’d trust you with my life, and I definitely trust you with this.”

“OK. So, what were you doing yesterday morning? How were you, well, positioned, for want of a better word.”

Belle sat up, grabbing the pillows and pluffing them up against the headboard, then she looked over at him, looking nervous again.

“Aiden, will you hold me?” she asked quietly. “I don’t know why, but I feel safer when you’re holding me. I feel less like there’s some unseen force watching me.”

“Of course. You know, we can stop any time you want to.” Gold sat back against the headboard and Belle settled herself between his thighs, leaning back against him his chest with a contented little sigh and bringing his arms around her middle. Gold pressed little kisses to her shoulder and the side of her neck, and Belle gave a little grunt of pleasure.

“I don’t want to stop,” she said eventually. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m being watched when we do it.”

They stayed sitting in that aspect for a while, until Belle let her legs fall open and slowly brought one hand down between them. Gold watched over her shoulder as she parted her nether lips.

“I don’t know where to start,” she mumbled. “I’ve read so much, and I’ve seen enough pictures, but I still don’t know where to start when it comes to touching myself.”

“May I touch you?”

“Yes!” It was so quiet and so desperate at the same time, almost a plea, and for a moment, Gold didn’t move. This moment, touching Belle so intimately for the first time, well, it felt like it needed some kind of gravitas about it, not that any of his previous first encounters with women had had anything of the sort. Everything was more intense with Belle, and not just because of the long wait before anything had happened.

He slipped a finger between her folds, gently seeking out her clit and coaxing it out from its hood, rubbing little circles around the little nub as it swelled for him. Belle was wriggling in his arms, a little sob-like gasp escaping her.

“All right?”

“Yes. Yes, I like that.”

He kept touching her, listening to her moans and gasps, feeling every eager twitch of her hips, until her hand caught his and she whispered for him to stop.

“Are you ok?” He wasn’t alarmed per se, but he’d already decided that talking was going to be their biggest asset as they went on this journey of discovery together.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, it feels good, it’s just… too good, if you know what I mean. It’s too much.”

Gold moved his fingertip away from her clit, rubbing along her folds. He could feel that she was getting wetter, not dripping with arousal but he was definitely spreading warm slickness around as he touched her, and the feel of it made his cock surge into eager life, demanding to sink into that wonderful wet heat. Belle shifted in his arms again as he continued to touch her, rubbing up against his erection, and Gold groaned with the friction. Belle glanced at him over her shoulder; her eyes were wide and bright with want and her face was very flushed, but she didn’t seem uneasy, not yet at least.

He gave a final stroke along her folds and paused at her entrance.

“Are you ready for a finger inside?”

She hesitated, which in Gold’s book meant no. If she wasn’t comfortable enough to say yes immediately, then she wasn’t comfortable enough, period, and she eventually shook her head.

“No. Not right now. I think about it, and I kind of clench up inside.”

“Ok. Not this time then.” He went back to touching along her folds, circling her clit, and she gave a little squeal and giggle of pleasure.

In spite of himself, Gold felt an immense swell of pride. This was supposed to be Belle’s time, working out what she liked and mentally noting it down for future reference, but he liked knowing that he was making her feel good and helping her learn. He was definitely doing something right.

“That’s good?”

“That’s wonderful,” Belle gasped. “I think my brain’s about to melt.”

She wriggled away from his touch, turning over in his arms so that she was facing him, going up on her knees to kiss him, her hands tangled in his mussed hair and her lips fierce and more dominating that she’d ever been, her tongue pressing insistently at his lips. He opened for her readily, pulling her in close. He didn’t know if she’d come or not, but even if she hadn’t, it was still a victory for her pleasure. There would be plenty of time for more in due course.

“What about you?” Belle asked eventually; once she finally let him up for air. “What do you like?”

Her fingers were hovering over the tented front of his boxers, and Gold took her hand, placing it on his cock so that she could feel the heat of him through the silk. She was flushing again, the blush reaching down from her cheeks and neck to disappear under her camisole, and for a moment Gold was worried that they had gone too far. Then her fingers were curling into the waistband of his underwear and she looked up at him, her bottom lip nibbling between her teeth.

“May I?”

“Absolutely.”

Together they pulled his boxers down and off, and Belle traced a gentle fingertip up his length, making him groan.

“Good?”

“You have no idea.”

She kept stroking him, letting Gold cover her hands with his and guide her movements, tightening her grip on him a little until every touch felt like sheer heaven.

“Belle,” he gasped. “Belle, I’m going to come.” Belle kept a hold of him, and he spurted thickly over their joint hands. “Fuck!”

For a long time, he could only sit there in boneless bliss as his cock softened in her grip, panting at the force of the wonderful release, before Belle let go of him and grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand to clean up.

“That was great,” he managed to garble eventually, although it seemed such faint praise. Still, all things considered, this was definitely a step in the right direction, and he had high hopes for the rest of their honeymoon.

X

It was their last night in New York, and in a way, Gold was going to be sad to leave this hotel room that had been the scene of so much discovery. Although they had still not officially consummated their marriage, they had come so far in the week and a half since that first night that the fact Gold’s cock had not yet been inside Belle was a mere technicality.

There was still a long way to go; Belle was still nervous about the whole concept, and it was true that he seemed to be doing most of the initiating whenever things took a more intimate turn, but it seemed that Belle was happy for it to be that way. If he initiated things, then she could follow his lead, and she trusted him to steer her in the right direction if she was floundering. He only hoped that he could continue to be worthy of that trust once the honeymoon period was over and they were settling back into a normal day-to-day life in Boston.

It was going to be strange having Belle in his bed. They’d cohabited for a while, but she had never yet slept in his bed. It was going to take some getting used to. He’d adjusted to having a second person in bed with him whilst they had been in hotel rooms; but there was something different about it being in his own home. His bedroom was his sanctuary, a place that had just been his for so many years now, and he felt a little nervousness of his own about welcoming Belle into that space. It would be a place for both of them now, and he was anxious that she should feel as at ease in it as he did. It was not the first time that he had considered keeping Belle’s room made up for her – not that he envisaged them sleeping apart at any point, but because he knew how important it was to have a space of one’s own in which to relax and be content.

He should probably be trying to get to sleep rather than thinking about the future; they had an early flight back to Boston tomorrow morning, but for some reason, staring at the ceiling was proving to be coming to him much more easily than sleep was. Beside him, Belle shifted. Was she awake too?

“Aiden?” That would be a yes, then. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.” She groped around under the covers in the darkness, eventually finding his hand and squeezing. He wondered what she was thinking, and if her thoughts were wending in the same direction his were. Whilst they’d talked about sex quite a bit whilst they’d been in the middle of intimate encounters, it wasn’t something that they had really discussed all that much outside of the heat of the moment. It wasn’t something that he’d ever been able to draw Belle out on before, and he had always let her shut down the conversation, figuring that it would happen once they were married. As it was, it was still a subject she seemed to avoid like the plague.

He brought their linked hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles, working his way down her arm to her shoulder, neck, chin and finally her mouth. One thing that had been firmly established throughout all of their time in bed together had been that if Belle was at all uncomfortable, she would tell him to stop, and he would stop. Right now, though, she wasn’t telling him to stop. She was kissing him back with a fervent hunger, her arms sliding around his back to pull him in closer, her legs falling apart to allow him in between.

She was wearing her wedding nightdress again, and Gold pulled the straps down gently to expose her breasts, kissing and licking at her nipples. She was so sensitive there, and Gold was more than happy to oblige the little wriggles and moans that he had come to learn meant she was enjoying herself and wanted more. He longed to make his way further down and taste even more of her, but when he had gone lower than her breasts before, she’d stopped him, saying that it didn’t feel quite right just yet. Maybe in the future, once they were much more comfortable with each other, he could revisit the prospect.

He slipped a hand under the hem of her nightdress, pushing it up as he stroked up her thigh, finding nothing beneath the silk but soft nether curls and the beginnings of a ready wetness. Pressing the tip of his thumb into her slit, he began to rub gently, coaxing out her pearl and circling around it, but never directly on it.

“Aiden,” she breathed, pulling him back up from her breasts so that she could kiss him again. “Oh, Aiden, that feels wonderful.”

As far as Gold knew, Belle had not yet had an orgasm. She had enjoyed what they’d done together; he knew that she didn’t have the experience or guile to fake pleasure so convincingly, but that moment of ecstasy proved elusive, as if she plateaued after a while. She didn’t seem frustrated by it, and Gold didn’t want to push the point, knowing that although he wanted Belle to feel the joy of an orgasm, a large part of his wanting her to have one probably played into satisfying his own ego.

He pressed a fingertip against her entrance, and she nodded enthusiastically, her hips giving a little jerk as he began to push a finger up inside her, stroking gently at her inner walls. It had taken her a while to get used to the sensation the first time he had done it, but now she was relaxed, and her body was clutching at him, welcoming him eagerly. He pressed a second finger in, circling them a little and making Belle moan as he continued to work at her clit with his thumb.

God, he loved seeing her like this, coming undone for him without a care in the world.

“Aiden, I think I’m ready,” Belle panted.

“Ready for what?” His heart began to beat almost painfully fast, not wanting to get ahead of himself.

“I think I’m ready to properly lose my virginity.” Her face was almost beet red, and Gold couldn’t tell how much of that was embarrassment and how much was arousal. Her bottom lip was worrying between her teeth again, but her eyes were bright and whilst there was a little nervousness in them, there was no fear.

Gold slowly pulled his fingers out of her and took his cock in hand, pumping his length a couple of times to coat himself with Belle’s slick juices, before resettling his weight and lining up with her entrance.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Belle nodded, and Gold began to push in, as gradually as he could possibly manage. He bit down on his tongue to try and ground him and stop him from going too far too quickly and hurting her. He had promised her that the first time wouldn’t hurt, and he could not go back on that now. When he was about halfway in, Belle gave a little gasp.

“Belle? Are you all right?”

“Yes. You’re thicker than your fingers. Just a bit. It’s not painful. Just… strange.”

Gold nodded, giving a little huff of laughter. Yes, strange was probably a good word for it. Still, it would probably be a good idea not to go any further, at least not tonight. The sheer bliss of being inside Belle’s wonderful wet heat was more than enough for him for now, and he began to pull out, giving quick, shallow thrusts that almost undid him there and then. She was tight around him but relaxed enough for it not to be worrying, and whilst she was breathing heavily, her pants a harmonious counterpoint to his own ragged breath, her face showed no discomfort.

“Oh Belle, my love. You are glorious, and I love you.”

His climax was hard and sudden, taking him by surprise. He hadn’t realised just how keyed up he had been by the prospect of being inside Belle after so much sweet anticipation. He gave a little grunt as he came down from the high, resting his forehead against Belle’s.

“Sorry,” he panted. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine.” Belle stole a kiss. “Now that, I was prepared for.”

He pulled out of her as he began to soften, rolling onto his side and bringing Belle with him. She was smiling, although her cheeks were still flushed, and he pushed a lock of hair out of her face.

“We did it,” she said softly.

“We certainly did.” Gold kissed her gently, little butterfly kisses to her lips and chin. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Belle sounded surprised by her own answer. “It’s strange. I don’t feel any different. Having sex for the first time was always built up as such a big thing, I suppose I was expecting something akin to an anime magical girl transformation sequence when I lost my virginity. But I’m still the same Belle that I was before.”

“Well, of course you are. Sex is just another thing our bodies can do. An enjoyable thing…”

“A very enjoyable thing.”

“…but it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you, whether you’re a virgin or not.”

“I’m definitely not now.”

It was a statement, and it didn’t appear to have anything weighted in it, but as they lay in the cooling, Gold couldn’t help but wonder how Belle was feeling about the whole situation.

“I love you,” he whispered to her. “And no matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

Belle kissed the end of his nose. “I love you too.”

She sounded happy, and for the moment, that was all that mattered. Whatever happened next, they would deal with it together. Gold was sure of it.

[scullyy]

Crying Isn’t Like You

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 2047

Summary: By sheer luck, Louis is able to fall asleep for the first time in days, but within his dreams lies a visitor he doesn't want to face just yet.

