#because there’s nothing else to go off of and they have no prior knowledge or understanding

[cheemsitz]

As a psychology major, I can say and firmly believe that Freud is so stupid. He'd be so close to getting it, then boom. He's back to saying stupid ass shit.

[goldsainz]

❝ NSFW ALPHABET ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . jacaerys velaryon x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . MINORS DNI! lewd language, smut (breeding kink, creampie (?), lactation kink, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), worshipping).

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . jacaerys' behaviour in the bedroom.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . i am so so so happy to be writing for hotd again, i’m enjoying season 2 so much and i can’t wait for it to be sunday tbh. i haven’t written smut in YEARS (literally) so if this is bad it’s because i am quite rusty😔 requests are open (for aemond & jacaerys)!

[ word count: 2,2k ]

A — AFTERCARE . . . what they're like after sex!

Jacaerys was raised to be a proper prince, and with that, he learned how to respect women. He’s so gentle, drawing a bath himself and making sure you feel at comfort. Anything you need he will make sure you have. When you’re both back in bed, he cuddles you and falls asleep whispering sweet nothings.

B — BODY PART . . . their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's!

THEIRS . . . He loves his hands, mostly because you love them. Loves to use them to hold you incredibly close, to cup your cheeks when he leans in for a kiss, or just loves them when you take his hand and proudly walk alongside him, hand in hand.

YOURS . . . He loves your tummy. Loves peppering kisses on it, resting his head and falling asleep soundly while you run your hands through his hair. If you ever get pregnant it will be a hassle to get him off you and your tummy.

C — CUM . . . anything to do with cum, basically!

Even if he didn’t have a duty to get you pregnant, he would still be cumming inside you. It’s quite the primal urge he has to make sure everyone knows you’re his. It doesn't matter what you're doing, he will not cum anywhere else but inside you. If he sees his cum dripping out of you, he will push it back into you either with his fingers or simply with his cock.

D — DIRTY SECRET . . . pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs!

Jacaerys is quite comfortable in being the giver of the relationship, but sometimes he fantasies about you taking over in the bedroom. To be the one crying from overstimulation, to have you take care of him. 

E — EXPERIENCE . . . how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?

He was one of the few men to save themselves for marriage, though not because of purity but more so because he never felt the urge to go to a brothel and have his first sexual experience be with a whore. Despite this, he does know what he’s doing. He had a talk with Daemon one time many moons ago, and because of it he’s gained some knowledge. But he only learns the true meaning of pleasure with you. 

F — FAVOURITE POSITION . . . this goes without saying!

Cowgirl. As previously stated, he loves the idea of you dominating him and while that isn't quite it, you on top makes him lose his mind. He also knows how much you enjoy the position, with him hitting you just right, as you once put it. With you controlling the pace and how much you take in, Jacaerys can perfectly take in the beautiful sight of your blissed-out face. 

G — GOOFY . . . are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

When he’s in the bedroom he’s quite focused on making sure you’re okay and feel good, so there is no time to be humorous. Still, things happen and a giggle or two slip out when he’s going at it too hard and bumps your head against the bed frame, or when you're both desperate and trip over your clothes. Jacaerys doesn't necessarily try to make your intimate moments funny, but he doesn't stop it if it happens. 

H — HAIR . . . how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

Before you he didn’t really care about grooming, but the days prior to your wedding night he decided to look his best. You have never asked him to groom himself, but he feels as though he has to. He knows how much you take care of yourself, why wouldn’t he do the same? As for the carpet matching the drapes they do. It’s a deep brown and slightly curly, just like the hair on his head.

I — INTIMACY . . . how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.

Jacaerys is very romantic. He’s tender and sweet from beginning to the end, mostly because he’s madly in love with you, but also because he wants to take his time with you. He’s a big fan of eye contact, handholding, and kissing. Any opportunity he has where he can feel more connected to you, he will take it. Confessions of love and adoration are not rare, an “I love you” slipping from his lips when he’s thrusting inside you, or the looks he gives you that make you feel what he’s feeling. You don’t have just sex, you make love.

J — JACK OFF . . . masturbation headcanon!

He doesn’t often masturbate, only in situations when he’s away from you and misses you dearly. Truly, he gets needy. Usually, he waits until he’s back home with you and releases all that pent up tension onto you. But sometimes, when he longs for you and can’t have you, he resorts to his hand. It doesn't measure up to what your touch feels like, at all, but it does the job to at least quell some of the fire burning up inside him.

K — KINK . . .one or more of their kinks!

As previously mentioned this man wants you pregnant so bad. His breeding kink is very obvious to you, from the way he whispers in your ear how much he wants to see you pregnant, to see his seed take and make you swell with his baby, you want it as much as him, and that just makes him more feral. The Velaryon Prince loves feeling needed, which is why edging is one of his favourite ways to make you crave him as much as he craves you. Your desperate pleas to come fall to deaf ears, as he enjoys your whining and writhing just as much as the sight of you orgasming.

L — LOCATION . . . favourite places to do the deed!

Always somewhere private. Jacaerys is not much of an exhibitionist, although he likes people knowing you’re his, he also doesn’t want anyone else to be able to see you in a compromising position. That sight is sacred, reserved only to him only. As for a specific place, he thoroughly enjoys having sex in your bed. Maybe it's because of how intimate it is or that he knows there’s no way you'll be uncomfortable, but that is his preferred place.

M — MOTIVATION . . . what turns them on, gets them going!

Anything that you do is enough. Sometimes he fears how much power you have over him, how he’s so enamoured and almost obsessed with you. He gets turned on pretty easily when he’s around you, it doesn't take more than you speaking at him in your sweet, honeyed voice for him to be hard. 

N — NO . . . something they wouldn't do, turn offs!

Any type of experience where he has to share you with someone. No to threesome, no to exhibitionsim, and no to cuckolding. He also does not like seeing you get hurt, if he even suspects you’re not liking something he’ll stop until you’re comfortable. 

O — ORAL . . . preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

Jacaerys doesn’t dislike the feeling of your mouth on his cock, but he much prefers the feeling of his mouth on your pussy. He eats you out like it’s his last meal, holding your hips down and feasting on the taste of you. He loves overstimulating you until you’re trying to push his head away, the pleasure too much. Loves how you push him back towards your pussy, grabbing a handful of his hair to make him continue his ministrations when he separates himself from you to breathe some air. Sometimes you fear he will suffocate between your thighs, when he doesn't come back up for air in a while, and what a sweet death that’d be to him. 

P — PACE . . . are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

His pace is usually slow and sensual. He worships you, taking his time to appreciate all your sounds and the faces you make, forever burned in his memory. He loves showing you just how much he loves you, making you feel his adoration for you. Still, Jacaerys has moments where he can be rough, lost in the pleasure he frantically fucks into you. He rarely loses control, but when he does you’re both left a beautiful, sweaty mess.

Q — QUICKIE . . . their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

Not the biggest fan of them. He likes to take his time, savouring those intimate moments so quickies are not something he would choose to partake in. If he’s really needy, he will consider the idea, but usually what starts as a quickie, ends in a long sexual endeavour. 

R — RISK . . . are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

He’s pretty open to any ideas you might have, as long as they don’t involve sharing or hurting you in any way. He doesn't mind taking risks, but he’s pretty comfortable with the things you already do and will not be the one to propose different ways to spice things up, he leaves that to you. 

S — STAMINA . . . how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

He can last a few, it all depends on what you're doing. Three rounds is the sweet spot for him. He eats you out, he fucks you and then fucks you once more to make sure his cum really takes. If you just want to make love, have one simple round where you’re both connected, then he’ll give it to you. But this man is insatiable, so it rarely ends in one round for him. 

T — TOYS . . . do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

Neither of you really need them, you both consider the other enough. If you ever wanted to introduce toys in the bedroom, then Jacaerys is open to the idea. Maybe one day you’ll experiment, but for now the Prince has plenty of skill that will make you forget about any toys.

U — UNFAIR . . . how much they like to tease!

He loves teasing you. He makes you yearn for his touch, adoring the pout you give him and how glassy your eyes get when teasing you. Jacaerys slicks himself along your entrance, bumping against your clit which in turn makes you squirm and whine, and he takes his time until you’re almost sobbing for him to insert himself in you. He’s the worst in public, grabbing you by your waist and telling you how badly he wishes to be in bed with you, only to leave you to go speak to some lord. He watches your agape mouth as you look at him, and all he does is smirk because he knows how wet you’ll be when he finally has you alone.

V — VOLUME . . . how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

Jacaerys is incredibly vocal. He groans when he finally sheathes himself inside you, moaning when you’re on top of him bouncing up and down without mercy. He’s not shy in telling you how good you're making him feel. He wishes he could speak more to you, but he becomes an incoherent mess pretty quickly and all you can understand are the few mumbles of “Need you” or “So good”, lewdly whining when you clench around him. A drawn out “Fuck” leaves his lips when he comes, squeezing your hips and almost shaking in relief when he feels his spend painting your gummy walls. 

W — WILD CARD . . . a random headcanon for the character!

Wants to fuck you while pregnant and see the milk from your tits dripping, to taste the sweet nectar your body produces. He dreams of how round your belly will be, and how ethereal you’ll look with the glow of motherhood. 

X — X-RAY . . . let's see what's going on under those clothes!

He’s around 15 cm or 6 inches. He’s quite girthy, with a heavy ball sack. He has some prominent veins which you can feel when he’s thrusting in you, the ridges making you sigh in pleasure. 

Y — YEARNING . . . how high is their sex drive?

Jacaerys has a high sex drive, better make the most of it while he’s young. He can control himself, he has great restraint because he knows the wait will just make it all the more sweeter. You can tell quite well when he’s yearning for you, sometimes all it takes is a good look at him and other times he’ll simply groan into your ear how badly he needs you. You guys have sex pretty much every day, with a few exceptions when you're sore or simply not in the mood. 

Z — ZZZ . . . how quickly they fall asleep after sex!

When you fall asleep, he falls asleep. He has great stamina but sometimes when he tires the both of you out, he can’t help but fall asleep almost instantly after he spends his load inside you. Adores cuddling you, makes sleeping for him easier and rids him of any bad dreams. He holds you close, drifting off to the sound of your slow breathing and the heat of your body against his. 

[theoddest1]

Okay so this new episode that came out (Episode 4) was poorly handled.

TW /// SA

- No warning before the show starts...why? And even if there is no way for Viv to add one, for some stupid ass reason, why didn't she announce to the fandom properly "Hey, this will have very deep topics and imagery that may not be suitable for all audiences."? Why have arguments on threads and fail to do this very easy thing. At least if the episode came out, people would get a heads up, and the word would spread faster PLUS people would see that you at least TRIED

- The episode opens up with a scene of CNC porno played for laughs in an episode that tackles SA. Complete tonal whiplash. Why did it have to open up with Angel showing everyone a porno? It serves no purpose other than to get a cheap laugh (that never came) out of me or anyone else who watches and because of the topic of the episode revolved around it. I'msure that if the episode WASN'T ABOUT SA, that joke would not have been there....but it is. There was legit no good reason to start this fiasco off with such a tone deaf opening.

- Charlie is actually fucking useless and a burden in this episode, serving no other purpose other than being the gateway to further the issues that befall Angel when "trying" to help. This all screams forced. Worse of all, Charlie does nothing to actually HELP Angel out of this, even though he has a clear black eye thanks to it all and literal mirrors breaking as a result of the abuse. We never see an actual development between the two thanks to her foolishness and garbage writing, and it's resolved easily as if this is some early Disney cartoon season that's on a strict deadline. Regardless of whether she apologized or not, she essentially caused the issue and did NOTHING to actually clean her mess. The goddamn B A R T E N D E R had to be used to salvage the pieces. So far, Charlie, as a character, is utterly pathetic and has been a burden to the cast twice so far. Vaggie, who tried to prove herself (moreso Vaggie's fault for going the extra mile for no reason but an obstacle nonetheless), also had an issue that involved Charlie's utter lack of a backbone. Hey, what was it that Charlie said in the pilot that her dad taught her and one of the only thingsshe learned from him? "You don't take shit from other demons"

- Only one scene from the abuse shown was handled well, and it was when Charlie visited, screwed everything up, and Val asked Angel to come to his dressing room. Aside from that, the whole SA imagery is jarring. While this time, the fast pace of it all is not bad, the quick shift into it all with Angel switching from enjoying to hating, to smiling, to frowning, ALONG with the quick pace of it all with the PRIOR KNOWLEDGE SHOWN and the SONG PLAYING, I am getting mixed messages here. Imagery? Shows Angel getting assaulted multiple times with either a forced smile or for some reason ENJOYING sex with Val and the role play situations showcased, is he INTO his abuse? Lyrics? He seems to find arousal in Val controlling him. The song legit reads as follows

"Addicted to this feeling, I can't help but swallow"

This doesn't read like he is "forced" it reads like he is yearning the toxic relationship. Now if this was one of the main issues with the abusive relationship, where it was a codependency built on romanticising the abuser and Angel learning to break free from that horrible view of someone who never loved him and actively harms him, this lyric would make a lot of sense....but that's not what we are shown at all. From the jump, we are shown that Angel HATES being with Val, to the point of him straight up avoiding his texts and voice messages, they actually do an okay job (despite the shoddy voice work) on showcasing how manipulative Val is and his outright explosive temper through this scene in episode 2. We see that Angel does NOT wanna have association with Val, is tired of it all, and even got drunk to down his sorrows. Yet these lyrics present it all as though it's just a very rocky love life like those songs you hear on the radio with the singer lamenting about how awful their relationship was but still miss their toxic boo-boo. It just...doesn't read like an SA song and could mean anything regarding the type of abuse he is facing. It's kinda vague in hindsight. That's MY take on the lyrics, though.

- Husk's song is a trash fire. He sees Angel is down in the dumps and proceeds to talk shit about him pretty much relaying his sorrows, saying it's okay to feed into your vices, and downplaying the actual situation at hand. So let's get this straight.

Angel- A sexual abuse victim forced into sex slavery to appease all sorts of people's sexual desires whether he likes it or not, including pleasuring his pimp who physically abuses him often all cause he sold his soul

Husk- Gambled his life away and lost his title as overlord, serves under Alastor all cause he sold his soul.

How is this even...the same at all? Even if Husk is lacking some context, he SEES that Angel normalized drinking roofied drinks and works for Val SOMEONE HUSK SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AND WHAT HE DOES but nah, screw Angel. Even if he honest to God (irony) wanted to actually help, why tf would Husk think this was sound advice? Why does Husk just SUDDENLY care? No build up, no memorable dynamic, no nothing. Realistically, CHARLIE should be the one singing with Angel or maybe Vaggie because she heard the story from Charlie. Not Husk. He is self aware enough where he knows this "advice" wouldn't work but nah. Nothing about the song makes sense. Telling someone going through it that "you're a loser" pretty much a no one, an insignificant individual, when VAL has made it clear that Angel would be nothing without him...yeah no the only reason why this whole song "worked" was cause the writers wanted it to, so Angel is happy with being a loser for being a victim of SA and selling his soul to someone who abuses him in various ways consistently.

This episode is terrible

Jarring for any newcomers

Who have no idea who these characters are

[writeforfandoms]

Fear Not This Night

Find my CoD masterlist

Being part of the 141 pack meant you watched out for your boys, always. As their medic, it meant you sometimes flew into danger for them. When someone uses that knowledge against you to separate you from your pack, you pay the price.

Warnings: Blood, treating wounds, medical inaccuracies, shifter biology, shifter dynamics, psychological torture, physical torture, being blinded (hood over head), brief self-harm (pulling feathers). This one is a bit dark so if you would like more in depth warnings, come ask me.

Word count: 7.6k

Harpy eagle f!reader x 141 poly

You soared over the trees, sharp eyes watching for your team. You’d gotten the call that they needed you a few hours prior, so you knew they’d likely moved some from their last coordinates. But you doubted they’d gone far. You weren’t even tired yet, broad wings carrying you and your pack. 

