#digging up old bits to commit to bear with

[killjoynest]

[ID: A photo of a man pointing to the sky, where an panel of the fridge from the comics has been added. Text in the image reads: "If nobody got me, I know mysterious fridge in the desert that somehow has power got me. Can I get an Amen?" End ID]

[ID: The Destiel confession meme from Supernatural. With teary eyes, Castiel says: "I love you." Dean, looking unruffled, replies with a tweet from the NewsAGoGo twitter account, "This station is no longer operational. Have a BETTER day." End ID]

[ID: The Oh No Anyway meme made from two screencaps from the British TV show Top Gear. the caption reads "dr death-defying announcing yet another clap with the exterminators going all costa rica". Panel 1: Show host Jeremy Clarkson says "oh no!" with feigned shock. Panel 2: He looks into the camera with a straight face and says "anyway." End ID]

[ID: The 2-panel "turn up the volume" meme. Panel 1 is a motion-blurred image of a hand turning a volume knob up to the maximum level. Panel 2 is a motion-blurred image of Viner Jay Versace crying with headphones on and pumping his fist in the air. The caption reads "when cherri cola gets too polka dotty to go on air but that means jenni cocaine is covering poetry corner for the evening". End ID]

[ID: Griffin McElroy holding up a piece of paper that reads: "I don't know whats in the grafitti bible and at this point I'm too afraid to ask." End ID]

in-universe posting back yet again

and a few bonus ones:

[ID: A meme of the outline of the side profile of a person's head, labelled kobra kid, with a speech bubble to the left. The person thinks: "this is not a great situation" Out loud, they say: "bit shit innit." End ID]

[ID: A meme of Viktor and Five Hargreeves from The Umbrella Academy, looking out the window at each other from the driver's seats of their cars with confused expressions. Viktor is labeled "me in re-education after my neighbour reported me" and Five is labeled "my neighbour being put in the next tube over." End ID]

[pearlescentparade]

may I ,,, request ,,, 007n7 fluff w sprinkles of angst and a possibly obsessive killer!reader ,, borderline yandere

kinda a mixture of "this is a Murderer" but also yearning for the affection after being so outcast for so long from 07,, not knowing whether to pull away or give in idk.

iiii don't know how specific I should get ! but,, cuddling, smothering his ass ,,,,,,,,

first yandere request on the list TIME TO GET EVIL

evil ass reader also warning this ended up being more angsty than requester asked so actually its more of a truckload of angst with a sprinkle of fluff

guilty pleasure 🍔 007n7 x obsessive killer reader "fluff" + angst 💝❤️‍🩹

there's that feeling again, returning like an old friend.

that feeling that he is committing an abhorrently and inherently wrong act, yet 007n7 cannot find it in him to stop.

back then, in his days of exploiting, he never stopped. why would he? there was no shame in it. it was all good fun to a careless god-player.

he had no shame.

now, he has an abundance.

he's never been one for religion. he knew his terrorism disqualified him from salvation. but this.. situation, he thought, could be the karma finally catching up to him. that, or 007n7 just cannot ween himself off of immorality, even when he's turning a new leaf. old habits do die hard, after all.

you nuzzle into him as if he's some oversized teddy bear, digging your nose into his hair and inhaling his scent. it's musky, you can tell he's neglected showering for the last few days. but in comparison to someone like you who is constantly bathed in the stench of blood, he smells like high-end perfume that you'd love to drench every inch of yourself in.

he repulses a bit, a grimace flashing across his face at your outward sappiness. though, it's only seconds before he hesitantly snuggles up again, unable to withstand the loss of contact he himself created. it's rare for him to come across someone—or something, would be a more appropriate word to describe you—so willing to touch him, love him no less. beggars can't be choosers, he supposes, so he ought to cherish every disgusting drop of whatever this is. it fits him.

however, 007n7's mind is thrown into equivocation again when the horrifically unpleasant aroma of iron pierces his senses.

how could he forget? you are stained with the blood of his peers and other innocent victims infinite times over, so much so that it has been ingrained on your very being. was he that desperate that he'd take love from even the deranged? no, he was better than this-!

he firmly pushes off of you with both his arms and feet, intent on breaking out of this intimate cage you've trapped him in. a strangled grunt escapes from his throat as he struggles.

his effort works for a moment, your eyes widening as your grip falters. though, it takes only seconds before you capture him back in your arms again. even with his motivated resolve and advantage of the element of surprise, 007n7 is fairly weak, and it's laughable how easy it is to overpower him.

"oh 7, you scared me.. where did you think you were going?" you coo, cradling him like a child. even if he did manage to break free, you know he would not be able to get far. you're lucky you chose someone so unathletic.

007n7 still kicks and screams. he attempts to wrench your hands off of him as he splutters, "let- let go of me..!" his clothes angrily rustle as he twists, shoves, writhes. some specks of blood from your claimed lives have rubbed off on his lovely blue shirt.

despite his sudden outburst, your voice is patronizing, oozing with a doting urge, as if he is simply crying for your attention, "aw, did i squeeze you too hard?" you gently caress the side of his cheek with the side of your finger, "i'm sowwyyyy, i'll be more gen-"

"you're a filthy mu-murderer!! get- away....!"

in the split second that he lets that word leave his throat, your sweet face drops into a empty frown.

oh. so that's what this fit is about.

007n7 feels a cold pang strike his heart upon your dark expression, his previous anger being rapidly displacing with a flood of fear. yet what scares him even more is your lack of action. no sudden jerky movements with the intent to kill, no growling or other signs of rage, simply a look. that is the scariest wrath of all.

his wide, shaking eyes follow the movement of your claw, which slowly inches towards his face until you cup it in a swift and deft motion. it's not harsh, but it is sudden. and it is enough to make him think he'll die. you can feel his pulse thumping heavily through his soft flesh, undeniably afraid.

he can only watch as you lean in close, positioning yourself near his ear.

"you too."

you couldn't have stated it any more plainer. it was a simple statement, like wishing for a someone to also have a good day. yet, when you pull away, his face is completely pale, shrunken pupils painted with terror. he looks as if he'd seen a ghost, perhaps one from his past.

defeated and miserable, 007n7 does nothing as you hold him close again, in a silent understanding that he could only ever be loved by monsters like him.

nothing, aside for a shaky hand gingerly placing itself on your bloody back.

(parade postscript: i need to stop being illiterate and follow the requests more closely sob)

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 49

Part 1 Part 48

Eddie swings his guitar off, invigorated. There’s nothing like a good band practice to set his blood blazing. He bounces on his toes in Gareth’s cold garage, letting his friend’s excited chatter wash over him as he places his sweetheart delicately back in her case. Just like old times. Unlike old times, there’s an ache in his ribs where Steve’s carved out a home for himself.

It’s weird to be so far away from Steve. Even when they’re doing their own thing, it’s usually in the same room. Or at least the same building. Thursday nights, Steve studies in the library while Eddie leads Hellfire a few hallways away. Eddie’d had Steve write down his schedule so he would always know where to find him.

Eddie just wants to be supportive. Nancy had called it “dangerously co-dependent,” and Jeff had called it, “the honeymoon phase.” But, they don’t get it. Neither of them had held Steve’s lifeless hand in their hands. Neither of them had seen his smile after Hopper had breathed life back into him.

As if sensing the subject of his thoughts, Gareth asks, “where is Steve, anyway?” When Eddie looks up, he looks sly and teasing. Eddie braces for impact. “You two have a lover’s quarrel?”

Eddie groans, dropping dramatically to the cold cement floor. His head makes a hollow thunk when it connects, but Eddie doesn’t get up. If there’s one thing Eddie is, it’s commited to the bit.

“My fair maiden is off wooing another,” Eddie says, putting his hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. “Which one of you big, strong boys will support me through this terrible heartbreak?” He wiggles his eyebrows, really driving the innuendo home with a shimmy of his hips.

Doug holds up his hand. He’s either volunteering to have gay sex like a true queer ally, or he wasn’t listening and is done with Eddie’s shit. Eitehr way, he feels his heart warm. In Bumfuck, Indiana, he’d somehow managed to snag a couple friends who hadn’t even hatecrimed him after he’d tried to kiss poor Jeff while high out of his mind. The aftermath hadn’t even gone past good-natured teasing for a minor crush on a best friend that Eddie pretended not to have. Eddie could just cry about it.

Jeff comes over to kick Eddie lightly in the ribs, scoffing. “So, he’s hanging out with Nancy.”

Eddie latches onto Jeff’s ankle, trying to pull him down. But he plants his feet, bends his knees and weathers the storm. Eddie hugs his calf, smooshing his face into the top of Jeff’s dirty sneaker, looking up at him with wide eyes and put-upon sadness.

“He’s with Nancy,” he confirms, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout.

Gareth collapses on the couch, still tossing his drumsticks around. Eddie watches them spin hypnotically. “You’re joking, but he’s totally going to get back with his ex.”

“Nah,” Doug says, sitting down next to Gareth and tossing him a bag of salt and vinegar chips that Gareth immediately digs into noisily. “Steve’s way too hung up on Eddie.”

Gareth sputters, choking on his mouthful of chips. Eddie can feel the heat of his blush blooming across his cheekbones. He drops Jeff’s ankle to press his heated cheek against the cool cement, hoping no one notices.

“Straight-boy Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks, chips spewing grossly out of his mouth and onto the couch. “No way in hell is he interested in that.” At the last word, he points rudely Eddie’s way, not looking away from Doug.

“Hey!” Eddie cries. No one listens to him.

Jeff walks over to them, wiping Gareth’s masticated chips off the couch and then wiping his hand off on Gareth’s jeans before sitting down. His friends are so fucking weird. “I don’t know man. He does seem sort of obsessed with Eddie.” Jeff says.

“They just like bonded during like, whatever!” Gareth waves his hand, seemingly trying to encapsulate the entirity of whatever capital T Thing had happened to make Eddie and Steve inseperable and leave Steve looking like he got mauled by a bear that somehow gave him scurvy.

“And that explains how Steve’s always touching Eddie and like looking at his lips, how?” Jeff demands.

“He is not!” Eddie says, heart lurching somewhere within him.

Gareth’s mouth flaps open, clearly trying to think of something to say but coming up empty. “Well, whatever!” he says. “That doesn’t mean he’s not going to get back together with Nancy the Priss Wheeler!”

Eddie speaks without thinking, his unfurling anger at Nancy’s everything surpassing his brain to mouth filter entirely. “He’s not getting back together with her,” he grumbles. “He forgot they were even dating.”

Everyone whips their eyes toward Eddie’s prone form, finally acknowledging his existance. They all look varying levels of shocked, except Gareth who is smiling maniacally. It’d taken the kid about thirty seconds to pick up Eddie’s venhement dislike of Wheeler and hold a grudge on his behalf, reson be damned.

“Are you serious?” Doug asks. When Eddie nods, he continues. “What a freak.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Jeff says, slumping into the couch in defeat. “Boy came back from his little impromptou vacation fucking weird.”

Eddie’s not so sure that’s true. Steve came back from the Upside-Down weird and traumatized, sure. But the more layers of skin Eddie peels back, the more he’s convinced that Steve was a freak masquerading as a jock all along.

“A diamond in the rough,” Eddie says, everyone else nodding along like that made any fucking sense at all. A bunch of sheep following the flock. Just as it should be.

Part 50

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show

[doublerainbow-if]

How do the RO’s spend Valentine’s Day with MC?

M

They're a bit of a homebody due to their social anxiety, so it will end up being at their apartment. It’s not extravagant either since they will start to overthink and not commit to the plan. They will spend the day making the same bread their family made growing up, a sweet plum roll match with a few other simple but intimate food items. They prefer to surprise you, decorating simple Valentine's decorations around their apartment and setting up a romantic dinner on their balcony. Before you dig into the homemade meal and pastries though, they read off a poem created about you, voicing all of their feelings; love, regret, pain, and joy; so you know that they’re never going to leave again. Not after you mended and taken back their heart.

L

So they don't quite celebrate Valentine's Day. They can give you gifts and chocolates often associated with the holiday if you desire them. However, they already do that when they leave their carvings around your place throughout the year. So, they much prefer taking you back with them to their home country Brazil for a couple of days to join the reverie of the Carnival. It could even be a Valentine's date if you prefer that, showing you around their old stomping grounds and meeting their family before joining the festivities. Though they will be embarrassed as their siblings and cousins tease them again, even their parents join in as they ask when L will propose with how lovestruck they are around you.

B

They're a nervous wreck when they appear on your doorstep with a bouquet and a nicely tailored outfit and hair. The flowers are primroses, colored red and yellow, nestled in perfectly wrapped paper that they decorate themselves. But their nervousness wanes when you accept the flowers, their smile becoming light and free when they offer a night on the town, eagerly awaiting you as you get dressed for the evening. The two of you walk arm in arm as they lead you through the Parisian streets, B whispering to you as they lead you first to a little restaurant they frequent for a romantic meal. Then they take you out dancing, their steps fumbling a bit despite taking lessons to be less clumsy. But feeling your hand in theirs and being so close to you eases that embarrassment as you dance the night away.

J

J frankly forgot about the holiday at first since they’re usually preoccupied with the art gallery. They only remember when they get a memo about a special Valentine's Day event that will be happening that evening by some investors and Avery. A string of curses escapes their mouth at the memory of you looking so sad that morning, now knowing why you seem disappointed. Cue J dashing through the building like a maniac and stopping by every place in Paris. By the time they get to your house, the normally lively but poised J is left in their disheveled suit with a manic look in their eyes and an armful of various gifts they pick up to apologize for not knowing it was Valentine’s Day. It’s a bit adorable to see the human-bear of a person so eager to please.

V

V feels nervous as they wait to give you their gift during your break. They wouldn't feel completely confident with a real date cause even now V don't fully understand their feelings toward you. But they still wanted to show a token of their appreciation for you even if it may seem strange in your current rivalry. They even asked advice from their family to make sure they're doing this right, a fact they are embarrassed by even now. But, maybe, there is an ulterior motive as they finally unveil their gift, a finely crafted golden necklace to your eager eyes. Their hands tenderly held the locket they gave you before looking back up to your eyes with dazed eyes but a somehow warm smile on their cold face. They hope you will allow them at least a kiss in this fleeting moment before reality comes crashing down.

C

C is an eager little bug when it comes time for Valentine's Day. They're not the most sentimental, but they take great pride in ensuring their partners have a good time. However, this year C feels nervous since they haven't had a serious relationship in ages. They hope you will take the time to join them for a day trip to one of the enchanting forests outside of Paris. They may even plan an overnight camping trip instead of a simple day outing if you're up for it. It may not be the most romantic but it is particularly intimate for C. They rarely show this side of themselves, worrying about being uncool when they gush about the local flora and fauna. So they hope you will like them displaying their knowledge to you as you hike through the woods, a sneaky grin appearing on their face once you arrive at your destination where they had set up a picnic and gifts for you ahead of time.

Avery

Avery is quite wealthy, but they prefer not to show off their affluent status. However, they will make an exception just for you. It may be insincere with how much they're willing to pay for your happiness, but they only want to make the day perfect for you. They almost feel like a teenager again with how often they will stop by your house or workplace during the holiday with a different gift or little excursion to check out. They even annoy L or J with their antics. Avery just keeps coming up with something else they want to give to you, as nothing ever truly feels enough to show their limitless love for you. They frankly get extravagant after a while as their gifts get increasingly bigger and bigger. The day soon ends with a romantic dinner at the Eiffel Tower with a full band and staff to serve the best Valentine's Day dinner for the two of you.

Kahula

Kahula will be a menace on Valentine's Day, but not to you. They will drive their manager absolutely batty as they prepare for the holiday, deliberately ignoring everything to focus on you. But it will mainly be inside their rental since they figured a well-known rockstar being on a Valentine's date would be catnip for the paparazzi. They're cheesy goober as they lead you through karaoke and movies, occasionally ordering room service between the activities. It's not the greatest, but frankly, Kahula feels just at home with you and them in your little bubble. A Valentine's Day without performing for a special concert or a limited fan interaction is so relaxing for the busy musician, especially when the two of you cuddle together and just waste the day away in each other's company.

[realmeganamram]

OUR ENVIRONMENTAL PLEDGE

It’s National Environmental Awareness Month, and all of us at SaaxoAmco Petroleum Corp. are dedicated to using our powerful access and responsibility to insure that the Earth is a healthier and cleaner place for future generations. To demonstrate our dedication, we would like to announce a new array of environmental-progress investment areas.