A/N: So this is based off an ask I received (from an anon) asking for a fic where Louis and Clem tell either one that they're both in love with each other, yet I put an angsty twist on it ahehehehe...also can you tell that I was inspired by Billie Eilish's song 'I Love You'.... and yes there is a Life is Strange reference in here, I've been replaying it recently. I’ve been having a rough go around lately, so writing this helped clear out my current feelings. Enjoy :))

-

Nothing had really changed.

Ruby continued to tend to her greenhouse, her fingertips tender from lifting bags of freshly dug dirt. Being near Miss Martin's grave wasn't as easy as it used to be, now it stood as a symbol for two people.

Aasim kept to his journal most of the time, jotting down everything that had happened since; being kidnapped, their narrow escape,  the sound of his heart breaking in his chest when the kid came back empty-handed. It all clung to the dirty pages, emptying up some space in his head.

Violet had the bright idea of using Rosie as a guide dog of sorts. If she ever needed to travel out of the school grounds, the brave dog was right by her side, warning of her of any dangers. A pirate and her first mate.

The kids continued life as they had before, a time where the threat of raiders didn't weigh down every action or thought. None of them brought up their missing link, the empty space on the edge of the table. There was nothing to be said.

Especially not in front of Louis.

His heart had fallen into the very pit of his stomach when AJ recounted what had happened, "She...She's gone. I tried to help but it was too late." It was ground-breaking enough to see him return to the school on his own. He was hoping for it to be a lie, that she would miraculously emerge from nowhere and sweep up the pieces of his heart. Instead, it became a horrible truth.

There was no more singing, no more laughter erupting from him. His days began and ended with dismal chores, whatever needed fixing he would fixate on, whoever needed helping he was there, keeping himself focused on one thing and one thing only. If he let his mind wander it always settled onto people he was tired of missing. The days dragged on, beating down against him. The nights were no better, outlandish dreams tormented him with a promise of what could have been, whilst the others slept Louis found himself always teetering on the edge of it.

This just happened to be one of his more difficult nights.

His cold palms flattened against the heavy bedsheet. If it were up to him, he would bundle himself up and hide away like a bat within its cave. He truly would, had it not been for the small boy sleeping soundly across from him, the only real form of motivation he had. Louis buried himself beneath the fuzzy blanket, inhaling the musk that clung onto the fabric.

"Her head should be lying here-"

Fuck. Another intrusive thought to add to the mix. Clementine always took up space in his head, their first meeting was one of the more popular ones. Another was of her, alone in the barn in whatever state AJ left her in. That one played on like a broken record, scratching his nerves and pick-pocketing him of the good memories.

Louis took in slow, deep breaths, choosing to focus on the crickets outside. Their harmonised chirping interfered his delusions, bringing him a moment of peace. His shivering body fell into the mattress as he drifted away to the land where dreams were made. This darkness didn't have a name, it merely crept into their rooms, sending them elsewhere.

As Louis carefully opened his eyes, he flinched at the sudden change in scenery. No longer was he confined beneath his bedsheets, but rather caught within his very own piano room. The soft rays of the moon gave the room a soft glow, but his eyes could only make focus of what was right in front of him. And God did it send his blood cold.

He felt out of place, even within her sudden presence, the one place he would feel safe in.

"You're not dead, that's good."

Her contagious smile pulled him back into the moment. Clementine slowly scooched over on the stool, leaving an obvious place for him. She acted so casually, one leg hooked over the other with her arms leaning against the piano. There was a guilty smile on her face as she noticed his horrified expression. "So...hey there."

Before both of them had realised, Louis had swooped her up into his arms. No longer did he feel heavy or empty, her presence illuminated something inside him, just as she had always done. "You're really here!" His call echoed right in her ear, not that she minded. Louis fell onto the stool, yet his hands remained clasped around her thin shoulders.

She definitely looked cleaner. A healthy glow now emitting from her cheeks, what was once dirt and blood was now replaced by very faint freckles. Each one kissed her face. Her hat had been rejuvenated, there were no more stains and the D had been patched back up. "I really am, figured this room would be nice to meet in, given what happened here." Clementine winked like the devil. A devil Louis would gladly sell his soul to.

He blinked back tears as their carving came into view, it was blurry to his eyes but it was there. No doubt about it. "This is where it all started, without sounding too dorky," Louis tried to laugh but it came out in pieces. The longer he looked at her the further he fell into pieces. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

Slowly, Clementine nodded, crushing his hopes. "At least I can still see you. I'm...I'm sorry it turned out this way."

She was apologising? "Why are you sorry? You dyi-you being gone isn't your fault." Louis moved both his hands down to her own, ignoring the chill that emitted from them.

"There's just so much I wanted to tell you, I thought we would have had more time," She had so many plans for the future with him and everyone else at the school. None of them had been forgotten, their silly chats of building houses and futures in whittling. "You were right, there is only one guarantee."

Louis's heart and brain were racing on two different tracks with two different outcomes. "Tell me now then, I can't stay asleep forever." This was the closest that they had to a future now, these brief dreams.

Clementine pushed his hair away from his face, he had once been nothing short of a pure ray of light. Now he had fallen too far into the darkness, it took him away from everyone. His blood-shot eyes were almost unrecognizable. "I...shit, I thought this would have been easy," She closed her eyes before taking the plunge. "I love you, Louis."

His hands fell limp, along with nearly every other part of his body. He wanted her to take it back, soak up her own words, let it be known it was just a joke. Louis looked towards the window, wondering just how much longer this nightmarish moment would last. "You don't mean it. You're not even real." Louis scoffed, choosing to let nothing change between them. She was gone, a cruel figment of his childish imagination. She was dead without so much as a goodbye. That was how it was and how it should have remained.

Clementine inched even closer to him, their hips now touching. Her soft glow was now spilling onto his thigh. "Listen to me," Her smooth hands gently pawed at his cheek, forcing their eyes to meet. "Wherever I end up after this, those moments between us were real and they'll always be ours." Her thumb brushed away his endless tears that were now spilling down like a waterfall, she wanted to soak it up and protect him, give him whatever was required to make him smile again.

He fell apart in her arms as the moon moved ahead, leaving them together with the darkness. There was nothing else she could say to change the fact that their time was diminishing. "Clem," Her skin burned his own as their foreheads collided. Louis could only compare the tight grip over his lungs to drowning and that was putting it lightly. "You know that..that I love you too."

She knew, she always knew. He managed to say it to her without using words, just the way he spoke her name was enough to show to anyone how high he carried her in his heart. Clementine tried her best to smile for him. "I know," They remained in each other's embrace till the dimly-lit sun crept over the horizon, sneaking in through the broken window. "Time to go Lou."

Louis gripped onto her jacket tighter, desperate to keep her by his side. "I don't want to, not yet." His pleas fell upon deaf ears as she pushed his arms away. Immediately he fell cold again, her body had left him just as quickly as the two came together.

"It's alright, you know where to find me," Clementine gestured to the piano, their special spot. She would have gladly spent the rest of her life in that room, listening to her lover play whatever song he could remember from his youth or what his irresistible imagination could create. Neither could escape their feelings, their natural pull towards each other. Neither party wanted to anyways. "Oh, tell AJ that I'm proud. He's got a great family looking out for him now." Clementine glided out of the door like smoke, and just like smoke, she refused to fade away.

Louis felt his eyes droop to the ground, arms falling back to his side like a broken ragdoll. He began to fall into the piano, yet never hitting it. The world began to fall apart, the sunlight breaking apart into glowing clouds. He wanted to bleed into them, to stay in this magical place that only he could travel to during sleep.

"Louis?"

The jittery man briefly opened one eye, his new room replacing the sight of his dream. Leaning over him was AJ, the small boy rubbing his eyes furiously. "You were talking in your sleep again," He mumbled.

Louis slowly reached out and touched the wall, his fingertips scaling the Ericson flag that he thought was lost forever. "Sorry kiddo, did I wake you?" He noticed the dark circles beneath AJ's wide eyes. Both of the boys knew that sleep was both a tormenter and a peacemaker all in one, it was the world's craziest game of Russian Roulette.

"No, I was already awake, couldn't sleep," AJ admitted. Sleep was for the weak, there were other people who needed protecting. He didn't want to stand by as his close friends were in danger, of what exactly remained shrouded in mystery.

Louis's heart reached out to the kid, his bond with Clementine was something Louis never had the pleasure of obtaining during his life and was likely to never encounter. It was special and oddly moving, to see two unrelated people so willing to sacrifice anything for the other. "C'mere," Louis moved closer to the wall, leaving behind just enough space for a small child. "I know she did the same for you, it might help us both sleep."

AJ showed didn't question it, immediately he hopped underneath the covers, his grimace being replaced by a still smile. "Goodnight Louis." He whispered before settling down, his eyes closed willingly. For the first time in days, AJ fell asleep peacefully.

Louis stared at the top bunk as his memories threw out images of her smile, the dip in her eyebrows whenever they were crossed, the scar that peaked out beneath her sleeve. Everything about her was enchanting. His mind was at rest, knowing that together they learned to fly. Nothing could erase their shared past, not even a lost future.

[crowkingwrites]

I Don’t Need Your Protection

Pairing: Loki x Reader // Words: 1673 // Ao3 Link

Author’s Notes: Sorry for not posting on time. :( This story also contains spoilers for Avengers Endgame. This is also a EVERYBODY LIVES AU.

“Will you stop biting your nails? That’s not good for you,” Dr. Stephen Strange said to you. You took your nails out of your mouth and buried your hands in your sleeves.

“Sorry, Dad,” you sheepishly said as both of you exited out of the elevator on the Avengers Compound. You had just been accepted officially as an Avenger and were now meeting your father’s new apprentice. After everything the Avengers had been through, the new goal was only to protect the planet from global attacks.

You were incredibly talented at your own magic because of your father, but you also show something your father doesn’t have—psychic sight. Of course, your father had it too, but he conjured it. Your came naturally to you. You could hear many thoughts all at once or one at a time.

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were more than happy to let you in on the team.

“I let the sixteen-year old kid join,” Tony laughed, shaking your hand. “What’s another kid?”

“Actually, I’m not a kid, I’m—

You were interrupted by your father who tapped your shoulder. Once you turned, you were faced with your father’s new apprentice. He was very tall. Very tall. His hair was long and dark. He had nice eyes. And oh my god? Was this man so handsome that you couldn’t form more eloquent thoughts? He had nice eyes? Are you fucking kidding?

You bit your lip. If your thoughts were this dumb, there’s no way you would be talking.

“Y/N, this is Loki,” your father said. “He’s my new apprentice. He will be living with us as well.” You held your breath. No. No, no, no, no, no. Your father never mentioned that. He didn’t say those words in that order. No, you must have misheard him.

Loki smiled down at you, taking your hand and putting his hand over yours. “I’ve heard incredible things about you. I hear you’re very talented at reading minds.”

You nodded, still keeping your mouth shut.

“May I test it? To see for myself?” Loki let go of you. He straightened his back and kept his eyes locked on yours. “Go ahead. Read my mind.”

You looked to your father who nodded back at Loki. “Go on. Show him.”

You closed your eyes and focused your energy on Loki. You would think the God of Mischief would have a mental block of sorts, but you reached his mind in seconds. His thoughts spoke only to you.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a clever, sweet thing? Color me impressed, darling. Can your father hear us?” Loki thought. You shook your head. Loki laughed out loud and continued. “Well, then. Consider this our little secret, hm? I wouldn’t want your father knowing how pretty I think you are.”

You felt your stomach dropping and forced a smile.

“I believe, I’ve proved it,” you said to your father.

“She did!” Loki clapped his hands and laughed. “Your daughter is incredibly talented. Perhaps I’ll have two teachers in magic.”

“Soon,” Stephen said guiding the group of you towards a car waiting outside. “She’s not ready to teach just yet.”

Once Loki had the ropes of being Doctor Strange’s apprentice, his attention moved back to you. He often let you wander his mind openly to make his intentions clear.

“You look so lovely this morning.”

“Does your father lecture you this much?”

“If you can hear me, tap your fingers.”

“I read something that reminded me of you. I left it under your door.”

“If you’re wondering, yes I was looking at you like that.”