Finally, you spotted Soap, in a convenient space between trees. Good man, making your life easier. You didn’t cry out in recognition, because that was dangerous. But you did dive, tucking your wings close and waiting until the last possible moment to pull up, flapping down to land on your pack. It was specially designed to be sturdy enough for you to land on, fortunately. 

“There ye are,” Soap murmured, grinning at you and reaching out one hand to stroke the top of your head. You blinked at him, chirping. “C’mon. Someone got a lucky hit on Ghost.”

You hopped off your medic pack, hopping a few steps away before you shifted. “How bad?” you asked, opening up your pack and throwing on clothes. For the chill more than for modesty. 

You had no modesty around your boys anymore. 

“Price wants ye to check, because Ghost is bein’ an ass.” 

“I heard that,” came the grumpy growl from Ghost. 

You rolled your eyes and picked up your pack, which looked more like a picnic basket when you carried it this way. “If you’re alive enough to growl, you’re alive enough to behave,” you pointed out. He still had his mask on, but he wasn’t arguing lying down, either. Hmm. Must be feeling worse than you thought. 

You settled on your knees next to Ghost, giving him a quick once-over. Bandages had been packed down against his thigh, though you ignored them for the moment. Nothing else looked out of place. 

“Anywhere hurting besides the thigh?” 

“Took a round to the vest,” he admitted, a little reluctant and a lot grumpy. Probably mostly grumpy that he got hit. 

“Just bruised,” Gaz said as he crouched a little to the side of you and behind you, out of the way but ready to assist. “Didn’t even crack a rib.” 

“Lucky bastard,” you agreed, shifting your attention down to his thigh. “And this?” 

“A graze,” Gaz said. “But it bled a lot, more than normal.”

You hummed acknowledgement, leaning closer. Ghost shifted, and you cooed softly, almost reflexively. He huffed but settled. 

The wound wasn’t bad under the bandages, but it was in a tricky spot, just above his knee. You couldn’t see any real reason why it would have bled more than normal except use, which was kind of inevitable. But even so, just to be on the safe side, you smeared it with ointment and rewrapped it. 

“How far do you have to go?” You packed up the rest of your supplies after forcing Ghost to drink more water. 

“Little ways yet.” Price shrugged, planting his hands on his hips. 

“I’m fine to keep going,” Ghost said, because of course he did.

“You finish your water,” you said, poking his hip. “Then we’ll see.” 

He huffed, eyes narrowing at you. But he subsided. Mostly because you both knew Price would side with you. 

“If you left now?” You raised one eyebrow at Price.

“We’d make it by dawn.” 

You puffed out a breath. That was not too bad. Ghost was tough, you knew he could last that long, especially since he’d already been forced to rest (and probably to eat something, knowing the rest of the pack). “I’ll scout ahead,” you said, pushing up to your feet. “Circle back and follow behind, make sure you’re fine.” 

“I’ve got your pack,” Gaz offered before you could say anything more. You rolled your eyes at him but didn’t protest. You knew better. 

You also knew better than to shift again without eating something, so you ripped open a protein bar and ate it as fast as possible under Price’s approving eye. Tossing your clothes back at Gaz and grinning at his playful huff, you shifted back and took off again. 

The route forward to their exfil point was clear and quiet, even to your keen gaze. Turning to circle back, you made sure to check back in on your guys as you flew above them. 

No enemies behind, either. They’d done a good job of either killing everyone who’d tried to follow, or losing them. You expected nothing less from them. 

Pleased, you made a few big circles just to be sure. Still nothing. No sign of enemies. You took your time following your pack to the exfil point. 

True to Price’s prediction, just as the sun broke the horizon the pack made it to exfil. You dove down to join them, landing next to Ghost. Gaz tossed your clothes to you as soon as you shifted, and Ghost shoved water at you.

“You all are mother hens, y’know that?” you grumbled without any heat, grinning, even as you double-checked Gaz’s straps. 

“Says the biggest hen of us,” Soap pointed out with a wicked grin.

“Now now, just because my tits are the best–” you started playfully. 

“Enough,” Price interrupted, sitting on Gaz’s other side, between him and the opening. Smart man. 

You and Soap subsided, though you did both roll your eyes. “Everybody good?” You looked around at them, meeting each gaze squarely for a moment, to make sure none of them were lying. They all tolerated it, well used to you by now. Satisfied that none of your guys were about to keel over, you settled back for the trip back. 

Flying in a heli had never been your favorite thing to do. You much preferred to fly on your own. But you had to admit that the heli was faster - you’d tried once to keep up, and couldn’t. Which wasn’t actually surprising, just disappointing. 

This flight was not bad. Not too long. Which was good, because you were getting antsy. Ghost had caught a nap on the heli, but you still wanted to make sure he was fine in better conditions than you’d had before. 

As soon as the heli landed, you were out, watching Ghost carefully. He wouldn’t accept help, not in front of others, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t check in. 

“‘M fine,” he grumbled at you very quietly as you fell into step next to him. 

“I’m sure you are,” you agreed. “And I’ll be more sure after I get to look you over.”

Soap leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows. But he didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t. Not here. Not where people could overhear and get the wrong idea. 

Simon was fine, as it turned out when you finally got him to medical. Heightened metabolisms were good for some things, after all, and that included faster healing. 

But you still bullied all your guys into the nest to take a nap. 

“Stop fussing,” Price grumbled, lifting his head to pin you with a look. “And get in here.”

“It is literally my job to fuss,” you grumbled right back, although you did stop messing with the pillows and observed the nest. There was a good spot next to Simon. You carefully stepped over Gaz and Price before you settled down with a soft chirp, nestled between Simon and Price. There. That was better. 

Price’s soft huff made you grin to yourself. At least until Simon tucked you under his arm and started scratching your scalp. Then you relaxed into him.

Okay. Maybe you could take a nap too. 

One good thing about having pack-only spaces was that you could be with your guys without fear. 

Simon had been ordered to stay and rest and finish healing while the other three went on what was supposed to be a quick mission. A day or two all told, is how Price had phrased it. You didn't know the details, didn't need to know the details, but you did know that Simon hated this. 

"Relax," you murmured to him soothingly, scratching your fingers against his scalp. "They'll be back soon." 

He grumbled wordlessly, one hand curling against your thigh where he was also using it as a pillow. 

"Easy, Simon," you murmured, low and soothing. The little bit of grooming helped both of you, you knew. And it was almost all you could do for the moment. 

Until you got called to help with exfil. 

You hated leaving Simon, knew he'd be all but climbing the walls in his anxiety, but… needs must. He understood. 

This time you went without your med pack - supplies would be available after exfil. 

You weren't even sure Price had called for you. But the order came from higher up, so off you went to go help. 

From high in the air, the battlefield looked bad. You could see bodies still laying where they'd fallen, a visual indication of the path of retreat. It took a little time to find your guys, the three of them huddled together behind a half-burned building. There were no immediate threats, but you could see where enemies had set up to hinder them. 

It was not an easy situation, nor an easy fix. You flapped your wings a few times, changing your trajectory. 

You needed to give them a distraction, a chance to get out. Most people didn't look up - you could use that, get a good sneak attack or two in. Cause a little chaos in the line. 

It would do for now, until you came up with a better plan. 

You flew a little higher, using the angle of the sun to help disguise your descent. And then you dove, aiming for one soldier a little apart from the others. He never saw you coming. 

But he screamed as your talons ripped through the vulnerable skin of his scalp and neck. 

You flapped hard, leaving him to bleed out even as shouts started up around you. You managed to vanish into the sun, flying up high again. You'd be harder to hit that way. 

Of course, now they were on alert. Damn. That hadn't quite been enough of a distraction for your guys to get away. 

You needed something bigger. 

Scanning the ground, you looked for something out of the way to pick up and drop on the enemy line. 

It was a good plan, and it even worked. 

Until you were flying away. Someone must have been watching, because there was a sharp pain in your wing, enough to make you screech. Your wing faltered and you fell, just able to slow yourself enough that you didn't injure yourself further. 

You hit the ground in a flurry of blood and feathers and screeching. Your wing hurt, leaving you unable to fly. 

Behind enemy lines. 

The first man to lunge at you got your beak to his throat, blood hot as it splashed across your face and chest. Maybe you'd have time to get to safety, maybe you could shift and–

Something heavy fell over your head, completely blocking your vision. You screeched, loud and angry, but more heavy things landed on top of you. Something held your wings firmly down against your sides, the pain sharp enough to make you try to jerk away. But you couldn't, too many hands grabbing you and securing you. 

Blind and trapped, you could only feel as you were picked up and moved. 

But you weren't dead yet, which was terrifying. 

People handed you off between them, and you tried to flap your wings or flex your claws or anything. But movement of any kind resulted in you being squeezed to the point of pain. 

With no way to see where you were or how many of them there were, you gave up. Conserved your strength, so you'd have a better chance of escape once you could see again. 

An engine rumbled to life, and you got squished in against a body. 

"Try anything funny and I will break your wing," a man hissed to you in heavily-accented English. You didn't doubt that he, or someone, would. 

So you behaved, because you wouldn't be able to escape if you had a broken wing. You listened to the occasional chatter in Arabic. You tried very hard not to panic. 

Sooner than you expected, the car stopped and you were once again handed off. The thing never came off your head, never let you see anything. 

But you could hear more people, orders shouted in Arabic, more movement. 

Oh this was bad. 

Someone carried you somewhere cooler. More movement around you, and for a brief moment you could see as the heavy thing over your head was yanked off - you could see two men in front of you, one of them grinning to show off two empty spaces where teeth should be. 

Then darkness again as a hood was secured over your head. You'd never been put in a falconry hood, but you knew immediately that's what it was, just from the feel of the leather and ties around your head. You screeched, trying to flap your wings. 

"Enough of that," a sharp voice scolded. You nearly startled to realize it sounded like a woman. There was another flurry of Arabic, orders it sounded like, and then hands grasped your right wing, the one with the bullet hole. Big hands held you in place, wing extended, other wing pinned to your side. 

You had no idea what they were doing until you heard the snip, snip, snip. You screeched, enraged and despairing and agonized. But they didn't stop, and there was nothing you could do. 

"There." The woman sounded far too smug, too pleased. "Now you can be my bird." She laughed, low and throaty and sadistic. 

You shivered, tucking your wings in as tight as you could, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Bells jingled as you moved and you froze in horror.

Hood and jesses. They were treating you like a falconry bird. 

If you could, you might have thrown up. As it was, you made a tiny distressed noise. 

A door shut somewhere nearby, leaving you with the terrible feeling that you were alone. 

You tried to pace off the room, but the fucking bells kept breaking your concentration. You could stretch your wings, at least, though the right one hurt. And the way the air moved around your wing was… wrong. 

That was all the confirmation you needed, even as you pulled your wings in tight again and huddled in place, shivering. They’d clipped your primaries. 

Even if the hood was gone, you wouldn’t be able to fly. 

You had no idea how long you stood there, alone in the forced darkness. Time was meaningless as you mentally went in circles. Simon knew you’d gone. There was a chance the other three had seen you or heard the commotion. People knew you were gone. 

Someone would come for you.

Or you’d be killed first. 

But you didn’t want to die, your pack needed you, you couldn’t leave them, they’d never forgive themselves if you died here–

The door opened hard enough that it slammed into the wall, and you jumped, wings flaring in agitation. 

“There’s my pretty bird,” the woman from before cooed, over-sweet and mocking. “Hungry yet?” Her steps were deliberately loud as she approached you. You stiffened, holding yourself tense, but didn’t move. “Now, are you going to cooperate? Be a good bird?” 

You didn’t reply, but you figured that lack of fighting would be a response. Because you had no idea where you were, and you held almost no power here. You knew that if you got too uppity, they’d make your life worse. Probably not kill you - they’d had plenty of opportunity to do that, and hadn’t yet. 

But you could think of plenty of things they could do to make things worse for you.

The hood was pulled off your head, and you blinked rapidly as you adjusted to the light. The room had no windows and only one door. The artificial light washed everything yellow. 

And, most importantly, left you no way to know how long it had been, how long you’d been gone. 

The woman in front of you wore khaki and brown, simple clothes that were more functional than fashionable. Brown eyes held yours, a smirk slowly stretching her lips when you refused to look away first. But she didn’t seem to care about a dominance game. She just stepped further into the room, setting down two bowls for you. 

Like you were a pet. 

Your stomach turned and you stayed very still, head tipped, watching her closely. 

“Well? Go on. Eat while you can.” Her grin had stretched into a cruel thing, showing too many teeth. 

You shuffle-hopped forward, the bells on the jesses setting off every nerve you had. You hated this. Hated her. But this wouldn’t be forever, you knew it wouldn’t. You needed to eat, needed the fuel to heal and save up for your escape (as soon as you had a decent plan). 

So, much as it grated on you, you ate from the bowl, keeping your gaze on her as much as you could. It felt demeaning, dehumanizing. 

You felt like some exotic pet. The feeling made your blood boil, made you seethe. But you were careful to do so very quietly, only to yourself. 

“Good bird,” she cooed mockingly. “We shall see how long it takes to train you.” 

Before you could do more than flare your wings in protest, the hood was shoved back on your head, plunging you into darkness once more. You flapped your wings twice, momentarily off-balance. 

The door shut. A lock clicked.

And you were alone again, in darkness and silence. 

It was impossible to track how much time had passed. You could hear only occasional muffled sounds beyond your room, had no way to mark the passage of time. 

The only breaks from the darkness were for food, always far enough apart that you were hungry, always the woman and one underling. Always demeaning. Always difficult. 

You suffered through five meals. Five meals. Each one worse than the last, with more taunting, more mocking. It was harder every time to not just leap at her and rip into her. 

But you remained patient, somehow. 

The muffled sound of gunfire drew your attention, and you moved back and forth restlessly. It was hard not to get your hopes up, after however many days of being stuck here. 

When the gunfire got louder and you heard the muffled shouts outside your door, satisfaction surged. That was probably your pack, coming for you.

And if it wasn’t, well… There was more than one way out of here. 

You waited for a lull in the fighting, in the shouting and gunshots and chaos. And then you screeched, as loud as you could. 

There. If that was your pack, they’d know it was you. If it was anybody else… You’d deal with that when you could. 

The fighting and gunfire got closer, and you backed up slowly, carefully. The jingling of the fucking jesses still grated, but it was easier to ignore with the fighting outside. 

There were two shots outside, two thuds. Your heart beat faster and you half-spread your wings, talons clicking against the floor. 

“Found her,” came Soap’s voice from the door, and the breath whooshed out of you all at once. “Fuck,” he ground out, as angry as you’d ever heard him. “Okay, ‘s just me, sweets. Ah’m gonna take this off, yeah?” Hands fumbled with the hood for a moment before it was gone, leaving you blinking and near-blinded by the sudden brightness. 

And there was Soap, clothes a little bloodied, expression torn between rage and sympathy. He spared a moment to smooth a hand over your head. 

“Can ye shift?” 

You clicked your beak and awkwardly held out one leg, jingling the jess still attached. 

His expression immediately darkened. “Ah’ll burn the whole place,” he swore, rapidly removing one jess, then the other. 

Relieved, you immediately shifted back. Your arm ached where the bullet hole had mostly healed, and you knew you probably looked a wreck. You felt a wreck, a little shaky and unsteady. But you were also determined to get the hell out. 

“Give me a gun,” you rasped, throat dry. 

“Ah donnae have supplies for ye,” Soap murmured apologetically, even as he unclipped his handgun and handed it to you. “Keep close.” 

You nodded silently, pushing down everything else. You’d deal with everything else later. 

Warm wetness on your feet made you look down as you followed Soap out of the room that had been your prison for however long. Two guards, both dead. Clean shots. Blood had pooled in the hallway. Your upper lip curled and you stepped carefully through the hall, not wanting to slip on anything. 

Soap motioned you to wait as you came up to a corner, and he peeked around first. A gunshot had him jerking back. 

“Counted eight,” he murmured to you. “Wait here.”

“But–” Your shoulders raised, and if you’d had feathers they would have been floofing out.