Carbon offset: For every pipeline that we build, we will plant one tree in a local park. We will then cut down the tree to make paper to send a memo to that town’s mayor to announce that we have planted the tree so that the public knows to come and look at the tree. Just in case the public doesn’t know exactly where the tree is, we will make hundreds of thousands of paper maps available to show the location of the tree before we cut it down, so that visitors won’t need to use their phones (whose batteries are the world’s leading cause of pollution, as per a bunch of studies). This will mean that it will soon take only four thousand trees to see a tree that used to be there! And get this. The mayor we told you about? She’s a woman!

Minimizing operational waste: At all of our offices, digs, and pipeline sites, we have forbidden our employees to drink bottled water. We have also forbidden them to drink any water whatsoever, so that it can be saved for the flowers and the beetles. In the words of our founder, J. M. Milligan, “We need to look out for the beetles, because they are the only things that will protect us from the Irish.” That sort of forward-thinking environmentalism has been part of our brief since 1863.

C-suite jet racing: Because we are so dedicated to the future of this planet, our C-suite will no longer use the company’s private jets to drag-race in the sky. Sure, it’s the most fun thing ever and life is barely worth living without it, but we’ll make the sacrifice.

Greenhouse-gas capture: I think we are capturing carbon dioxide. I haven’t followed up, but I’m pretty sure I heard a guy say that we were, like, seven years ago in the break room. As our founder, J. M. Milligan, said in 1870, “The Earth is a beautiful place and we should keep it that way. The only real downside is that Jews live here and poison all the bread and candy unless we make them live underground in special sewers.” We agree with the first part!

Biodiversity: SaaxoAmco is committed to fostering biodiversity, which is why we take responsibility for the roughly sixteen hundred new species of flora and fauna that were created when we dumped toxic sludge into the oceans. Who cares about old-fashioned animals like the “black bear” and the “bumblebee”? We can give you a snake with a human penis! The eco-possibilities are endless. And I don’t know what you’re imagining, but the penis is much bigger than the rest of the snake. You’re welcome, Mother Earth.

Oil on ducks: We pledge to stop putting crude oil on those baby ducks that you see in soap commercials. Those ducks are, as our founder, J. M. Milligan, loved to say, “slipperier than a drunk Italian with a pregnant wife.” He said this about oil-slicked ducks as recently as 1951. But we will not do this anymore.

Girlbosses: We pledge that at least fifteen per cent of SaaxoAmco executives will be women. Is that what we’re doing here? Is that what people are mad about right now? Feels like it can’t hurt, right?

Going green: We are making SaaxoAmco literally go green by dumping all the runoff from our pipelines straight into a shallow lake, where it turns the formerly clean drinking water a neon green. Also—and this is fun—it makes everything it touches form a human penis. There are lily pads with human penises, even some water spiders with human penises. We don’t understand it even a little bit, but did van Gogh question what made his masterpieces beautiful or what gave him a human penis?

Oceanic symphonic harmonization: This new SaaxoAmco project harnesses the boundless potential of resonating frequencies, psychedelic sonatas, and rhythmic ripples, in order to foster an otherworldly bond between marine life and the cosmos. Isn’t this good gibberish? Thanks to our panel of highly paid eco-experts, this fake process that doesn’t exist will save up to zero biospecies and sounds real!

Killing people: We care about saving the human race more than anything, which is why we pledge to kill more people than ever before. Human beings have huge carbon footprints, and by killing about seven thousand people a day (that’s about thirty-five hundred human penises) we will do the equivalent of planting a million and a half trees. We’ll do this any way we can—not just by polluting the planet but by taking to the streets with knives and bayonets if we have to. By the time SaaxoAmco is done, no one will have to live on a polluted planet Earth anymore. No one will have to live anywhere.

[jq37]

Twice Upon a Time - Neverafter Ep 1

The Times of Shadow

What is up y’all? A new season of D20 has started and I’ve been lured back to recapping by the siren song of fractured fairy tales. Fairy tales are one of my first loves (my thesis project for school right now is a fairy tale retelling in fact) and it’s very exciting to see that the D20 crew is digging into the darker side of these foundational stories.

I hesitated in starting recapping this season because as much as I love doing these, it’s a big time commitment and I am A Busy Person BUT the premiere ep was just so fun that I couldn’t resist. So, here’s the deal. I will do my best to keep up but no promises, OK? And I’ll be messing around with the formatting a bit to see if there’s a way to make the process a bit easier for me so bear with me.

And with that we start our story in the only way we really can…

Once Upon a Time.

Rosamund Du Prix (Siobhan’s PC)

We start with Brennan mesmerizingly telling the traditional tale of Sleeping Beauty–it goes down exactly like the Disney version. Three fairies. A fourth who isn’t invited and crashes the party after the first two have given their gifts and curses the baby princess to prick her finger on a spindle on her 18th birthday, killing her. The third fairy uses her gift to soften the curse so death turns into a 100 year sleep. Parents try to protect her by getting rid of all the spinning wheels but magic’s gotta magic and on her 18th birthday she finds a spinning wheel in an old tower and pricks herself anyway. She falls into a deep sleep as does the rest of the kingdom and the kingdom–the kingdom of Reverie–is covered in briars. 

Rosamund (who I will be calling Roz) wakes up, 100 years later, unable to close her eyes or mouth because of the briars that are growing out of her body and all around her, completely encasing her. Everyone at the tables is visibly and audibly gagging at the description which I will spare you. Roz is horribly claustrophobic but also feels a weird sense that she’s holding something that feels like a troubling sort of sixth sense (not fully explained but I’m wondering if it’s some kind of Ranger ability because she is a level 1 Ranger). 

She manages to get a hand free with minimal damage to herself (one fairy did give her the gift of grace after all) and painfully pulls the briars out of her mouth and nose. As she does, she hears whispers in her own head that she can’t understand and which stop when the root of the briars are out of her stomach.

Roz shakes the Briars that surround her, looking for the prince who was supposed to rescue her from this fate and, as she does this, pricks her finger. A tendril of the massive plant pokes out and drinks her blood, giving her a vision of the hundreds of corpses of the princes who have tried and failed to rescue her. The briars seem to think they are keeping her safe from the world outside and are fearful to let her go.

Now, well past the point of uneasiness, she tries to tell the plants thank you for the hospitality but it’s time for her to go. The plants do not agree and after she fails at trying to lull them to sleep with a lullaby, the plants try to stick her with the spindle and put her back to sleep. There is a bit of a tussle which ends with her diving out of her tower window and barely making it to the bottom in one piece. When she calls out to see if anyone is around, she gets no answer and decides to make her way out of Reverie–a process that takes months of traversing the thorny landscape. The kingdom seems fully destroyed. 

By the time she escapes, she is in *rough* shape and she’s fashioned herself a bow of thorns. 

[Note: Sleeping Beauty as a ranger is an interesting take. I wonder if she’s going to go Beastmaster for the traditional Princess With Animal Companion? Maybe Drakewarden if she wants to play with the Maleficent angle from the Disney version. Would be pretty cool to take on some of the traits of your captor–and she does already have the thorny bow. Fey Wanderer is an option because she was fey-touched upon being born.]

Now, in the present, Roz is a part of a traveling caravan in a wagon that’s going to the town of Shoeberg. In her wagon, she finds something damp and unpleasant being covered by a threadbare blanket and when she removes the blanket, she finds herself a surprise.

Gerard of Greenleigh (Murph’s PC)

Ger is prince turned frog turned prince turning back into a frog. He’s at the halfway stage so he’s still human height and build but with huge bulbous human eyes and damp, mottled, green skin.

He still has the bearing of a prince though and quickly identifies who he is and insists that his situation is temporary. Roz realizes that she’s related to him via marriage (“I think we’re cousins 3 times”) and is happy to join the self-gaslighting about how everything is fine and good and will be back to normal soon enough. They’re royals after all.

Ger says that though his kingdom is taken and his wife is missing, everything is fine and the fact that he’s turning back into a frog has NOTHING to do with his relationship with his wife which is FINE–something that Boffit (the trollson manager of the caravan who tells them they’re stopping for the night) doesn’t really buy. 

From there we’re thrust into Ger’s flashback. 

It is post-curse break and he’s doing pretty well. Except, he’s starting to realize that his frog traits are coming back. First his throat swelling. Then his eyes start migrating to frog positions. Then his tongue gets all stretchy. (“We fixed this though,” he says with a pathetic but kind of charming dismayed petulance). He tries to ignore the changes, even as he has a tense dinner with his wife–Princess Elody. Elody is discussing war-time matters with three of her generals–the kingdom is at war with Snowhold, the kingdom of the ice queen–but Ger just wants to talk about the upcoming ball and leave the unpleasantness to the soldiers. 

Elody is baffled by her husband’s lack of interest in actively protecting the kingdom and his desire to hole up in the castle while others fight and die for them. It’s the Time of Shadow, she says. Never After is being overrun with giants and witches and sea creatures! Why is he so content to coast on their supposed happily ever after? Though Ger clearly isn’t the fiercely protective active ruler she is, he says he’ll try to take a look at his fencing books. And she says that she’ll try to give him what she can. But that night, she doesn’t come to bed because she falls asleep at her war table with her generals. And the next morning, Ger’s nose is gone. Bad!

[Note: Ger is a fighter. I don’t really have a good guess on his subclass. I am fascinated by his relationship drama with his wife, though. I really hope she shows up again soon because the dynamic of these two people being in love but having such opposed life philosophies is very interesting–especially when it’s having the mechanical consequence of forcing Ger to turn back into a frog. To be in denial about how things are going as you’re literally turning into a frog is so indicative of character.]

Back in the present, we shift to another carriage in the caravan–a very nice shoe being pulled by 4 white horses. Inside is the pompous Lord Bandlebridge of Shoeberg who is toasting two figures–a cat wearing a cape and boots and a puppet of a little wooden boy (with a splintered nose–I’m guessing it was removed to allow for lying without an obvious tell). 

Through a back and forth, we learn that Puss in Boots (also known as Pib to his friends–I’ll be going with Pib or Puss interchangeably) and Pinocchio are scamming this man. They’ve told him that Pinocchio is actually a prince who stole 40 pennies from a witch and was cursed to be a puppet. They just need to borrow 40 gold pieces to break the curse and then they’ll pay him back in platinum. Lord B is so desperate to believe the story that he doesn’t look too deeply into it and goes with everything they say. 

Puss finds that he is very hungry and slips into a flashback.

Puss in Boots (Zac’s PC)

Pib is living the good life in the Kingdom of Marienne. He’s straight up chilling on a pillow in a shaft of sunlight and his breakfast is brought to him–100 live mice! 

The king comes in to talk to him privately and, as soon as they’re alone, starts freaking out. This is the miller’s son–Tomas–who in the traditional Puss in Boots story–is thrust into king-ship by Puss’s trickery. That’s all well and good but now it’s wartime and Tomas doesn’t have any idea how to run a country! Giants are attacking. He doesn’t know statecraft! He can barely read! And he loves his wife but he’s been tacitly lying to her for years and it’s all getting to be far too much. 

Pib just brushes it off and is like, hey buddy. Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.

Spoiler alert: It is not fine. 

The kingdom falls to giants and Puss flees. And he has no idea what happened to Tomas and his wife. 

[Note: Puss is a tabaxi re-skin and a rogue. Also don’t have a guess/hope in mind for subclass but I do love the bringing of the Puss In Boots story to its logical conclusion of–yeah, this guy doesn't know how to run a country. Of COURSE it’s gonna end badly the second times are bad and you can’t let the kingdom run on autopilot.]

Back in the present, Pinocchio is being a little brat and rubbing Lord B the wrong way. To calm him down, Pib calls Lord B his best friend and hugs him–checking his pockets as he does and finding a scroll which he notes but doesn’t steal. 

Now, we check in on the third carriage in the caravan. Inside are two figures–”Mother” Timothy Goose and Ylfa Snorgelsson (better known as Little Red Riding Hood). Red knows Tim because he’s an older guy who used to read stories in her village. When things “got bad” (we’ll get to that) she met up with him. 

They both get the announcement that the caravan is stopping for the night from Boffit (and that payment will be due in Shoeberg which is a problem because they don’t really have money). They have to stop in the Blackwoods (a primeval forest) which isn’t safe and they both offer to help with keeping watch (Red clearly being the more physically capable of the two). 

As they stop, they also see two notable carriages that haven’t been mentioned before (a teapot drawn by a giant rabbit–clear Wonderland ref–and an uncovered chariot drawn by a ram with an older gentleman in it). They also see the shoe carriage which sparks their interest because Tim has this magic book that he writes words in that disappear. But the word “Shoe” stuck. So it has to be somehow relevant to his quest. 

They go talk to Lord B who is going off about how much of a thriving metropolis Shoeberg is even in these hard times. While he does this, the guy in the ram chariot calls him a fucking idiot under his breath. Tim tries to respond to Lord B but is haunted by a vision of something behind Lord B and flips out, calling it a fucker and a piece of shit–freaking out Lord B so much that he runs off. 

“I saw him again,” he confesses to Red and we jump into his flashback.

“Mother” Timothy Goose (Ally’s PC)

The Lullaby Lands are a really sweet place that’s mainly farmers and animals and doesn’t need a king or a queen to rule it. 

Tim walks home with his son's bones in his arms.

His husband–Henry Hubbard–is horrified as Tim explains that their son, Jack, didn’t actually find whatever egg he said he found and was clearly mixed up with something shady. Tim said he saw Jack talking to some giant, black, demonic looking gander (a male goose) and say “I need my third wish” and then watched him age rapidly into the pile of bones he’s holding. 

Then the gander said, “Do you wish to know what just happened?” and when Tim said yes, he was trapped in his own set of three wishes. He then wished for something to get his son back and was given the leather-bound book we saw him with before. 

As a veteran bard and witch, Tim isn’t a stranger to magic. He opens the book, looking for an answer and finds the pages blank. Undeterred, he starts writing in the book and finds that everything he writes in the book disappears except for the word Jack that sticks. 

He writes all day long and in the back of his head he hears the demonic whisper, “There’s no way you’ll find them all in time, Goose.”

Eventually, he notices a stain on the floor of the house where his son made a mess as a younger child, jumping over a candle and tries to just describe the person he wants. His son. He writes in his book the nursery rhyme (which it seems like he wrote in the world about his son) Jack be Nimble, Jack be quick, etc. 

As he does, light fills the room and he sees a window open in the pages through which he sees his son, healthy and well and in a version of Pottingham that doesn’t seem afflicted by the floods tormenting it IRL.

“Dad I’m still here,” the Jack on the page says. “[The book] can save more than me. You’ll save them, I know you will.” Before he can say more, he is cut off and starts running. The book in the story sticks and Jack’s bones disappear in motes of golden light. 

Tim realizes he has a LOT of work to do.

[Note: Tim is a bard. I could see College of Lore. Maybe Eloquence or Spirits? Also, I HATED how he got roped into his wishes. That’s some fey/lawyer B.S. “Do you wish to know?” Get out of here with that B.S. I hate the gander. All my homies hate the gander.]

Back in the present, the three groups of PCs are starting to get acquainted. Pinocchio introduces himself as a prince and, as a princess, Roz wants to know where he’s the prince of. Maybe they’re related!  He lies and says he’s the prince of Shoeberg which Lord B overhears and knows to be false because he’s from Shoeberg. 

Lord B starts accosting Pinocchio who is defended by Tim and then the Ram dude who comes to back Tim up. Ram dude is muscular and has armor and a sword. Though he backs up Tim in telling Lord B to step off, he also whispers to Tim that Shoeberg sucks and he shouldn’t talk about it so much. 

Lord B retreats to his shoe carriage and on a Nat 1 insight, Pinocchio thinks that, despite his lie, he’s fine to still go in there. Everyone tries to stop his “chaotic entitled” ass and Red ends up stopping the sword of one of Lord B’s guards with a hairy paw and she goes into a rage. Flashback time for Red.

Ylfa Snorgelsson (Emily’s PC)

Red is outside of her home she is returning to. Apparently, she strayed from the path when she shouldn’t have and shit went down. She knocks on the door, and calls for her mom. No one answers. Red pleads for them to open the door, saying that her grandma is dead and she doesn't have a place to go but her mom says that her daughter is dead. 

Read assures her that she’s alive and says somewhat fearfully that she doesn’t know what she might try to do to get in. 