“Why does your father have horrible taste in movies?”

“As terrible as this film is, it lets my mind wander to more important things. Like the way you laugh at the terrible humor. I love your laugh.”

“Can you hum your favorite song? It’s very calming when you do that.”

“Are you alright? You haven’t said a word all day.”

“I know your father is yelling at me right now, but I don’t care. Let me take the blame.”

“After your father lectures me for the billionth time, could you take me to get this ice cream you keep telling me about?”

“I told you to bring a jacket with you, but you refused. Is that because you wanted my jacket? You clever girl.”

It wasn’t until you and Loki were sent out on an overnight mission that something happened. Of course, your father trusted both of you to gather information in New Asgard about new magic. It was much colder there than it was back in New York. You felt yourself freezing as soon as you stepped foot inside New Asgard.

“Come here,” Loki chuckled to himself. He lounged on the bed inside the guest home of one of Loki’s friends. You stood over the modest stove and tried to warm up.

“I’m fine,” you knew what he was suggesting. You suspected your rising embarrassment would warm you up soon.

“Come here,” he repeated. “I don’t bite unless you like it.”’

“Loki! Someone could hear us!”

“Your father’s not around, so who cares?” Loki smirked and closed in the space between you. “As far as I’m concerned we’re alone.” Safe to say, that night was filled with more body heat than you could ever imagine.

Loki and you tried to keep your relationship a secret, but you were quickly discovered when your father caught you both kissing in secret. He was less than enthused. You had always been his little girl, and to see you with a god made his skin crawl.

“He’s a God, not a man,” he complained to Thor. “I want him gone.”

“He’s harmless,” Thor assured him. “He has nothing but the best intentions for Y/N. Tis, I swear to—

“He uses magic to transport them to exotic places to do whatever couples—I don’t wanna think about it.”

“Loki cares for her. And she is old enough, maybe it’s time to let ‘your little girl’ go?” Thor suggested. Stephen Strange sent Thor into a void for a half hour to think about what he just said. Loki had spoiled you rotten by using magic for everything. Taking you to beautiful places around the world, making clothes that match his, sneaking into your room regardless what cock-blocking spell Stephen put on your door.

Tensions were higher than ever when Stephen found you sleeping in Loki’s arms. You woke up with a grip on your arm.

“Get off of her,” your father growled.

“I’m not doing anything to her. I was only stroking her hair. She needs to sleep,” Loki argued, keeping a hold on you. You opened your mouth to defend yourself until all three of you heard an urgent call from Jarvis.

There was a mission.

All three of you had been quiet the entire time. Every time Loki tried to hold your hand, Stephen would push him away with his magic. You only sat there, trying to deal with the mission at hand. Everyone had been called in because of a breach with SHIELD. Hydra agents were scattered in Russia trying to take the Tony’s new technology.

You dropped in first, letting your anger out by using magic to throw their bodies around. You hated all of this. You didn’t become an Avenger to be daddy’s little girl, and you certainly didn’t become an Avenger to meet boys either. You were gearing up for another hit until you felt a warm bubble form around you.

The bubble carried you behind your father who was attacking the men you planned to hurt. You started to yell at your father until the bubble moved again. This time it moved behind Loki who put a chain around the bubble to keep you near him. You watched your father retaliate by breaking the chain and having the bubble float near to him. Your body kept falling inside the bubble because both alpha males couldn’t focus on the fight in front of them.

You cursed to yourself and felt the angry energy surge inside of you. When the bubble burst, your body floated in the air. A singular, high-pitched noise rang throughout the Russian forest. All Hydra agents fell to their knees, weakened by the noise. Their ears started to bleed and most of them fell into the snow, unconscious.

When you descended to the ground, both Stephen and Loki immediately ran up to you only to be met with your wrath. You pushed their bodies away with an invisible force sending their bodies into deep snow.

The flight back on the jet was very peaceful and quiet for you. You had isolated yourself in a private room the entire time.

A week later after a peaceful solitude in the Sanctum, both men came to you slowly.

“After discussing somethings, we have realized a few things and we want to apologize,” Stephen said. Loki approached you with his hands up.

“I’m listening,” you said with venom in your mouth as you used a spoon to stir your tea.

“You’re grown up now. You’re mature enough to be with who you want to be with,” Stephen said, side-eying Loki. “And as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Good. You?”

“You do not need my protection,” Loki admitted. “I am not your knight in shining armor. I apologize for forcing my help onto you.”

“And?” you narrowed your eyes.

“We will get along from now on,” Stephen said for both of them. Loki nodded, slowly lowering his hands. You jumped off your seat with your tea and opened a portal filled with fire, pain, and a darkness that Stephen couldn’t identify.

“The next time any of you get the idea that I’m your princess who needs your help, remember I can throw you in here anytime for as long as I want. Understand?”

That was the moment Doctor Strange realized how powerful his daughter truly was.

That was also the moment Loki fell in love with you. How deliciously dangerous you were indeed.

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Tell me about ocs. Is now legal obligation

Okay I've rewritten this like three times because I want this to be a good and fun post for everyone and maybe try to not completely overwhelm this ask with the many... Many conflicting character thoughts I've been thinking about recently which spans across like 8/9 characters and like three universes because I'm a goddamn mESS.

So instead of all that I'm going to assign the class some reading which you can find here and here about my team KRML, which I'm always ready and interested in talking about, and tell you some about my fan apprentices for The Arcana.

Starting us off is the apprentice that I initially used for both Julian and Asra's routes, Verun Levvie. Before I started playing the Arcana I honestly didn't really have much for her - she was just a neat little self insert cameo in a couple of my stories.

Originally she ran a magic shop with the main intent to help people with their dreams. Her magic would basically snatch the memories of dreams out of their minds and she would craft dream catchers from threads that she basically infused with their dreams. Nightmares, good dreams, and anything else. If they had a recurring nightmare they wanted to get rid of, or if they wanted to keep the dream catcher and be able to re-live that memory... Yknow.

She's also a mess and she can't help but copy the tendencies of people around her. So if she's around a certain boisterous, flirty beanpole man? Oops now she's flirting back and where the hell did she get all this confidence?? Or if she's around her favorite magician boyfriend she'll end up following along with his shenanigans and getting into some sort of trouble with him. But on her own, she's just generally very quiet and very very introverted. Like, vampire hissing as the curtains are drawn back, don't touch me don't look at me unless you're one of my boys. Also yes, she's in a polyamorous relationship with Julian and Asra and I have custom background stories for the three of them that I will spare you from... Unless you really wanna hear about it.

5'7" of Verun to love her boys with... Also she has like. Honey-amber eyes is how I describe it in my writing? If I can pinpoint the exact color I'll show it when I can. But I'm infatuated with the color. Also I stole an hairstyle/hair color from my sister for her hair, so just think of like, red-orange-white fire-ish lookin hair. I don't know how to describe it without sharing photos of my sis but its cool and I'm absolutely too fuckin powerful in a universe where people can have purple-pinkish hair and red eyes.

Akaira is my second fan apprentice, and uh. Okay just an fyi but my fan apprentices all exist in their own universes so there's no messy storylines crossing.

Because Akaira ends up fucking all of the main male LI's except for Muriel, because the big forest man reminds her entirely too much of her sister and that would just be WEIRD. (He also probably hates Akaira so. There's that.) And that's all before the game actually starts. She's like, the barely-has-morals thot. A classic chaotic neutral rogue multiclassing as a ranger, if you know D&D. She has Looks™ and knows how to use them to get what she wants. And if someone isn't tempted or swayed by her flirting and beauty, she's handy with both knife and bow and has no qualms about spilling blood.

It should be no surprise to anyone that her main LI is Lucio, because honestly... She's kind of a gold digger and Lucio is also a barely-has-morals thot.

But! She does actually have backstory filled out, since I've had her character for years and years now. Her first memories are uh. Well, being shot with an arrow to the neck, which left her with her first scar. The man that shot her, thinking the rustling on the bushes of the forest to be an animal, took her to his home out in the middle of fuckin nowhere and added a new daughter to his household. So Akaira was given a name and she acquired two loving parents and a sister. Everything was fine for a while, but then her mother got sick and barely managed to hold onto life for years, until she passed away and everything turned to shit. Her father turned into an abusive asshole, driven mad with grief, and her sister became distant and harsh and just didn't really care about anything. Her and her sister had been taught from a young age how to fight in self defense, but at some point they started... "sparring". Sparring, but like, with just a little bit of blood. So from about the age of sixteen Akaira started gathering scars from her sister mostly, though her father left his fair share as well. (Akaira is always rather sensitive about being called a bitch...) But eventually, Akaira decided to forsake her father and the last name he had given her, so she left her home and got herself into some mercenary work, or whatever would sustain her, traveling around until she got to Vesuvia. Along the way she discovered her talent at manipulation and pickpocketing, which ended up with a lot of "free dinners" for herself 😉

She's also quietly self conscious about her scars, though outwardly she has no issue with flaunting them. The only times that you'll see her actually flinch when people talk about her scars is when she's already having a really, really bad day. Akaira is also like... Weirdly masochistic when it comes to continuing to spar with her sister. Even now she'll go adventure and meet up with her sister and ask to spar even when she knows she'll end up bleeding (sometimes a dangerous amount).

I'm pretty sure that she's also like. My most attractive character, at least out of my girls. Like, 5'4" of blonde loveliness. Long, gently curly hair, light blue eyes, thighs thick enough to kill a man. Makeup game is Stronk. She herself is able to throw her sister, and her sister is a 6'10 monster of a person, and she has the muscle mass to prove it.

Buuuut anyway, onto Aldafa Hylene. Who, surprise, is Akaira's sister! Ahahahaha. I swear she isn't as bad as she seems based on Akaira's side of the story. Like she is, but she isn't. She took her mother's loss really hard, as a child cut off from society would. And since, at that age, she was trained and able to take care of herself alone in the forest... She did. She would spend days or weeks alone in the wilderness, venting her anger and sadness to the things of the forest in whispers and twangs of her bowstring and angry howls back at the wolf packs. She found solace in the primal forces of nature, of fighting for her life with every action when she was alone, and when it came to Akaira welcoming chances to fight those wild instincts just... Continued on into it. So she'd leave cuts and bruises on her sister and then wrap her wounds with bandages and salves and other healing things. She'd also make sure her father left Akaira alone for the time she had to heal, though sometimes when she wasn't there he would aggravate Akaira into lashing out at him. (And if she knew the terribly grievous wounds that he left with his own blades by sight, Akaira didn't need to know. She could deny for a little longer.) No matter what she did, her father never lashed out at Aldafa, so she just kind of refused to believe that he was as horrible as Akaira seemed to believe. (Her sister's blood was on her own hands only, not his. She was responsible for it, she was so sorry for it.)

But eventually, she followed Akaira out of their home and found her own way to Vesuvia. She met Asra and yknow, she didn't mind him. Maybe a bit louder and more energetic than what she preferred, but she knew her tolerance for people was pretty unique. It probably took her like ten or twenty times of her meeting Muriel in the forest for him to decide that this new friend of Asra's was okay, so he gave her one of his little charms for her to remember him with... And after that she would go to him when she needed a break from the city. They're both very quiet, neither of them like people, and honestly having that sort of mutual thinking is perfect. And then it turned into Aldafa spending days with him... And then weeks. And then they just unofficially started living together.

Best thing? Aldafa is just as tall as Muriel, and while she's kind of a beanpole herself (yknow, 6'10 hooman) she's got some serious muscle to her, just like Akaira. Also she has no idea what a haircut is, she'll just take a couple inches off of her own hair with her hunting knife so her hair is short and patchy af but she gives exactly zero shits.

ANYWAY ITS GETTING ONTO 3AM BECAUSE I'M A DUMBASS BUT THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK AND LETTING ME RANT ABOUT THESE THREE I GOTTA GO BED NOW

[october-rosehip]

Smite

So, @icylook​ and I have been discussing the times our mage characters have had Holy Smite inflicted upon them. The following scene was based on something that actually happened in game. I was sort of sleepwalking through the Tower. I may have played this game a time or two before.... So I wasn’t really thinking about it when I had Macsen walk first into the room with the possessed templars in it. That went poorly.