“Ye have no vest, no protection,” Soap pointed out, soft but firm. “Jus’ got ye back, sweets. Donnae ask me this.” 

And you deflated again. As much as you wanted to kill every bastard in the building yourself, he had a good point. “Okay,” you agreed quietly, grip tightening briefly on your gun. “I’ll wait.”

Soap pressed a quick, hard kiss to your temple before he was gone, picking off one before he even rounded the corner. You could do nothing but listen to the chaos and wait for the all clear to move up.

A scuff behind you had you whirling, gun up. The woman stood no more than ten paces away, teeth bared, a gun in her hand. 

“Well well, is this what pretty birdie looks like when she’s not a birdie?” She laughed, the sound unhinged, divorced from reality. “What a waste.” 

“Don’t move.” Your voice didn’t shake. Your hands didn’t shake. But your mind… your mind quailed. 

“What’s the matter, birdie? Missing your hood?” Her teeth were bloody, eyes fixed on you as she took a step closer. 

You swallowed hard, breath coming faster. If you never saw a hood again it would be too soon. 

“We can fix that.” She took another step forward, lifting the gun slowly, as if it was much heavier than it actually was. 

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t blink. You shot her, center mass. 

She fell. 

“Sweets?” Soap sounded only a little panicky. 

“Clear!” You swallowed. Then again. You were a medic, yes, but this was far from the first time you’d killed. You’d hoped this would bring a little peace.

Instead you were simply numb.

“Move up!” Soap called after another minute. You obeyed wordlessly, turning your back on the corpse without another thought. 

“How far?” you asked softly, stopping behind him, letting him be your shield again. 

“Not much farther.” He glanced back at you, worried. “Ye alright?” 

“Fine.” Your answer was short, clipped. Because you couldn’t think about being anything other than fine. “Let’s go.” 

Soap hesitated a moment longer, gaze searching your face, before he nodded once, slowly. Then he moved, keeping you behind him. You kept close to him, moving as quietly as possible, ignoring the tackiness of blood drying on your skin. 

He had you wait as he cleared one more room, and then the two of you met up with Gaz. Gaz breathed in sharply when he saw you but was quick to tug you to him in a hard hug, the edges of his vest and gear blunt and uncomfortable against your skin. You didn’t care, returning the hug with an edge of desperation. 

“Here,” Gaz murmured, pulling spare clothes from one of his pouches. “Couldn’t bring extra gear for you, but this’ll do for now.” 

You nodded, pulling the clothes on silently. They didn’t actually help you feel any better, but being with two of your pack did. 

“Price and Ghost are almost done,” Gaz told Soap, tucking you between the two so you were protected. “Ready to meet up?”

“Ready.” Soap grinned, brief and vicious. “Ye’ll like this,” he promised you, taking the lead. You followed him, Gaz on your six. The building was quiet now, tension thrumming under your skin. But you kept up, swallowing back your nerves as best you could. 

“All set up?” Soap asked as he stepped into a room. You followed, a little more cautious. 

“All set,” Price agreed, eyes immediately finding you. A bit of tension leaked from his shoulders and he smiled, just a little. “Ready to get out of here?” 

You nodded silently, but didn’t say anything. Which didn’t matter, because Ghost was in front of you in a few long strides, one hand gently cupping your cheek to tip your head. 

“Injuries?” he asked softly, gaze sweeping over you.

“Just my arm.” And your feathers, but you couldn’t think about that for longer than a moment or you’d start screaming. 

Ghost nodded, pulling you into his side. 

“Let’s go,” Price ordered, taking point. The others kept you in the middle between them all the way out. 

At a safe distance, the group of you turned. Soap waggled his eyebrows at you, grinning, before he pushed down on a detonator. 

The entire building collapsed, shaking apart as explosions ripped through it. It was incredibly cathartic to see. Or, well. It probably was. You were… kind of numb. 

“Here.” 

You blinked slowly to find Price holding out a water to you. Your hands trembled as you took it, drinking slowly under the watchful gaze of your pack. 

“It’s not far to exfil,” Gaz murmured, one hand resting on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch, breath momentarily hitching. 

“Okay.” You swallowed hard and took the protein bar Price handed over, eating mechanically. You could barely taste it. 

You knew this was bad, but. Not much to be done about it yet. 

“You alright to walk the rest of the way?” Price asked, glancing down at your feet. 

You blinked. You… couldn’t actually feel any discomfort from your feet, though you knew you should. You were standing barefoot on the ground, and it wasn’t even flat ground. “I’m fine.” 

Price eyed you for a moment before he nodded. “Let’s get out of here, then,” he murmured. Contrary to his own words, he leaned in until he could press his forehead to yours, taking a moment to just breathe. Then he pulled back, once again taking point. 

You followed, a little slow but moving under your own power. At least you weren’t in pain. 

Yet. 

The heli was waiting for you when you arrived. You shivered briefly against the wind and hurried in, buckling in with shaking hands. Soap dropped down on one side of you, Gaz on your other side. They both double checked your harness. 

The flight back didn’t seem to take any time. You sat upright, tired and numb and cold, but unable to show any of that. You would eventually, you knew. You should probably warn your guys, you knew.

But you couldn’t. 

The heli set down with a bump and you jolted. Two pairs of hands steadied you, Gaz and Soap both looking at you with concern. 

But nobody said anything as they escorted you to medical. 

You answered anything directly asked of you, quiet and stiff. The bullet hole in your arm was deemed mostly healed (it should have been more healed, really, but you hadn’t eaten enough), and otherwise you were dehydrated and bruised, but mostly unharmed. 

The problem arose when one of the medics asked you to shift. 

“No.” The word was only a whisper but you leaned away, hands curling into fists, muscles pulling taut. 

The medic paused, eyeing you carefully. You were known to be more easy-going and cooperative, so this? Was unusual. “If you need privacy–”

“No.” It came out a little stronger this time, even as your gaze darted to the door, heart racing. No. Absolutely not. 

The medic slowly leaned back, away from you. But their voice was calm as they called, “Captain?” 

Price was in front of you a moment later, taking in your posture in a quick glance. He put one heavy hand on your shoulder, ducking his head to look you in the eyes for a moment. “Easy,” he murmured, frowning a little. “You done here?” He glanced back over his shoulder at the medic. 

“She hasn’t shifted yet, so we’re not technically done,” the medic explained. 

Price glanced down at you, and you shook your head, jaw clenched so tight your teeth ached. “Another time,” Price grunted, gently tugging you off the exam table. 

The medic sighed, exasperated but unwilling to fight. “Fine. Make sure she sleeps,” they ordered, moving out of the way. “And eats.”

Price nodded, letting his hand fall from your shoulder. You tried not to focus on that, tried to focus on following him instead. But it was hard. The touch had been grounding, helpful. Helping to pull you back into yourself. 

“You should get cleaned up,” Price murmured, heading back towards your quarters. “It’ll help.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t manage more than that, couldn’t force more out. The numbness was slowly fading, leaving you aching. And tired. So very tired. 

Price paused outside your door, studying you. “Do you want someone here?” 

You swallowed and forced yourself to nod. You didn’t want to be alone. But you didn’t want anyone looking at you just yet, either. 

Price nodded slowly, brow furrowing a little. “I’ll stay,” he rumbled, pushing your door open and ushering you through first. “Get cleaned up, dress down for the evening.” 

You nodded wordlessly, slipping past him and grabbing comfortable clothes. You had a bathroom to yourself, something you were extremely grateful for, and you shut the door between yourself and your alpha. And then immediately opened it a crack, because you felt too trapped otherwise. 

Hot water felt heavenly, after everything. Getting to scrub your head felt heavenly. Everything else… Well. You definitely overdid it washing yourself, scratching your skin nearly raw in places. You did make yourself bleed again, accidentally breaking open the wound in your arm. 

But you finally felt clean enough for the moment and emerged, drying off and wrapping your head in a towel. That would do. 

Price was still sitting on your bed when you emerged, phone in hand, though he turned his gaze to you as soon as the door opened. His gaze lingered on your skin, and you knew he was making note of everything. But he didn’t comment. 

“Figured we’d go to the pack room,” he said, carefully phrasing it as an option, rather than an order. “Got Gaz and Soap bringing food.”

You nodded. “Food sounds good,” you admitted, walking over to him. You didn’t ask, just plastered yourself to his front, cheek pressed to his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of your alpha. Price hummed softly, one hand cupping the back of your head, his other settling on your back. 

“Take as long as you need,” he murmured, low and soothing. “We’ll walk together, hm?” 

“Yeah.” You closed your eyes, relaxing into his warmth. Just a minute. You just needed a minute. Price only held you tighter. 

You finally pulled back with one last deep breath. “Okay,” you croaked. “Let’s go.” 

Price didn’t object, but he did keep you close as the two of you walked to the pack room. Almost nobody was around, which worked out well, because you were starting to use your captain for help staying upright. 

No sooner had you stepped into the pack room than you got swarmed. Somehow, you weren’t exactly sure how, they settled you on the couch pressed up against Simon, with Gaz and Soap chattering as they made up plates of food, and Price hovering behind you and Simon. 

“Don’t ask,” you murmured to Simon, fairly sure Price could hear too. “Not yet.”

Simon hummed softly, carefully bundling you even closer to his side. “Not yet,” he agreed, about as soft as he ever got. 

Gaz and Soap carried the conversation through dinner, both of them settling around you as well until you were entirely enclosed by pack. It should have made you feel better.

It didn’t. 

All you could think of were the past eight days. Eight, you discovered when Soap let it slip. Eight days you’d been stuck in that hood and silence but for the jesses, treated like an animal.

It was almost enough to make you sick. 

You swallowed down what you could, but ended up leaving food. It was odd - you would have thought you’d be ravenous, after the last days. But you weren’t. You were barely hungry, only ate to try to stave off their concern. 

Which didn’t entirely work, from the quick looks and little touches you endured through the evening. 

And then you just… settled. Let one of them take your plate when it was obvious you weren’t going to eat more, and relaxed. Simon stayed on one side of you, refusing to move. You leaned more and more into him as your eyes tried to shut, until he simply pulled you in to use his chest as a pillow. You murmured something, half complaint half thanks, and closed your eyes, the soothing sounds of your pack settling around you. 

You woke to total darkness.

For a moment you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. If you moved you’d hear those damn bells, and there was no point because you couldn’t get anywhere, you were trapped, and your wings– your wings–

“Hey, hey, s’alright love,” Simon murmured urgently, hands patting at you. Which was when you realized you were keening, breath hitching in your chest. You still couldn’t see but you could feel your pack moving around you.

“Get the lights,” Price ordered. “Simon?” 

“Not sure.” Simon put one hand over your chest. “You need to breathe.” It wasn’t until he put your hand against his chest, letting you feel the exaggerated inflation of his lungs that you realized he was talking to you.

The lights flipped on, bright and sudden, and you went limp. You were fine. You were in the pack room. You didn’t have a hood on. 

“Love?” Simon leaned closer to you, eyes dark and worried. 

“‘M okay,” you gasped, blinking a few times, finally settling back into reality. “Just. A minute.” 

Simon didn’t move, just breathing in again. You did your best to follow along, nerves still strung taut from waking the way you did. Soap pressed up close to your side, his head resting near your hip. Your fingers curled gently in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp to help calm yourself. Based on his pleased hum, that’s what he’d wanted in the first place. 

“Better?” Price moved carefully closer, doing a quick visual check.

“Yeah.” You licked your lips, very aware of your dry throat now. “Just.” You clenched your jaw. Admitting weakness was never easy, and this was no different. “Couldn’t see.” 

Soap lifted his head to look at you. “Sweets,” he started, carefully, like he was feeling for land mines. “Did they keep the hood on ye?” 

You swallowed hard. “Except for when they brought me food.” 

“Hood?” Gaz asked, handing over a bottle of water to you, expression mostly blank. 

“And jesses,” you confirmed before taking a deep drink of water. 

“We’ll make sure there’s a light on for you,” Price said, before anyone else could say anything. Which was honestly for the best - you didn’t think you could talk any more about what had happened just yet. 

“You should go back to sleep,” you murmured, setting the water bottle down and scratching Soap’s scalp again. “Too early to be up.” 

“Hm.” Price tipped his head, looking at you. Then he huffed softly. “Stubborn.” 

You only had time to blink before he was settling back in with the rest of you, getting comfortable. The nest was big enough for all of you, because you’d made sure of that, but still. 

You didn’t think anyone would manage to get back to sleep, especially with the light on. But they surprised you - Gaz snored gently against Price’s ribs, while Soap used your hip as a pillow. (He always made the oddest choices.) Price didn’t sleep, but he did close his eyes and relax. 

Simon just kept you close, his steady breathing helping your own. 

Your pack didn’t quite hover the next few days. They did, however, take rotating shifts making sure someone stayed with you. Simon nudged you into the pack room every night. Gaz had pulled up a nightlight from somewhere, the soft yellow light always left on now. They didn’t let you feel ashamed of it, either, though shame still tried to wiggle into your brain. 

Things weren’t okay. Wouldn’t be okay for a while. But they were getting better. 

Except for your wings. 

You managed not to think about it most of the time, focused on staying human and getting through the worst of the aftereffects. Sure, it wasn’t conventional torture, but it was almost worse. 

Things finally came to a head when the rest of the pack shifted, Gaz and Soap racing outside immediately, growling playfully at each other. Ghost followed, more placid, looking at you once over his shoulder. 

Price stopped in front of you, the bear easily able to meet your gaze. You knew that if he stood up straight on his hind legs, he’d be much taller than you. 

“No.” Your smile was small and tight, pained. “You go. I’m not shifting.” 

His head tipped, fuzzy little ears flickering back towards the open door and back to you. He grunted softly and nosed your ribs gently. 

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll come out for a bit.” 

Satisfied, he huffed and went first, lumbering out the door. You followed him, briefly squinting against the light before you adjusted. 

Gaz and Soap raced across the open space, occasionally trying to trip each other or jump over each other. Soap even got bold enough to bite Ghost’s tail and run for it, angry cat hot on his tail and gaining fast. Price found a nice sunny spot to watch and make sure they didn’t actually go overboard. 

Pretty normal. Except for you. You stood stiff and still, watching them and making no effort to join. It was… too much. It wasn’t their fault, or yours. The only people responsible were dead. 

None of them looked when you slipped back inside, as quietly as you could. You had one more thing you needed to do, and you needed some privacy to do it. 

Your room was far enough from them that you didn’t worry about being found immediately. You carefully took off your clothes, folding them on your bed. One deep breath. Two. 

You could do this. Hell, you’d been doing this since you were a child. Nothing would stop you now.

You shifted between breaths, braced for… something. But nothing happened. You didn’t immediately panic.

Okay. So far so good. 

You spread your wings carefully, flapping them a few times. You could just see your reflection in the mirror. Your beak was just as sharp, your crest still upright. Bits of downy feathers stuck up from a lack of preening, but you ignored the vague feeling of wrongness. You had something more important to fix. 

Your primaries had all been cut on your right wing. Not just some of them. All of them. It would take months for them to molt on their own. Months of being grounded, being flightless, being useless. 

The soft, mournful sound ripped free from your throat, and you flapped again. You could hop, maybe get a bit of air. But you couldn’t fly, not like this.

Unless…

No. No, that was a terrible idea.

Except that it wasn’t, really, a terrible idea. The longer you stood there, head tipped, staring at your clipped feathers in the mirror, the more sense it made. 

One last deep breath in and you dipped your head, tipping your wing to make it easier. It took a little shuffling and a little preening to get the right feather in your beak. 

The first one came out cleanly, a few drips of blood accompanying it. You dropped the shaft to the floor, not giving yourself time to really feel the pain. You just did it again. And again. And again. 

Until the floor was littered with blood and snipped feathers, the red stark on the black and white banded feathers. Your wing burned and ached, throbbing in time with your heart, and your chest heaved with your panting, beak open. You felt almost dizzy with it, mind gone blank. 