Inside, there’s some whispering about wolf-trickery and waiting for a woodsman but Red is eventually let in.

She manages to quell her churning thoughts and tells herself that everything will be fine once she’s in. Her mother will help her fix everything…but as soon as she steps in, a silver dagger falls on her while her mom calls for her siblings to run out the back door. It was a trap.

Her rage boils over and she flips the dinner table. A voice tells her to remember to breathe. She does and then, just like in the story, she huffs and puffs and blows her entire family away. Yikes!

[Note: God, talk about trauma. Love the weaving in of the Three Little Pigs story here. And man, Red is so young. Just a pre-teen. Emily plays her so unsure and awkward. I can feel Emily readying some emotional killshots with this character. Her pleading to be let in  (which I realize as I write this is very “Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in) was so sad. Also, she’s a Barbarian in case that wasn’t clear. Path of the Beast would be the obvious subclass but we’ll see if she throws us a curveball as she is wont to do. Also,what’s the over-under on her multiclassing into bard? She already has a bard mentor in Tim and we call know mama needs her spell slots.]

In the present, the guard flees at Red’s display of strength and Tim hugs Red. 

Pinocchio admits he’s not a prince but he and Pib tell a very sanitized story about how times are hard and they’re just been taking care of each other. 

The stranger who helped them reveals himself as Old Cole (ie: Old King Cole was a merry old soul–but he doesn’t seem very merry anymore). He explains that Shoeberg was founded by an unkind woman who gave lordships to all of her shitty sons (ie: There was an old woman who lived in a shoe). It’s a rough city that chews people up and spits them out and it sucks that it got to survive while many other better cities crumbled in the Time of Shadow. 

He’s–as far as he knows–the last survivor of his kingdom–Jubilee. Ger asks if he knows anything about his wife and Cole says she was a brilliant warrior on the battlefield (she’s a mace-wielder btw, and ad props for her to being a queen who actually gets her hands dirty) but he doesn’t know if she’s alive right now. Pib asks about Marienne as well but Cole only knows it was overrun by giants. 

[Note: This probably isn’t important, but Cole is essentially making Stone Soup by his carriage which is another famous childhood story I wanted to point out because it’s glossed over.]

Everyone is told that they don’t get to eat if they don’t help with the food so Roz tries to do the princess thing of calling birds to help her. Of course, they’re in a gnarly, ultra-cursed forest so on a Nat 1 a fucked up ostrich comes to help her and she politely declines.

Pib and Pinocchio figure they can just steal some food and bring it to “help” but, when they go to do that, Pinocchio notices a coach with a key in it. When he opens it, he sees someone familiar is in there and sends Pib away while he talks to them privately (though Pib tries to eavesdrop).

Inside is a shadowy silhouette that Pinocchio nervously addresses as “Mom” Brennan says he’s only ever seen her shadow. 

His mom says that Roz is very important and is being hunted so he needs to help keep her safe and hidden. She’s too busy caring for his father. Pinocchio asks for an assurance that his dad is OK and she says that she promised to keep him safe when she married him. She says something about some candle “burning low” and reminds Pinocchio of the night they met.

[Note: I can’t believe I’ve gone this far without mentioning that Lou had committed to this Mickey Mouse sounding squeaky voice for Pinnocchio which is Certainly A Choice. Also, not sure what the candle refers to yet. The most famous candle story is the Jack Be Nimble one and that doesn’t fit. Will think about this more.]

Pinocchio (Lou’s PC)

Pinocchio is in his town (Amarti in the kingdom of Marienne) up later than he should be. And he’s a real boy. A pointy woman in all black carrying a staff shows up and Pinocchio recognizes her as the second fey he’s met in his life. 

The woman has a ball of magical energy which looks so so fun and says each child will get a chance to play with it if they answer a question honestly. Behind her, going into the village, something shadowy flickers. Maybe rats?

She asks a child what their father’s name is. He answers. There’s a scream in the village. She moves on to the next child. Same thing happens. The kids start crying, realizing something awful is happening.

She gets to Pinocchio. She asks for his name. Then she asks for his father’s name. He lies.

Instantly, he drops dead and wakes up on his strings in his father’s house as his dad breathes in and turns. 

Back to the present, Pinocchio’s mother says that he’s been telling a lot of lies and she hopes he can keep them straight. And that’s where we end for the week!

[Note: OK, this is my big Pepe Silvia moment of the week. I have this fraught relationship with the show Once Upon a Time but I feel like it’s prepared me for the analysis I’m about to do. 

When the character card shows up for Pinocchio’s mom it identifies her as “The Stepmother” (who is his patron btw–he’s a warforged warlock) and it identifies her as being from Cinderella. BUT it doesn’t say she’s THE stepmother from Cinderella. 

Let’s think about this for a second.

She’s presented in silhouette. Why? It could just be patron dramatic-ness. But it also could be to set up for a reveal later. 

We never get a name–just a title: Stepmother. And it’s totally normal that Pinocchio would just call her mom. But that also could be a setup for a reveal. 

This is a weird pull but there’s an apt quote from Disenchanted (the other thing I’m currently obsessed with). “Stepmothers are wicked but they’re not usually very powerful.” Cinderella’s stepmother as a patron wouldn’t be my first guess, you know? Like, of course in this world she COULD be magic, like Tim is, but I think there are better candidates here. 

Let’s think about the flashback now. Pinocchio’s mom leads into it by telling him to remember when they met. 

He describes the fairy that he meets and her features. But Brennan also says he’s only ever seen his mom in silhouette. So the fairy and the mom don’t seem to be the same people even if that is the night that they met. Brennan also says it’s the second fairy he ever met which means the first is likely the Blue Fairy. So this isn’t likely a twisted version of the fairy from his story. 

So the fairy this is likely to be is the one from Cinderella. The Fairy Godmother. And it seems like she’s controlling rats which tracks with the Cinderella story–rodents to horses, right?

(Though, sidenote, because I’m going full Pepe Silvia, I will also point out two other possible links. The first being something Pied Piper related. And the second being a Pinocchio pull as the Pleasure Island owner in the Disney version has these shadowy minions. Oh and while we’re talking shadows–Peter Pan. None of this is part of the analysis proper, just throwing out possibilities.)

ANYWAY, if this fairy is Cindy’s fairy and I’m skeptical the stepmom is The Stepmother then what if Pinocchio’s stepmother is Cinderella herself? The OG Stepmom in the story never had enough proximity to magic to be a patron but Cindy did. I could see her getting magic much more easily. And it would be a killer reveal story-wise. 

I don’t know what the motivation would be yet and I don’t even know if she’s evil or just shady. But there was clearly a lot of intentional vagueness during this section, and this is my best attempt to parse it. I look forward to getting more puzzle pieces as the season goes on!]

[lou-struck]

Burden

Tooru Oikawa x Reader

Angst with fluff

Warnings: Mental health issues, self-deprecation, overworking, straight hair.

Sorry about this one guys, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed right now and wanted to let it out in a productive way.

It's funny how people associate youth with availability. “You're still young so you should do this.” people say before signing you up for different commitments.

It's not terrible to be useful but it can be exhausting keeping up with the things others expect you to do. Pretty soon all this “youth” people use as a justification for your availability will be gone and you will be nothing but a burnt-out husk later in life.

This sardonic mantra repeats in your head as you receive another notification for a new project you have ever so graciously been included in. Your friend gave the group your name saying that you are free to help them out since they are in a jam.

“Meetings start on Wednesdays at 9 pm. Thank you so much for helping us out.” the message says.

“No problem, see you then!” you reply hoping that your response seemed genuine enough. In frustration, toss your phone aside and go take a shower to at least try and wash away a bit of the stress of your tired body so you can sleep a bit longer in the morning.

You flop down onto your bed with a groan thinking about the jumbled mess that is now your schedule. Your face feels unbearably hot as you eyes with tears that just don't want to fall as your still wet hair drips and leaks down your back staining one of Tooru’s old t- shirts.

You have been so busy lately you have hardly seen him. It seems like your relationship has been mostly over the phone. Not wanting to bother him with your whining, you decide to bear this alone. With nothing but a pile of blankets and the ache in your heart to keep you company.

The jingle of keys of your door causes you to crack open your tear shot eyes. From down the hall you hear a familiar voice, “hey cutie, where are you?”

It’s Tooru, did you have a date with him that you forgot? You reach out for your phone only to realize it's on the couch in the living room. Wiping your eyes you put on a cheerful voice as you call out to him. “I’m in here.”

Cracking open the door you see the floofy head of your boyfriend poking through the door frame. Upon seeing your pile of blankets he approaches slowly. “Were you sleeping?” he asks as the bed dips under his weight as his hands dig through the blankets to find your head when he makes contact with your wet stands he recoils before ripping off your blankets. “Your hair's still wet, were you planning on sleeping like that?”

“I just got out of the shower, it will dry eventually.” you say with a sigh, your patience becoming a victim of your mood.

“Let's get you dried off properly, I don't want you to catch a cold.” he says with concern as he detangles your wet hair with his fingers ever so gently, as if he is trying to comfort you. But why would he comfort you? Your little show of mental stability seemed convincing enough to everyone else.

“You don't have to do that Tooru,” you say, trying desperately to keep your voice from shaking. If you ruin the time you have with him with your dramatics then he won't want to stay with you. After all he’s Tooru Oikawa, he can have anyone, why should he stick with a burden like you when someone better and easier to be with would come along as soon as word got out he was on the market.

“Hey, where are you right now?” his voice jolts you from your thoughts as you turn to look at him. His chocolate eyes meet you as he takes one of your cold hands in his warm one.

“I’m right here silly,” you joke, ignoring the crack in your voice.

“You're somewhere else,” he says as the tone of his voice drops. “Will you tell me what's wrong?” That’s when the damn breaks and tears begin to stream down your cheeks, your wobbling lip letting loose choked sobs from the bottom of your heart. You can't really see much through your tears but you feel his arms wrap around you and pull you into him. You immediately cling to him as he gently scratches your back through the still wet t- shirt.

Once you have run off of tears and the sobbing has ceased for the moment he wipes your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I think so,” you rasp out through your tired throat. “I just need some water first,”

“ I can get it, '' he says , standing abruptly before you can object. He is down the hall and pouring you a tall glass. Bringing it back he hands it to you with a soft smile. “Can I dry your hair for you?”

“If you want to,” you say, waiting for him to opt out of babying you but he just goes to the bathroom,grabbing a large fluffy towel, a comb, and a few hair ties. As he comes back into the room he sits at the base of your headboard and poles you in between his legs.

Gently, he begins to towel dry your hair combing out the tangles till he can run his fingers through it. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you decide to start up a conversation.

“ What made you stop by tonight?“ You say, your voice is small.

“I missed you, and I had a feeling that you missed me too. I texted you earlier but you didn’t answer so I decided to just come over and see if you were okay.” He explains drying a section of your hair.

“ I did miss you, he just didn’t want to annoy you with this.” You say gesturing to yourself.

He laughs at this “ you could never annoy me, you have seemed busier than normal. Are you overworking yourself?“

“ I guess I am, I'm just trying to be productive, but when people ask me to do things I can’t say no.” You say hoping you don’t sound pathetic to him, after all he’s a professional athlete who has tons of responsibilities.

“ Being productive isn’t bad, but when you don’t take care of yourself that’s when it’s not good, believe me I know.“ He whispers, turning your Head towards him and you see he’s looking down at his knee. The stress he put on it almost cost him his volleyball career. Maybe he is the right person to talk to about this.

“ I just can’t be anything, Tooru. If I’m not doing something, if I say no, people might think I’m lazy.” You say with a wobbling lip “ I can’t be lazy.”

He looks at you tenderly, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “ You are amazing, and I promise that everyone who knows you thinks the same. But, when you overwork yourself, when you don’t take the time to treat yourself like a person. You seem to be your own worst enemy.” He croaks out.

“ I guess I am pretty mean to myself.”

“ Saying no to something doesn’t make you a bad person, they’re asking you not forcing you. You always have a choice, and if you feel like you don’t I’m here for that.” He squeezes your shoulder before giving your hair a little part. As he processes his words he begins to divide your hair into sections gently braiding it so the damn hair that gave you so much trouble will turn into something beautiful in the morning.

“ thank you Tooru, I’m glad you were here today.“ you say once his job is done. “ Will you stay over? “

“ like I would ever leave you.“ he says, kissing you softly and covering you with blankets.

“I love you” you say softly.

“And I you.” He returns, ready to help you with whatever you need once you wake.

[jiminrings]

what happened to mc after that?? JUNGKOOK I WILL WHOOP YO FUCKING ASS

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

the aftermath of stem koo breaking senior!y/n's heart

"do you need anything from us?"

yoongi asks you for the fifth time in the twenty minutes you've been home, heart breaking from the inside out when you haven't moved a single inch

he is begging that the thing you need from him and jin is to go beat j*ngkook up

HE CAN'T EVEN SAY HIS NAME WITHOUT BEING ANGRY AT HIM!!!!!!!

anything. anything to atleast make you sleep in peace tonight.

or them honestly,, either way

your body's facing the backrest of the couch and maybe that's for the better, because that way, seokjin won't feel the need to cry looking at the coldest person he's known to be openly vulnerable

you're still wearing your jersey!!! your stained dirty jersey that you've been in for the past three hours and the reason that it's still wet was that you've been using it to wipe your tears all the way to the dorm

"no. i'll be alright."

you mumble for the fifth time out of the five times you've been asked, and yoongi just has to grapple at his fist because he knows that being frustrated wouldn't help

you are the fURTHEST thing from okay

to be honest, it was only a miracle that you told the two of them what happened in the first place

it was in between sobs that you asked them why they were friends with you and they couldn't be anymore dumbfounded

it was in between violent tears that you mentioned hyeji that seokjin looked for a box of tissues because you've been intentionally rubbing your eyes raw

it was in between heaving that you said that no one wants to go the extra mile for me that yoongi started holding your cheeks and trying to get you to breathe with him in his panic too

it was in between hiccups that you uttered that no one wants to walk me home and that's when both of yoongi's and seokjin's throats started tightening, the dots hazy yet aligning nonetheless

it was in silence when you told that jungkook said that no one likes me, and that's when out of the three of you in the room – you're the one who's the calmest.

"okay. i'll bring you a blanket."

yoongi leaves it at that, standing from his spot on the floor to walk over to the kitchen where the blankets cLEARLY aren't there

no one really prepared yoongs for this

no one really is

there isn't a manual on how to act when the dearest friend that you have is crying their guts out for the first time

he can't explain his close bond with you and he's always seen you as his platonic girlfriend!!! his platonic girlfriend who has a bond with him that's closer than a sister's, more understanding than a mother's, and the utter admiration more than a friend's

you r literally yoongi's (platonic) soulmate and he would die on that hill

he would rather subject himself to torture via having to stay in a freshman's dorm equipped with the de facto led strip lights everyday!!! every single day, than to see you like this :(((

"what do you have on the bitch?" yoongi doesn't spare his words when he sits on the kitchen stool next to jin's figure

the dude is sTANDING and that means business

jin doesn't feel a single ounce of regret fetching his work laptop and scrolling through the files and tabs he has on every single student on campus, eyes only looking for one lee hyeji that's contributed to your anguish rn

jungkook is atleast 3/4 in this equation and seokjin will get to him of course

no one makes his emotional support best friend cry and nOT pay the consequences for it!!!!

in another life, vincenzo cassano's character is based on seokjin and the events in his life that definitely happened >:(

"she's daddy's money. can't fucking believe that sHE'S representing the school," he sighs in genuine annoyance, but not loud enough to pique your attention as he turns the screen so yoongi could clearly see her headshots, "must be a diversity hire. every university needs a fucking bimbo, apparently."

you see,,, yoongi would've SNORTED at that but now is not the time!!! he is still planning discreet retribution to avenge you!!!!

jin lets yoongi look at hyeji's entire file, wanting to get even the smallest bits even if the information he's taking in is against his will

he'll immediately delete whatever he learns about her right after it's served its purpose

"just messaged the faculty groupchat," seokjin himself didn't imagine the words coming out from his lips determinedly, but he knows that he's willing to do anything for the sake of this, "been crushing on jeon ever since the start of last semester. philosophy professor thinks it's because he once saw jungkook lending her a pen when they were in the topic of soulmates."

jesus christ

now THAT'S just annoying ://

this

whatever this is

seokjin and yoongi don't know what they're digging all this information for

they don't know what this unspoken plan is for, or if they even have a plan in the first place

if jin were to tell the faculty gc about this???

absolute mayhem

but he knows for a fact that they'd hate star student jungkook easily within a tap of a finger

the philosophy prof would lose all sense of rationality and reasoning and INSTANTLY point to jungkook as an asshole!!! no questions asked!!!! no elaborations!!!!