And yet, it made a lot of sense to me in terms of the story of it. Who would see that coming? He’d been raised to think mages were uniquely susceptible to possession. He’d have a bias against expecting that. And probably trying very hard not to think overmuch about who he’s fighting, anyway.

Story bit from the Broken Circle part of Strange luck under the cut for spoilers for the intervening 60K words.

Macsen knew by now that someone waited for him on the other side of that door. He tried not to think. Plunge ahead, kill whatever attacks, sort out everything that didn't attack after the fact. The strategy, such as it was, came naturally, and nobody friendly needed to be in front of him when he let the lightning go.

He flung the door open and saw nothing but a flaming blue light. Malice speared through his skull, and then all went dark.

Alistair watched in horror as Macsen hit the floor like a blob of pancake batter. Dust crumbled from the stone walls as a result of the blast of five Smites at once. Maker, can he even survive that?!

“Oh, no!” Leliana cried from behind him.

No time to think about it. “Stay back, Wynne! I'll keep them busy.”

How can this be? Those are templars. They're ensorcelled, or are they possessed? He tried to call to them. Was that Clyde? Shannon? Feminine laughter echoed across the room. Alistair spun towards it. A naked woman the color of winter clouds beckoned to him and smirked.

Alistair shook his head to clear it. Obviously a demon, and strong.

The templars fought onward towards Alistair. “Oh, Maker, no...”

He stepped in front of Macsen; had to defend him. Bashed his shield into the largest man. It didn't help. Alistair's opponent readied his bastard sword to chop downward past Alistair-

No! I owe you, Silvana. I promised.

A shield bashed Alistair from the left. He flew. Crashed. Righted himself- too slow.

A rock hurtled into Alistair's recent attacker, but the large man... Clyde? rushed Macsen's defenseless form.

A shadow darted in between. A blade arced, took Clyde's head in the seam between helm and gorget. It rolled with a clang and a rattle.

The shadow slid to the floor with an exhaled groan and a the creak of studded leather. Tanned skin, leather rather than plate- a specialist tracker. He threw his sword away.

What?!

No time. Shannon returned, bore down on Alistair. Swords clanged, shields hit breastplates. Alistair struck again and again- good hits. Shannon spat blood and assaulted relentlessly with his shield. Alistair spun backwards; landed hard.

He heaved himself back upright. Too slow. Shannon stabbed downward straight at Macsen.

“NO!” yelled Alistair. He ran to beat the templar away.

“Alistair, move!” yelled Wynne. A giant chunk of  hurtling stone bowled Shannon over. Alistair ran over to finish the man off. Where'd his sword go?!

A scream tore across the air. Leliana kicked her opponent in the balls as she tried to get enough space between them. Alistair ran behind him and shield bashed him over the head. Leliana trotted backwards down the hall, firing rapid arrows as she went.

The other templar had Wynne furiously casting. He cleansed the area as often as she could work magic. Fortunately, that kept him as busy as it kept her. Or, it did until a flurry of arrows found his weak spots.

Alistair turned to the demon. Wynne's magic had hurt it... her? Oily tendrils pried into his mind, but she'd kept these men trapped for weeks, possibly. Her fatigue was lucky for him. Demons fell to swords well enough. One more rock smashed into her, and Alistair chopped downward, finishing it. He turned to see how Wynne and Leliana fared- it was over, the last templar down.

He shoved his thoughts on that to the back of his mind. Later. He could have a nice, thorough meltdown when all of this was over.

Alistair turned to Macsen- teeth gritted, fearing the worst. There'd been no time to check on him. The man who had thrown his sword away lay draped across Macsen, gasping in pain. Alistair had thought him gone. A broadsword ran right through his lower right side. That's what happened to Shannon's sword. One of Leliana's arrows stuck out of his left arm.

Momentum almost carried Alistair to chop the man's head off and be done, but something was off. The demon was gone, but even while she'd remained, this person had assisted... Oh. “You're his... man-friend, aren't you?”

“Was,” he hissed out. “Never thought I'd see him again this side of the veil. If here counts as... a side.” His voice came out strained. He coughed, but it wasn't bloody. That was something.

Wynne bustled over. “Alistair, I'll need your help. I have no idea what that many smites do to a person, and Phelan's about to bleed out.”

“Let me,” he groaned.

“Don't be so melodramatic. Alistair, hold him up just a little. Gently! Leliana, slide Macsen out from under...” She continued barking instructions. Macsen was breathing and had a regular, slow heartbeat. His skin blistered and had reddened, and he'd hit his head badly on the way down. She sent a heal at him. Leliana bound a poultice to his head to reduce swelling.

The templar's injuries were complex. Alistair held him steady as Leliana drew out the sword and arrow. His leathers had sustained too much damage to be useful again so destroying them to remove them safely was no great loss. Wynne poured a stream of magic into the worst wound. She went completely silent in her focus.

“Really, don't waste time on me,” their patient protested, again. He'd only stopped begging them to leave him to scream at the sword's removal.

“Don't be an idiot,” said Leliana. “this is hardly... your fault.” She ripped a length of gauze with her teeth and pressed it to the cleaned arrow wound. The arrow had gone through the bicep, missing the bone.

“Whose, then?” he sighed and fell silent.

Alistair understood. Templars supposedly protected against this sort of thing. But now all the templars milled around outside, waiting for more so they could safely kill everyone to a man. Alistair honestly didn't know if they'd spare the children or not. Macsen obviously didn't think they would. And inside, templars had fallen prey to possession as the mages had. Worse, even. The mages had practice resisting demons. Alistair's mind flashed to the moment of Silvana's death. This entire predicament- could it be laid at templar feet?

No, he decided. These mages had turned to blood magic, and nothing excused that. And yet, the younger ones had been led into it. Plenty of blame to go around and none of it mattered right now, anyway.

Wynne cursed under her breath as she moved on to tend Macsen more thoroughly. “Blast it. I think he's bleeding internally. I've never seen this.”

“By the way, what does that do?” Leliana asked Alistair.

“One or two would knock a mage unconscious, and stun anybody nearby. It also drains their power and separates them temporarily from the fade.” Alistair swallowed. “Some have petitioned the Divine for permission to experiment with more, but it was always denied. 'Inhumane', they've always been told.”

“How could they even ask? That's terrible.”

“The Chantry is terrible,” Phelan cough-laughed bitterly.

Alistair looked over at him in surprise. “You think so?”

“You don't?”

“Well, not all the time. And you took your vows.”

“I’m told my parents were mages.”

“Oh.” That did sum it up. The Chantry had him from birth, then. They'd put him to work somewhere.

“He's coming around!” Wynne exclaimed. Her hands still glowed blue. Macsen's skin looked more pink than red.

Macsen's eyes opened. Alistair sighed in relief.

“Macsen,” Wynne rested her palm against his face. “Can you hear me?”

He croaked like a dying frog, but Alistair supposed it was an answer of sorts.

Not good enough for Wynne, though. “Blink twice if you can understand me.”

He did. Then he started to cough and shake. Wynne rolled him over far too quickly for Alistair's liking and Macsen vomited blood.

“Can I help?” Phelan asked. His voice still sounded strained.

“You can stay put and keep your insides where I left them, young man.” she snapped. “You've done enough.”

His face fell and he nodded.

Macsen struggled to look over at him, eyes wide. Wynne held him down with one glowing hand. “I know, I know. He's going to be fine. You need to worry about yourself for a moment. We have no idea what this has done to you beyond burn you inside and out. That's rather enough in any case. Leliana, please fetch me my herbs. I need to make an infusion. Alistair, please start a fire in the kitchen hearth. Boil some water and bring it to me.

So people actually get sent to boil water, Alistair mused. Not that he minded. It beat staring awkwardly as Wynne did all the work. It took him a while to find an intact kettle and scrub it clean. At least he had plenty of practice at that sort of thing.

When Alistair returned to the others, Macsen lay propped on a rolled up carpet with his... friend sitting next to him. Macsen held onto his hand for dear life, in spite of his pink and blistered skin. Wynne stared at them with obvious disapproval. She smoothed her features into her more usual businesslike attitude when Alistair cleared his throat. She thanked him and threw a muslin-wrapped bundle of herbs into the pot he brought. The cool scent of herbs filled the room.

Sorry, nothing from inside his head this time, but there’s how it happened. Macsen’s least favorite injury.

Conversation snippet from when he’s fully all right, again:

“I suppose I needn't continue flirting with you, then?” Leliana smiled and looked at him sideways.

Macsen chuckle-coughed weakly. “I was trying to figure out the most polite way to say 'yes I noticed, and thank you but no thank you'.”

[ripleyink]

Disgraced Deviants - Tommy Conlon

Author’s Notes: I have more of this written and saved but I wanted to post this to see if it was for anyone’s interest. If there’s anything particularly triggering in here--besides what’s already mentioned and my bad grammar--let me know. Sometimes I miss things. Length: Longer than my John Shelby fic--not as long as I originally intended it to be (seriously this was almost 10 000 words, I cut it back a lot). Rating: For adults. Definitely for adults. WARNING: Violence, a woman does get physically attacked in this so be warned, strong coarse language, and mentions of PTSD, implications of domestic abuse.

Someone was shouting at another outside but no one inside was paying attention.

The erupting noise of a bang filled the enormous space of the boxing gym, its sound fitting to that of a large sack of meat being slammed forcefully against a cement surface. It wasn’t far off from that image conjured in the majority of the attendees heads since their attention was dragged to one of the three boxing rings; entranced by the fight going on in that ring rather than their own business.

In the ring that had captured the attention of the others, Tommy Conlon had his opponent pinned beneath his weight, only partially aware of his elbow digging deep into the younger boxer’s already bruising side. Tommy couldn’t recall his name, couldn’t bring to mind what he said about where he came from or what his reason was for wanting to fight Tommy. All Tommy managed to remember in the heat of his oncoming victory was that the guy was left-handed; he grabbed with his left, swung with his left and dodged to his left and this observation made by his more experienced opponent was ultimately his downfall.

The ex-soldier held him down without struggle, his arm wrapped securely around his opponent’s neck while he waited—the trapped man whipping back and forth like a desperate animal—for him to tap out. The longer Tommy held him, the more frantic the younger man became, and soon he was grabbing the back of Tommy’s neck, sloppily throwing unseen punches into any part that would cause momentary weakness. The more he chose to struggle and fight against his inevitable defeat, the harder he was pinned into the floor of the boxing ring. Tommy was getting fed up with how stubborn this kid was choosing to be and glanced over at his coach, Paddy, for some assistance in persuasion.

Paddy, donning a beige flat cap in the gym with his matching ensemble of casual beige and white clothing, nodded in understanding and stepped up to the ring. He crossed his arms and perched them on the edge of the ring’s platform, lowering his head to meet the younger competitor’s eyes. It was time for a little heart-to-heart with one of the younger souls.

“Hey kid,” Paddy rasped, attracting the pinned boxer’s attention. “Tap out, okay? There are no heroes here.”

The boxer who was practically merging into the ring’s floor by the undeniable force of Tommy Conlon couldn’t have been older than twenty-two. While he was muscular like all the other men present in the gym at that exact moment, there was no life experience in his eyes; life ages a person, experience ages a person, but his olive-toned skin, jet black hair, strongly-defined jawline, and dark brown eyes kept any trauma he may have suffered perfectly concealed. There was no puffiness to his face, no blemishes, and no little flaws that gave character to the likes that walked in and out of the boxing rings. He was identifiably fresh, new and extremely naïve to go up against Tommy Conlon who was known for knocking his opponents down within the first five minutes. Unless this guy magically turned into Brendan Conlon, Tommy’s brother, he was screwed from the get-go.

When Paddy saw that this guy was stubbornly refusing to tap out, the older man swallowed a harsh lump forming in his throat and leaned in closer. “Listen, he’s already been to prison—I’m not fond of him going back based on charges of murder of a stupid kid who didn’t want to hurt his ego. Tap out now or get choked.”