“Sweets?” The panicked yell made you blink and cheep softly, though you didn’t move yet. Your door was unlocked. “Sweets, I smell blood.” Gaz hit the door a moment later, nearly tumbling inside when the door opened easily. He froze when he spotted you, anguish twisting his features. “Oh, Sweets, what did you do?” 

You chirped at him, turning carefully, keeping your right wing flared. 

Gaz knelt in front of you, ducking down to examine where you’d pulled out your feathers. “Doesn’t look like you’re still bleeding,” he murmured, almost absently preening your feathers. “But why–?” 

You chirped at him and picked up one of the feathers by the shaft, showing him the cut end. 

“Cut?” He frowned, gaze darting between you and the small pile of feathers, before realization hit. He swallowed hard, rage like a dark thundercloud. “But why pull them?”

You chirped softly, dropping the feather and hopping closer to him. You were not designed for flat floors, dammit, you were designed for trees! 

“Do you wanna shift?” Gaz asked, frowning a little at you.

You shook yourself. Now that you’d shifted, you actually felt a little better. Still kind of awful, because you couldn’t fly, but you didn’t feel quite as raw. 

He huffed. “Course not,” he agreed with a wry smile. “Can I help you preen?” 

You chirped softly again, ducking your head under his hand. He took it as permission, which it was, and began combing through your feathers gently. 

“Gonna have to talk to one of us eventually,” he murmured, hands gentle over your injured wing. “Can’t put it off forever.”

You clicked your beak at him and stretched, gently preening his hair. He huffed but allowed it, muttering something about you being a menace. 

Gaz ended up letting you perch on his arm as he walked back to the pack room. Price huffed at your wing, gently pulling it to get a better look. 

“Did you do this or did they?” His voice was calm, but you knew your alpha. He was not calm. 

You chirped softly, looking to Gaz to answer for you.

“She pulled ‘em, but they were clipped.” 

“Ah.” Price blew out a breath, fingers gentle as he checked your secondaries. “Force ‘em to come in sooner?”

You chirped a soft affirmative. 

“Gonna need to eat more, then.” The look he gave you told you this was not an argument you would win. So you didn’t fight. 

You let them take care of you and fuss (not too much), and you just worked on being better. 

It took time, but the worst of the nightmares faded. Pitch black still bothered you but it was manageable, rather than panic attack inducing every time. 

Things got better. 

Your feathers still hadn’t come in yet, but you could be patient a little while longer. You could feel the itch where they were forming and growing. Good enough. 

Your first op was supposed to be an easy one. Well. As easy as anything the 141 took on. 

You, Price, and Gaz were clearing one building while Soap and Ghost cleared another. It was… not easy, but routine. 

Until you stumbled over one man Gaz missed. 

The man was in the back of the room, laying low. You probably wouldn’t have spotted him except a bit of light fell right on a very familiar feather. The black and white banding could, hypothetically, have been from any number of birds. 

But you knew. 

An angry snarl twisted your lips, and you stepped intentionally into the room, barely remembering to call to Price over your shoulder, gaze locked on your target. Your gun was steady on him. 

He watched you right back, one hand reaching for a weapon from a fallen comrade in a way he probably thought was stealthy. 

The bullet you planted between him and the weapon disabused him of that notion. 

“Where did you get that feather?” you asked, voice low and growly. If you weren’t so focused, it would have startled you to hear how furious you sounded. 

He looked up at you and grinned, front two teeth missing. You jerked back, body recalling more vividly than your mind the sudden darkness that had followed that grin. 

“Easy,” Price murmured from behind you, just to the side. Close enough to support you and take the shot if you needed, but giving you space to do it yourself. 

You breathed in deep. And shot him. For many reasons, including not leaving an enemy alive at your back. 

But bending down to pull your feather from his shirt was just for you. 

“You broken?” Price watched you, giving you space still. Letting you decide.

You tucked the feather in your vest and smiled. “Not today.” You nudged him, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder for just a moment, before you started walking again. “If we finish up before Soap, he promised he’d buy cookies.” 

Price’s chuckle followed you out of the room. Gaz called over comms that the building was clear, and Soap started swearing. He and Gaz went back and forth on the matter of the cookies, easy bickering in the middle of everything else. 

You just laughed, knowing your pack had you. Always. 

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; THE FINAL FINAL

Shen Qingqiu Propaganda:

The entire series is told from his POV and the story seems like a comedy. The side stories from other characters POVs make the story sound like a tragedy. He thought that Luo Binghe hated him and wanted him dead while everyone else knew that Binghe was in love with him.

the whole book he’s using his OWN interpretation of the world to explain literally everything, not knowing that his introduction into the world changed it so fundamentally that his prior knowledge of it is less than useless. he’s like “binghe is being sweet to me because binghe is sweet to people that wronged him before repaying their slight a thousandfold, and he only adds their acceptance of his sweetness to his tally of their sins!! i have to run away forever or he’ll tear my arms and legs off!!!!!!” and binghe in reality is like “wow the love of my life my beloved shizun is scared of me still :( i should act sweet and nonthreatening so he’s not scared of me :(“ and he literally doesn’t have this corrected until the end of the book. but even when that one thing is corrected he still is like “haha okay but these other six things-“ bro……. cucumber bro………….. you homosexualized the world just accept it

He examines the entire reality he's isekai-ed into as if it's still fictional and his inner monologue ignores any "character trait" of the people around him that doesn't fit into his perception of "canon" despite everything he's done to change reality from the canon of the novel he first read. He routinely mislabels his own emotions as well as making heteronormative assumptions about himself and the people around him before he finally realises he's in reciprocated gay love with a man. It's a book that benefits being read twice, so the second time around you can focus on the implications Shen Qingqiu blatantly misses.

Transmigrates into a novel he “hates,” assumes he’s doing a good job pretending to be the character whose body he got stuck in, assumes other characters will stick to their original paths. Lotta assumptions, lots of rationalizing, lots of incredible feats of misunderstanding/misinterpreting things. His internal narration is also hysterical.

Lemony Snicket Propaganda:

(I would like to preface this by saying that Lemony Snicket is the author's pen name, not a real person, and he exists as a character in-universe as well as being the one in-universe who writes the books!) I'd say he's unreliable because he spent time collecting information about the Baudelaire kids and then... wrote books about it. He has no idea what any of their dialogue actually was, what they were thinking, or even the whole plot, he's just doing research into the incidents and then filling in the gaps to make it a story. What ACTUALLY happened to the Baudelaires? Nobody really knows for sure

While the Baudelaire siblings are in potentially life threatening danger, he will randomly start talking about his own life and just leave the siblings hanging. For example, once Count Olaf was threatening to kill Violet, and then Lemony randomly began talking about how he met the love of his life at a costume party. This man CANNOT stay on topic. Usually when a new character is introduced, Lemony tells us right at the start that they’re either going to die or that the Baudelaire siblings will never see them again. Foreshadowing is not subtle in these books. CONSTANTLY emphasizes how miserable he feels while writing these books. At one point he admits that he had to put his pencil down and go cry for a while because of how sad it made him. Once he filled an entire page with nothing but the word “ever” to emphasize how dangerous it is to put forks in electrical outlets. He also repeated a paragraph about deja vu later on in the book to give the reader deja vu.

[anyarose011]

Christmas Time is Here {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Christmas (FINALLY) has arrived! What better way to spend the day full of cheer than with your family (and the boy you previously didn't really care for until just a few days prior). It'd be better if you could spend it in Boston as well...

Part 7 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Making out, swearing, talk of sex, and jokes about pimping out one's father.

Heyyyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeeeee. So...okay, long story short, I got back from strudying abroad and have been using this summer to just readjust to America (it's been rough, low key). So I just want to apologize for the long wait, and I hope this chapter is worth it. Also, because the main characters in this story (reader and Angus) are minors, I WILL NOT be adding smut. Still, thank you guys so much for your patience!

Word Count: 6.4k

You thought you slept in at first, until you glanced at the clock on the nightstand and read ‘7:30am’. Groaning, you sat up, rubbing your face when the realization hit you: It was Christmas!

That’s what caused you to leap out of your bed and immediately look under it, pulling out the three horribly wrapped gifts in newspapers tied with a twine ribbon. Before you could do anything else, a light knock on the doorway made you flinch.

“Yeah?” You whispered.

“Are you decent?”

Giggling at Angus’ use of your words from last night, you said. “Not really, I’m still in my pajamas.”

“Get dressed, I wanna show you something.”

You snorted. “You’re not gonna kill me or something, are you?”

“No, but on an unrelated note, we’re going off campus.”

“Wait,” your face dropped. “seriously?”

He snickered. “No. It’s just in the theater.”

You shook your head. “Okay, I’ll meet you in the hall.”

His footsteps echoed outside, and you decided to give him his gift early. After changing into a long-sleeved shirt and pants, then your socks and boots, you slipped out of the door whilst hiding the present behind your back.

“What’s behind your back?” Angus immediately asked once he saw you.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You teased. “It’s nothing.”

“Amy…”

Sighing overdramatically, you held out the gift. His eyes grew to the size of the moon (both things that you still think are beautiful) as he took it from you. “I…what is this?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “it’s a present, but you kind of have to open it to-.”

“-No, I mean…I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want anything.”

“Hey-.”

“-Ordinary people say ‘thank you’ and open the damn thing.” You smirked.

He mirrored your expression before tearing the newspapers. It was almost funny to you how Angus Tully looked as if his breath was stolen from his lungs just at the sight of Little Women in his hands.

“This is yours.”

“Well, it’s yours now. That’s kind of how gifts work.”

“It’s your favorite though.”

“Who told you it’s my favorite?” You tilted your head, as if challenging him.

You’d never seen a face whiter than the snow outside. “I-I, um, shit.”

“No,” you shook your head. “you’re telling me you kiss me so hard my lips turned blue in the kitchen-!”

“-Hey, hey! Shut up!” He tried to be serious but only ended up laughing.

“But you can’t remember what my favorite book is?!”

Taking a deep breath, Angus then said. “I’m sorry, okay?”

A smile pulled onto your lips. “Yeah, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Thank you.” A giggle fell from you. “Oh god, I hope my dad didn’t hear that.”

“I checked his bed, he’s out somewhere.”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “escort me to the theater then.”

He grinned from ear to ear as he led you through the halls. Unashamedly, you were a bit disappointed; you wished he’d taken your hand. Still, despite the sun being out, to your knowledge, you were the only two people awake. You wouldn’t blame Mary for sleeping in, and it was Christmas, no way Danny would waste his time with you three; that man had family in Worcester.

When you and Angus made it to the theater, you both walked up the steps to the stage and after he set the book down on the floor, he leaned against the piano.

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Mr. Tully, you better not serenade me.”

“I’m not singing.” He tried not to smile.

“So, there is a God.”

“Quit it.” He snickered. “Sit down, I’m gonna teach you how to play the piano.”

Raising your brow, you said. “You told me you hadn’t played since you were ten.”

“I hadn’t taken lessons since I was ten. We have a piano back at home, so I still play sometimes.”

“Never here?”

“Never here. Come on.” he tilted his head to the bench.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down, placing your hands on the keys. Angus came to stand beside you. “Okay, you know the alphabet?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Perfect.” He scoffed, then pointed to the white keys. “So, you only have to know ‘A’ to ‘G’. If this,” he pressed the white key in the middle of the piano between two black keys. “is ‘D’, then what is this?” He hovered his finger above the white key to the right of it.

“E.” You said simply. “I do know that this ‘B’ key is out of tuned though.”

You reached over his arm and played the ‘C’ an octave above, bringing your face just a little closer to his. He smiled. “Okay smartass, you do know what the alphabet it.”

“Yeah, I just don’t know how to play anything, that’s all.”

Angus took your right hand in his hand (fucking finally), and brought your fingers to play the ‘E’ and ‘D#’ a few times before then ‘B’, ‘D’, ‘C’, and ‘A’.

“Know that one?” He asked.

“‘Fur Elise’.” You grinned at the name. “And you’re sure you wish I was your first kiss?”

He answered plain and simple. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you decided to keep toying with him. “what comes next? And I’m pretty sure I have to use my other hand at some point.”

You expected a retort from him, but he only went behind you and grabbed your left hand. Gently, he pressed his fingers over yours, and guided you to slowly play the piece by Beethoven. It was peaceful to say the least; well, as peaceful as it could be while your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest.

As his chest hovered against your back, you decided to soothe your own worries.

“Son of a bitch, you just wanted to hold my hand!” You teased.

The music stopped as he pressed his face against your shoulder while laughing. It should’ve made you uneasy how just at ease he was around you; but perhaps you both had already acted like this before you kissed. Perhaps, with only being around him for a week, you had come to know him as a close friend (even with how much you loathed him at first).

He took his head off your shoulder and looked at you, his nose practically against yours. “And what if I did?”

This was the part where you were supposed to say something smart in return and make him feel just a bit stupid. But…were his eyes always that brown and beautiful?

You were just a girl; no one should blame you for immediately throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him.

Luckily, unlike the night before, he was less surprised this time. His arms were around your waist, and whether he meant to or not, he pulled you down to the floor with him when his own legs gave out.

Still, even though the sudden shift of your body caused you to squeak out in surprise, your lips didn’t leave his as your hands soon carded through his hair, and his moved further down your hips.

“I don’t want to do anything more,” you said quickly between kisses. “I don’t want to do anything more!”

His lips moved down to your neck, one of his hands came back up to cradle your jaw tenderly. “Me neither.”

“Okay.” You answered, your voice slightly pitched as he kissed your neck. Angus laid you down as softly as he could on the stage and hovered above you; his kisses never leaving your skin. His hand found yours and held it above your head as he brought his lips back up to yours. Even with it being clumsy, nothing in your whole life had felt so…good.

You wondered just how anyone on earth could get anything done after being kissed like this for the first time.

Perhaps it is because they hear their father calling their name.

At the sound of your father’s voice echoing through the halls, you and Angus froze. With one look, you both immediately pulled away, and he got off you, sitting on the piano bench and putting his hands on the keys.

It was quite comedic how that was the first time you heard him play; and he was quite good at it.

Luckily, you managed to get up and lean against the piano the moment the door to the auditorium opened and soon slammed shut. Angus stopped playing, and you both looked up and saw your father, huffing as if to catch his breath from running around everywhere.

“Merry Christmas.” Were his first words, and after both you and Angus repeated his sentiment, he then asked. “Where the hell have you been?”

You shrugged. “Just here.”

His eyes traveled to you and then to Angus, who, like any nervous teen boy who’d nearly been caught after making out with the teacher’s daughter, waved. Your father simply nodded. “Well, come on. I have something to show you two.”

He left through the doors he came in, and after you and Angus glanced at each other, you both followed; Angus picking up the book of course. Your father took you both to the dining hall where Mary had been waiting, and proudly presented a frankly shabby Christmas tree with some wrapped gifts to you.

“No ornaments?” Angus asked.

“Oh,” your father sighed. “I’m sure we can round up some ornaments somewhere. Uh, now.” He picked up one of the gifts, handing it to Angus. “This is for you.”

The boy glanced up at him as if he handed him the best thing he could receive that day (next to your copy of Little Women of course). He tore it open, and it was revealed to be another book.

“‘Meditations.’” Your father read the title. “by Marcus Aurelius. For my money, it’s like the Bible, the Koran and the Bhagavad Gita all rolled up into one. And the best part is not one mention of God.”

Mary huffed, obviously not a fan.

“And this,” he handed her the other package under the tree. “is for you.”

She opened it, revealing another book of ‘Meditations’. “So, you just give this to everyone?”

“And.” He gave her the other gift under the tree; that being a horribly wrapped bottle of whiskey.

That got her to smile wide as she took it. Your father, grabbing the final package under the tree, then handed it to you. “Yes, it’s a book, no, it’s not ‘Meditations’.”

Smiling, you unwrapped it and stood absolutely still in shock before exploding into a cheer. “Where did you get this?! I couldn’t find even in Boston!”

“The day trip we took to New York for Thanksgiving? Found it while you wandered off in the bookstore.” He joked.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

“What is it?” Angus asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Maria,” you answered. “by Mary Wollstonecraft. She’s Mary Shelley’s mom.”