"i could get jeon eliminated from all the academic listings he's in."

jin pipes in at the silence that he and yoongi share, both listless in this situation that they never expected to encounter with you

"i could always spread a rumor and make him unlikeable."

yoongi toys with the rings that he wears, a heavy exhale tearing away from him

they could think of a thousand other ways to get back at jungkook!!! they literally can

seokjin knows a contract guy who leaves shredded paper with his contract's initials written on red ink (for a base fee of three dollars, he can switch up the ink for you!!!) right next to their side on the bed

yoongi knows a guy whose modus operandi is to discreetly follow people, have subliminals playing in the background (for an extra fee of ten dollars, he'll use wireless bass-boosted speakers), and continue doing so until the desired message is achieved!!!!

none of the people they have connections to could employ the same amount of pain he's caused on you

there's literally nothing that could hit home with jungkook besides you.

but there's no way to do that and even in your state of anger and sadness tHEN utter vulnerability, you can't even really think of hurting jungkook in the way he did

because you know and yoongi knows and seokjin knows and everyone knows that you aren't the type to wish ill

you admit that sometimes you're unavailable but you don't want that to be an asshole-reason to make everyone else around you suffer in the same way you do

the people around you aren't your shock absorbers!!!! that's why you hang out a teddy bear on your doorknob when you're mad so that neither yoongi or jin would have the possibility to be caught in your rage

that's why you call for a break when your soccer team is out of their game and make everyone drink their electrolytes before they speak to you!!!!

that's why you have the old heart of your even older build-a-bear stuffie in your pocket, one of the only reminders that your childhood even happened, one that you'd squeeze between your fingers in any remotely anxious instances that you find yourself in

jungkook's words hit home and it put you into a spiral if you even had one in the first place

your parents divorced when you were young and it's just that,,, no one from the two of them wanted you because you were the reminder of the other parent

you're a place marker for when a commitment started and ended and god did it make you grow up quickly

your aunt raised you!!!! she's an angel and she's the maternal figure in your life that you'd always be grateful for

you love her all the same and as much as you didn't wanna relate yourself to your parents in the same way that they don't, the feelings of being unliked hit you ever so often

lol it's quite a dashing mindset you have but you can't see any other interpretation you should employ

you leave before they could leave you.

it's not really as dramatic as it sounds

BUT IT COULD BE

there's always obligatory groupchats for projects and you're the first one to leave it instead of awkwardly waiting out for the conversation to dwindle and then leave one by one

when you and yoongi argue, you leave before he attempts to get the last word in

when jin is about to ask if you want to split the bill, you're already putting more than half of your share on the table

it's a nagging feeling of not wanting be unwanted in every situation you're in, but you aren't all that sure of wHAT you'd do to be liked

the only thing you could think of are lunchboxes, and even that gets taken away from you.

does no one really like you??

you're shifting in your position before you know it and the lone sound makes jin and yoongs come to your side immediately, looking at you in concern

you're looking up and you could just fEEL your eyes are puffy and even the light's hurting them

"i need to sleep."

"o-oh! m'kay, sure. i'll carry you to bed, let's go," seokjin wastes no time in responding, about to hook his arms underneath you when you repeat yourself again

you only chuckle but it's the driest and most painful they've ever heard, wincing when they can hear how breathless it was

"no. i mean i need to sleep."

jin blinks once

yoongi blinks twice

OH

right

they get it now

you don't want to sleep, and you really can't, but you need it

"i'll get it!!" jin volunteers to grab what you need, leaving yoongi with you

oh god you could fEEL that he's going to cry

what a big baby ://

seokjin comes bearing the joint :D

he's about to light it for you because he knows that three specific short hits would lull you to slumber then knock you out cold for like a day lmao

he minored in chemistry actually but he cAN'T explain shit on why that's your body's reaction

you're all-good for literally anything besides three short hits lmao

yoongi was about to scold jin because he lights it and tHEN he's the one who takes the first drag, but there's an assuring wave of his hand

how romantic

jin just blew you a heart

<3

they can't get anything from you besides the slight crinkling from your eyes but they don't mind at all — your eyes are atleast one degree less sad

you take your turn and even pass it to yoongi but he rEFUSES,,,,, not the least bit dejected that he decided not to because he wants to watch over you instead and not see every inanimate object with cartoon eyes on them while watching over you

"bake her a cookie if in case she suddenly gets hungry in the middle of her sleep. sneak a carrot in it or something," jin reminds yoongi and he's sERIOUS about the recipe, holding you in tow as he makes the way to your room

yoongi's about to break out the bowls, freezing in his steps when he hears the doorbell frantically ring

oh god

the ONE time that they didn't plug the door with a wet towel and now it's probably the hall manager outside about to do an inspection

that is not..... the hall monitor

that is a fucking asshole

jungkook's been pacing on his heels, his knocking loud enough to wake up the entire hallway at this point

he's SWEATING and he's not even wearing his hoodie

the door finally opens and the words start tumbling out of his mouth

"good evening. i-i wanna explain myself and-..."

that is not,,,,, you

it's his senior that he's disrespected probably too many times

yoongi leans to the door, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face that the junior's never seen before

"you ever had a sandwich before, jungkook?"

"w-what?"

the younger boy stammers, his eyes following yoongi's actions of looking behind him out of worry and then going outside to join him by closing the door softly without noise

yoongi only snorts, not even sure if he's up for conversation

"hyeji's never packed you a sandwich before?"

jungkook pales at the mention, mouth drying when he sees yoongi bring up the soft smile that doesn't comfort him at all

"the one that's all knuckle?"

[yuckydraws]

For the romantic requests could you do Bear and #6?

6 - “Will you marry me?”

••••••••••••

It’s rare that you ever come home and Bear isn’t on the couch, ready to greet you happily.

You’re not too worried though, knowing that he’s probably in the backyard, either working or doodling in that notebook of his.

He’s always writing or drawing in it, and he keeps it close at all times. His gaping head injury left him with memory problems, and the notebook is his way of remembering things that happen to him. At least until he’s read it enough to commit it to his long term memory.

You close the front door, and move to slip off your shoes, when you notice something - a rose petal on the ground right in front of you.

Huh.

You go to pick it up, and notice another one just in front of it.

And another one, and another one.

Oh!

A trail of rose petals?

A smile grows on your face. Bear is such a sweetheart, always surprising you with stuff. Your mood instantly skyrockets, just what has he put together this time?

You follow the trail, ignoring Sugar’s “no shoes on the carpet” rule, just this once, seeing as the petals lead right to the back door. Opening the back door, you look for Bear, only to come up empty. Hm.

You continue along the path, realizing pretty quickly where it’s taking you: the clearing in the woods behind your house.

The picnic spot.

Making it to the clearing, you see fairy lights set up on the branches, a yummy looking picnic set out on top of a quilt, and Bear pacing around seeming nervous.

He’s dressed up. Which is odd for Bear. Of course he puts some effort into what he wears when he takes you on dates, but he’s actually wearing a dress shirt?

… As much as you’d love to just stand here and admire how nice he looks in it, you need to get him out of whatever mental spiral he’s having to cause him to pace like this.

“Are you okay, love?” You call out worriedly. Bear freezes, looking at you with a growing blue blush. Even from here, you can see how that big red eye-light of his dilates when he focuses on you. Stars, you love when it does that.

He just nods and makes his way over to you.

“i’m okay now that you’re here.” He says smoothly while taking your hands and leading you to the picnic set up. You snort at his words.

“Nice one.” You joke.

He sits you both down on the picnic blanket, and starts getting out the plates and utensils. You notice how his hands are shaking and you quickly try to take his mind off of whatever is worrying him.

“This is so nice! Thank you so much! What’s the occasion?”

Apparently that was the wrong question, because he starts to sweat (which you still don’t understand how skeletons do, but you’ve never gotten a better answer than “magic”).

“…uh…” He gets out, looking anywhere but you.

You place a comforting hand on his shoulder, which causes him to finally look you in the eye.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, it’s a surprise right?” You give him a gentle smile, and he blushes a bit, and nods.

“How about I tell you what happened at work? You will not believe what Sandy did-” You start blabbing on and on, and you notice how much Bear relaxes at the subject change. It’s familiar - you talking about everything and nothing and Bear listening, intervening telling a joke every so often.

You both eat, and it’s not until you lay your head on his shoulder with satisfied sigh that he starts to look nervous again.

“That was sooooo yummy. I should give the chef a kiss!” You joke, sitting up and leaning closer to Bear. His face erupts in navy blue, as he places his hands on your waist.

“heh…” He chuckles nervously. “…i didn’t cook it. sugar did.”

“Whaaaat?”

“i know. i’m a fraud…”

You giggle and give him a little kiss anyways, looking up at him expectantly.

“Sooo….” You start.

“…i wanted to show you something.” He moves away from you to dig through the picnic basket and pull out what looks like a scrapbook.

He turns back to you and looks down at it in his hands.

“it’s…” He stops himself, seeming to be searching for the words before he settles on, “well, you’ll see.”

He hands it to you and you gingerly take it. The cover is simple, just a delicate lace pattern, leaving you with no idea what’s in it.

You look up at him, to see him watching you intently. It gives you an idea.

You scoot over to him until you can climb into his lap with your back facing him. He just watches as you do this, supporting you with his hands on your waist as you get comfortable. You look up at him with a smile.

“I know you’ve already seen what’s in here, but this way we can look at it together.”

He gives you that happy lopsided grin of his and hugs you close, resting his head on your shoulder, and staring down at the book in your hands. You take that as a sign to open it.

It’s…

Full of note pages. Some really old and worn, and they’re obviously not all from the same notebook with the differing sizes.

But, you recognize Bears small, neat handwriting. As you read through the first page… you realize exactly what he put together for you.

It’s full of notes that he had written about you in his notebooks. There’s little tidbits in there about you. How he feels about you, stories you’ve told him, notes about your favorite things, times you did something silly that had him rolling on the floor laughing, and everything he never wanted to forget about you.

But it’s also full of your milestones as a couple.

The day you first met, little run in’s you had, the day you became friends, the day you became more than friends, when he realized he was in love with you and all the little firsts you both shared.

There’s pictures too, wherever he could find a picture to match his notes, he placed them with it.

By the time you get to the last page, the sun has started to set and you’re crying.

You look at Bear through the corner of your eye and you see him looking at you, his eye-light fuzzy and dilated. You wipe your teary eyes and sniff.

“I almost don’t want to read the last one. This is so beautiful.” You say, your voice all shaky. Bear chuckles, grabbing your hand and squeezing it.

“well, i hope you do… it’s an important one.” He jokes but you can tell he’s nervous. More nervous than ever.

You squeeze his hand back and look at the page.

On it? He talks about just how much he loves you. How he feels when you walk in a room, how he’d trust you with anything, and how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

At the bottom of the page, is another picture of you both, one that Sugar must have taken without your knowledge because it’s very candid and domestic. It’s of you both joking around while working in the garden, all smiles.

Bear closes the book, setting it aside, and surprises you by getting up and helping you up.

But he doesn’t stay up for long.

Soon he’s on his knee in front of you.

You clutch your hands to your chest.

He relishes in the moment, looking up at you with all the love in the world.

His eye-light morphs into a little upside down heart, and he reaches into his pocket to pull out a ring. He holds it in front of him, and finally speaks again.

“will you marry me?”

[kenzumekodma]

18+ only, minors do not interact

pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader, politician au

warnings: power imbalance, degradation, oral (m receiving), fingering, cum swallowing, finger sucking, teensiest bit of praise, one instance of canadian spelling

summary: if this was going to happen, you might as well commit to it. there were worse people to fuck on a monday morning than shouto todoroki.

wc: 2.5k

His father’s the highest ranking politician in the prefecture, you remind yourself. Just grit your teeth and bear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Shouto. No, he didn’t like you, was more like it. Ever since you took on the job as his assistant you’ve shouldered this feeling that absolutely seeped from him, this feeling that he was inherently superior to you and you were nothing. A means to an end.

At first his quiet indifference bothered you, but as the weeks wore into months, into nearly a year… really you just stopped giving a shit. Sure, you’d gone into this job bright eyed and bushy tailed, answering with a quick yes sir, no sir to any questions he asked you. Slowly, though, your energy dropped, your output matching Shouto’s.

Coming into your work anniversary, a time when you’d imagined you’d be kicking your feet up for a night and enjoying a lighter workload, if not a night off, you walked into the office to a more chaotic scene. You groaned into the plastic lid of your to-go coffee. The hot liquid was your only saving grace. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath through your nose, steeled yourself as you held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled through your mouth, lips closed into a small ‘o’. With renewed nerves, you open your eyes and walk into the elevator, making your way towards Mr. Todoroki’s office.

Large solid walnut doors met you a few short strides away from the elevator. Balancing your coffee, Mr. Todoroki’s tea, and your work bag precariously but with the confidence that comes with practice as you turned the brushed bronze handle. As expected, Mister Perfect was sat behind his desk. Larger than it really needs to be, you thought, like so many things tend to be when you’re living off the bank of Daddy’s Popularity.

“What’s all the fuss about downstairs?” you asked, setting Shouto’s tea down on the coaster he had waiting for it, just like he had every day for a year. He shrugged.

“Elections are coming up. My old man wants me to run for a seat on council.”

You nodded. “And that’s why I woke up to an email this morning from Endeavor offices saying Mr. Todoroki Sr. is scheduled to come by at 10:30 today with exactly zero context.” Shoto nodded once.

“There’s no point in stopping him. He has the knowledge and I need it, I guess.”

You sighed, resigned to planning a last minute visit for the man who’s effectively your boss’s boss.

“It’s too bad,” he started, pausing to take a sip of tea. Deadpan expression still resting on your face, you quirk a brow at him, a silent what? hanging in the air. “Too bad that my old man will have to see you like this. You’ve changed since he hired you for me,” Shoto said as he stood, tea placed flawlessly in the centre of its coaster. He stalked around the desk, getting ever closer to you. Instinctively, you went to place your coffee on the desk, but you caught yourself, putting your work bag on the floor, bending to pick up your planner from it. You missed Shouto’s eyes grazing down the back of your form, hesitating at your thighs, where their plushness was accentuated by the hem of your tight, light grey skirt digging in slightly. You slid your planner onto the luxury desk, using it as a makeshift coaster for your cup.

The corner of Shouto’s lip turned up almost imperceptibly. “You used to be so polite, y/n.” He took another step towards you and you froze in confusion.

“I…” you trailed off.

“You what?” he goaded, getting closer to you again. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the aforementioned not giving a shit, maybe it was the surprise stress of Enji Todoroki’s insistence on the election, but you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and speak your mind to your boss for the first time.

“I just, I know that you think of me as lesser, and it’s true. I am. I know that, you know that. You’re political royalty and I’m just trying to make rent. So what’s the point in trying to get you to respect me with pretty words?”

“Lesser, is that so?” he murmured. He was upon you now, slender hand reaching out to take your chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. A mixture of confidence and careful carelessness swirled behind Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes. Bicoloured hair slipped from its place to frame his sculpted cheekbones as he looked down at you.

“I’m a means to your end, and likewise for you. If we’re going to use each other we should feel good too, right? Now, wouldn’t you say the best place for inferior little girls like you is on their knees?” His eyes flickered to your lips, to your eyes, to your lips again. The last three honeyed words dripped from his lips and straight to your panties making you clench around nothing. The span of four minutes and he’d already flipped everything you thought about him on its head.

In your doe-eyed stupor you hadn’t even noticed how fucking wet you’d gotten although it was undeniable when your thighs rubbed together as you shifted your weight back and forth.

“Well?” Shouto asked, voice quiet. You nodded, bringing his hand up and down with your face. He patted your cheek. “That’s what I thought. Down,” he commanded. Shame rose in you as you dropped to the floor, flush crawling up your neck making you feel as red as half of your boss’s hair.

You looked up at him for further instruction to see him unbuttoning the top two buttons of his expensive linen shirt. Instinctively you lifted your hands to unbuckle his designer belt, but he swatted them away.