Those few seconds of rushed contemplation was enough for the younger boxer to really consider his situation. Frantically, he slapped his hand—not tapped; slapped—against Tommy’s swelling bicep that seemed to be closing little by little against his throat. Tommy’s arm weakened, releasing his defeated challenger from his vice grip. There was an obvious sense of indifference he displayed when the man gasped as he inhaled the musky but welcome air of the gym, his forehead pressed against the dirty floor of the boxing ring. The champion—glistening beneath the white lights as if his own sweat had formed a protective sheen—pulled himself to his feet, tearing his mouthguard away from his teeth and spat into a blue plastic bucket left on the side below the platform. There was no crimson swirls of blood mingling with the saliva; something which Paddy Conlon considered to be a win for health more than rank.

But what it also meant was that this guy, the one who naively went up against his son, wasn’t a challenge. Tommy had only been out of prison for a couple of months yet there was something rippling inside of him; a heat, a desire to burn and war against anyone willing to go up against him. Since the fight he had with his brother and the witness of what level of power the Conlon brothers could drag from their damaged souls to use in a boxing match, no one had been tempted. No one wanted their heart to stop working because their opponent’s aim was a little too good and the force of their punch a little too severe.

But Tommy wanted a challenge. He wanted someone to throw him off, to make him forget his own existence and simply be in the present of the fight. Whatever this man’s name is or was—if he had told Tommy it went right over his head—he wasn’t good enough. He was too young and very stupid.

Paddy eyed his son moving to the edge of the ring, resting his arms on the rope while he continued to spit out saliva that had built up in his mouth. His father dropped down to collect the water bottle left on the floor, pulling the cap for Tommy before he handed it to him. Studying his son, Paddy grew concerned that Tommy wasn’t resting because he needed a break but because he was giving the other guy one. Had Tommy gotten worse while being in prison? Had he become more aggressive?

“Tommy,” he fixed Tommy with a calm yet intense look. “Hold your position but give them some room to breathe, alright?”

Tommy nodded at him, but it didn’t seem very sincere. Still, Paddy wasn’t going to push it at that moment in particular, since he was concerned about the kid who had boldly, and arrogantly, decided to go up against his son. In his defence, he didn’t know Tommy had been training even in prison; keeping himself in shape and focused under the watchful eyes of military prison guards. Maybe that was why Tommy had been so ruthless in this fight; prison had really made him learn what it meant to survive in a harsh environment.

The older man returned to where the younger fighter was; he had collapsed onto his back, breathing rapidly with his eyes squinted shut and protected teeth clenched at the inevitable agony he was feeling. Paddy leaned closer to the man clutching his side, hearing him grunt and groan through the overwhelming sensation. Once again, Paddy crossed his arms over and rested them against the edge of the platform, barricaded by the ring’s ropes from the man who would need a stitch or two above his left eye. The man’s bled through five different wounds that Paddy could see from his angle. There was probably more and definitely some internal bleeding to add to this guy's medical bill.

“Well, I can’t say you don’t have some balls, kid, but there’s a thin line between holding your own and being stupid. Learn to let your pride and ego go and tap out earlier next time.”

With that being said, he reached through the gaps in the rope to give a supportive pat on the young man’s arm. He was probably one of those kinds of people who fight others because they have self-esteem issues.

“WILL YOU FUCK OFF!”

“Why?! So you can run circles around me?!”

“—fucking following me to the gym now, what is wrong with YOU?!”

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO FUCKING PAY ME, YOU ASSHOLE! THAT’S HOW THIS SHIT WORKS!”

Everyone in the gym was dragged abruptly into the sudden commotion occurring inside the walls—Tommy and Paddy being of no exception when their eyes and ears were called to the attention of the two people having a shouting match inside. Natural curiosity and instinct toward the out-of-norm was enough for all the coaches, the fighters and general visitors to pay attention to the drama. Tommy’s brow furrowed while he watched.

Without any confusion stood a man and a woman arguing with their voices raised. The man was someone familiar to all whether it is more so to some and less to others. His name was Bobby Fisher; a frequenter to this particular gym and an all-round irritating sort of character with spiked, copper hair, a patchy beard, tattoos of naked women marking every inch of skin his torso could provide and dark brown eyes that always had a feverish glimmer in them. It was the kind of stare a rabid dog might have but because Bobby preferred to punch a bag than a person, he was relatively harmless to the other fighters. Tommy had never spoken to him nor had any interest in him until this moment.

To add further character to his appearance, Bobby was also a tall, broad-shouldered man. He towered over others easily and the woman he was screaming at the top of his lungs at was no exception. In fact, she was about average in stature but far more simple in appearance than Bobby. Her blonde hair hung long in a rather boring style, her nose was tipped upward at the end, the shape of her face was round but not unattractive, and while her eyes were wide in the heat of her emotions the colour wasn’t identifiable to Tommy. He couldn’t tell. His eyes snapped to the movement beside her jean-covered leg, slightly stunned to see a large German shepherd pacing to and fro behind her. Tommy could see it was on a leash; but it growled and barked whenever Bobby took a step closer to its master and that made Tommy concerned that a leash won’t hold it back.

The young woman’s breathing shook, her fingers combing through her hair while she tried to calm herself down. “Bobby, you owe me five months rent… I’ve tried being understanding of your situation and everything but I’m not doing this anymore… I need to survive as well…”

“You followed me to the fucking gym—what part of that is fucking reasonable?! You fucking stalking me for money now, like, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You’re a fucking psychopath!”

“You want a place to live,” she whispered vehemently to him, “you have to pay the fifteen hundred for it or else I’m going to throw your shit on the street and lock you out.”

It was so abrupt that it didn’t process anyone’s mind for a moment—not even Tommy’s or Paddy’s. In a mere millisecond, Bobby’s arm came up and his closed fist connected directly into the side of the woman’s face. She doubled back, tripping on her booted feet while Bobby stomped forward, gripping her by her hooded jacket and bringing her closer just as he slammed his fist once again back into her face. The second punch was what snapped everyone present out of their shock.

But no one acted as quickly as Tommy did.

Tommy gripped the rope and jumped over, propelling himself toward Bobby as soon as his feet touch the ground. His peripheral vision fell out of focus as his directive became clearer to him; gone was his thought process, replaced by military training and basic human instinct mingling together with a rage that only ever emerged in the controlled environment of mixed martial arts. It overwhelmed Tommy and pushed any other sense out of his mind, out of his concentration.

His palm connected violently with the side of Bobby’s head, tightly clutching the gel-soaked strands of Bobby’s red hair and dragging him off of the woman whose screams were not missed by Tommy. The familiarity of the circumstances had caught Tommy Conlon in a trance of memory and the only thought screaming the loudest through the red fog was:

Get away from her.

“Get the fuck off me—” Bobby demanded, clawing at the side of Tommy’s arm with what tiny fingernails he possessed to use in self-defence.

Though there was a man bigger than him clawing at his arm, begging him to let him go, Tommy couldn’t hear any of his cuss-ridden pleas or the attempts to break through the fuzzy haze which clouded Tommy’s judgment. The voices, the yelling; all of it was a blur, blending into incomprehensible noise in the background which filled his ears but failed to reach his brain. In a swift, jutting movement, the fighter threw Bobby to the floor, far away from where he was safe. Bobby attempted to recover quickly enough to make an escape before any damage was made to his own face, but he wasn’t fast enough; bigger than Tommy, definitely, but not the kind of warrior he was. Tommy’s knuckles connected sharply, violently against the side of Bobby’s jaw. Then he hit him again, and again and another punch.

Every action he made was being spurned on by the sound of a dog barking… and the screams of the woman still ringing in his ears while she tried to shield her face from the blows…

On the outside was Paddy Conlon. He had seen Tommy get into a state but nothing like this; this was something animalistic, something buried so deep only now did it surface and it was appearing with a vengeance. He couldn’t comprehend the level of violence he was seeing, but his son, as cruel as it sounded, had put himself in a really terrible position. Tommy was on parole from the prison and a fuck-up as great as this would get him screwed over—possibly house arrest and another incident would lead to a return to prison. Paddy hurried over to his son, failing to move as hastily as he once did.

“Tommy!” Paddy rushed to his son, startled by the sheer ferocity on display. “Tommy, quit it! Tommy! Tommy, the fucking cops are gonna think you started this! Tommy, you’re on fucking parole! Let him go!”

The strength of the punches began to split skin apart, darkening the area of attention for the assaults as they swelled and would soon bruise, and all the while Bobby seemed incapable of kicking Tommy off of him. After some deliberation to risk their safety to break the fight up, the other fighters and gym attendees snapped into action. Several of the bigger guys wrapped their arms around Tommy’s stomach and arms, seeming to actually have difficulty tearing him away from Bobby’s beaten self. Each of them, all knowing Tommy well from his daily visits to the gym, restrained him as best as they could until they waited for the inevitable sense of rationality to clear Tommy’s clouded mind.

It was as if a blindfold had been removed the eyes of a raging bull. Tommy’s intense stare, not glancing for a second away from Bobby, softened into one of bemusement. He scanned the rest of the gym, seeking out something, but seeing it was nowhere to be found. The woman and her dog: where were they?

“Where is she?” Tommy mumbled, slipping his arms out from his restraint. He felt deflated suddenly; the same way air would come out of a tyre after puncturing it with a sharp object. He felt like someone had taken almost all of the energy from his body.

“She ran off! Girl had a swollen eye and was bleeding all over her face so I imagine she’s fucked off to the hospital or something,” one of the shorter, thinner gym attendees, Marlon, replied. He shrugged his shoulders when Tommy glanced over at him, clearly feeling safe standing in the boxing ring far away from where everyone else was.

Meanwhile, Paddy approached Bobby’s grunting, bloodied form lying awkwardly on the floor of the gym in a thickening mixture of crimson and speckles of saliva. The sight was truly saddening to see; probably appalling for someone who wasn’t accustomed to these sorts of brawls being carried out by unthinking, ferocious men behaving like wolves.

“Get back to what you were doing,” Paddy addressed the remaining attendees in the gym while glaring down at Bobby, “maybe Eddie won’t pull the shotgun out on you if you act like nothing happened.”

“What about the blood?”

He waved his hand, grumbling. “There’s blood in these kinds of places all the time, what’s a puddle of it going to do?”

“Give Eddie a seizure,” Marlon replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“We’ll have to risk it, won’t we?” He chuckled harshly, lifting an arm to point at the lockers. “Tommy, go have a shower and get dressed. We’re done here for the day.”

The small crowd eventually dispersed. The tension in the massive gym fizzled into an uneasy simmer but everyone remained on edge for another possible outbreak of anger. Some of the men laughed sheepishly to clear the anxiousness from their tightened muscles, others slipped back into systematic ritual of their training routine without another word, and some decided to head to the gym showers and probably spend the rest of their day and evening getting drunk. Paddy swept the back of his arm across his wrinkled, leathery forehead doused in a nervous sweat from before. He glanced over to find Tommy pulling the tape from his blood-coated knuckles, nudging the locker room door open with his shoulder. His opponent—who refused to tap out for as long as he could manage—far away from where Tommy was.

The older man sighed heavily, turning his attention back to Bobby. The ginger boxer was managing—though poorly—to lift himself off the ground, specks of blood spitting from between his blood-covered lips and scarlet-stained teeth.

“What the fuck—” Bobby mumbled sinisterly, trying to see through the one eye that wasn’t swollen. “Which fucking cunt did this?”

Paddy sighed even heavier than before, his eyes rolling. He, with a bit of difficulty, bent into a crouch beside the beaten man.

“I recommend staying down. The one who beat you has done time and well,” he laughed hoarsely, “frankly, you look like a prolapsed asshole.”

Bobby spat again onto the carpeted floor, levelling himself onto his less bruised side; supporting his weight on his forearm. “Where is she?”

Remarkably, Bobby seemed to have missed that conversation occurring just a moment before. The coach shrugged his shoulders, gesturing to wide space empty of any women at all. The gym itself, made up of grey and alternating shades of blue, was filled with only sweaty, putrid-smelling men who had been there for no less than a couple of hours. But no, no blonde with a German shepherd was there for Bobby to see or find. If there was one thing Paddy was going to learn from his own past, it was that Bobby was never going to see a blonde with a German shepherd unless he wanted cops on his ass and prison in his vision.