“Like, Frankenstein Mary Shelley?”

Oh, how much you wanted to kiss him just because he knew the author of a popular book. Still, you didn’t know how many men even knew a woman wrote one of the most iconic stories of all time. Still, your father and closest woman you had to a mother in years were watching you, so you settled on shoving him.

“That’s right; maybe you’re not that stupid.” Before he could verbally respond, you were almost out the door. “I got something for you guys, be right back!”

You felt like a little girl again as you ran through the halls and up the stairs into the infirmary room before taking the shittly wrapped presents off your bed. You slid down the main staircase railing before barging back into the dining hall where it looked like barely anything had changed.

“What was my time?” You asked your father, a huge smile on your face.

He gave a look. “You didn’t ask us to time you.”

“Happy Christmas.” You handed him his gift, then repeated the same action and sentiment to Mary.

Your father was the first one to open his, and a pleasant smile spread upon his face while holding it up to you; a coloring book of ancient Rome.

“How’d you know I wanted this?” He joked. He had perhaps almost every single book on Roman history, so you had to get creative.

You shrugged. “Oh, you wouldn’t stop talking about it, remember?”

Mary opened hers next, grinning from ear to ear once it was unwrapped. A pink pocket-sized prayer book. “How’d you know I lost mine?”

“Because you told me.”

She hugged you, pinching your cheek when she pulled away. “You’re an angel.”

“Oh, Angus,” Your father took the forgotten envelope out from under the tree, handing it to the boy beside you. “this came in the mail for you.”

He opened it, and glancing over his arm, you saw cash stuffed inside of the card with “Greetings of the Season and Best Wishes for a Happy New Year” printed inside, with the only written words being: “Love, Mom and Stanley.” Not any personalized notes or words of adoration anywhere to be found.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, give him any traditional sense of comfort; yet you weren’t ready to explain to your father and mother figure about the both of you…you weren’t dating, but you were something. So, instead, you merely pushed yourself against his side and acted annoying.

“Fuck, you’re loaded.” Mary scoldingly said your name, but you continued. “Well, he is! Yeesh, you should be paying off my father’s retirement if you hate him that much.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Emma Woodhouse.” You father rolled his eyes.

Angus, fortunately, snorted. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright,” Mary placed her hands on her hips. “now who’s hungry?”

As usual, the four of you had a lovely breakfast; although, this time, per Christmas tradition, you each had a little piece of chocolate with your pancakes she made. When helping her with the dishes, you saw that only one Christmas cookie you left out the night prior had remained.

When the dishes were done, you and Mary pulled the men into the teacher’s lounge.

“So why are we being held against out will?” Angus joked.

Your father sighed. “It’s almost ten-thirty.”

“And?”

“Charlie Brown!” You cheered, plopping yourself down on the carpet in front of the TV to turn it on.

“It’s the one tradition we have each Christmas,” your father explained and lowered his voice to Angus and Mary. “and one I wouldn’t mind getting rid of.”

“If you want to go drink alone while reading Agatha Christie, go ahead.” You announced, not turning to look at him as you flipped through the channels.

Mary and Angus merely laughed, and you proudly sat down on the couch. Your father mumbled incoherently, but before he could take a seat beside you, Mary grabbed his arm.

“Now, now, come help me make popcorn for the movie.”

Sighing, he let her lead him out of the teacher’s lounge and into the kitchen. Angus soon sat where your father would’ve if not for Mary. You smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He grinned, and there was silence (as always) between the two of you. One that was broken with. “Thank you.”

You tilted your head. “What for?”

“Just…” He laughed. “for liking me I guess. Also, for what you said about the stupid card and everything.”

Smiling, you glanced up to see if your father and Mary were close by. When you determined they weren’t, you took his face into your hands and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, dumbass.” You pulled away, looking back at the movie as little children start to sing Christmas Time is Here. “Just don’t bitch for the rest of the day.”

He snorted. “I’ll try my best.”

And he did. The four of you watched the movie, and after that, you and Angus went back up to the infirmary and spent the rest of the afternoon reading. Definitely not kissing at all; for sure not.

When you weren’t reading, you were either talking about stupid shit-.

“I thought I heard somewhere that plants can feel pain, do you think that’s true?” You asked, looking up at him while you laid at the end of his bed, your feet by his head.

“…I just want to thank you for letting me peek inside your mind and to see how weird it is.”

Or, surprisingly emotional conversations.

Angus nodded as he laid on the bed, you at his side. “Yeah, I mean…I had a good childhood, it just felt…weird sometimes.”

“I get it.” You rested your head on his shoulder as you both stared at the ceiling.

Still, it was perhaps the longest and most intimate interaction you ever had with a person up until then. How strange it was with a boy you hated only days ago.

Hours later, Mary called you both down for supper (luckily what was reheated from the previous night), and despite there only being four of you, you felt less lonely than when you had at the party. You sat beside Mary, not minding when the smoke of her cigarette tickled your nose.

“Thank you Mary,” your father smiled at her once he was finished. “that was just lovely.”

“Oh, is that an actual compliment?” You never heard Mary sound so surprised. He sighed heavily, and you didn’t bother holding back your laughter.

Angus set down his silverware. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real family Christmas like this. Christmas dinner, I mean, family style, out of the oven, all the trimmings. My mom always just orders in from Delmonico’s.”

Mary nodded. “She’s got the right idea. Next year, I’m ordering from Delmonico’s.”

“Anyway, thank you, Mary.”

She winked at him, then turned to you. “Well? You got something to say?”

You squinted your eyes mid-chew. After swallowing, you replied with. “The meat’s a bit raw, don’t you think?”

“Oh, none of that today!” She scolded you as everyone else giggled. “Ungrateful child on Christmas.”

“It’s great, Mary.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Your father rose a glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To my two unlikely companions on this snowy island, to my lovely daughter, and to our absent friends and family.” There was a pause much obviously for your mother and Curtis as if they were at the table with you. “I realize that none of us is here because he or she wants to be, so if there’s anything I can do to make the holidays a little cheerier for any of you, just say the word.”

“Copenhagen.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Try again next year, Josephine.”

Angus shrugged. “Boston.”

“Boston?” Your father wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Why not? I want a real Christmas. I want to go ice skating. I want to see a real Christmas tree with ornaments, not that stupid thing.”

That was what you couldn’t take (as a joke, obviously). “How dare you. You put some respect on that tree my father grew with his blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids.”

Whilst the adults groaned your name in disgust, Angus stared down at his plate, his body trembling with repressed laughter.

“You both said it was nice.” Your father reencountered.

“It is nice.” Mary defended.

Angus, after recovering from his amusement, continued. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Let’s have a real holiday.”

 Your father huffed. “We’re not going to Boston. It’s out of the question.”

“You just told the kids ‘anything’. So, if Copenhagen doesn’t work, then why not Boston?” Mary argued.

“Mary, we’re not allowed to leave campus or the immediate environs.”

Well, it was your moment to shine. Now, here’s the trick: Usually, the ‘puppy dog eyes’ only work on parents from the ages of birth to nine. Sometimes, but not in your case, it can go on longer into the early 30s (that is, if your parents are total pushovers, or you’re a master manipulator). So, what do you do instead? Well, if it’s with your father, you do this:

Glance at him one last time as if to make a final plea, but then act as if you already know the answer and look down as if you’re trying not to show your sadness. You cannot be angry at all, just sad and disappointed so that he can assume you’re judging all of his life choices that he had made previously to lead him to this.

…It’s not easy, but it certainly gets you what you want (…there was like a 76% success rate last time you calculated it).

“But,” your father sighed upon looking at you and Angus. “I suppose we could call it a field trip. A field trip would fall under the ambit of additional academic pursuits. There’s even a fund set aside for additional academic pursuits.”

Despite him looking annoyed, you had a feeling deep down, he wouldn’t mind getting out of Barton. Angus gleefully rose out of his chair.

“I’ll go pack!”

You knew you couldn’t chase after him excitedly, so instead, you focused on your father.

“Now wait a minute,” you scowled. “so you not only listened but also let him persuade you into having us go to Boston, but you didn’t even bother with Copenhagen? That’s really sexist of you.”

He sighed, exhaustedly saying your name. “You’re a smart girl, so you should know that there’s a difference between a ten-hour flight across the world, and a-!” Of course he stopped when he saw your shit eating grin. “…and you’re a smart girl because you played me like a fiddle.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you got up from your seat and wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, papa!”

He waved you off with a smile as you gathered up your dishes and glass, then went into the kitchen and placing them in the sink. You dashed up the stairs to the infirmary, to which you were greeted by Angus’ arms entrapping you.

Laughing, you reciprocated. “Why’re you like this?”

“I’m just happy, is that so shocking?”

“Yes.”

He pulled away only to then cup your cheeks in his hands and bring your lips to his. You sigh into his mouth, kissing him back.

“Does it ever stop?” You asked between kisses.

“What?” He led you to lie on the bed.

“You kissing me all the time."

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.” You meekly threatened, pulling him back down.

Neither of you started packing for another fifteen minutes; not until you heard your father’s footsteps in the hallway.

You surprised yourself by how well you slept that night. Usually, before an exciting day, you are restless. Yet, you actually jumped out of bed to get ready once your father came in to wake you up.

After a quick breakfast and an hour of waiting, the four of you were in the car on the way to Boston. A curse that you never thought possible is that you could not read in the car without throwing up; so, that forced Angus to read aloud (something that wasn’t a curse).

“‘That boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn’t he?’ said Amy.”

“That’s not what Amy sounds like.” You said matter of factly, laying almost flat in the backseat.

Angus sighed. “Well, she does today.”

“Mr. Tully,” your father looked in the rearview mirror. “is she implying that Amy usually sounds different?”

You grinned. “Yes I am.”

“Oh?” Mary arched her brow in interest.

“I’m not doing a voice.” Angus immediately retaliated.

Sighing dramatically, you stuck your bottom lip out. “Just this one line? Please?”

He stared at you as if you had him under a spell; either that, or your face was a monstrosity so terrible he couldn’t look away. It’s nice to think the first one. So, breathing heavily through his nose, he pitched his voice up.

“‘That boy ith a perfect thyclops, ithn’t he?’ said Amy.”

Needless to say, the car erupted into laughter.

You can’t quite remember what else was discussed between the four of you on that long drive. All you can recall is that you never once felt sorrow or pain from your mother’s absence. It was…lovely actually.

Soon, the car stopped outside Peggy Lamb’s triple decker apartment in Roxbury neighborhood. You hadn’t been there since you were thirteen for Thanksgiving. When, after your mother passed, Mary and Curtis invited both you and your father to dinner for the holiday. Then, just all of a sudden (much like Miss Crane’s Christmas parties), you stopped going.

“Here we are.” Mary announced.

“That’s an awful lot of stairs…” Your father trailed off.

“Probably icy too…”

Nope, not going to give your kissing buddy (what was Angus Tully to you? What were you to him?) a clue.

“Mr. Tully.”

“Right.” He nodded once he finally took the hint from your dad. He smiled. “Mary, can I help you with your bags?”

“Yes, please.” She smiled, and Angus got out of the car.

You leaned against Mary’s seat. “Mary, may I help you with your bags.”

“You may.”

You heard your father prod at just why you would want to go into the cold air and help Angus carry the bags but paid him no mind. You did though when it was Angus who asked.

“What’re you doing out here?” He popped the trunk.

“Mary asked me to help too.” You pulled out the large suitcase with all your strength. “She knew your noodle arms couldn’t handle it all.”

Scoffing, he took the hatbox and closed the trunk. “Seems like you’re handling it perfectly.”

“Of course, I am.” You did your best to hide the ache in your arms already forming as you led the way.

Mary, with her window rolled down, stopped you at the foot of the stairs. “Hey, why’s she carrying the suitcase?”

“She said she could handle it.” Angus replied.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

“Yeah, Angus.” You taunted as if him only carrying the box was his idea.

This was certainly not the first nor the last time you’d make his jaw drop from your wittiness. Sighing, he held out his hand for the suitcase, and you traded it for the hatbox.

“And be careful with the box,” Mary called your name. “Knowing you, you’ll drop it.”

You just stuck your tongue out playfully and continued up the stairs, Angus lugging the suitcase. “What do you think she packed in here, rocks?”

“I’d tell you, but you’d make a joke about how much women need to pack even though ‘We’re only here for a few days’.” You said in an accent that any man with low self-esteem would deem offensive.

He scoffed, stopping on the first floor. “Yeah, maybe.”

You tutted. “Ah, ah, ah, one more floor up.”

“What?”

“Peggy lives on the top floor.”

Angus sighed all the air that was left in his body before taking a deep breath. “I should’ve let you carry the damn bag.”

“But ya didn’t.” You smirked, leading him, once again, up the stairs.

When you both finally got to the top, you didn’t even need to knock on the door before Peggy and her husband came out to greet you.

“Oh, my goodness!” Peggy wrapped her arms around you once you set the box down. “It’s been too long.”

You laughed, hugging her back. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away, but still holding your arms. “Never apologize, honey. And who’s this with you?”

Obviously, she was looking at the scraggly, 6’1 white boy behind you. Still, smiling, you introduced him.

“Angus; he goes to school at Barton and has been spending the holidays with us.”

“Aw,” Peggy shook his hand. “it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded, grinning. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So,” she looked at you. “where’s that sister of mine?”

You tilted your head over ledge, and she and her husband walked over, waving and calling Mary’s name. Peggy turned back to you.

“Well, it’s been great seeing you again. If you ever need anything, you’re always welcome here.”

You nodded, smiling unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a Happy New Year.”

She repeated the pleasantries and hugged you one final time before you and Angus started descending the stairs. When you passed by Mary, wishing her goodbye, she stopped you.

“Not yet, now you’ve gotta help me up there.”

“Oh yeah,” Angus offered her his arm. “sure thing.”

You resisted. “I already said hi to Peggy, am I excused?”

“I guess so.” She sighed as if you annoyed her.

Happy with her answer, you hugged her tightly and rushed into the front seat of the car, enjoying the warmth. In the corner of your eye, you saw your father arch his.

“You and Mr. Tully seem to be getting along finally.”

Glancing over, you nodded. “Yeah. He’s still a bit of an ass, but he’s not so bad.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Time.” You shrugged, hoping your years of (somewhat) lying paid off. “I guess forcing us together for a week in the cold really helps.”

He hummed, turning back to look at the front as if there was anything eye-catching about the road. Thankfully, it didn’t take Angus that long to walk Mary up the stairs, and he was soon in the back of the car.

Your father drove into the city centre of Boston, and parked outside of the hotel you three would be staying at. Of course, you had a room all to yourself (although, you only had a single bed and not a twin, but you were happy nonetheless).

After twenty minutes of getting situated, the three of you went out to explore the city (a city the three of you had been to multiple times but was still just as beautiful as the first day you saw it). You went through more parks you could count, streets that almost all looked the same but still something unique about each of them; it was just nice enough to walk and talk with your companions.

“Alright,” your father lit his pipe after the three of you had lunch. “it’s about one-thirty right now, what’s one thing everyone want to do today?”

“I have two things.” You said.

“One for now, Josephine.”

“Brattle’s Books.”

“Very good, even though you already have too many. Mr. Tully, what about you?”

He shrugged. “Just ice skating, honestly.”

“Wow.” your father released his breath. “I must say, I am impressed with how simple both your suggestions are.”

“What do you wanna do?” You asked.

“The Museum of Fine Arts, of course.” He began walking. You and Angus sighed as if it was the worst convenience in the world. Your father defended. “Oh, quit your bellyaching, both of you! This is still technically a field trip. Okay, what’s the second thing you want to do?” He asked you.

“A milkshake and fries.”

“That’s it?” He wrinkled his nose. “That disgusting concoction, is it?”

“Yes, and it’s not disgusting, you’re just a picky eater.”

Angus chimed in. “It doesn’t sound that appealing.”

“Who asked you?” You questioned.

Your argument ended there as the three of you made the journey to Brattle’s Book Store. Just as you did in the car, you talked about nothing and everything at the same time; perhaps that’s why those little moments of transitioning matter the most to you.