“What makes you think you’re worthy of touching anything of mine? This costs more than your salary,” he sneered.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Sorry what?”

“Sorry, Mr. Todoroki,” you corrected yourself.

“Not quite. Try again,” he tutted. You felt the heat rise from your neck to your cheeks, causing you to turn your gaze downward.

“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled.

“I can’t hear you all the way down there. Speak up,” Shouto demanded.

“I, I’m sorry Sir,” you said, louder this time and with more confidence. If this was going to happen, you figured you might as well commit to it. There were worse people to fuck on a Monday morning than Shouto Todoroki.

“Better,” he said approvingly. He slipped his buckle and belt off with ease, unbuttoning his charcoal grey slacks. Your eyes followed his hands downwards and it finally hit you just how big of a dick print was practically staring you in the face. He pulled up the once tucked in shirt tails and bunched them up around his toned stomach. Agony, his pace freeing his cock was absolute agony. His length was impressive, on the longer side of anyone you’d been with before. And his girth. It was a lot like the man himself, surprisingly thick but beautiful. The vein running along the underside of his cock made your mouth water with anticipation.

He let it out of his hand and it rested heavily on your lips.

“Please, Sir…” you said, licking your lips just enough to tease him with the sensation of your tongue. Shouto bit back a groan but nodded his head. You gave his cock an exploratory lick up the underside. A low noise rumbled in his chest, which you took as encouragement to continue. Hesitantly, you lifted a hand up to his waist and dragged your nails down his abdomen lightly, causing him to weave his fingers through your hair and grip tightly. God forbid the political Prince Charming be anything but in charge.

He guided your head up an inch or so. Holding his length in his other hand, he tapped the flushed tip against your cherry lips and you comply, parting them without a thought in your head besides Shouto’s cock. You close your mouth around his head and suck lightly, savouring the ever so slightly salty taste of his precum against your tongue. Shouto guided your head back for a better view.

He’s been watching and waiting for months, wondering what your lips would look like wrapped around him with every sharp barb that rolled off your tongue. The reality of it was better than he’d imagined. The silky wetness of your mouth just fueled his lust further. What would your sweet pussy feel like around him? Would you let him in?

His facade faltered, and he bucked his hips into you. Your throat tightened around him and your eyes watered. Something in the way he treated you ignited a fierce competition within you. If his actions were a challenge, you took it and one upped him, taking as much of him as possible. Your nose nuzzled into the base of his cock, taking in the musky scent of his sex with every breath you tried to take. Bracing yourself with your hands on his chest, you swallowed around him. Shouto shudders and his fingers leave your scalp. He pets your hair gently, and for a split second as you looked up at him with curiosity, you saw genuine fondness written across his face. Whatever prompted it, he shoved it aside and gripped your wrists together in his larger hand, pinning them against him above your head.

His movement took you by surprise. Surprises normally caused dread to pool in your tummy. This particular surprise caused arousal to bubble inside instead, it caused you to rub your thighs together as best you could for just a tiny bit, any bit of delicious friction you could get. It wasn’t enough, and you let out a half moan, half whine sound that vibrated up Shouto’s cock.

“Pretty girl’s a little slut, huh? Likes being helpless? Keep going.” he sneered at you.

You nodded as best as you could without letting off of his dick, drool pooling at the sides of your mouth. God, the absolute debauchery of what this man would have you do for him, it made your thighs clench. Desperation evident in your actions, you moan around him, moving yourself as much as your tight little skirt would allow. Shouto shuddered and took your jaw in his fine, slender hand.

“Enough,” he hissed, pulling your mouth off of his cock. His breath came in shallow pants, the only tell that he was as affected as you were. The way you licked your lips as soon as they were unoccupied made him bite back a moan. You looked fucking delicious in that moment, a summer fruit ripe for the picking.

“Up,” he commanded. You tried your best to stand up with your balance off kilter. Really, Shouto ended up pulling you to your feet more than anything else. He turned you around, advanced on you until your ass was bumping against his desk, and then he took one step further, leaving you no choice but to shimmy up onto the surface.

“Is… is this okay?” you asked, and Shouto let out a chuckle.

“You’re just asking that now? I should be asking you instead,” he said. He leaned down and latched his lips onto your neck. “Well?” he murmured into your skin, fingers dancing at the hem of your skirt. “You wanna be my own little whore?”

“Yes… please, Sir,” you whimpered. That’s all he needed to hear to lift you up just enough to slide your skirt past the swell of your ass, letting it bunch up around your waist. He probed a finger along your covered slit. He stops at the wet patch over your aching core.

“Excited, are we?” he teases, moving your panties to the side and circling his finger around your hole, stopping just shy of dipping inside. “Tell me who this belongs to.”

“‘s yours, Sir. ‘s all yours, I’m all yours, belong to you, please, wanna be full,” you whined.

“That’s right, this belongs to me. I’m gonna take what’s mine,” he said. You didn’t know whether he meant your sopping wet pussy or your whole self but at that point you were ready to give him anything he asked for just for him to touch you, to make you cum. You let out a choked moan when he slid his middle finger unceremoniously into your fluttering walls, no longer clenching around nothing. Even one finger was a stretch for you. Not like he cared to let you get too used to it, he was more occupied with the idea of getting you to come undone on his hand.

He added a second finger and began rubbing your clit with his thumb. The urgent moans of his name and Sir, please careening from your lips sounded like the sweetest sonata he would ever hear.

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please, wanna… need to… please lemme cum,” you begged, head pressed forward into his chest.

“Let me cum, what?” Shouto goaded. “Just because you’re being fucked dumb doesn’t mean you get to forgo your manners. Remember your lesson?” he tutted, curling his finger into your bundle of nerves.

“Please, let me cum, Sir,” you gasped out.

“Go on, then. Cum.”

Your already tight muscles contracted around his fingers desperately as he stroked your spongy walls to your release. You came with a broken yelp, earning a look of smug satisfaction from the man looming over you.

He scissored his fingers once more, just to hear you mewl from the overstimulation of your fucked out cunt, your eyes scrunched shut to keep yourself grounded. The feeling of his messy fingers tapping at your bottom lip had you opening your mouth obediently.

“Keep it open,” he ordered. You opened your eyes to see Shouto had led you back onto your knees in front of him. His free hand fisted his cock inches from your face. You opened your mouth wider and looked up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck…” he groaned. Just a few more thrusts and he was painting the inside of your mouth and his fingers white with his cum.

“Close,” he said, and you close your mouth. “Clean it up.”

You sucked gently on his fingers, making sure to swirl your tongue around his knuckles and his nails, wanting nothing more than to please him, to be privy to that little bit of softness and praise you were sure he hid away for special occasions.

When his fingers were free of the mixture of your releases, he slid his fingers from your mouth and took your chin in his hand. He tilted your head to look him in the eye.

“Good girl,” he cooed. Heat rose to your cheeks at his praise, and he helped you to your feet again.

No sooner than you’d rearranged your clothing came a knock to the huge walnut doors, a deep voice booming from the other side.

“Shouto?”

[pilferingapples]

akallabeth-joie said: @pilferingapples Opinions? Plz? Very much in a mood to discuss meta and characterizations…

y’know what, same, the Mood is here, let’s see how much I can write before I fall over (also I’m myself so this is more thoughts on the relationship dynamics (general) than the relationship dynamics (ship specific, for the most part, but maybe some of that will appear? IDK it’s 2 am) (post I’m replying to is here! making a new one for reply bc Wow That’s Long, but do go look, it’s got lovely synopsis thoughts about all the Ami/Ami pairs, ALL OF THEM) 

Prouvaire and Bahorel - eeey yeah of course I have papersfull of Thoughts on this one:P I think I’ve said it before, but I always imagine their relationship as being very much built on Yes And--it’s the nature of the branch of Romanticism they’re both grown from. And while that makes them ,as you say, A Lot to everyone else, it makes hanging out together feel exceptionally easy and unpressured to them-- here’s someone who will not tell them to Calm Down or Be Practical or dial it back even one bit, or blink and ask terrible mood-killing questions like “why though”  when they have a Brilliant Scheme. Yes they’re dueling each other at midnight with rapiers on the roof of Notre Dame, no  it doesn’t mean they’ve had a falling out, do you have any idea how much coordination this duel took to set  up?  Also I think they’re sort of quietly and subtly set up as a sublime/grotesque duo, like Enjolras and Grantaire-- but a functional one, united and not divided by them both sharing a devotion to the Ideal (which is, of course, Romanticism). Melancholy and laughter/ comedy, one priest-coded and devoted to the Grand Ideas, and one a hedonistic walking scandal deep into the life of the street--but they come to the barricade together, apart from the Quartet of Enjolras-Combeferre-Courfeyrac-Feuilly,  and they die in the same attack (with wounds that amazingly echo Enjolras and Grantaire, yet--the priest-prophet type taken out with a volley of bullets, the earthier member of the duo taken out with one fatal strike) .  They can’t know the Death Thing of course (,..but they would doubtless be Very Satisfied, that is indeed somewhat the point of that) , but given the mutual Romanticism,  there is a seriously nonzero chance they talk about each other this way by mutual agreement. 

Feuilly and Bahorel - man it took me forEVer to come to any solid grasp of how I think they’d interact but then I learned more about French Romanticists and especially French Romanticist Republicans and the Polish cause and like. Oh. OOOOOHHHH OK, Yeah, They Get Along GREAT, mutual Outrage  About Politics buddies. I feel like--given their mutual and undoubtable  level of political commitment-- Feuilly, with his extreme earnestness and borderline baffling faith in humanity, would actually balance well with Bahorel’s greater snarkiness and Old Campaigner jadedness about some aspects of life.   It’s a good vibe? I like the idea of it.  ...Pretty much no one who writes them together writes them like this, but it’s how I see them and in that framework I dig it :P 

Enjolras and Bahorel-  gad I’ve come around to being fascinated by this relationship precisely because they aren’t , by all signs, a particularly load-bearing relationship for each other. They aren’t completing and correcting each other, they aren’t two sides of the same coin, they aren’t Domestic Partners Sharing Everything, they aren’t super invested in each others’ social lives or personal non-revolution activities, they’re not each others’ living Ideal of anything. They’re just. Friends with a shared goal who’ve been through a lot together because of that shared goal. It’s a good kind of friendship to have!  And when I say that, I think they share that goal in a specific emotional way the others don’t ; they’re the two Lifers of the Revolution. They’ve both given their lives to the actual, practical combat-and-conspiracy act of it to a degree I don’t think the rest of the Amis have. Bahorel’s been doing the Street Revolutionary thing for over a decade ; he is literally introduced  in his first line with that. Enjolras is younger and hasn’t been active as long, but he’s made it his whole existence.  I think that (potentially!) gives them a point of understanding that’s unique to them among their friends. 

Enjolras and Joly- I feel like this is a friendship where they don’t really “ get “  each other at all-- Joly is about as far from Enjolras’ High Idealism as he can get and still be Not Grantaire-- but are still nonetheless very fond of each other. Lots of “ are ya winning, buddy?” confused but sincere encouragement on both sides. Also fascinating to me that Joly, not Combeferre, is the friend that Enjolras associates most with Science!

Combeferre and Joly- oh geez I need to go to bed but I can’t not talk about these two now I think?? They’re definitely both medical students (for at least a while!), they’ve obviously got a ton of shared interests (scientific progress! the workings of the human body! Maybe Polyamory In a Utopian Socialist Way??) and they do both serve as something of the Dreamer in their respective wings of the group, but at the same time I feel like the difference between them is really summed up in that moment on the barricade when Combeferre is agonizing over life, death, and the moral cost of killing and Joly’s cheerfully asserting that cats are proof of a loving god. Both are extremely understandable, to be clear! just wow, on a fundamental personality level they see the world in SUCH different ways? Their conversations are probably very in -sync so long as they’re talking about science and progress and then veer wildly into the weeds if they get into PhilosophyXD

Combeferre and Grantaire- oh hey it’s the raging Tire Fire of Doubt!! both of them are drawn to more decisive and pragmatic people ( and especially to the same decisive and pragmatic person, yet) and Combeferre especially surrounds himself with the people most likely to be direct and focused  in a way that’s helpful for the guy whose impulse in a shooting battle is to start musing on the humanity of his opponent. Seriously, it took me a while to notice this, but with the obvious exception of Marius, everyone that Combeferre specifically gets dialogue with--Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Feuilly- is someone who is ..I’ll say “ not real prone to getting bogged in Doubt and Moderation” . And on the other side, the people that Grantaire hangs out with most are...well, gentle and patient with fools , in a way that Combeferre really isn’t but that Grantaire clearly needs. The two of them are , obviously, friends, but I can’t see them seeking one-on-one hangout time often. 

..ok it’s 4:30 and also Tumblr is starting to get weird on this , I’m gonna shut off the Ramble here 

[disgruntledspacedad]

Javier Peña and commitment

a better love series  character analysis

Okay, not-so-briefly, let me finish what I started with this post, and say a few more words about Javier Peña and commitment. 

I think typical fanon describes Javi as a rogue, smoky, commitment-phobe man slut. The kind of guy who never settles down because he’s too busy having fun with his hookers. And yeah, at first glance, that’s a valid assumption. Javi definitely puts off that vibe. Hell, I think he even believes that of himself. 

I call bullshit, though. 

Javi is obviously an affection starved softie who is seeking intimacy and human contact. He just doesn’t know how to get it. Watch how deeply he connects with each of the women he sleeps with. He publicly greets the hookers in Medellín by name (like seriously what man does this??) and his relationship with Gabby seems intensely personal. He cares about what happens to her. He’s sweet, almost tender with her. 

This is a man with a huge heart and deep, unfulfilled needs.

Now, let me tease apart what I think happened that scarred Javi so profoundly.

I want to start with his family life. 

Now, a lot of this falls deep into headcanon territory, but this entire post is in context of Better Love, so that’s fine. However, I don’t think it’s too far off the mark for canon Javi, too. Just things to bear in mind.

Okay, so in The Kingpin Strategy, Chucho makes references to the fact that Javi has always been free spirited and idealistic. “You couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

Javi says, “It was right here, wasn’t it? The last time we had this conversation.” He sounds resentful, frustrated.

And Chucho replies, “You didn’t listen to me then, either.”

Man oh man, this says a lot. There’s a lot of reference to some very old bitterness, most (but not all of it) on Javi’s end. Let’s break it down.

In Better Love, Javi lost his mom to colon cancer when he was nineteen. We know from canon that he was chomping at the bits to get out of town, so I kind of think that Javi packed his bags the day that he turned eighteen and left. He’s from a small, close knit family, and him taking off into the blue without any warning would have shocked them. It would have hurt. 

The fact that he and Chuco have their conversation in the driveway is telling, too. 

I think Javi spent some significant time estranged from his family, and things were probably still rocky between them when his mom passed away. Colon cancer can be pretty subtle. Javi’s mom didn’t get a diagnosis until it was far too late for effective treatment. It would have hit her hard and fast, and she and Javi may not have had much time to reconcile. Hell, she was upset by Javi leaving - she may not have even told him what was going on.

Ouch.

Now, Javi is a guy that silently shoulders all of the responsibility that he’s not meant to carry, and he’s absolutely going to blame himself for taking off like that, and for being too stubborn to call home and check on Mom. Her death is the first in a series of wounds that lead to Javi’s (very misguided) belief that he’s a shit human, when truly, nothing could be further from the truth. 

Next, let’s talk about Lorraine. 

We know from Javi’s conversation with Steve that he thinks Lorraine was better off without him, giving us another glimpse of that deep seated self-loathing that we know he carries. Javi almost sounds wistful, like he regrets leaving her. Certainly, he regrets hurting her (more proof that Javi is actually a pretty sensitive guy - he knows he fucked up). But then we actually meet Lorraine in season three, and there’s something really weird there. 

Now, granted, Javi left her at the alter. Things are bound to be weird. But look at how he’s drawn to her, like he just can’t help crossing the room to see her again, even years later. That was the first big red flag for me. 

Then, watch how Lorraine treats him. She’s dismissive, pretty biting. And okay, yeah, she’s well within her right to be bitter. But then she says this:

“Can you imagine if we actually were married?”

Like, scoffs it. Guys, that’s a pretty serious dig. Lorraine is implying that Javi is beneath her, that he could never, ever be decent husband material. And watch his reaction. He takes this cut like he’s used to taking this cut from her. I don't know, but to me, it just reeks of a history of toxicity.