“Fuck knows,” he chuckled humourlessly. “But I have a good feeling your shit is gonna be on the sidewalk when you get home this evening.”

The copper-haired fighter gave Paddy an irritated but acquiescent stare. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s going to happen… I rent out a room from her…”

“You know what you’re gonna do when you see your shit on the sidewalk?” Paddy’s voice darkened threateningly, his hand snapping to clutch the back of his spiked hair in a harsh grip. “You’re going to take your things, leave the money you owe her, then fuck off and not contact her again. In case your dumb ass didn’t notice, there are at least twenty men who witnessed you beating the shit out of that poor woman and saw your ass get kicked for doing so. Really thin about your choices next time.”

He shoved his head roughly away, pushing himself out of his crouched position, turning on his heel.

“She—” Bobby began, being cut off rapidly by an aggravated Paddy.

“Listen, buddy, whatever excuse you’re gonna make—I’ve fucking done it already. Whatever excuse you’re gonna pull out of your ass to justify yourself, I’ve already been there. I know all the fuckin’ excuses. Don’t fucking try it.”

There was a pause filled mostly by the noise of Bobby breathing through his mouth. There was one thing hanging on Paddy’s mind about the whole incident: it was about money.

“How much do you owe the girl?”

Bobby clicked his tongue. “Fifteen hundred… she keeps fucking reminding me every fucking—”

The older man held up a hand to stop him. “Yeah… you have this impression I’m sympathetic. Do you have the money?”

He didn’t reply. The older man cocked a brow at him, snorting incredulously.

“You do, don’t you? You could’ve avoided getting your face punched in, you know.”

“The money’s for someone else. I owe a couple of people money. ‘s why I do ring fights and shit.”

Paddy snorted again. “Can an old man with a former alcohol problem give you some advice?”

Bobby glanced up at him. The fighter’s face was swollen and visibly sore, his lip was split, his left eye the size of an avocado seed and his black wife-beater singlet stained with his own blood.

Paddy didn’t blink.

“Get your shit together.”

[baconwaffle2016]

WIP Week, Day 2: My Favorite WIP, Baby Royals!(in Hogwarts) AU

First, this is dedicated to @geldris, whom I’ve horribly neglected when it comes to the Hogwarts/BabyRoyals!AU.

Several months ago, Brooke and I basically talked about doing a collab featuring the Baby Royals (Elizabeth, Zeldris, and Arthur) in Hogwarts, and the adventures they have there--including learning magic, engaging in duels, and having awkward af crushes. Idk how Brooke still feels about it, but I go back to it every now and again to work on stuff, because I really really just love the idea of it. (I really love Harry Potter, and Hogwarts AUs, so.)

This is one of the one shots/stories I started working on, focusing on Elizabeth (who’s a Hufflepuff with a penchant for mischief and nerve) in her Fifth Year. It isn’t really polished, and I don’t know what to do with it just yet--but I hope you like it!

(Also @thisisaverycreativeurl, hints of a Rival Seekers AU. You’ll know when you see it *wink wonk*)

When one really thought about it, this was all Alioni’s fault; if he’d just kept his blasted mouth shut, none of this would have happened.

Alioni had never taken his status as a Hufflepuff so gracefully. Even before Elizabeth entered Hogwarts as a student, and was called into Hufflepuff’s fold, he would spend most of his days ranting on The Sorting Hat’s placement. Thought it made him just another average, no-good student, he did. No one could convince him otherwise, not even Elizabeth, who tried to be kind to him even as he’d sneered down at her like she was dirt under his shoe.

It wasn’t long before Alioni grew older, became a Seventh Year; and he only grew angrier. And like some people who festered in anger, he took his problems out on other students. One of these people happened to be Ban Benwick.

A lot of rumors already surrounded Ban, with his razor sharp grin, his gangly (but also quite toned) form, those eyes, and of course, the angry scar on his neck. He had a look to him that wasn't quite Gryffindor, yet his attitude said otherwise. While he was quite picky on what and who he fought for, and he’d be quite vicious during said fights, he was never afraid to call people out on their shite--especially in defense of those he liked.

How he and Meliodas Cornwall became friends is sort of a Hogwarts mystery. Most Gryffindors didn’t even try to befriend Slytherins, and vice versa. And yet, despite any rivalry they’d had years prior, friends they became.

To this day, Elizabeth still has no idea what Alioni said to make Ban snap. She remembers her and Zeldris meeting up with Arthur after their Potions class, and then the three of them walking out into the courtyard to hear yelling. While there, she knows she caught Alioni jeering about an “animal” and in a mix of worry and anger, she ran forward to see what was happening.

When she pushed through the crowd, Elizabeth saw that Elaine had her arms wrapped around Ban’s waist from the front while Meliodas was behind him and holding his arms, both struggling to hold Ban back from destroying Alioni. She remembers how Ban’s face was contorted with a rage and a pain that only a few people in Hogwarts understood, Elizabeth included.

(She’s one of the Headmaster’s daughters; any secret a student has--including that of tooth and claw, and blood--she already knows before they enter.)

Alioni laughed, his sneer ugly. “Yeah, hide behind your little mudblood slag. Does she even know? Does she know that she’s been snogging, and Merlin knows what else, with a damned w--”

It happened so fast, the only sound being that of skin hitting skin, and maybe the cracking of bone. Alioni had been talking talking, spitting out shite that drew some gasps, glares, and some smirks, and Elizabeth could only feel a haze of anger. Before she could step forward and do something, her fists already curled and ready to break his bloody face, no matter how Arthur tried to cajole her, someone else’s fist landed there first. When Elizabeth blinked in her shock, she saw Meliodas standing over Alioni, his fist clenched and spotted with blood that started bleeding from Alioni’s broken nose.

Now, Meliodas Cornwall was many things. An absolute prick and “pain in my arse,” Zeldris would always answer whenever someone asked. A “robot with human skin”, Arthur had once argued in their third year. An arrogant jerk who’s always trying to ruin someone’s fun, Elizabeth used to think whenever he’d snitch on her and her friends after they pulled a prank, or broke one of Hogwarts’ rules, as if he was the perfect little student.

(And many people did think this of him, her mother included. Her mother always seemed to prefer taking in others’ accomplishments before Elizabeth’s.)

Meliodas was serious, studious, a stickler for rules, and seemed to prefer being alone--unless he had friends around, but those were usually few and far between--and he did not get into fights. Not the sorts with fists, anyway.

“Get up.”

Elizabeth blinked, saw Alioni swallowing through his pained tears as he stammered, “W-w-what?”

Meliodas was already throwing his robe to the side and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Elizabeth remembers her eyes going wide because, well--Whoa, Hello, where did those arms come from?--and her heart thumped as he loosened the green and silver tie from his neck, his eyes blazing.

“Get. Up,” he said again, almost in a growl.

“B-but y-your wand,” stammered Alioni, sounding like he wanted to bargain.

Meliodas sneered and cracked his knuckles. “I won't need it to do this.”

Long story short, Alioni got his arse kicked--brutally, surprisingly, but also hilariously--and Meliodas walked away to the Headmaster’s office with only a couple bruises on his knuckles and some blood running from the side of his mouth. He'd cost Slytherin fifteen house points, but he didn’t care. His head was high, and his walk was confident, and he drew stares for weeks afterward.

Elizabeth tried not to stare, like everyone else did. She did, truly. She tried not to even acknowledge his presence as he walked through the hall, tried not to be in tune to his voice, or his laugh (When did he learn to laugh…?). She especially tried not to think of how broad his back had become or how tall he’d gotten (still an inch shorter than her but that didn’t matter), or how green his eyes were, and how he smiled and how it just did things to her squishy Hufflepuff heart--

Oh, no, Elizabeth thought when she woke up one day. She whimpered and pressed her pillow to her bright red face, her heart still doing that stupid, rather fluttery thump-thump in her chest. Oh, no, no, no.

Now, Elizabeth has had crushes before. She was at a point in her life where boys, and sometimes girls, were awfully pleasing to look at. She’d sometimes fancy a different person every week, someone she’d stare at and fantasize about during both waking and sleeping moments. She even toyed with the idea of snogging Arthur once, because he was cute and a friend, and that was just what you did if you had friends who were cute. That was normal. That was fine.

Whatever this was towards Meliodas was not a crush. This was an existential crisis.

Why? Well, it was just...stupid. Boys in general were stupid, especially when they got into stupid and immature fights. And Elizabeth wasn’t that type of girl, the sort who fanned her neck during a duel of wands or an exchange of fists, as if she was some doe for bucks (or other does) to impress and win over. (She wasn’t Margaret, bloody hell.) So if it was just the fight, it wouldn't have been a big deal, Elizabeth would tell herself. Meliodas would just be another stupid boy to fancy for a week, then move on from.

But Meliodas wasn’t just a stupid boy; he was a stupid boy Elizabeth knew. From a distance mostly, initially, an annoyance that came to her when she never asked for such a presence. So it was hard to ignore Meliodas when he approached her during such moments.

“Oi, Liones.”

Elizabeth looked up from her untouched breakfast and saw Meliodas standing across the table. His hands were in his robes and his expression was stony, but there was something in his eyes. A look he’d never given to her before.

(Or, perhaps, she’d never looked before?)

“Your first Quidditch game is today, I hear,” he said.

Elizabeth nodded, her mouth pressed closed.

“You scared?”

“No,” she said automatically, irritated that he assumed so, even if his assumption was correct. Elizabeth sat up more, tried to summon the confidence that had thrilled through her when she’d been chosen to become Hufflepuff’s Seeker, and asked, “Why should I be?”

“Merlin is said to be the best and fastest Seeker Ravenclaw’s had in a century,” said Meliodas, his brow quirked. “It would be natural to be nervous, especially if it's your first game.”

Elizabeth found her gaze falling to a table across the Great Hall, where the Ravenclaws sit. She saw Merlin sitting with Gowther, who was a Chaser, and she watched them converse with each other. She saw Merlin pause and turn to meet her gaze. Merlin stared at Elizabeth for a moment, and then she smirked before turning back to Gowther. Elizabeth’s stomach twisted.

Still, she turned back to meet Meliodas’ gaze and said, “I'm not afraid.”

Meliodas stared at her, his expression seemingly patronizing. Then he smirked, but not with cruelty, not with that warmth in his gaze.

“You should have fought the Hat for Gryffindor,” he nearly muttered.

Elizabeth blinked, unsure if she heard correctly. Before she could ask what he meant, Meliodas sat across from her and folded his arms onto the table.

He leaned towards her and spoke quietly, almost a whisper, “Listen close, Liones. Merlin is fast and experienced, but she has a blind spot that you can easily take advantage of…”

Despite her reservations, Elizabeth listened to his advice, the wisdom of another Seeker just as skilled and experienced as Merlin, and her heart swelled again with that thrill.

“Do...do you really think I can win?” she asked eventually.

Meliodas smiled back and told her, “With your nerve, Liones, I have no doubt.”

The second time Elizabeth donned her Quidditch garb and marched onto the field with her team, broom in hand and her shoulders squared, it was Slytherin’s team they stopped short of. She met Meliodas’ eyes across the field, took in how he looked in his garb, and felt her heart flutter.

“Scared, Liones?” asked Meliodas, his smirk proud and his green eyes gleaming.

Elizabeth smirked back. “You wish.”

[the-formerone]

how the music can free her whenever it starts (and it’s magic) Pairing: InoSaku Word Count: 3133 Summary: Yule Ball doesn't go the way Sakura expects it to.

Sakura doesn't have a date to Yule Ball. And it's fine. At least, that's what she keeps telling everyone.

Between keeping Naruto alive during the Triwizard Tournament to making sure Sasuke doesn't actually set that stunning Haku person from Beauxbatons on fire for looking at Naruto, she's kind of had a lot to deal with.

She doesn't even have a dress, not really. She has some nice things that she could probably transfigure into a gown of some sort, but that would take too much work, and brain power that Sakura is sorely lacking at the moment. She's exhausted.