When you made it to Brattle’s, you spent a little time inside the actual store, but more of it outside in the large empty space between the two buildings. It was like it was another floor on the old bookstore, several upon several shelves hugging the walls, and smaller ones creating aisles on the floor.

You primarily were by yourself, keeping a mental list of more books to buy for later, and lose yourself quickly in between the pages and old smell of them. You hadn’t even noticed it’d begun to snow until Angus was beside you.

“So, you’re telling me it couldn’t have snowed all the times we were indoors?” He joked.

You looked up. “Of course not, God’s angry at us.”

“Why?”

Smirking, you nudged him. “Kissing outside of wedlock.”

“The worst of all sins.” He played along.

“Above heresy, even.”

“Hi there handsome,” a woman’s voice penetrated the air. “got a cigarette?”

Neither of you wanted to turn around to see who she was talking to (or acknowledge her if she was talking to Angus). So, communicating with just one look, you stayed put.

“No, sorry. I smoke a pipe.”

Well, so much for staying still. At the sound of your father’s answer, both you and Angus turned slowly. A woman with red hair tied up in a messy bun wearing the ugliest shade of yellow and a raggedy fur coat graced your presence.

“How about a date, then?” She tried again. “You want a date?”

“No thank you.” He took the pipe out, smiling nervously.

“Oh, come on, let’s go somewhere warm!”

“Go ahead.” Angus teased. “We can wait here.”

Jaw on the floor, you couldn’t even say anything at first.

“See?” The woman stuck her hands in her pockets. “They can wait here, read some books. They don’t mind if daddy gets a little candy cane.”

“Thank you, but I never really liked candy canes.” Your father picked up a book. “Plus, I’m prediabetic.”

She scowled, and turned over her shoulder, leaving. Angus leaned over the bookshelf in between the two of you and your father.

“You know, if you do want a little candy cane, I won’t tell anyone.”

You swatted him, finally. “Stop trying to pimp out my father, you…you…”

“What?” He grinned from ear to ear. “What am I?”

“Papa, cover your ears.” You looked at him.

“Mister Tully,” he said instead. “for most people, sex is ninety-nine percent friction and one percent good-will. Call me old fashioned, but I place value on physical intimacy, and so should you two.”

“I never-!”

“-You know,” Angus interrupted. “if it wasn’t for your kid in front of me right now, I would’ve thought you never had sex.”

Again, you stroke him; this time, enough to leave a bruise.

“Ow!” He cradled his arm.

“You know,” you used his words. “if it wasn’t for your mom sending you to private school, I would’ve thought you were a cheap, common whore.”

Instead of scolding you, your father laughed. It’s not as if he never did, it was always just...a rarity and almost a blessing to hear him be so carefree.

“Mr. Tully, cover my daughter’s ears, would you?”

Angus followed through and you let him.

“Believe it or not,” your father continued. “there was a time when the fire in my loins burned white hot.”

“You’re full of shit.” Angus snickered.

“No, the details would curl your toes.”

“Okay, then let’s hear.”

He shook his head. “Whatever happened between my wife and I is none of your business; especially our daughter’s.”

“She can’t hear anything.”

“Yes, I can.”

His hands left your ears, leading both men to laugh. Nothing more was (thankfully) said about your father and mother’s sex life. It was after another ten minutes outside when your father announced it was time to go; not before having to use the bookstore’s bathroom. So, that left you and Agnus by yourselves for the first time since arriving.

“You’re horrible.” You playfully kicked his feet.

“You hit me!”

“You deserved it. God, you’re such a man.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, with a smile, he reached into his coat pocket and brought something out. In his hands, he held a somewhat worn copy of The Little Prince, and two different colored ribbons.

Freezing where you stood, you could only stare at them. “What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Looking up at him, your parted lips couldn’t form words to express just the…surprise of it all. So, Angus continued.

“I bought it; the book at least. I found it inside, asked your dad for the money so I could get it for you, and that was it. The-the ribbons, I got one that was your favorite color, but then I remembered my mom would talk about how there’s some colors that look better in a girl’s hair, so I got one I thought-.”

You threw your arms around Angus and held him so close to you people would think you were using him for warmth. He froze at first before immediately melting into your embrace. You brought his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose before pulling away and taking the gifts into your hands.

“Holy shit…you’re too sweet.” You giggled, flipping through the book.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you like it?”

“I love it, you idiot.”

“And if you find the book at your house when you go back-.”

“-I’ll keep this one too.” you cut him off. “You’re thoughtful, you know that?”

Angus stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking the snow at his feet. “It’s nothing.”

“Fuck you, it’s everything.”

“Well,” he shrugged, smiling. “since you said it so eloquently.”

You rolled your eyes with a playful grin, then held up the colored ribbon he deemed (and was correct about) would look good in your hair. “Can you put this one on, please?”

“Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “sure.”

You handed it to him, turning around. It wasn’t the first time he put his hands in your hair, but this time, with your back to him, it felt strange. Strange in a good way, but perhaps there wasn’t anything sensual about it, it felt that way.

And it was nice.

The feeling of it anyway; other than that, he had no idea what he was doing.

“What do you want it as?” He asked.

“Half-up, half-down.” You took a hair tie off your wrist, holding it our for him.

“What?”

“Like, instead of an actual ponytail, just make the top of my hair one, and leave the rest down.”

You didn’t even have to look at this man to know there was nothing going on inside his head trying to figure out what the hell you just said.

Thankfully, your father came out of the store.

“And what’s going on here?”

Angus looked over his shoulder. “I uh…”

“Step aside please, Mr. Tully.”

He did, and your father snatched the hair tie you were holding. “Half-up, half-down?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded.

“Do you know how to braid hair, Angus?” He asked, tying the hair tie around the ponytail he made.

“No.”

He hummed disapprovingly, sliding the ribbon into the hair tie and beginning to make a bow. “You should; it’s quite an important skill for a man.”

[artbyfinnbrown]

Todd and Subaru’s dynamic is so wild because Todd manages to simultaneously understand Subaru all too well and not at all.

From the first time he laid eyes on him (from his perspective at least), Todd comes to the realization that Subaru is an incredibly dangerous entity with the ability to manipulate events to his advantage and everyone else’s detriment.  Which is pretty impressive considering he’s going off of basically nothing. He doesn’t have any special ability, he just sort of intuits this, displaying a deeper understanding of what Subaru is capable of than most other characters in the series (including Subaru himself) despite having no prior knowledge of who he is as a person, or how exactly Subaru is capable of this.

The issue is that the conclusion that Todd reaches is that the way to solve the problem that is Natsuki Subaru is to kill him. Which is just. The worst possible solution for dealing with Subaru. With nearly anyone else “Killing them” is a very effective solution, but killing Natsuki Subaru only makes the Natsuki Subaru problem worse. 

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART FIVE: NUDES

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Mentions of Depression, Anxiety

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

A few more days had passed and, even though you saw Cillian every day at school, the situation between you had not changed.

You tried to keep your distance from each other and, again, he never called you out to answer any questions which, at least to James, seemed strange.

On several occasions, he asked whether Cillian was intimidated by you and, of course, this comment itself amused you.

“Why would he be intimidated by me? I am his student” you explained which is when James put the lack of interaction between Cillian and you down to the fact that you were doing well in his course. Perhaps, Cillian did not have to call you out because he knew that you knew the answers to his questions.

Despite your lack of interaction with each other though, quite often, you noticed Cillian glance at you in a very unconventional way. It was almost like he was day-dreaming about you and you enjoyed this kind of inadvertent attention from him. It was a fixation and desire of some sort, which was undeniable for you both and it made you feel wanted and desirable.

Unfortunately for you though, his interest in you grew to a point where he noticed everything, but not in the way you had expected. He noticed the changes in your behaviour when you were around him and he noticed that, during the past few days, you had been standing up to James who, as usual, was criticising you for not wanting to go out partying with him.

Then, on Tuesday morning, when you arrived at school, Cillian also unfortunately noticed some bruises on your face and wrists which, despite your best efforts to hide them, you could not.

You had already taken a day off because of them but, since you needed to comply with your scholarship conditions, another day of leave was not an option for you without a medical certificate.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Cillian thus asked pretty much as soon you walked into the lecture hall before anyone else had even arrived yet. You had ballet practice at seven o’clock that morning and were early as usual.

“Nothing, I just fell” you lied, not wanting to tell him the truth.

“You fell? How?” he enquired, not believing a word you had just said to him.

“When dancing. Don’t worry. I am fine” you reassured him while, the truth was, that you were far from being fine. You were hurt, upset and scared.

The bruises were not the result of an accident during your routine at all but rather the wilful act of your very own boyfriend. It was not the first time he had done this and you knew that it would not be the last. James had hit you in a drunken state after he found out that, during the break you took from each other, you slept with another man.  

Whilst he did not know who the man was, he knew that he was much older than you and this bothered him. It was something your friend Lorraine had told him after Lorraine and you had a fight the day prior. She thus broke your trust and her promise to secrecy, accusing you of getting involved with a stranger at a bar who was twice your age.

With that knowledge, and in a rather drunken state, James did the unthinkable to you. He hit you across the face and called you a whore before threatening you if you ever thought to leave him again.

“I am not an idiot Y/N. I know what these bruises are. They aren’t the result of an accident” Cillian told you but you did not want to talk about it any further.

“Please Cillian. I am fine. This is none of your business” you told him but Cillian would not let it go.

“James did this to you, didn’t he?” he asked, causing you to sigh. “You need to report him” he then went on to say, but you shook your head.

“No. I can’t. You wouldn’t understand” you said just before a few students walked into the room, interrupting your private conversation.

“Let’s talk later, alright?” Cillian then asked and you nodded before getting yourself another coffee from the cafeteria.

Two hours later…

While Cillian thought about you and pondered about what happened between you and James and why, after all this, you would be staying with him, he knew that he had to concentrate on class. He had to focus and put his mind at ease which, in the end, he did.

He continued with the curriculum as planned and literally none of the students were prepared for what he had in store for them that day, including you.

“Now that everyone has been assigned an individualised role to work on with me in a one on one lesson, we will also be working on a character role in a group scenario. Every student will perform the exact same scene and I can tell you that it will be a challenging one” Cillian said to the class as he was introducing a new play to his lessons.

“You will each be given a partner to act out this scene and the point of this exercise is for you to learn how to improvise on stage. You will each only get thirty minutes to rehearse and this means that, whilst you need to try and remember your lines in a short amount of time, I do not care much about how accurate your repetition of the lines is when you are in front of an audience. So long as you play the part and improvise, you will be fine…alright….” Cillian went on to say before explaining that, in the end of your subject, and after you have been assessed on both performances separately, namely this one and your individualised one, you will be writing an essay, comparing both roles and experiences.

“Does this make sense guys?” Cillian then asked and, after everyone nodded, he carried on.

“Good. Now, since we have an uneven number of students in this class, I will be participating too and, unfortunately for the person paired with me, we will be going first” Cillian announced before asking Lorraine to come up and assist him with the drawing of names, noting that the couples were to be selected at random from a large plastic bowl filled with snippets of paper, each containing one name.

“Yes, of course, Mr Murphy, but only if I can role play with you“ Lorraine teased in the most seductive way possible, causing you to cringe and Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

“Trust me Lorraine, you don’t want me as your partner for this exercise. It will be much easier with a fellow student” Cillian told her almost sternly, but she would not relent.

“Well, doesn’t that depend on the kind of exercise and role play you want us to partake in? I mean, none of us know what the scene will be yet and, for all I know, it could be rather kinky” Lorraine then joked but Cillian did not appear to be amused.

“Moving on…” Cillian thus gestured and, with that, Lorraine adjusted her tight skirt and walked up towards Cillian in order to help him with the draw.

Unlike her, you hoped that your name would be drawn with someone other than Cillian (or James for that matter) and, when you heard James’s name come up first, your heart began to pound rapidly. He was your boyfriend, yes, but he was also a terrible actor who, just two days ago, had hit you across the face, causing you to break up with him once more. Plus, he most certainly did not take this unit seriously and this, too, bothered you more than a little considering the effort you had put into your education.

Luckily for you however, and unfortunately for Lorraine, she was paired with James as her name was called out second in line and even Cillian’s sense of relief was obvious to you when Lorraine pulled her own name from the hat. He was becoming annoyed by her constant sexual advances towards him and so was the remainder of the class. They were appalled and, ever since your fight, her behaviour had gotten worse.

Then, a few more names were called out until, eventually, your name was drawn and written on to the chalk board by Cillian.

“And Y/N will be paired with…” Lorraine began to say after discarding the piece of paper with your name on it and reaching for another.

She unfolded it slowly and then sighed with frustration. “Cillian” she sighed and your heart sank into the ground. Ideally, you wanted to request a redraw but you knew that, if you were to request such redraw, you would be looking like a fool. So, you remained silent until all the names had been drawn.

“Great, now teams, you have thirty minutes to learn and rehearse your lines and, if you forget some of them, don’t worry. The play is a difficult one and I want to see you come up with some improvisation skills on stage. This is what acting is all about” Cillian explained and, when you read through the script he had handed out to you and the rest of the class, you realised that this was a play you were familiar with. You had read it before, more than once. It was a piece that fascinated you. It was one of your favourites and made you smile.

The play was called “Yerma” and had been written by the Spanish dramatist Federico García Lorca. It was written in 1934 and first performed that same year. It was a tragic poem in which a woman by the name of Yerma had to deal with the inability to conceive a child with her husband Juan, in this case portrayed by Cillian, after he had prompted you take on the role of Yerma herself.

 Since the play was dealing with the themes of infertility, isolation, passion, and frustration, you knew that your character was a difficult one to portray. It was all about showing Yerma’s emotions while taking into account the underlying themes of nature, marriage, jealousy, and friendship.

It was intense and you knew that acting this scene out with Cillian could become somewhat problematic.

“How is this not going to be awkward?” you whispered to him as, just like the others, Cillian approached you and sat down with you, one on one, to rehearse your lines.

“It won’t be if you just focus on your character, I promise” Cillian then said reassuringly and, much to his surprise, you turned over the script and began raddling down the lines.

The act he had chosen was the final act of the play where Yerma kills her husband and you already knew how it panned out.

“You know the lines?” Cillian asked surprised as you spoke them quickly, causing you to nod.

“I read that play over and over again a few years ago when I was going through some things. It is an amazing piece of writing and it is one of my favourite plays” you told him and he was clearly impressed by the fact that you knew about it.

“Did you ever see it being performed?” Cillian then asked and you nodded again.

“Yes. But only through a stream online” you told him while you already knew what he was about to say next. He wanted you to show your emotions, in front of the entire class and you were afraid to do so.

“Right, then put some emotion into your performance Y/N. You can do it. I know you can” Cillian reassured you and you tried it again, and again until, eventually, you got there in the end and he pulled you up on stage.

Of course, just as you were standing in front of the class with him, your nervousness sat in and when you heard James and Lorraine giggle in the background, you felt sick to the core and immediately forgot your very first line.

“Breathe and forget about them. I can hear them too, but I choose to ignore them. You can do it too” Cillian whispered so that only you could hear him before addressing the class once more, asking them to be quiet while you performed this scene with him.

The scene began near a hermitage high in the mountains, a place to which many barren women, including Yerma, had made a pilgrimage. Young men were there too, hoping to father a child or to win a woman away from their husbands and your respective dialogues began just after an old woman told your character Yerma to leave her husband Juan and take up a relationship with her son instead.

But, in this scene, Yerma held on to her sense of honour and dismissed that thought which was something her husband Juan overheard. Juan then told his wife to give up wanting a child and to be content with what she had.

***Start of Scene***

 Cillian: This is your last chance to resist this continual lament for shadowy things, outside existence, for things that are lost in the breeze.

Y/N (with dramatic astonishment): Outside existence you say? Lost in the breeze, you say?

Cillian: Things which haven’t happened and neither you nor I can control.

Y/N (violently and filled with anger): Go on, go on!