Men are absolutely capable of being the victims of toxic relationships and emotional abuse. I mean, duh. But try telling that to Javier Peña, with his tendency to internalize and self destruct. 

It would make a lot of sense to me that their relationship was built on this type of fucked up interaction, with Lorraine constantly pushing Javi to be this perfect dude with a white picket fence, and constantly calling him on his “failure” to do so. Maybe some of it was rooted in racism and classism - Lorraine seems like she could be that petty, materialistic type. Maybe Javi just wasn’t ready to settle down. 

Remember, too, that Javi’s love language is acts of service. He’s not a super romantic guy in the traditional sense, but he wants to do things for the person he loves, practical, tangible things to keep them safe and happy. If Javi thought that he could do better by Lorraine by putting a ring on her finger, it might be pretty easy to persuade him that he “ought” to do that, especially if there’s a continued history of verbal abuse. Remember that we tend to believe the things our abusers say about us, and that most of the time, this stuff starts subtle. If Lorraine is constantly suggesting that Javi’s not good enough for her, eventually, he’s going to fucking believe it. 

And consider the fallout of skipping town on your wedding day. No matter if the relationship is healthy or not, men tend to get the short end of the stick when it comes to breakup sympathy, and to leave a pretty woman like Lorraine waiting at the alter? My god, people would have been vicious to Javi. 

He probably believed all of the shitty things they said about him.

Javi threw himself into his career, and between a dangerous, high stress job with the DEA and never addressing these old hurts (Javi just doesn’t do that, you know), what you wind up with is a deeply wounded, “self sufficient” (read: emotionally constipated) man with raging self esteem issues and an intense fear of emotional intimacy. Now, all of this shit might have scarred Javi, but it doesn’t change his nature. Javi has a huge heart, he’s fiercely idealistic, and he desperately wants to do the right thing. And we all need love and human connection. 

Javi just denies this emphatically. 

But the ugly truth is, Javi avoids long term relationships because he thinks he doesn’t deserve them. It’s not even about being hurt again, not anymore. He almost sees it as an ethical thing, dammit. Give this boy a hug. 

This is why it took a fucking bomb to get him off his ass and admit his feelings for Ears. Javi would never, ever have done that without something very radical catching his attention. He would have let Ears walk straight out of his life, and yeah, it would have torn him to pieces, and he’d have always regretted it and wondered ‘what if,’ but that fear is an old, deeply rooted thing. That’s why I have Ears sort of pick up on the gravity of Javi saying, “I’m all in,” to her at the end of The Rules of Engagement. She’s not eloquent, but she’s pretty intuitive, and she knows that a commitment is something that Javier Peña does not take lightly.

And let me just say this about commitment: Javier Peña is a man who honors his fucking commitments. Watch what he’s willing to do for his informants - he always, always puts their wellbeing first, even before his own, even before the integrity of the hunt for the cartels. 

And Javier Peña is beyond devoted to bringing down the cartels. Like, that’s his entire arc in the show, right?

He’s committed to justice, too. Like fiercely, will do fucking anything to make things right, to make them fair. He wants to do the right thing so much it burns.

So, I don’t think it’s fair at all to say that Javier Peña is a man who fears commitment. He fears intimacy, while at the same time, he craves it. He fears human connection, when really, that’s the thing he needs most. 

But he doesn’t fuck around once he decides something. 

Which is the really, really fun thing about Better Love. For the first time, we get to see Javier Peña, the idealist who wears his poorly disguised heart blatantly on his sleeve, the man who goes for broke trying to get things done, the man who’s passions literally destroy him, in an intensely emotional relationship with another human. One who is just as devoted to him in return. 

So, anyway, if you’re still reading this, wow. I just wanted to babble about how Javier Peña is far more than brooding testosterone. Actually, he’s a very soft boy who needs patience and a lot of healing, and somebody who is willing to meet him exactly where he is and love him because of it.

And I want to give him that. 

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

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Akita and Zane talk after the battle in 'Awakenings'. The conversation... doesn't go as either of them expect.

Prompt: memories, from @ninjago-bingo​‘s warm board:D

Trigger warnings: implied self harm (one or two characters dig their fingernails into their hands), discussion and introspection about most of the crimes the 'Emperor' committed, a lot of talk and introspection about murder.

Word count: 4682 (I've literally been writing this for like a month lol, kinda disappointed it ended up fairly short:/)

"We have to talk."

The girl with red markings on her face - Akita, he heard Lloyd call her - unsheathes her short dagger, eyes narrowed to slits.

He glances around the throne room, hands pressed to his head. The memories were still trickling through; strange islands and a forest of snow, a dungeon and... a noodle factory?

"Alright," he says quietly. She bears the same red marks of the bear he can remember Vex convincing him was a criminal, many winters ago. That could only mean-

It wasn't you, he reminds himself. It was the scroll, and the actions of a power hungry traitor.

You gave the order, his now infallible memory supplies, and, honestly, he has no rebuttal for that.

"Alright," he echoes meekly, trying to muster some emotion into his voice. "I know-"

"No," she cuts him off roughly, her eyes scanning the room. It is just the two of them now - the samurai had fled once they had recovered from the strange trance he had put them in. Vex had been locked in the dungeon by Lloyd, who was helping any of the samurai who could not quite remember their old lives.

He had ruled for sixty years. Some of their families might dead, some by their own hands.

They know this. He knows this.

Irrationally, he wishes there was some way to fix this. A spell, or a way to turn back the clock; some way to yell at a younger Zane to just scout the cave-

There is no way backward; only forward, out of this winter - and, possibly, into another one.

He stares at the girl in front of him, taking in her tattered clothing, the ease with which she holds her weapon. She's not afraid to fight.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Emperor," Akita says definitely, forcing out the words. "But you will give me one, or you shall never see the light of day again. My brother-"

His heart lurches, eyes widening. Brother.

"Knows that the dungeon has many empty cells," she finishes sharply, barely contained anger flashing in her eyes.

He keeps the facts brief, concise. Once this is all over, he can dwell on them - agonize over what he should have done; use it to be better next time. Atone for his mistakes, even if he can never truly make up for them.

"A snake capable of sorcery used a magic scepter to blast me and a vehicle to this realm. I was sent here sixty years into the past, which is why it took my friends so long to find me. I was also holding a similar magic scepter - one which amplifies the holder's power, but if held for too long, it corrupts one's mind."

"I know what happens next."

How-

"I watched your message to your friends," she replies curtly, by way of explanation. "I did not know that you and the Emperor were one and the same. Continue."

"Vex interrupted a process I was using to try and fix a- vehicle, which caused me to lose my memories. He told me that I was ill. He said that he was a great friend of mine, and that this realm belonged to me. He convinced me that Formlings were warmongers, and that the rightful king had overthrown me. Just before he almost killed Lloyd, he said something that caused my memories to return."

She frowns. "I do not understand. How does one lose their memories so easily?"

Akita stares at his metal skin, her eyes widening as if noticing it for the first time.

"I am not quite like you-"

"I know," she interjects, eyes brimming with anger. "I am not a murderer."

"I was... created," he replies, quietly. "Out of extra materials. I can act like others, but I do not always understand emotions in the same way."

Akita frowns again, raising her dagger. Her voice grows a dangerous edge; sharp and cold. "You never realized that your actions were wrong?"

They're entering dangerous territory. Some part of him wants to derail the conversation; stick to the facts and leave his emotions out of this.

But he owes her an explanation - he owes everyone an explanation. He owes them so much more, if only he could give it to them; erase the past and leave their quiet realm in peace.

"Before I came here, I would never have done such things - if I had my memories, I would never have done such things. Vex convinced me that they were the only way I could defend my throne. I did not know that they were wrong. The moment I realized what I had done, I tried to help your side. The right side," he finishes, ignoring the temptation to stare down at the floor instead of into her blazing eyes.

An indecipherable expression crosses her face. "You never talked to another? One of your... army, perhaps?" "Vex gave all the orders. He just asked me for approval. I never left this room." "And you approved them," she muttered, but it seemed to serve more as a reminder to herself than it did to him.

"What was your life like, before you entered our world?" Akita asks suddenly, suspicion still coating her voice. He blinks, the question unexpected.

"My friends and I can control and create different elements," he began, hesitantly. Carefully. "We were taught to fight. We protect our city from those-" "You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"Those who cannot protect themselves," Zane finishes, guilt making his vision hazy.

He quickly blinks away the tears, all too aware of her persistent gaze.

"Two more questions," she says quickly, glancing behind her. "This room makes me uncomfortable. And so do you." The accusation is clear, but her eyes are not quite as cold as they had been earlier.

"What do you feel now?" Akita asks roughly, taking a step back. "You mentioned earlier that you do not feel emotions the same way that we do. Explain."

I could lie, he thinks, fleetingly. What if my feelings convince her that I am the Emperor even more than I am Zane? A voice at the back of his mind points out that he is - was - the Emperor.

He knows this.

He knows that he will have to acknowledge it once they are back home.

He knows that he cannot dwell on it now, or the winter will go on - inside his mind instead of outside it.

"I feel... guilt," he begins. "For the terrible crimes I have committed. Horror, at my own actions. Anger, towards that traitor. Relief - that I am no longer under his influence." An eyebrow touches her forehead, ever so slightly.

"How guilty?" It is almost a challenge, her voice rising in pitch threateningly.

"I will spend the rest of my life working to atone for my mistakes," Zane answers sincerely, resisting the irrational urge to squeeze his eyes shut. "However, I know that nothing I can do will ever undo them. But I can help others from people who- who... seek to manipulate them," he finishes quietly, a remorseful sigh punctuating the confession.

Akita says nothing; lips pressed in a hard line. Her blank, steadfast gaze meets his. The dagger clatters to the ground.

He draws in a breath sharply.

Picking it up, she squares her shoulders defiantly. "My people will know that... that there were two prisoners within these walls," she sighs, the weariness in her voice all too evident.

Yet he does not miss her glare; a barely contained anger that lurks just beneath the surface.

Akita straightens her spine, frowning menacingly as her hand tightens on the dagger.

He resists the irrational urge to take a step back.

"My brother and I will never forgive you," she snarls.

You do not have to, he would like to say. But he suspects that she already knows this.

"Come near either of us again, and I will make you long for death."

She shifts to her wolf form, baring her teeth - but when she stalks closer, he does not back away.

Suddenly, he is all-too-aware of the fact that the throne room is currently empty - bar the two of them.

He does not move.

It is not as if she could harm him - titanium is not easily damaged (yet, some part of him wonders if that is a blessing or curse), but they have faced enough villains for him to know how it works.

The villains die at the end; rightfully so.

Why should this be any different?

"You will pay for your crimes," Akita growls, shifting between her forms as if it is second nature. It probably is. "Emperor."

Her dagger clatters to the ground once again.

He does not move.

Why should this be any different?

---

"What's taking her so long?"

"Who?" The Samurai asks, the confusion on his face only amplifying.

"No- nothing," he mumbles, wincing. The adrenaline is wearing off - and with it, the fleeting distraction from the pain coursing through his chest.

Broken ribs? Probably. But he's got bigger problems to worry about - his minor injuries don't really matter when there's a warrior (because after all that she's been through, he thinks that she deserves the title - even if it's one she would never have wanted) seeking vengeance, someone who could tear apart this castle, brick by brick if she wanted to, alone with his brother.

His brother - who'd taken hers; encased her village in a tomb of ice, leaving behind no one but a teenager consumed with blinding anger - rightfully so, he admits, a bit wearily.

What happened to you, Zane?

Are you even... there? The person who used to stay awake with me when all I saw was the building crumbling before my eyes, night after night? The one who swore to protect those who couldn't protect themselves?

Are you still there?

"Can I, er, go inside?" he asks no one, trying not to breathe too hard. The Ice Samurai he'd been trying to help had vanished, most probably to try and get answers from someone else.

He owes it to these people to help them - if he'd just been faster, stronger, better, Aspheera could never have-

Not now, Lloyd!

He should probably open the doors - try and diffuse whatever fight they'd gotten into. Akita reminds him of Kai; both of them fiercely protective of those whom they care about, yet sometimes clouded by rage so thick they can barely see out of it.

But he's hesitating - there's always the possibility that her anger; prison of its own, might extend to him.

Not that he even has the right to condemn her for it, though.

Unwillingly, a fleeting thought presses itself to the forefront of his mind; beautiful white hair, a soft voice coated in honey-

Broken ribs, he reminds himself stubbornly, grimacing at the flare of pain as he draws in a breath sharply. She's gone, she's gone, and it's-

He bites his lip until the tang of iron fills his mouth, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

Not now, Lloyd!

Slowly, carefully, he pushes the door open. It creaks softly - but he doesn't think anyone hears it.

Oh, no.

---

"Akita?" a voice questions, hesitantly. He's half-leaning against the door, blonde hair almost completely hiding wary eyes all but squeezed shut in pain.

She stiffens, ignoring the part of her that learns to hunt, murder, the- the monster-

Blinking, quickly, she allows her mind to embrace the sharp, cold air on her fur, and her harsh, ragged breathing - until she can almost feel the shift in her heart, trading instinct for a different type of clarity, white fur for skin and hair.

Grabbing her dagger, she halfheartedly swipes it at the boy who makes her cheeks redder than they usually are, the boy who travelled across the ice seeking a murderer-

Well. He is in no condition to help anyone - they both know this.

But he does not have the right to interfere with this conversation - her feelings do not matter when his friend is-

"Leave us," she snarls, fingers digging into the hilt of her dagger. "What makes you think you have the right?"

Her voice grows colder, but she can't quite keep the tremor out of it.

"You did not find your village half-dead, or spend months mourning your brother," Akita snaps, frustration seeping into the words. Why does he always have to make everything so complicated?

"I know," he replies, hesitantly, eyes flitting between the room and the door. "But... this isn't the right thing to do, Akita."

"Do you think it was right for your friend to seize power from our rightful ruler? Do you think he was right when he imprisoned an innocent child for so many years?"

She doesn't bother to keep the venom out of her voice, ignoring the fact that the light brown of her skin has almost faded to white where she grips her weapon.

Taking a step closer, she bites her lip.

If he will make this his fight, so will she.

"The girl I told you about," Lloyd interjects. "H- Harumi." He forces out the name, as if the very mention of it ails him.

She raises her eyebrows. "What are you going to do? Distract me with stories about your girlfriend while he," Akita glares at the Emperor with a sigh, "escapes?"

"No," he replies softly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, she doesn't miss his poorly concealed wince.

This is the friend he seeks?

There's a fragile silence, one of which she refuses to shatter. Nothing he can say will erase the horrific actions of this- this power-hungry ruler who has abused the gift he has been given; persecuted their lands, and forced innocents into lives ruled by fear and hatred.

"I- er-" Lloyd starts, visibly uncomfortable with saying... whatever it is he is trying to say.

She does not interrupt, but does not take her eyes off the Emperor, either. He has not moved or even contributed to their exchange yet.

Good, she thinks fervently. She does not need to force herself to try and feel sympathy for a man she has hated for so many long winters, one who has taken a piece of her heart and locked it away in a tiny prison cell.

"Did I ever tell you that- that... I watched her die?" he asks, aiming for a casual tone.

The hurt subconsciously laced into it makes something in her heart twist, as if it had been pierced by a shard of glass.

Outwardly, she does nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

For all the days they have spent trekking across the ice together, it suddenly dawns on her how little she actually knows about him.

"No," she replies carefully, dragging out the word. "Why?" "She-"

Akita can almost see his internal struggle - anger and fear and indecision and something she can't quite place her finger on meshing into another thing entirely.

"She- tried to murder," Lloyd flinches at the word, nails digging into his palms, "my friends. And I was forced to watch, helpless," he whispers, so softly that she has to strain to hear it.

"But when she- she died in a crumbling building, I- was... the one who caused it to fall."

"Your point?" she snaps; voice as sharp as her blade. He is the only thing standing between her and the Emperor; between the growing hatred she had allowed to fester for all this time, because one day she would finally make him pay-

Her friend visibly winces.

Too late does she realize her mistake, a fact that leaves her a bit sick to the stomach.

That's nothing compared to the bout of nausea that accompanies another realization, juts a second later.

How could I let my anger hurt another - one who did not deserve to receive it? Am I truly any better than the one whom I have condemned?