The tournament didn't mean that classes had just suddenly stopped, despite the way that Naruto was behaving. And while Sakura was eternally grateful for the fact that Professor Senju's healing classes had helped Sakura stabilize Naruto after the situation with the kitsune in the Forest of Death (and fucking Sasuke when his stasis charm winked out when he was in the Lake and Naruto dragged him from the grindylows grasp, sobbing because he thought Sasuke was dead. Honestly, they needed more healers on staff. Sakura was still a student, and even though she won fifty house points to Ravenclaw for snatching Sasuke out of the jaws of death, she really wasn't qualified), Professor Senju's homework load was legendary for its difficulty.

So when Sakura hasn't been busy narrowly avoiding her bullies or saving the lives of her best (read: idiot) friends, she's been making sure she's passing her classes with top marks so that when she applies to be a Hit Witch with a specialization in combat healing, she'll get the damn job.

Which means she hasn't had time to find a date for Yule Ball. Which makes her a loser.

ecause Naruto is the Hogwarts Champion. Or, he's one of them. Hinata's name was the one that was pulled out of the Goblet first, and she was doing her level best all things considered. Nobody thought she had it in her to even put her name in for consideration. But when she stood up before her name was called, the hairs on the back of Sakura's neck had stood up. The Hyūga were a long line of oracles, and it was clear that Hinata had something to prove to her pureblood family.

And she had a date to Yule Ball. Unlike Sakura.

Even Naruto and Sasuke managed to get dates, despite the absolute mortification that came with realizing that they were each other's 'precious people' as per the second task's parameters. And yeah, Sasuke was going with Karin because he told her he would when the damn tournament began, and maybe Naruto was going with Sai's weird ass because he was just bold enough to ask Naruto immediately after saying something rude about the size of his dick.

Sakura was left in the dust. She didn't even know if she wanted to go. She kind of just - She hadn't really thought about it. And now it's the night of the Yule Ball, and she's in the library trying to start a research paper on speculative theories about how the tenketsu system came to be so tightly bound to the respiratory system in certain pureblood families, giving rise to the corvustongued, fire breathing Uchiha.

Honestly, it was a miracle Senju even let Sakura use the topic considering Sasuke was one of her closest friends. It had given her an in with the Uchiha; Mikoto was a breathlessly stunning woman who led the family quietly behind her husband's performative iron fist. And she made really, really good scones. And she liked Sakura, which meant Sakura could have access to the family history tomes of the Uchiha, all the way back to Uchiha Madara, himself.

She's just about to scribble down something along the lines of the contract Madara made with the crows, a magical contract which literally altered the DNA of his descendants thereafter, when a slim wand taps on the parchment beneath her quill.

Sakura's eyes snap up. It isn't a threatening gesture, but it wasn't a benign one either. You didn't just put your wand in someone's face like that unless you wanted a fight. Sakura's own wand is tucked into her sleeve, but the offending instrument on her paper could fire off six curses before she could even get her own wand in her hand.

She could always throw a punch. That tended to throw most off their guard. Sakura was muggleborn, and it was an advantage when it came to dueling. She had knocked more blood purists on their asses with her fists than with her wand in DADA. Kakashi always gave her full marks for her 'inventive fighting style'. He'd made her his TA, too, insisting that modern witches and wizards needed to be able to fight wandless and without magic if they wanted to survive the coming war. The war that no one was really supposed to be talking about.

Sakura's got what Senju calls a 'natural aptitude' for wandless magic. Especially when she fights with her fists. Sakura discovered this entirely by accident the summer before the school year started, when Naruto had survived a seventh attempted kidnapping when he was visiting Sakura. She had been backed into a corner by Akatsuki members, Naruto bleeding just behind her, so she did the only thing her mind could tell her to do.

She punched the ground.

Her magic sung a strange song to her, thrumming in her fingers, making a crater so large that Ministry officials were still erasing muggle memories of it afterward. That and her incredible intelligence was why Senju had let her into her healing classes.

And now, Sakura can feel her magic twitch again inside of her at the threat. But when she closes the fingers on her left hand into a fist, she finds that she can't follow through.

Yamanaka Ino is looking down at her, looking as unfairly stunning as she always does.

After that first incident several months ago, Sakura's been studying with Ino. Her marks in Divination have gone up, and Ino's wand work in Charms has received special praise from Professor Umino.

They aren't friends per se, but they are acquaintances. They talk to each other every once in a while. Wave at each other in the hallway. They actually talk a lot more than Sakura expected them to. Sometimes they had meals together, or studied in each other's common rooms even though it was against the rules. Sasuke liked to ask her if she and the blonde were attached at the hip. Sakura would cut her eyes to Naruto, then back to Sasuke, and ask him if he really thought that joke was as funny as he thought it was. Sakura's bullies bother her much less now, which is nice. She already has the Uchiha and the Uzumaki on her side. Having a clan heir like the Yamanaka as a study buddy only increases Sakura's street cred.

And also that time she used wandless magic outside Hogwarts grounds and didn't get thrown in prison because of it.

"You realize there's a party going on tonight," Ino asks, drawing her wand back to herself, "right?"

Sakura snorts and scratches the side of her head.

"You realize I have a paper due on Monday, right?"

Ino rolls her eyes, and waves her wand. She's unnervingly good at unspoken magic, hardly needs to call out the name of her spell before it begins its work. Sakura's parchment and her books all slip into the air just above her head, and organize themselves as they hang in the air.

"I'm not letting you sit in the library on the night of Yule Ball like some kind of tragic peasant."

Sakura barely lifts an eyebrow, by now well accustomed to Ino's particular brand of snide.

"I don't want to go."

Ino scoffs, and the library books Sakura was reading assort themselves onto a nice pile, while Sakura's notes slip inside of her bag, along with the Uchiha family histories.

"That's what everyone who doesn't have a date says."

Sakura puts her elbow on the table, and cups her chin in her hand.

"So where's your date?"

Ino slips her wand into the bodice of her dark purple gown. There are no frills, or any excessive fabric; Ino's gown is straight, dark purple, with shoulder less sleeves that are just as severe. The only thing soft about her outfit is the bush clover of her family crest, hanging on a fine black chain around her throat.

"I don't need a date," Ino says, arching an eyebrow. "I'm a Yamanaka."

"And I'm a Haruno," Sakura quips. "And I need to study."

She goes to grab her bag, but Ino snatches it out of her reach.

"Are you serious?"

"Come on, Sakura," Ino says, "when was the last time you actually had fun instead of making craters or doing homework?"

Sakura opens her mouth, then closes it again.

"I have fun," she says, sheepishly.

But not lately. Lately, she's been stressed, and she knows it's beginning to show. Her schoolwork will be the last thing to suffer, and so will Naruto and Sasuke. But she hasn't been sleeping very well, her dreams plagued with the red clouded cloaks of the men who attacked Naruto, and there are things in the stories about Uchiha Madara that make her stare at the moon with a mix of longing and apprehension.

There is something very strange going on in the world around her. It's something she wants to understand, needs to understand, but doesn't know why exactly.

"Come with me," Ino says. "Stay for a dance. For some punch. The Demon Brothers are playing."

Sakura purses her lips. Ino waggles her eyebrows.

"I don't even have anything to wear," Sakura insists.

Ino clucks her tongue at that, and walks around the table. When she offers her hand, Sakura reluctantly takes it, and Ino helps her stand. She tries not to feel uncomfortable under Ino's assessing gaze. When Ino spins her finger in a slow circle, Sakura purses her lips and turns.

She isn't wearing much. A comfy pair of black sweatpants and a red tank top, all of it under her uniform cloak, which is absurdly comfortable all things considered. She had been wearing it as a blanket over her legs until Ino had arrived.

"Not too bad," she murmurs. "I can work with this."

The Ravenclaw cracks her knuckles and tugs her wand out of the side of her dress. Sakura stares down at the ground, trying not to see the way the wood of her wand just barely pushes against Ino's breast, and tries not to feel like a pervert for staring.

"Arms out," Ino instructs, "and keep spinning."

Sakura does as she's told, and she feels rather like Cinderella as she does.

Magic courses from Ino's wand in a faint blue light the same color of her eyes. Ino's magic is softer than Sakura expected it to be. She's worked with it before, has been near it, but it's never touched her, never has altered something as intimate as her clothes. The magic even moves into her hair, tugging it out of its lazy ponytail and curling it up into the air.

Sakura shuts her eyes to let the feeling wash over her, and wonders if Ino's hands are as soft as her magic.

"Alright, Haruno," Ino says. "Open your eyes, and tell me what you think."

As Sakura opens her eyes, Ino clears her throat and looks away. She pulls out a compact from her little clutch and transfigures it into a full size mirror. Sakura - Sakura is shocked at what she sees.

Her sweats have been transfigured into a terribly elegant looking pair of harem pants, overlaid with a startling pattern of bright red interlocking circles that crest over her right hip and flow down over both her thighs towards her left ankle.

Her red tank top is a long sleeve now, with a square neckline, and her cloak is much more fashionable, all gauzy and transparent, with sleeves that wrap primly around her wrists and around her waist in a thick black line. Her hair has been pulled back into an artfully curled ponytail. Her black flats are the same, but they look almost three times as fashionable as they did before in her current get up.

"Wow," she says, a little breathless.

Ino smirks at the word, but there's a vague dusting of pink on her cheeks that makes Sakura a little self conscious. Does Ino think she looks good?

"My mother is a fashion designer," Ino says, "this look is all the rage in Uzushio."

Sakura nods as if that information means anything to her. She knows Naruto's mom is from Uzushio. Was, before she went into hiding. And he has a lot of cousins from there, too.

Ino pulls a compact out of her purse, and pops a hand on Sakura's shoulder.

"I'm not finished yet," she says. "Sit down."

Sakura does. And the fabric on her cloak is so thin now that she can tell for sure; Ino's hands are as soft as her magic.

"Just some light coverage," Ino murmurs, dusting powder over Sakura's face. "You've got great skin, so you don't need much."

"Thanks," Sakura replies, trying not to sneeze.

"Open your eyes, and look up."

Sakura obeys, and tries not to blink as Ino applies mascara, and eyeliner. Ino replaces the items in her clutch as quickly as she reveals them, and Sakura has to wonder whether or not there's a Bigger on the Inside charm on the damn thing.

"Now lip gloss," Ino says. "Pucker your lips."

Sakura does it, and feels like a fish. Ino snorts at her as she unscrews the cap to her lip gloss.

"Not like a carp," Ino chuckles. "Softer. Like this."

Ino puckers her lips, and looks nothing like a fish. Sakura is pretty sure she's turned beet red.

She wants to kiss Yamanaka Ino. Desperately.

The urge smacks her in the face, and by the grace of Morgana, she somehow manages to mimic the girl in front of her.

"That's it," Ino says, dabbing the shimmery pink gloss onto Sakura's lips. "Now smack your lips together. I'll make my compact a compact again, and then we can go."

Sakura nods dumbly as Ino rises, and sets to her task. She runs her hands down her front, over the elephant pants and her newly red blouse, and touches her cheek to where Ino's foundation has settled into her skin.

She looks at the back of Ino's neck, at the easy way she holds her wand, uses her magic. At how she literally puts Sakura's entire messenger into her tiny clutch, proving Sakura's earlier theory.

It hits Sakura then, that Ino said that she didn't 'need' a date, not that she didn't have one. 'Come with me,' Ino had said. And was that an invitation? To be her date? To the Yule Ball?

Sakura isn't a Gryffindor. She's not all reckless bravery, and she isn't the careful cunning type of Slytherin. She isn't even a Ravenclaw, using logic and reason to get her in and out of tricky situations.

She's a Hufflepuff. Which means she's all of that, and she's so much more.

"Am I your date?" she asks, voice soft and hesitant.

Ino stills for a moment, then turns her head over her shoulder to look at Sakura. It's the first time Sakura has ever seen her look anything other than self assured and confident. Ino looks nervous.

"I mean," she begins. "I wanted you to come as my friend. I really like you, and I knew you weren't going to come out tonight because you're ridiculous, so I thought I'd ask you to come with me - ,"

"As a friend," Sakura asks. "Or as your date?"

Ino purses her lips, then squares her shoulders. She looks like she's being prepared for rejection. Sakura has no fucking idea what's happening.

"As whatever you're the most comfortable with" Ino says.