Cillian (emotionally and upset): For things that don’t’ matter. Do you hear? That have no importance to me. That’s what I had to say to you. What matters to me is what I can hold in my hands, what I can see with my eyes.

Y/N (falling to her knees, desperately): That’s it. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear from your mouth. Truth is not felt when it’s inside oneself, but how vast it is, how loud it cries, when it emerges, and raises its arms! It’s doesn’t matter! Now, I’ve heard you!

Cillian (approaching you and embracing you in order to help you rise): Think that it had to be so. Listen to me. Many women would be happy to live your life. Life is sweeter without children. I’m happy without them. It’s not your fault.

Y/N: What did you seek in me, then?

Cillian: Yourself.

Y/N (excitedly): You wanted a home, tranquillity and a woman. But nothing more. Is that true?

Cillian: It’s true. As everyone else does.

Y/N: And the rest? Your son?

Cillian (firmly): Didn’t you hear, it doesn’t matter! Don’t ask me again! Do I have to shout it in your ear so you can understand, and live peacefully for once!

Y/N (pulling Cillian onto the ground): And you’ve never thought about it even when you could see I wanted one?

Cillian: Never.

Y/N: I’m not to hope for one?

Cillian (before embracing you): No. But we shall be living peacefully. Both of us: in gentleness and friendship. Embrace me!

Y/N: What do you want?

Cillian: I want you. In the moonlight you are beautiful.

Y/N (crying): You want me as if you were wanting a pigeon to eat.

Cillian: Kiss me…like this.

Y/N (before grasping Cillian by his throat and acting out his death and then your own): No! Never! I’ll sleep, without waking with a start to see if my blood announces new blood. With a body barren forever. 

Y/N (addressing the audience in tears): What do you want? Don’t come near me: because I’ve murdered my child! I’ve killed my own son!

 ***End of Scene***

 Just as you finished the scene with only some minor improvisation on your part, Cillian glanced at you with surprise. The way you portrayed Yerma was incredible and it took you a little moment to snap out of your character again.

You were well and truly surprised by your own abilities and, for a short moment, you were lost for words until reality sank back in and you heard them again.

James and Lorraine were giggling still while Cillian addressed the class and thanked you for your performance.

“Jesus Christ Y/N! This was intense. I am surprised you didn’t just make out with our lecturer on stage. So inappropriate” Lorraine teased, causing James too laugh. “I would call this sexual harassment Mr Murphy” he said, trying to annoy you and causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow.

“Do you guys have anything of value to add, perhaps? Because, if you do not, then I would like to move on without any further interruptions from you” Cillian then said, causing Lorraine to flinch and James to laugh.

“Should I be jealous of our lecturer Y/N?” James teased, seeing that Lorraine had turned quiet now rather quickly. “I mean, clearly, he was holding back a little when he told you to kiss and embrace him. Maybe he fucking wants you and, knowing what I know now, you probably like him too. He is old enough to spark your interest, isn’t he? Twice your age, just like that dude you hooked up with a few weeks ago? Bloody disgusting” James said as you sat back down in front of him and, by this point, you were well and truly fuming with anger.

“Shut up James. I was doing what we are meant to do. We are here to learn how to perform on stage but all you do is act like a little brat. Because that is what you are, a spoiled little child” you spat so that at least half of the class could hear you, including Cillian.

“Oh, I act like a child now, do I?” James asked. He was angered. Very angered. “You just fucking cried like a baby about some stupid play while hitting on our lecturer like a slut” he then laughed, referencing your tears on stage and, luckily for you, Cillian heard everything what was said.

“James, enough. What is going on?” he asked sternly, wanting to pull James aside to tell him off.

“Nothing. I am just having a word with my girlfriend” James explained but you were emotionally drained and rather upset by this point.

“I am not your girlfriend anymore” you reminded him but James shook his head.

“We will see about that” he told you and, again, you sighed with anger.

“No James. I done with this. I am fucking done with you. No matter what you do I am fucking done” you said quietly but sternly and James quickly took hold of your wrist before pressing down on it harshly.

“No you are not done with me” he spat. “You always come crawling back to me because you have no other choice. Just remember that” he then went on to say while you tried to pull away from him, which is also when Cillian intervened.

“Enough James! Let go of her arm! Now!” Cillian said as he approached James who quickly retreated from you.

“Alright man, here…I won’t touch her again. She is a fucking whore anyway” James chuckled and, by this point, Cillian had enough and asked him to leave the class room with him.

“Come with me James” he ordered while waiting for him with his arms crossed.

“No” James responded bluntly but Cillian would not and did not relent.

“You either come with me now or I will call security. Behaviour like this is intolerable and needs to be addressed by the board. Now stand up and move” Cillian said, forcing James to follow him while giving the other students a break and telling them to keep rehearsing their lines.

***

With James gone and the likelihood of him being temporarily expelled from school over his conduct in class, Cillian postponed the remainder of the lecture until tomorrow while dealing with some administerial concerns.

Not only did he have to write a report about James and his conduct in class, but also did he have to speak with you and the student counsellor about the possibility of you bringing assault charges against him.

Knowing what you have been through in the past however, Cillian was aware of the fact that you might not like to speak with the counsellors at the school and, thus, he gave you the opportunity to speak with him first, in private.

With that in mind, you walked to his office after the lecture had been postponed and just as he opened the door and you entered the room, you broke out in tears.

“I am so sorry. I feel like a fool” you said while, somewhat inappropriately, Cillian took you into his arms, embracing you in a tight hug.

“So, you feel like a fool?” Cillian asked while holding you tight. “It should be James who feels like a fool, not you. You did nothing wrong” Cillian then told you and you pulled away from him, simply just to look him into his eyes.

“No, it is me. I am acting like a fool. I should not have gone back to him after what he did to me. It wasn’t then first time his hand slipped and, to tell you the truth, I am just used to being treated like this” you told Cillian who used his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

“No one should treat you like this. You are a strong woman and should stand up for yourself” Cillian then said while gently brushing over your bruises and you nodded reluctantly in response.

“Is he being expelled?” you then asked and Cillian sighed, seeing that you still cared about James.

“That depends on what I write in my report” Cillian told you before asking you what it was that you wanted him to write.

“He went through a lot as well. He’s been through therapy and all…” you began to explain to Cillian who interrupted you quickly.

“There is no excuse for his behaviour. I know that you love him, but he cannot treat you like this. He is being abusive and it needs to stop. You are a smart woman and surely you can see that he is hurting you” Cillian lectured you and you were quick to respond.

“I do not love him Cillian. I haven’t loved him for a long time but he is fucking obsessed with me and has threatened me many times” you said and Cillian queried your use of the word “threat”.

“Threatening you with what?” he asked and you turned silent again before taking in a deep breath and telling him everything.

“Violence. Exposing things that I have done and exposing pictures he has of me. Many things really” you told him but Cillian still believed that you should report his abusive behaviour to the school board as well as the police.

“Maybe one day I will, but not now” you told Cillian just as you heard a knock on the door to his office.

“Mr Murphy? It’s Janice, the school counsellor. I have been told that there was an incident in class with a male student attacking one of the female students” she blurted out from outside the door and, just as you were ready to leave, Cillian opened the door and allowed the counsellor to come inside.

“Is this the student?” was what she asked right of the bat when she saw you and, just as Cillian confirmed this to be the case, you spoke up.

“I am but I am not in need of counselling” you told her sternly before informing her that you already spoke to Cillian about the incident and have asked him to file a report on your behalf.

“Alright then, but if you change your mind, this is my number” Janice told you while handing you her business card and you took it quickly, shuffed it into your back and then said goodbye to Cillian and her.

The following two days…

Following numerous calls from James and messages containing both threats and apologies, he was expelled from school while the board began their investigations into the incident.

Just as you allowed it to happen, Cillian filed the report following your ex-boyfriend’s behaviour in class and this was enough for the dean to formerly remove him from all lectures and workshops on campus.

He was not allowed to come near you when you were on school premises but, since you did not have an apprehensive violence order against him, nothing prevented him from rocking up at your house.

Thus, just as you got home on Wednesday night, you found a note from him under the door with yet another threat and another apology and whilst you did not think anything about his somewhat obnoxious behaviour, nothing could prepare you for what you were about to wake up to the following morning.

The next morning, just after Emma had left the house in order to attend a three-day conference in Cork, you looked at your phone and were shocked to see that you had received over twenty notifications, being both calls and messages across all of your social media accounts.

You opened them all, one by one, to see what was going on and there it was. The unthinkable. A picture of you from two years ago which James took without your knowledge.

You were completely naked, laying on his bed in a compromising position and literally every inch of your body was visible to everyone who received this photograph.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[slitheringghost]

What is your favorite headcanon about Voldemort?

Ooh I have many!

- At some point he murdered Caractacus Burke in revenge for his mother.

- He buried his mother’s bones at Hogwarts, because he wanted to give Merope a proper burial, being enraged by her burial in a pauper’s grave and by her family never claiming her body, and because she never got to attend Hogwarts and he thinks of it as her birthright too (more on that here).

- He used to make jokes at the orphanage, a la his hand jokes in GoF or joking about his background with his gang in the HBP memory, but all the other kids were so terrified of him that they never laughed or appreciated his sense of humor. Tom was very sad about this.

- Like Sirius, Tom really loves crosswords.

- His appearance being Like That is intentional (at least, until 1981), mainly because he had babyface, and was tired of having the kind of face that made everyone flirt with him and made old ladies want to pinch his cheeks.

I’m in two minds whether not wanting to look like his Muggle father was an additional reason or not; on one hand he badly wants to shed the Muggle part of himself, on the other he still remains deeply obsessed with his father and in a warped way craves any connection to his family that he can get, including his looks.

Either way, it’s implausible that it’s just an inherent part of practicing Dark Arts (which I see as a very varied and extensive categorization of magic with entire fields under it anyway and definitely not all inherently Evil). Tom is hardly the only one to go far in Dark Arts, and yet we don’t see anyone else’s appearance changed by it (like Bellatrix, Grindelwald, Snape, etc). We also know horcruxes don’t inherently have that effect, because his face is unchanged by the time of the Hepzibah Smith memory, at which point he’s likely made 1-2 horcruxes (?).

- One of his least favorite subjects and the one he’s least skilled at is Transfiguration, for obvious reasons.

- He doesn’t believe in blood purity, and continues to think of himself as Muggleborn long after he finds out he isn’t (I think there’s some evidence of that here), in part because that highly specific Muggleborn culture shock and feeling of coming into magical society with no prior knowledge of it and going “wow these people are completely batshit crazy” has never left him and drives about 60% of his actions (see also, my post on his perception of pureblood family culture).

- He looked his father in the eyes as he killed him, and Riddle Sr.'s eyes were just a tiny shade off of the exact shade of blue that Dumbledore's eyes are.

- He gave the diary to Abraxas Malfoy, which is a fairly popular headcanon, but the alternative interpretation of him entrusting it to Lucius honestly bothers me because it doesn’t really make sense and it just goes against all the sentimentality inherent in how he deals with his horcruxes imo. (More on this here and here).

Not my headcanons but ones I've adopted:

- The Dark Mark as inspired by the northern lights from this post

- The part in this lovely Bellamort fic where Tom muses on how he actually considered marrying up when he was young because he wanted belonging and permanence in the wizarding world, but didn't for several reasons including the powerlessness of being a poor half-blood under the control of pureblood families:

There was a time when he had considered that very concept. He had known others of questionable background and some talent who had found places for themselves in magical society by virtue of marrying up. They tended to live their whole lives at the service and disposal of their in-laws, always aware of the potential to be cut off from the family purse strings or for a quick, mandated divorce. This did not appeal for a number of reasons.

- My HC inspired by Tom doing it in this fic - despite Dumbledore's "Voldemort understands nothing of children's tales and love" blah blah, Tom did pay attention to Muggle fairy tales as a kid, and drew a connection between The Little Match Girl fairytale and the story of Merope's death.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Wibta if I refuse to talk to an alter in a system because I had a weird experience with them?

This is something that happened somewhat recently.

So for background, I (16nb) have been dating my boyfriend (17m) for about two years now, we were introduced by a close friend of mine during covid and got together sometime during the pandemic. Now, my boyfriend is a system, he found out about a year to a year and a half ago (this was during the pandemic, and my sense of time is wonky at the best of times.) Now, this doesn't change anything about him. I still love him just as much and I accept him and have zero problems with this.

The only reason it's relevant is because a couple days ago me, him, and another friend of ours (17f) went to a mini con type of thing, the day was great! Nothing went wrong at all we all had fun. But at the end we were all chatting and someone else was fronting at the time (I'll just call them A) and A isn't... The nicest person to be around? In source they're evil, and I know that source doesn't define an alter and not to judge them based on that, I don't! Just to be clear. But they've always been kinda snappy towards... Everyone, but I didn't think much of it because some people are just like that, y'know.

Another important piece of information is that most of the time me and my boyfriend talk online, we don't go to the same school or work the same job or anything like that so we use discord to talk most of the time, so it's been a few weeks since I've last seen him in person and A had only just formed about a week prior to this (or had just started interacting with others at least.) So, I was talking and I made a little joking comment about someone from A's source that they... I don't think like is the word, more of are slightly obsessed with? I didn't think anything wrong with it (a mix of I've joked about this before while they've been in the front room w/ my bf or even with them in front in call and they never said anything, it was pretty late, and my medicine that keeps me up was starting to wear off which made me tired and my filter drops a lot when I'm tired.) Anyway, I didn't think anything was wrong with it until they grabbed my shoulder super tightly.

I think they might have threatened me but I have not only an extremely low pain tolerance but I just do not remember Anything but the basics of what happened when I get scared or frightened like that (I just do not deal well with being touched without permission and especially grabbed and it sets off my anxiety a Lot.) Luckily nothing else happened, our other friend intervened and A was dragged out of front, my boyfriend was worried for me but I did just shrug it off because we had fun and it was ending so I didn't want to risk the rest of the night being spoiled by me being a little nervous.

I was fine at the end, there wasn't even a bruise or anything.

But, here's where I'm worried I might be the asshole, I get sort of nervous at the idea of talking to A again, and to my knowledge they've been "jailed" in the headspace. But I do get super nervous at the idea of it, and it may just be my anxiety talking but I don't want to seem rude for not talking or interacting with my boyfriend or the rest of his system just because there's someone else that's fronting or co-fronting who I had one bad experience with.

What are these acronyms?

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

*SPOILERS* ARLECCHINO STORY QUEST!

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So, ppl are mad the Traveler lost to Arlecchino...

The Traveler bodied Childe and Signora in simple 1 V 1 fights. Even when their opponents got to use power-ups, the Traveler remained the same.

Scaramouche, when by himself and not capitalizing off of Tatarigami in the atmosphere, is not a threat to the Traveler despite what he thinks. The people was the most threat to were Fatui grunts and random civilians without Visions.

People need to be honest about his Boss Fight. It was cool and flashy, and also lame. When ppl try hyping him up as soooo dangerous because the Traveler failed to defeat him in a dream 168 times, they conveniently ignore how his ass got so easily tricked into a dream in the first place. They ignore a lot about his Boss Fight actually.

1.) His own body was insufficient for 'godhood'. He needed to rely on a group of 'feeble humans' to create a better puppet body for one. He couldn't do it.

2.) That larger puppet body was capable of channeling multiple elements, which he was not shown to be capable of at all in any of the times he showed up prior to that. Signora even said he only had his rank because he could take more pain and suffering than most and was effectively impossible to kill/destroy.

3.) The puppet body was powered by a Gnosis, which was not his and was not original intended for his use specifically. The Gnosis was used to amplify the larger puppet's elemental abilities.

4.) He was hooked up to that larger puppet for months and had the scholars funneling all kinds of canned knowledge into his vessel to make a new god. None of that information was learned by himself. He needed humans to hook him up to a system they created and needed them to inject it into his mind for him. He did none of that work.

5.) The Shouki no Kami was a result of the efforts of a bunch of humans. All he did was sit there and let them shove tubes in his back. It was probably painful but becoming a 'god' was through barely any personal effort of his own. It was other people doing all the work.