Well. The logical side of her mind points out that it is her choice to forgive, for such unforgivable acts; that the anger that had doused everything in its hue, every day, was to be expected-

"I apologize... for my conduct," she says quickly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "You have never hurt me. I did not mean to hurt you." "It's okay- this- this isn't my fight anyway," Lloyd replies quickly, fingers wrapped around the door handle - but she doesn't even think he's aware of the fact. "I just- I just wanted to share something with you, something I wish someone would've shared with me, because-" He's rambling, words practically coated in a jumble of shaky nerves. "What is it?" Akita asks softly, losing a little of the stiffness in her tone.

"Murder- it isn't right," he repeats, hands pressed to his forehead. "But... it'll hurt you more than it will anyone else. I can't go a week without seeing her fall in my dreams, over and over again. I should've been glad, I guess... she'd hurt my friends and I so many times. But- but I'm the one with the nightmares, and all this- guilt. And I care- I care you, Akita. I know that I'll never understand how you've been hurt by- by the Emperor... just, think about how it'll affect you." Akita's eyes widen incredulously, but he's not done. "Just- don't let someone else make you hurt yourself." His voice is about a pitch higher than normal, but neither of them really register it. "Sometimes, the best kind of revenge is refusing..." Lloyd trails off, his eyes squeezed shut (a second later, he opens them again, blinking profusely), "to let anyone... make you hurt them."

Irrationally, she wants to break something.

That advice offers... an entirely new perspective. One that she had never thought of.

One that is- is unwanted, she insists fervently.

And now his fingers are pressing into his hands again, so tightly that she almost wants to yell - stop it, idiot, you're hurting yourself! - at him. "Because... it might haunt you lot more. And if they- they- really want to hurt you?" Both of them ignore the erratic, painful looking way his breathing starts to hitch just then.

"Don't give them... the satisfaction of it - by- your own hands."

Her mouth drops open.

No words come out.

What?

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Lloyd slowly - a bit too carefully - push the door shut behind him. It creaks softly, but neither of the two left standing in the room really hear it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, far too many emotions almost crashing through her mind.

"You seek to rescue your friend. I seek revenge."

Blinking the world back into focus, her mind whirls and whirls; the storm unrelenting.

"I seek revenge."

What exactly did that mean to her?

She...

She did not quite know the answer now.

---

Akita does not speak for some time, her thoughtful expression plainly clashing with one of anger.

He does not speak, either, although it is for a different reason.

Lloyd's words have forced him to face the reality he has been avoiding ever since he smashed his scepter on the ground - ever since the decade-long winter had ended.

"And if they really want to hurt you? Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands."

"If they really want to hurt you."

There is only one whom Lloyd could have been referring to.

"You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Somewhere within his mind, he is aware of the fact that the second his memories returned, the staff lay in pieces on the floor; all of that corrupted ice shattering into nothing.

He is also aware of the fact that sixty years of tyranny will leave behind much more than an altered climate.

If they even get back to Ninjago, what will have become of his city? It took his friends decades to find him - what could have happened during all that time?

Friends. Does he even have a right to call them that?

He is not quite sure - or even sure if all of them will be as forgiving as Lloyd.

The Green Ninja had always strived to find the best in people - to believe that anyone could make up for their mistakes, that they would want to. It had been to his friend's detriment, once - yet Lloyd had never quite given up on the world, in the same way that many of them had. Maybe it was some sort of childish naivety - or maybe it was just in his nature to hope, even after all they had been through, that everyone had some good inside them.

Yet, he had never met anyone who shared his friend's mindset - or at least to that extent.

Kai knows what it is like to have a sibling kidnapped, taken from them for no rhyme or reason - other than the fact that a cruel ruler who seeks power and exploits those around them for it will stop at nothing to get what they want.

Cole knows what it is like to die (well, almost, his logic points out) - to be imprisoned within yourself; a husk of a person, unable to live your life to the fullest.

His mind flashes to the thousands of innocent villagers he had frozen in icy prisons, practically caskets-

Irrationally, his hands begin to shake.

He chooses not to focus on that.

Nya used to hunt down those who hurt others, he recalls - and then squeezes his eyes shut.

Is she not quite similar to Akita in that regard?

The realization leaves him more gutted than he thought was possible. Had he really become the very person his friends worked so hard to stop?

He clenches his fists, the titanium covering his fingers grating together.

At least I am no longer holding the scroll, he thinks, fervently. Before long, the memory of a clear, quiet night pulls itself to the forefront of his mind.

The echo of a whispered confession; a brief explanation mixed with tears and shaking hands. A voice usually so bright, silenced to the shaky murmur of "I watched her die, Zane, and it was all my fault, it's all my fault-"

It was then when he had learned of- of an alternate timeline, his processor had inputted seamlessly. Another reality, wiped from their minds and the press of time. One that only existed in the memories of two of his best friends.

One that resulted in poorly concealed winces, seemingly arbitrary flinches, Nya throwing out any dresses she owned and Jay practically shaking with fear when he was asked to do certain chores. One that resulted in scars that ran far deeper than those of venom or sword. His memories had been useless then, too, his mind points out. How could he have let two of his best friends suffer for weeks on end, when he was able to upgrade or encrypt his memory drive at any time? When he was a n- robot, and should be able to recover memories that had been deleted or erased? The others could never be afforded that opportunity - yet, he had let the team down when it mattered most. If he could not be there for others, try to help them protect them from a force unable to ever be completely defeated, would he ever even halfway fulfill his purpose? He had pondered all of those questions - had ignored the pang in his heart when many pieces of the figurative puzzle clicked into place, for many weeks afterward. He had almost immediately vowed to be better - to ensure that his purpose did not go unfulfilled.

His purpose, he thought bitterly, as he squeezed his eyes shut. What had become of it now?

Another question to ponder, he supposed. And the realization that Jay - one of his brothers, one who was always equipped with a weapon and a joke too - would forever know what it was like to be kidnapped, held hostage, simply because a power-hungry figure cared less for another than anyone ever should.

Akita's brother had been scarcely less than a child - after his imprisonment. How could he have strayed so far from his original goals - how could he have strayed so far from what he had supposedly fervently stood for?

---

Lloyd's words still ring in her ears, his weary tone not quite matching their crazy implications.

She rubs her temples, frustrated. This was definitely not what she had come here for! She had come for vengeance - vengeance for the terrible crimes the Ice Emperor had committed, against her village, her brother, even her-

But what was the point of revenge if she was the one left scarred? a small voice in the back of her mind points out, doing nothing but adding to her indecision.

I cannot do this, she insists fervently, thinking of her brother's worn face - and the years he had spent imprisoned; a lone figure silently mourning a sister he did not know still trekked the ice.

Just as she had been mourning him, she thinks sadly. The pang in her heart may have lessened since she had realized that he was still alive, but it was still horrifying to think that he had lost decades of his life - she had lost decades of hers, too, in a different way, she muses - saddened, alone, imprisoned.

But is this what he would have wanted? For her?

He had always been the calmer, logic-based one. She was always running into fights, the one fueled by emotion and anger.

Well. She spares a moment for the future.

The Emperor would leave their world - possibly, to haunt another. She would remain here - with her brother and her village, the woods and the towering peaks of the mountains.

I only have this one chance, she reminds herself firmly. She fixes her eyes on the strange blue ones of the Emperor, and sees a future ruled by that one decision.

Her gaze flits towards the doorway, and she sees a future there, too.

She sighs, dropping her eyes to the ground.

But Katuru would want me to- to-

Be happy, she realizes, jarringly.

Taking a deep breath, she bites her lip.

"Will taking your life make me happy? Will it make up for the years of pain we have endured at your hands?"

Her voice rings out, hesitant yet determined.

"I wish it were so," she confesses wearily, ignoring the ache in her hands. She's been gripping the hilt of her dagger for so long, the blade's almost pierced her skin. "Alas, it is not."

The Emperor meets her gaze, but not completely - out of guilt? Fear? Anger?

She does not have the time to ponder meaningless questions.

"I despise you with every fiber of my being, you coward," Akita snarls, some of the anger she has become so accustomed to bleeding its way into her words. "But I will not tarnish my hands on someone as worthless as you, when you presently pose no threat to me."

The words spill from her mouth, but she almost wants to stuff them back inside at that very second.

This isn't why I came here! This isn't what I was supposed to do-

Another voice cuts through the one in her head, a weary confession from someone she knew nothing and everything about.

"Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands.

The next words she utter fill the room - steady, unwavering.

"Leave our world, and never return. Never. You have treated my people as if you are a monster, yet you say that you are sorry. As if you could ever care - after everything you have done to us!"

Akita sheathes her dagger, indecision still weighing heavily on her mind.

"I hope that you are as haunted by your time here as we all are," she spits, walking towards the door. She does not look behind her, but packs as much bitterness as she can into the last word she utters before the door closes behind her.

"Emperor."

---

A/N - I know this wasn't great, but honestly, it was really interesting to write and challenged me to think about certain things quite a bit. If you did read it, thank you so much!:D

[plentyghosts]

Title: Blackout

Summary: When he opens the book, the spine cracks faintly. He smiles. He reads out loud, it’s easier to get through when the words roll off his tongue instead of bouncing about in his head. “Dorothy lived in the great Kansas prairies-” thunder rolls loudly outside. The lights flicker. Then, the room is cast into darkness.

Notes: just something short and sweet! I decided to post it directly here rather than ao3

Mr. Benedict’s house is old and creaky, a breeze blows through imperceptible gaps and the heating is broken, which makes the third floor warm at all times. It’s warm now, as SQ curls up in his bed. He props a book up in his lap, it had been a birthday gift from his uncle. The Wizard of Oz. The cover depicted a young girl standing at the edge of a road of yellow brick, a little dog stands beside her. On the other side of the road is a Lion, a Scarecrow, and a Tinman with an axe resting on his shoulder. SQ turns the knob on the bedside lamp and casts the room in a soft, orange glow. It’s late out, a storm blows outside. There’s no rain, oddly enough. A dry thunderstorm, that’s what Sticky had said. Every now and then thunder rolls through and startles him. He’s trying to ignore it. He opens the book. The print, mercifully, is a decent size. And the font is ‘dyslexia friendly’ as his uncle had put it. That had been a recent, and mildly unsurprising discovery. It’s an old, well-loved book, presumably his uncle had either owned it previously or bought it second hand. His father would have bought a newer book, something untouched by the outside world. He likes this more. It feels personal. Loving. Love is imbued in every little thing about his uncle, and everything he does for his family. When he opens the book, the spine cracks faintly. He smiles. He reads out loud, it’s easier to get through when the words roll off his tongue instead of bouncing about in his head.

“Dorothy lived in the great Kansas prairies-” thunder rolls loudly outside. The lights flicker. Then, the room is cast into darkness. SQ’s blood rushes to his ears, a whimper rises and dies in his throat. He blinks hard, trying to adjust to the sudden darkness. He can hear the sound of other kids yelling out in the darkness for the adults and Sticky yelping two doors down. SQ squints, moonlight is pouring into the room now, his eyes are adjusting. He closes the book and sets it aside, then he kicks his legs over the side of the bed and slides down to the floor. His toes dig into the carpet, the fabric is soft and textured in a way that doesn’t make his teeth hurt like other carpet does. He pads out of the room into the hall. It’s just as dark in here as it is in his room. A beam of light comes down the hall and flashes into his eyes. He groans and holds his arm up to shield himself.

“Whoops, sorry,” Kate says, then directs the flashlight down. The light illuminates the hallway in a ghostly way. Kate’s face is lit from below, creating sharp shadows along the soft edges of her face. She’s smiling, seemingly undisturbed by the sudden darkness. She darts forward and grabs his hand, excited about something. She’s always excited about something. “Hey, come check this out.” she leads him down the dark hallway, flashlight beam directing them forward to the end of the hall, down the stairs, and finally to the backdoor. Outside in the backyard, it seems everyone is gathered. The adults and kids are all gathered outside around the firepit that sits near the back porch. Kate leads him outside and down the steps. Then, she climbs into the tree and hauls him up after her. The bark hurts his feet a bit, but he bears it because Kate seems rather excited. They both settle on a sturdy branch. She points over the fence. It takes SQ a moment to realize what she was pointing at. Then, he realizes the skyline of Stonetown is an entirely dark. There isn’t a single streetlight on or window illuminated by a yellow glow. It’s a blackout. SQ’s eyes widen slightly.

“Woah…” He can see Kate grinning in the corner of his eye. She’s kicking her legs and bouncing slightly. SQ crosses his legs and looks out over the skyline. He can hear car horns honking in the distance.

“This is much nicer than the last blackout I was in.”

“The last blackout?”

“Yeah, not long before the prison. We lost Constance and had to go looking for her.”

SQ’s stomach turns slightly. Right, they had been looking for Constance, hoping to find her before his father’s men did. Kate hummed and started climbing down from the tree. “C’mon,” she said “Milligan’s gonna get a fire started, we’re gonna make s’mores!”

“S’mores?”

“Yeah, haven’t you ever had one?” SQ shakes his head and Kate’s mouth drops open. She looks shocked, as though he’d just committed some grievous wrong. “Well we gotta fix that! Come on, come on!” She grabs his hand and starts hauling him down from the tree. He goes gladly. The grass under his feet is cool and already becoming wet with dew. Mid to late September is his favourite time of year. Cold in the morning, hot in the afternoon, and dropping temperatures again in the evening. He shivers slightly against the breeze. He’s still shivering when he sits in front of the now burning fire. He feels a soft fabric against his shoulder and looks away from the light of the fire as Milligan sits beside him. Milligan's jacket is draped around his shoulders. 

He says nothing, just smiles. SQ smiles back. The jacket is warm around him, like a blanket fresh from the dryer. He slips his arms through the sleeves. It’s way too big on him. It makes him feels small, but not small in the shameful way his father made him feel. It feels more like everything had been contained in one small space, including himself. It feels safe. He likes it.

“Kate told me you’ve never had a s’more.” Milligan says, looking over at him. He has a good-natured smile on his face, “she sounded horrified at the thought.”

“It seems there’s a lot of stuff I haven’t experienced that she has.” SQ says, it comes out in a half mumble. He hears Milligan let out a laugh that’s more of an exhale of breath and a hum of amusement. SQ turns to get a good look at him. He’s still in a coat, which means that he had purposefully brought one out for SQ. Milligan is sitting on one of the little logs-turned-chairs next to him, resting his arms on his legs, hands laced together.

“Well,” he says after a moment “you can hardly hold that against yourself, Kate travelled around quite a bit and experienced a lot during her years in the circus.” He supposes that’s fair. But it’s not like this something new and exciting to the others. It’s just a s’more. Something most children are familiar with and have had on several occasions. He can’t help a small pang of loss. Loss for what, he isn’t sure. Perhaps for the child he could have been had he not grown up on the island. It hit him, sometimes, that he would never get those years back. His father had stolen from him what could have been a wonderful childhood, and no matter how he wished he to do so, he could not go back in time and fix things. He was stuck in this time, there was no way to go back. Time’s arrow stops for no one. The best he could hope for was to find solace in the family and friends he had in the present. He pulls the jacket tighter around himself, trying to fight off those thoughts before they have the chance to overwhelm him. He takes a deep breath and exhales.

“I guess so,” he says at last. He watches the fire. It flickers, breaks apart and comes together again. It crackles softly, embers rise into the air and fall down into the grass, making him mildly anxious. He’s heard the embers are part of the charm of a summer fire. He doesn’t quite see it, but the fire is nice and warm. Something is held out in front of him, drawing his attention away from the fire. After a moment he realizes it’s a long, metal stick with two prongs at one end, and a rubber handle on the other. He turns to look at who’s holding it out and sees Kate, giving him her usual excited grin.

“Wanna watch me set a marshmallow on fire?” she asks. He can’t possibly say no. He nods and she grabs the bag of marshmallows sitting beside her. She pierces two of the marshmallows onto the prongs at the end of the metal stick, then she holds them over the fire. At first, he doesn’t see it. But then there’s a small, subtle change amongst the flames surrounding the marshmallows, and when Kate pulls them away, they’re on fire. She holds it much too close for comfort. She lets the marshmallows burn for a moment before she takes a deep breath and blows them out. SQ blinks as she looks back to him, grinning. “Pretty cool, huh?” He nods, for lack of anything else to say.