Sakura swallows, and this time when she opens her mouth, she doesn't even have to think about being brave enough to say what she's thinking.

"Ino," she says. "May I escort you to the Yule Ball?"

She has a split second to wonder if she's made the wrong decision, because Ino is very clearly hesitating. Decisive, ruthless Ino, who has hexed more people on Sakura's behalf than Naruto and Sasuke combined since they became friends earlier this year. Ino who tells Sakura exactly what she's doing wrong when they study Divination, Ino whose pale blue eyes are sharp and critical when Sakura demonstrates fine wand work.

Sakura holds out her hand. Ino looks at her it, her own hands wrapped nervously around her clutch. Like she didn't plan this far ahead, like she didn't expect Sakura to see through her, to want what she wanted, too.

"Or," Sakura says, cracking a smile. "You could escort me. I think that's what you'd prefer, since you're a Yamanaka and all."

Some color comes back to Ino's pale, nervous face, and she returns Sakura's smile with a cocky little grin of her own.

"Mark my words, Haruno," she says, carefully placing her hand in Sakura's. Her fingernails are painted a paler purple than her gown, and the color slowly changes to black to match Sakura's get up. "You're going to have the time of your life. The Yamanaka know how to have a good time."

With the kind of brass that would make even Naruto splutter in shock, Sakura tugs Ino close to her, so close their noses brush together and says, "I hope you're not all talk."

At the end of the night, Sakura will wonder whether or not she should kiss Ino as she walks her back to the Ravenclaw common room. She'll only half listen to Ino's polite good night, and she'll only really be able to focus on the way she looks in the evening light while other Ravenclaws move past them into their common room.

She'll kiss her, and she'll taste the vanilla and shea of Ino's lip gloss on Ino's mouth and her own, and Ino will turn bright pink. And afterwards, Sakura will walk all the way back to her dorm, arms wrapped around herself as Ino's magic keeps her clothes transfigured until she's safely in her room.

In the morning, when Naruto and Sasuke barge into her empty room underneath Naruto's invisibility cloak and will demand to know how she went from not having a date to Yule Ball to having a girlfriend in the same night.

[seesgood]

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY OF MY LOVES ARE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS? no? cool well ya’ll are about to find out .and BELIEVE ME when i tell you that you should follow the shit out of all of these guys. if you haven’t already. and if you haven’t, what are you doing you’re so missing out!!! 

@bloodmirrored ; @keeperofhumanity ; @1000liveslived ; @dissolvedshadows ; @wulfking ; @oddyssea ; @peaceific ; @grcdy ; @beaniesandmachetes ; @cordeliakomskaikru / @rainkilled ; @roaming-agent ; @motherbuilt ; @lead-pencilskirt ; @sterxid ; @scarredesmeralda

alright this time i got smart and am listing in alphabetical order so it’s easier for ya’ll to find your little love blurb: 

@1000liveslived --- so i know i was later than most people to hop onto the ‘holy shit jess is literally one of the most incredible humans’ bandwagon but i’m here. and i have my little conductors hat. and we gon fuck some shit up with love alright? but you know i love you. let’s talk about how much i love emma. emma is realistic. and dynamic. and she breaks your god damn heart as much as she makes it soar. emma, to me, feels like the kind of character that could exist in real life. she has flaws, she has strength, she has this lingering air of reality about her that not many people can bring to an oc. and tbh all of your ocs are like that and i love them all so much. they’re such unique characters and i love them more than anything.

@beaniesandmachetes --- ok so i know you’re technically not on jake as much anymore but tbh this is the blog where i first fell in love with everything about your blogs. for starters, your writing is to die for, writing with you has always been one of my favorite things. i love all the little details you put into jake and how you make him stand out among other ocs and other blogs that use jared as a fc. and while we’re at it, let’s talk about jared as a fc bc like honestly once in awhile an oc will come along where the fc is honestly just PERFECT and it makes the character and drives everything and tbh i can’t imagine jake with any other fc. jared is perfect. every last minute detail ( which i’m sure you’ve thought through bc you’re just that attuned to your characters and i love it ) is perfection. seriously i am deathly terrified of zombies but like your blog would make me try and watch twd again. which is a big thing, ok? bc i’m literally terrified of zombies.

@bloodmirrored --- icb i’m literally mentioning you on all of these ffs everyone’s gonna know i’m trash for you. but you have 800 blogs and i can’t tag them all so i’m just gonna tag this one especially and give @reapcriisms a shout out bc fuck man i love aleksei but ok anyway let’s talk about the sweetmeadows: bc i. love. them. so. freaking. much. you’ve made such a wonderful, organic, and believable contrast between the twins. where i don’t think they could exist in a verse where the other one doesn’t. as stand alone characters, they’re phenomenal, but when you put them together it’s like this magic just happens and you get to this whole other level of understanding and quality and overall perfection and i’ve told you before and i’ll tell you again that you honestly do develop some of the best ocs i’ve seen. like you have 800 of them.

@cordeliakomskaikru / @rainkilled --- le sigh. i’m mentioning both of them under one little paragraph bc i don’t wanna seem unfair but i feel like you should know by now that i could go on about your muses for 1800 days. seriously though. i’ve never met anyone who could have the kind of muse range that you do. like all of your muses, be them canon or oc, have different voices and mannerisms and none of them bleed together ( which tbh i feel like is super hard to do idk how you do this ) and i honestly forgot ( like legitimately ) that cordelia and peter weren’t “canon” like i got super confused when the trailer came out and i was like what an outrage where is cordelia i am going to riot oh shit wait she’s not technically in this show whatthefuck basically though, everytime i think i can’t love you more, you go and do something else that makes me love you more. just stop. my heart will explode. and i will die.

@dissolvedshadows --- throwback to those like 6 months where i did nothing but stalk your blog and constantly hover over the follow button and debate whether or not i should just go for it bc i was like ‘well shit if they don’t follow me back imma die’ BUT YOU DID AND HERE YOU ARE and skdjfsdkjlfh wow ok lets talk about caleb and ana. i am a sucker for characters who have two seemingly contrasting characteristics but somehow it works. like case in point, the thousand year old terrifying pretty much all powerful immortal demon who can’t figure out how to google things and ana the badass ‘could probably kill a man with boots and look fab doing it’ but who also i feel like just kinda needs someone to love her ( coughconnorcough ) and it takes someone with serious writing chops to pull that off, which --- hello, it’s you. it’s literally always gonna be you. i don’t think i’ll ever be able to accurately describe how much i adore you. but it’s a lot. a whole lot.

@grcdy --- !!!! JURASSIC WORLD OC !!!! like honestly i don’t know why the whole world doesn’t follow you for just that reason alone? which yes, would do you a total injustice bc you are so much more than just a jurassic world oc BUT YOU’RE A JURASSIC WORLD OC but ok, fangirling about your amazing oc making decisions aside, can we all please collectively appreciate bella? please? because girl is fuckin fantastic. like strong and smart and tough and incredible and badass and all around just a wonderful character that should have existed in the movie ( and now does, in my mind, thanks. ) and i just like, you guys. jurassic world. original character. plus great writing. plus and even better mun. plus just a great fucking character there are no drawbacks.

@keeperofhumanity --- i know you’re not as active on z anymore which tbh i think is a tragedy because of all of your characters ( which are all awesome ) z has always had such a soft spot in my heart. not only have you managed to make a character that is totally and completely badass without going over the top and in your face about it and making it hard to write with, but you’ve managed to weave in this incredibly soft and tender side of her. very few people can do that with the amount of finesse that you’ve managed to. and yes, no matter what blog you’re on you’re an incredible writer and an incredible human, but fucking hell ash you literally mined gold when it came to zandra. she’s incredible. like you.

@lead-pencilskirt --- emma aka the biggest sweetheart of an oc ever to be made aka the love of my life aka idk how you made her this amazing and how you yourself are this amazing but holy shit it’s like the holy grail of rp blogs. like writing with emma feels breezy. chemistry is natural, writing is fun, our threads are kinda just a nice break to be able to reply to. i love well developed ocs that feel like they could super easily just step out of the rp world and into the real world and we would never know the difference and emma i feel like fits that mold to a perfect t.

@motherbuilt --- and here we have another one of those oc’s where i have to literally remind myself that she’s not “canon” because she’s so canon it hurts. honestly i swear i don’t know how you do it or how you’ve made her this true to life and fit her in so well to the t100 universe but you’ve struck gold, okay? because lou feels like a part of that universe. she feels like she belongs with the other characters. and the whole idea of this scared kid who is gonna have a baby on the ground where they’re all probably gonna die? it’s freaking genius. plus lou herself is just all sorts of tough and badass and inspiring but also has this soft side and she’s so loyal and i love her to death. and i love all of our threads so freaking much.

@oddyssea --- okay but you literally took like one of my favorite tropes ( the bantery treasure hunting guy ) and made him better. and you gave him an accent. and you developed tf out of him to the point where i’ll be like psh nice try indiana jones but karter kane coulda done all that and looked better doing it ( which is hard to do, i mean we’re talking about young harrison ford here okay? ) but alright like, not only is karter an incredible oc but he’s one of those muses that i just love reading things for. i love all of your threads, even the ones that don’t even involve me in any way shape or form. you made an oc that’s fun to read and fun to write with and is just all around a great character. fuck man i could go on and on about how incredible he is and i probably will for the next billion years bc you’re stuck with me ( and care ) for at least that long 

@peaceific --- when i first followed you i honestly had to like refrain myself from getting giddy everytime you expressed an interest in writing with me. because you have been and always will be one of THOSE blogs. like the blogs that just radiate in the quality vibe. everything about noah and your blog and your writing and theme and everything is so perfectly matched and formatted and organized, i envy it. and even beyond that, noah is a fucking incredible character. like the most original idea for a character i’ve seen in my time here. i can’t get enough of writing with you. i can’t get enough of talking to you. i just wish i could constantly force you to bask in that kind of love day in and day out until you were like ‘damn ok i get it we’re loved’ 

@roaming-agent --- my girl. caroline’s girl. literally like i feel like you me and lissa need to make some kind of charlie’s angels verse with these three bc that’s totally the vibe i get from them. honestly though i just really love taylor. there’s something about her that’s really innocent and sweet despite the fact that i am fully aware that she is a not so secret badass at heart. she feels so real, and i love the development you’ve done with her and how you’ve expertly woven her into frank and joe’s lives and stories and it just brings new life and new levels and new angles to everything. plus, you’re literally one of the best people to talk to and write with like you’re such a freaking sweetheart idek how to deal with it.

@scarredesmeralda --- alright so we haven’t written yet and we’ve only been following one another for a little bit but already i know i’m gonna love you. because not only do you have a great fucking oc who you’ve managed to adapt to so many different verses ( which is no easy feat, i know ) but you are just like the nicest person ever. you’re like a mama lion protecting her cubs and i love that you’re so bold about what you believe in, i love talking to you, i cannot wait to write with you and explore different verses and muse chemistry and just see how things go. i give you all of the applause because you deserve it.

@sterxid --- ok but will i ever flail enough about how much i adore you and your blog? probably not. but we’re gonna keep trying until you get sick of hearing it. the first time i fell in love with your blog, i fell in love with one of your promos and honestly it was so gorgeous and simplistic and i just had to follow you because i needed more of that kind of quality on my dash. and you did not disappoint. not even for one second. every edit you make has this raw, simplistic, but gorgeous quality that is so aesthetically appealing and it’s all backed by this fantastically developed and written character. i swear lik everything about your blog is so downright gorgeous that i don’t even know how to properly express how much i love it except to flail over you constantly. so that’s what i’m gonna do.

@wulfking --- the god damn love of my life. i’ve told you a lot about how incredible alex is but now i’m just gonna tell you again bc you definitely don’t hear it enough: alex is incredible. you have put so much thought not only into the character you’re writing but into the world around him, his species, his family, his background, his mannerisms that he could ( and should ) be a real canon character somewhere. only i feel like even that would do him a disservice because he is so beyond the constraints of any canon anywhere. you write alex with a kind of adoration and love and skill that i could never hope to have and that a lot of us i think could never really hope to have. you’re just a natural born creative mind and a talented writer and you inspire me on the daily.