6.) The people of Sumeru City were forced into a 168-day Samsara to collect knowledge, wisdom, and jnana energy for the larger puppet body. Dragging the Traveler for needing all 168 versions of the dream fight to be in their mind and having 1K ppl crowd-source a solution for the official fight, isn't it. Scaramouche needed 168 days of content from those same 1K people to help power his fancy mech suit in the first place.

The Traveler defeating him makes complete sense. Dude somehow lost even with a Gnosis in his possession and the Traveler didn't have a Gnosis to use. The Traveler wasn't even using all the Elements they have access to. Or a better weapon.

Arlecchino has her Blood Fire Curse, a Pyro Vision, and a Pyro Delusion all going at once. She is way more powerful than Childe, Signora, and base Scaramouche all put together. Her curse thing gives her power we don't even understand. We cannot properly evaluate her true threat level because we don't know what it does, or how it works.

The other three were predictable in battle once the Traveler got used to them. That's cuz the power sources make enough sense. Vision = primitive Gnosis that grants specific Elemental Power. Delusion = Vision Wannabe + negative health effects. Gnosis = Elemental Power Amplifier for gods. But the Blood Fire Curse thing? That's new. There's nothing like it anywhere else for the Traveler to learn about it or compare it to.

Also, the Traveler was not going all out because Arlecchino was not going all out either. The Traveler knew that she was testing her children and also knew the fight wasn't really theirs. She had already planned for the fight to happen and wanted the Traveler to protect the children if the time came, but it was not really their fight because they were not enemies. That's why Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet's attacks all appear during the battle and why they're talking the whole time. This was their fight with the Traveler as a back-up.

The children had to show a sufficient level of skill and improvement for Arlecchino to change the punishment they were due, but she was the one to choose when the demonstration ended. The Traveler was the only one still standing by the end, and Arlecchino used her curse to make eye contact and Tsukuyomi them and then manipulated their body into being unable to move(bloodbending???) to defend themself while she came at them.

How do you fight what you do not know? The twins got bodied by the Sustainer... because they didn't know what her powers were or what they were capable of. If they went into that battle with all the knowledge already, it probably would have ended very differently. That's just how it goes. That's why everyone wonders what the rematch will be like, especially with all the Elements and that weird golden power on the Traveler's side.

Ranks actually matter for the Harbingers. Arlecchino being #4 means she's very high up there. The Traveler has defeated every Harbinger Boss up until now and it's actually good that they didn't win this one. Even if it wasn't a real fight on their behalf, they got a good look into what the highest-ranking Harbingers are capable of. And that will serve as a lesson. She was only #4, could do all of that shit, and there are still 3 people above her.

This served as a good lesson on the dangers of hubris imo. If the Traveler beat her with all that shit she did while the Traveler wasn't trying their best, I'd be pissed.

[vickyvicarious]

"[Dracula] certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful."

More evidence that Dracula's later actions are results of planning!

Indeed! Dracula's preparations for this trip are very thorough. I think that it would probably be correct to assume that he has a whole long-term strategy that, luckily, never gets put into play. I get the feeling a lot of his plan is banking heavily on people not knowing him. Not just what he is, but also who he is. This is what makes Jonathan's survival and Mina's willingness to reach out to Van Helsing so crucial, actually. Because without Jonathan recognizing Dracula in the street, the most Van Helsing and the suitors would have ever been able to do is stop vampire!Lucy. They had no idea where to look for the one who did that to her. It was a total dead end. Jack had clues, yes, but he really hadn't put them together at all - even after he was convinced on vampires, he was surprised to hear Jonathan say Renfield's behavior was linked to Dracula's. Even if people knew what Dracula was, without knowing who he is and where to find him, they couldn't do anything to stop him.

Similarly, Jonathan (and thus Mina) knew who Dracula was, but it took that outside confirmation that Jonathan's experience of what he was, really happened and was trustworthy. In this case, they may have sought confirmation of their own eventually even without linking up with the others (I can't picture Mina outright dismissing Jonathan's experiences, either by denying them altogether or by putting him in an asylum or what-have-you; I could see her trying to look into it on her own without telling him until she had some kind of proof/confirmation to offer one way or the other) - but it would have been way more cautious and gradual, and thus Dracula would have had time to get his boxes scattered more. They also lacked the knowledge of how to fight him off, and so even if they became convinced very quickly, without the others they would have to start the research from the beginning which would slow them down. And even then, they lacked the resources and manpower that the suitor squad gave them. It would all take a lot more time. And if Dracula had more time to establish himself... He'd have multiple houses which no one person knew the location of, he'd have his dirt boxes in each one. He'd have, eventually, other vampires risen as well, who could potentially create more vampires in turn. He might have the time/inclination to infiltrate society more once his boltholes were established, creating social pressure not to go after him or consequences for doing so.

Going after him in such a rush was necessary, because he'd get exponentially harder to defeat or even drive off as more time passed. And if people weren't already prepared to do so with appropriate knowledge and resources... it might be too late. And that's exactly what was supposed to happen. Jonathan was supposed to be left in the Castle, either dead or undead, and all his knowledge with him. Mr. Hawkins may have been a target as well, possibly even his other lawyers. Lucy, and his other eventual victims (pretty girl in Piccadilly, etc.), were supposed to succumb to what seemed like a mysterious illness without anyone being the wiser about the true cause of death. And it probably would have worked, without the coincidence of Jack knowing Van Helsing who was willing to explore all avenues, and Jonathan's incredible survival leading to Mina acquiring his knowledge and putting it to use. No one else knew what was threatening them. No one else knew who was threatening them. And Dracula, as we see in this quote, took plenty of additional precautions to ensure that he wouldn't raise any red flags without that prior knowledge (or at least not any actionable ones).

[orange-orchard-system]

I've made a simpler, more popular post about this before, but I feel like a lot of the time, people who "never saw any signs" of their friend/family member/co-worker/etc being a system did see signs, they just mistook them as something else – usually, as something being wrong. Because for the majority of singlets, someone's personality changing is often associated with that person going through tough times, or something major happening in their life, or just them being under stress of some sort, so they ask if that person is okay. But for systems (for whom personality changes are normal), this question can come off as odd or as coming out of the blue, since there's nothing wrong or major going on in their life. Sometimes, it can even come across as rude, like an insult to one's personality and self being "wrong" just because it's different.

This is part of why I think discussions and ideas about the "covertness" and "overtness" of systems are often flawed, especially on the medical side of things; most systems are considered covert, but it's also very common for systems to have experiences (even before awareness of their system) like what I described above, where they're not being "covert" at all – those involved just didn't know what they were looking at. I'd even say this especially goes for when it's the system's own awareness of their plurality, as systems often have and notice many signs prior to their "official discovery" of their own system – such as voice hearing (internal communication, in system terms), feeling as though they are talking to someone else when supposedly thinking or talking to only themself, and even tracking their own "mood changes" or "phases" (headmates and switching) – they just cannot put the right name to it due to lack of awareness of plurality, not a lack of self-awareness (as one might think when they hear most systems are covert). When a lot of the "covertness" of a system can easily come from unaware and uneducated (as in, with little to no knowledge of systems, as most are) people simply misinterpreting overt symptoms, the dichotomy of covert and overt requires reexamination.

Or at least, that's the conclusion I draw. Idk. Maybe I've been misinterpreting what covert/overt mean for this one, but I still think neuronormativity plays a part in how "noticeable" a system is considered, which does make talking about it with simple terms like these a little complicated.

[solar-nightengale]

Hi, I’m new in this tag kinda and new to meta-writing overall, but not only is the August brain rot really strong but one particular part of his entire character has been on my mind for a whole weekend. Please take this as mostly an offering of very spilled thoughts cause I couldn't keep them to myself anymore, LMAO. Particularly the thing that's on my brain is his guilt

I would also like to make note of and thank @ lizardthelizard And her glorious set of tags here for setting off my spiral tonight and also when she first sent them because my goodness this is truly an eye-opener. Thank you, buddy 💖

Gosh though, August’s guilt and self-criticism of himself and his actions is something that really fascinates me personally, and just thinking of it being the cause of what turns him back to wood is both mind-blowing but it just makes so much sense. He may be real because of magic but who’s to say it’s just the magical conditions that are holding him back and not the high as heck expectations that he feels were set for him and he set up for himself.

When it feels like you can't mess up sometimes it can feel like you're stuck in place Or that your screw ups means you can't change, that you're not good, that maybe you don't deserve to be considered good and that your various flaws are all that others would see you FOR!!

Maybe it's different to anxiety but idk it’s what caught my attention about him even more than what his character already offered up in s1!

He was given this like 

Idea that he needs to be "Brave" and "Truthful" and "Selfless" all the time or else he cannot be human 

Does it work like that? no, there's no human on EARTH that's all three of those things all the time, we've all had moments of weakness and gave in 

But what does he know? Most of his life he spent on his own and as a puppet, he was expected to understand the ways of being a human and GOODNESS knows how short a time he was with his dad before he was THRUST into a world and forced once again to stand on his own two feet and expected to just, you know, know how to act once again 

He's followed by expectations that he finds himself struggling to meet because he doesn't know what the limit is or how to meet them, and sometimes if not all of the times the temptations are just better and easier 

And it's expected!!!

He stepped into TLWM as a child with no idea of what he’s getting into with no prior knowledge, no adult, no nothing.

But omg, he drags himself down so much about it because he can’t meet those expectations the way he would want to and because of that because literally who did he have to tell him that it's all okay? That you can make mistakes and move on from them? That you can make up for your mistakes and forgive yourself for them?

Did he have anyone at all? Cause The show sure didn't show him having anyone

We see one woman in Thailand but even after he discovers he's turning into wood she's no longer around, so like she's probably about as fleeting of a relationship as anything else

Imagine going 28 years at first ignoring all your problems and then the horror and thoughts that you’re not good enough catch up to you one morning and the more you see yourself a failure, the more you sink into that spiral the harder it feels to breathe.

[ariaofsorrows]

your tags on that post are real interesting cuz most people posting braindead takes on richter are netflixvania fans then i remember smash bros fans only see him as a ""himbo""" and nothing else. god save us all

what pisses me off the most is that i can’t even be mad that these people think that way. so many of these people were introduced to richter belmont with no prior knowledge of the source material. these people went into smash & netflvania not knowing who richter is, how his character develops, or what even happens to him.

and then you have netflixvania and smash that are committed to straight up not adapting ANY of richter’s games properly. and because those are the most popular pieces of media containing him, that’s really all you’ve got in terms of information. combine that with the fact that no one wants to do even the simplest task of looking up the castlevania wiki and now i have to be subjected to the most atrocious readings of richter’s character.

i can’t even be mad when people (read: netflix fans) reduce him to being a traumatized crybaby, white male fragility (which is admittedly an interesting reading but not quite right) because that’s quite literally all they’ve seen about this character. i understand where they’re coming from and how they came to that interpretation and THAT drives me into a blind rage because this is the impact of that fuckass adaptation. i can’t do or even say anything because they’re technically not wrong.

i’m not gonna sit here and lie about the complexity of richter’s character, because he’s not very complex. although he has more content than the rest of his family members, his arc is very straightforward. so then it’s almost magical to me how many people manage to misunderstand him.

anyways i’m gonna go and run into the woods and turn into a lightning-struck tree stump.

tldr: richter belmont needs a PR agent because his reputation is in the dirt.

[horizon-verizon]

Alicent is the quintessential example of what not to do as a parent. In the book, it’s pretty damned clear that she sees her children as pawns and that she certainly doesn’t think that Aegon would make an effective ruler, just that she would make use of him to gain power through him.

Oh, sure, she gives the lip-service that she fears for her children’s lives along with her own and yada yada yada…. but at the end of the day, Rhaenyra and Daemon only went tribal on their asses after Aemond murdered Lucerys, unprovoked, during a diplomatic mission. They were more than happy to leave them be and use soft power to defend Rhaenyra’s birthright. Alicent has no one but herself and her own side to blame for the gloves coming off after Lucerys’ murder.

As it is, if you were to compare Rhaenyra to someone else who almost had his own birthright/power taken from him by grasping social climbers (even if not exactly the same situation), may I present Tywin Lannister and how he dealt with the Reynes and Tarbecks after his weak-willed and people pleaser father (similar to Viserys) let them have the run of the roost. Spoiler: those houses no longer exist.

In short: Rhaenyra was a saint in how she dealt with Alicent, given that Tywin would’ve killed every last Hightower down to the last child.

Sure, maybe you can say that Alicent did believe that Rhaenyra would do it because that’s what she would’ve done in her shoes or she knew that most of her colleagues would’ve happily defenestrated her long ago, but that says more about her than about Rhaenyra. As it is, I’m not so charitable and I’m more keen interpret it more as a propaganda rat-fucking campaign, since for all that they painted Daemon as the devil and Rhaenyra as “Maegor with teats,” they certainly dealt with the Hightowers with kid-gloves prior to Lucerys’ murder.

Okay, so in bk!Alicent's defense, though it is not as severe and obvious as with Rhaenyra, Alicent does get written with a short hand: her body used to compare against Rhaenyra; how she's barely mentioned after the Dance apart from her going a little crazy (George, like w/Rhaenyra, could have given us maids/lady-in-waiting/direct journals that show observations of Alicent at this time as well as her feelings abt things before she ever even married Viserys); etc. And if you grow up thinking and seeing women who become lady/Queen consorts, birthing males, and looking forward to the "reward" of power through that male...you see why Alicent's bothered. Many of us would be bothered at the very least even if we disliked and were a little honest with ourselves abt how non eof it is fair bc it was never meant be "fair" that you can only get power by being heirs or being a part of the family itself.

Doesn't mean that she didn't genuinely LOVE all her kids; it's a twisted sort of thing and becomes more so the deeper they all got into the war. We see her wail at Aegon's death. How she curses Rhaenyra for Helaena even though that's not her fault. Alicent's problem is that she decided to go after a child that would grow up to possibly be an issue, thinking that she is the exception, and refusing--esp by the end with how she died--to accept her own culpability in her kids' death. All of which comes from pride rather than a lack of love.

Once again, I am not saying she was "correct" or in the right, bc she was not. Morally nor politically. But the feeling of having been "duped" is both valid, understandable, and likely real for her. For nothing else, it's admirable that she wasn't a shrinking violet and saw through her desires or took things into her own hands when she saw it needed to be for her own ambitions. I don't like her and I wouldn't if I were in this world and had to be around her (even if I had to grow up in such an environment I doubt I'd be so religious and sincerely traditional, I never believed in God and would want to read anything and thus comes across knowledge of there being different religions across the world...so...) and I like to think that I'd also judge her heavy for how she moves with her kids and pitting them against Rhaenyra, but I also think that I would see her thoughts even more bc that would be my reality as well.

Rhaenyra was a saint in how she dealt with Alicent, given that Tywin would’ve killed every last Hightower down to the last child.

I mean, Tywin wasn't the brother of the Reynes and Tarbecks and didn't face a possible accusation of being a kinslayer. I see your point, but I think this particular thing doesn't quite have the same stakes as for the circumstances pre-Dance. Rhaenyra being a woman, even if she weren't their sister, would still face a lot more censure if she pulled a Tywin Rains of Castamere bc she'd be ridiculed for doing what men are licensed to in any sort of war effort even as Gyldayn and Corlys both have canonically looked at her askance for not going to the Battle of Rook's Rest herself...even with how Aegon nearly died. just as people did to empress Matilda. And the accusations of cruelty, of course.

Also, (pre-Dance, since you speak of pre-Dance...post and during-Dance Alicent is a different thing) Alicent cautioned Aegon from going all out and killing Rhaenyra in "The Blacks and the Greens". Why? the taboo of kinslaying. She also criticized Aemond for killing Luke not bc she liked or respected either him or his mother but because it embroiled them into both a war and cast them as the power grabbing, undeserving party who potentially angered the god as well as ensured any of them could be killed before she could "prove" and intimidate Rhaenyra with a show of support for her sons that really was never going to come but she didn't seemingly believe that so....