She turns away from him and he can see her putting something together, though he isn’t sure what it is. He gets his answer a moment later when she turns back, and holds something out to him. A marshmallow and a small piece of chocolate are squished between two graham crackers. He tilts his head at it. “It’s a s’more,” she says “try it! It’s good!” He takes it, trying to avoid marshmallow dripping onto his shirt, and takes a bite. When he bites into it the marshmallow spills out and onto his fingers, making them sticky. But he finds he doesn’t care. Because Kate was right, it’s good. Really good. His eyes widen slightly, he smiles at her. “Right?” She says, somehow understanding what he’s trying to convey without any words. He decides he likes s’mores.

[poptod]

hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

+

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

[writer-ish]

grace (Mason x f!Detective)

Some of you may know my new co-obsession (along with @playchoices) is @seraphinitegames‘ The Wayhaven Chronicles and one (1) grumpy Greek vampire in particular.

Anyway, this little drabble was in my head after completing the Book 3 Demo for the millionth time and now you all need to be subjected to it as well. Enjoy? (Takes place sometime after Book 2, but before “that scene” in Book 3)

tags: @utterlyinevitable , @ethansramsey , @otherworldlypresents , @aworldoffandoms , @raleighcarrera , @ejunkiet , @starrystarrytrouble , @terrm9 (reply or dm for add/removal!)

grace

Pairing: Mason x f!Detective (Grace Bennett) Length: 3.2k words | Rating: T (Language) Summary: A detective and a vampire try not to catch feelings for one another OR denial is not just a river in Egypt. 

“It only ever works if one of you cares more than the other.”

It was something Tina had said once, in a rare, cynical moment, fresh off a break up.

The two of them had gone out for drinks post-patrol one night and, as the evening wore on, Tina’s mood had descended in direct correlation with the growing number of empty glasses around them. Still, it hadn’t been until the cigarettes came out that Grace had really known they were in trouble.

“Trust me, Gracie.” Her friend had punctuated her words with haphazard gestures, cigarette wobbling precariously between two fingers, a fine dusting of ash drifting down to the table. Taking a drag, she’d released a thick plume of smoke from her mouth and nostrils before continuing.

“There’s no such thing as equal when it comes to love. There is always the giver and the receiver. The one who cares more. Who loves more. And—”

At this, she’d pointed the glowing ember at the end of her cigarette right in Constable Grace Bennett’s face.

“—You better hope it’s them and not you.”

Former Constable, now Detective Grace Bennett hadn’t thought about those words much in the subsequent years. Relationships weren’t really her forte, after all. There had been the disastrous two years in college with Bobby — in hindsight, one could hardly attribute “love” to anything that had happened between them — and, more recently, a few first dates that sometimes turned into second dates before fizzling out completely.

Hardly the stuff of romance novels.

So it was unfortunate that Tina’s old advice had chosen to rear its ugly head in her mind now, of all times, when Grace had found herself in a—situation where love was the absolute last thing she wanted to consider.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Mason. Of course she did.

What else would you call almost incurring the wrath of an entire civilization of ancient Estonian mirror creatures at the expense of saving his miserable life?

It was just that things were...

Complicated.

Leaning against her beat-up silver hatchback, she willed the pounding of her heart to settle as the night spring air enveloped her in its cool breeze. She took deep and even breaths in and out of her nostrils, contemplating just how complicated things were, exactly.

First of all, wasn’t dating a colleague generally frowned upon?

Grace had never broken that rule in all her years on the force and she hadn’t had any intention of doing it as a detective, either, never mind as part of her mother’s top secret supernatural government agency.

Not only that, but what if said colleague had also made it abundantly clear, in more ways than one, that they weren’t looking for anything exclusive or serious in any capacity?

Had, in fact, made it a point to preface almost every sexual encounter with some variation of those very words?

And to even further complicate matters, what if said commitment-phobe colleague also happened to be supernatural themselves? More specifically, a vampire who was a few years shy of his centennial?

What then?

And yet — bear with her, here — let’s say, said commitment-phobe centenarian vampire colleague also looked at her as though she were the only human on this planet that he gave a damn about, the only one who could make his smile curl up on both sides, the only one who warmed those steel-grey eyes into molten embers, the one who—

Her train of thought cut off abruptly as she heard the doors open to the police station. There was a thick fog cutting the night air, the warmth of the day lazily giving way to the coolness of the night, imparting an almost dream-like quality onto an otherwise ordinary parking lot.

Grace waited, peering through the haze, until the object of her musings appeared. His unruly dark waves swung around his cheeks, just barely brushing his collarbone as he stalked towards her, hands buried deep in his pockets. His shoulders were hunched up close to his ears, which she knew was scant protection from the cold he must be feeling.

Her heart inadvertently gave a little pang at the thought and she could’ve sworn she saw his gaze narrow slightly as it happened.

She continued to take him in while she could, eyes lingering on the crystal around his neck that seemed to glow from within, a warm cerulean pulsation, before drifting over his leather jacket, burgundy henley, and worn-in jeans, half-tucked into his partially laced boots.

“Thanks for waiting,” was the first thing he said once he was in ear-shot.

Any passer-by might have thought he was sincere: Thanks for waiting for me by the car. For not leaving when you could have. Thanks for offering me a ride.

Grace, however, understood the sarcastic undercurrent of his words. Thanks for leaving me in there to deal with your mother and the rest of the agents. Nate’s disapproving glances and Felix’s gleeful ones. Thanks for ditching me.

There was never any true bite to his words, though, not anymore—even the borderline derisive ones. Instead, he stopped about a foot in front of her and straightened, his full lips quirked slightly, an unlit cigarette dangling between them. She had to crane her neck to look up at him and his grin grew wider.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” he murmured, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

She cleared her throat, unable to stop the blush from creeping up her neck. 

Even after all they’d been through — all they’d done — she still couldn’t prevent the slow crawl of heat that always seemed to accompany his presence.

“Yeah,” she said gruffly, turning to open her door and hoping maybe this time he hadn’t noticed.

One glance at the way he rolled his lips, hiding an ever-growing smirk as he rounded the back bumper of her car to go to the passenger side, told her that there was no chance she had been that lucky.

They got in quietly and she started the ignition — on the third try, ignoring his snort and slow headshake — before they were off.

“You know,” she said after a beat, even though she kicked herself for always being the one to break the silence, “I don’t think I need a babysitter anymore. Things seem quiet now.”

Mason scoffed.

“Things are never quiet,” he replied bluntly. “There’s just the hurricane or the eye of the storm.”

She felt his eyes on her after a moment and she held her breath, waiting for him to continue.

“Why? Getting sick of my company, sweetheart?”

“No!” she blurted out quickly—too quickly. “It’s not that, it’s just—I mean, I feel bad for you, to be honest. I’m sure there’s other things you’d rather be doing—”

“There’s nothing — and no one — else I’d rather be doing right now.” He’d said the words casually enough, as though completely unaware of the tumult they would cause within her system, his head still tilted languidly against the headrest of her passenger seat as he watched her.

“Well—” She fumbled for words. “That’s—I’m glad.” Nice one.

He chuckled low in his throat. “What is it about you being flustered that just gets me going?” He shook his head. “I’ll never know.” 

She couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped her. “I hate it,” she admitted. “You make me feel like my brain is constantly short-circuiting.”

“I’ll take that compliment.”

She took her eyes off the road briefly to look over at him. Sure enough, he was still staring right at her with a little smile quirking the side of his mouth up. She couldn’t help the return smile that she felt crinkling up the corners of her eyes.

His face changed slightly, smile dropping.

“Jesus, sweetheart, keep smiling at me like that and you might need to pull over.” He fiddled with a fresh cigarette before popping it in his mouth. She waited a beat, but the lighter never came out.

“We’re here anyway,” she said, pulling into her apartment complex and finding a spot easily. “You’ve officially completed your chaperone duty.” She hazarded a glance over at him. “Did you…” She cleared her throat. Be bold, Gracie.

He’d already turned his whole body in his seat, one hand braced on the dash, the other elbow digging in beside his headrest. He watched her carefully, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Did I?” He pretended to mull over the incomplete question. “The answer is most likely yes, I have.”

He leaned closer until she could feel the warmth of his breath swirling in the space between them. No longer imbued with the scent of burning tobacco, instead it had a sweetness to it, a freshness that reminded her of an unopened pack of cigarettes before they had been tainted by a flame.

“I have, I would have, and I certainly will again,” he continued, leaning forward even closer.

Grace bit her bottom lip and his eyes shot down to it immediately, seemingly transfixed by her tooth caught in the flushed redness of her mouth.

“Finish the sentence, detective,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on her, the cool grey seeming to emanate with a glow all its own.

“Did you want to come in?” she breathed, her own eyes darting down to his mouth in return.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her dark hair as he pulled her towards him.

“Always,” he said against her lips before capturing them with his.

Grace felt herself drowning in the moment, the same rushing vortex of emotion she felt every time they kissed. She’d thought it would get easier — that it had to — that it wouldn’t feel so all-consuming, so vital each time.

But as his lips slid over hers, tongue stroking and tasting and always drawing more and more from her, as she carded her fingers through the tempting obsidian waves of his hair and tugged him closer still, the desire to devour him too persistent to ignore—

She knew she was in deep. Too deep. She cared—too much. And there would be no getting out this time — at least not with all her vital parts attached.

* * *

Mason never thought he would like anything more than fucking.

It was intrinsic to his very being, the combustive need for release at all times — not just sexually, but entwined within his very existence. A need to be released from the hold of his senses, from the overpowering strain of existence—the sounds, the smells, the sights. All of it.

His desire to remove himself from the harshness of reality was a constant endeavour — and sex just happened to be the easiest and most pleasurable way to do it.

But he had to hand it to his little detective.

The sex was good, that was for sure. No doubt about it.

But the kissing—

In his almost one hundred years on this planet — at least the ones he could recall — he couldn’t remember ever being this affected by goddamn kissing of all things.

It had to be the little noises she made. Murmurs and moans against his mouth that he wasn’t even sure she was fully aware she was doing.

Or the way she pulled at him, drawing him closer each time so she could press her body against his, feel the length of her torso flush with the entirety of his.

She reminded him of a little burrowing creature, nuzzling at his jaw and neck, gripping the collar of his shirt, squirming to get under, over, inside him.

He squeezed her tightly — moderating the full extent of his strength, obviously, but still forcing her to emit a small breathless gasp at the feeling — and pulled her across the console towards him.

“Settle,” he murmured against her ear, dragging her fully into his lap. It was an effort — her legs kicked the dashboard, the radio, and the glove box before she could tuck them under herself as she buried a giggle into his shoulder.

“This car is not made for that sort of lateral movement,” she informed him, shifting to try and get comfortable.

“Oof,” he grunted as her knee hit his midsection. “God, you’re heavy.” It was patently untrue, but he knew he’d get some sass back for a comment like that and he found himself eagerly anticipating it.

She didn’t disappoint. Leaning back, she braced her hands on his shoulders, a lock of dark hair obscuring half of one of her hazel eyes. A street lamp illuminated her cheeky, exasperated grin as she tilted her head and regarded him.

“Is that so?” She wiggled around purposefully and he groaned in unspent desire as her perfectly round bottom found all the right places in his lap. “Would you care to file a complaint?”

“Christ, no,” he muttered, pulling her towards him once more. “Let’s get out of this aluminum death trap and go upstairs.”

Kicking his door open despite her protests to be careful, he tightened his hold on her and lifted them both out of the car, bracing his legs on the pavement as he stood.

He knew she was anticipating that he would release her, drop her to her feet and continue forwards to her apartment, likely with her trailing behind — his long strides swallowing up the pavement much easier than her shorter ones — but he found himself enjoying the steady, rapid beat of her heart against his shoulder, the comforting heft of her in his arms. He found himself hardpressed to let her go.

So he didn’t.

“Mason!”

She let out a gasp that dissolved into a laugh as he hefted her higher up and over his shoulder, unable to stop himself from giving her ass a playful slap as he carried her to her door. She kicked her legs ineffectually, thumped his back lightly with her palms as she squirmed. He only held her tighter against him.

“Stop moving, detective,” he ground out, the cigarette dropping out of his mouth as he turned his head to bite whatever part of her was closest to his cheek.

She yelped as his teeth made contact with the side of her upper thigh, hard enough that she’d be able to feel it through her jeans.

“Keep it up and it’ll be harder next time,” he promised, carrying her effortlessly up her steps. He paused at her front door. “Keys?”

“They’re in my pocket,” she grumbled and he made a big show of patting her bottom — both sides, thoroughly — before pulling them out of the pocket with the obvious protrusion and unlocking her door.

He let them in and kicked the door shut behind him, then took two strides into the small space and deposited her unceremoniously on the couch.

“Geez,” she spluttered, moving her hair out of her face. “What are my neighbours going to think?”

“Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but with the noises you’ve been making lately, they’ve already drawn their own conclusions,” he drawled, crossing his arms and regarding her with a half smirk.

She just shook her head at him, her eyes glittering with mirth—and something else, something less easy to discern or define. 

Before he could decipher it further, she threw him off with another question:

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” 

Her tone could have been accusatory in nature, but instead there was only a mild sense of awe and a greater sense of amusement. Regardless, it still took him aback.

What, exactly, did she mean by that?

He admitted to himself that there had been a certain feeling of—levity, about him tonight. An air of calmness, of — dare he say — happiness, at the thought of walking out of that station and seeing her waiting for him. Of knowing that he got to go home with her. To hold her. To taste her. To fuck her.

And then to leave her.

“Into me?” He regarded her warily, before moderating his reaction and his tone. “I’m more concerned with getting into you tonight, detective.”

“I have a name,” she retorted, sitting up and smoothing her shirt out. “You haven’t used it once since we left the station.”

Yeah, she had a name. He knew she had a fucking name. Grace. How ironic.

“Call me Gracie,” she’d said to them once and he’d almost puked.

What in the everloving fuck was someone like him doing with someone called Grace? “Grace” meant kindness. Charity. Good will. “Grace” meant mercy.

Mason had never had, nor had he ever wanted, anything to do with mercy.

And this girl—woman in front of him tonight, was the embodiment of her name. Everything kind. Everything compassionate. Everything merciful.

He crossed his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t have to look at them.

“Are we doing introductions again?” he snapped and then immediately regretted it when he saw the stricken look on her face.

All of a sudden, everything felt too overwhelming, his senses in overdrive as he lost his grip on her presence, her heartbeat. Instead, he felt a tidal wave of unwelcome sensations: the smell of the toast she’d made that morning, some flowers she had in a vase that were on the cusp of dying, the light he’d turned on when they walked in shining right in his eyes, the conversation and heavy footsteps of the people in the apartment above them— 

Compulsively, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips, ready to light it.

Her eyes followed him, watching him closely. He didn’t know if she realized that something had changed in his demeanour or not, but her gaze on him made him itchy, too, in a different way.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he bit down hard on the cigarette, crushing the filter.

“Should I leave?” he muttered, feeling his shoulders hunch. Knowing he looked and sounded petulant and hating himself for it, but being unable to moderate his emotions enough to lift up the necessary shields.

She continued to regard him silently, those all-knowing hazel eyes, wise beyond their years, stripping him down to his scars — external and internal.

He suppressed a shudder.

“I’m going to shower,” she said eventually, “and wash off the grime of the day.” She gestured around the apartment. “Feel free to stay and get comfortable.” Then, she swallowed hard and met his eyes briefly, before looking away and shrugging. “Or go. It’s up to you.” She walked towards the bathroom, tossing her jacket on a chair as she went. “I’ll be a few minutes.”

The bathroom door closed — and locked, decisively.

It would be so easy to just bounce. Two steps to the door and then minutes before he could make it back to the warehouse. To his own bed. To the rest of his unit. Where things were easy and no one would ask questions. He could even go to a bar. Find another warm and willing body to lie with. One with a sensible and meaningless name, like Michael or Jennifer, whose eyes would be as empty as their head and who would smell all wrong and who he’d leave behind without looking back even once, because he didn’t give a shit about them.

It would be so easy.

So fucking easy.

Mason heard the shower turn on.

He thought about how she’d feel when she came out of that shower — thought, too, about her skin flushed and damp, only a towel wrapped around her, just because he couldn’t help himself — knowing that she’d given him an opportunity to stay and he’d chosen to go. 

He found himself caring, for the first time, about how his actions might affect another person’s feelings. 

He looked at the front door. Then he looked at the couch.

And he sat down.

* 

Thanks for reading! I have a smutty part two planned, let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in. 😅