#excusing oliver for murder or whatever whatever

[overleftdown]

if i can be so real for a minute, the saltburn fandom is not very large and not very old... and yet i have had SO many odd convos. usually about farleigh but sometimes about other stuff. i've been called obnoxious so many times for mentioning everything that comes with farleigh's character but it's in the movie for a reason, man. i'm venting. "what does XYZ have to do with this?" bro idk maybe the fact that it was included in the movie, therefore i'm going to bring it up?

class, privilege, sexism, escapism, etc. are all important parts of this movie. so is race. i've gotten the most heat for talking about race and white privilege which is... not surprising tbh. sometimes i just want to be serious when everyone wants to be silly. if your silliness makes you apathetic to the rhetoric of the film and how some of it should be taken seriously... man. ouch. damaging to the psyche tbh.

a lot of the fandom is rly cool but ackkk i've been on my toes. i've been encountering some irl felix cattons...

[auroraharper]

Fanfic fiasco - Brocedes

Summary:

After successfully reuniting Charlos and Maxiel, the rookie cupids have set their sights higher this time starting : Operation Brocedes. To reunite the friends to lovers? to enemies turned teamates.

They’ve reunited Charlos. They’ve rekindled Maxiel. And now… their sights are set higher than ever.

Mission: Operation Brocedes Target: Sir Lewis “Hopeless Romantic in Disguise” Hamilton Objective: Get the King out of the Forever Single Club Status: Emergency

Setting: The Cupids' Room (a.k.a. Hotel Room Floor, 1AM, surrounded by gummy bears and scented candles)

Oliver: scrolling through his phone “Guys. Code Red. Lewis just liked an Instagram post about soulmates and solitude.”

Kimi: gasps “That’s the third time this week. He also posted a story of his dog with the caption ‘my only consistent love.’”

Isack: clutching a blanket “That’s so real but also so SAD. We have to help him.”

Oliver: “We brought Maxiel back from emotional repression. We dragged Charlos out of the Cold War. We can do this.”

Kimi opens a fresh Google Doc titled:

Operation: Brocedes BEGINS

…………

Kimi’s called an emergency meeting. Oliver is holding a clipboard. Isack brought donuts. The vibe? Chaos.

Toto, rubbing his temples: “Please. Whatever it is—just don’t involve Lewis again. Or Nico. I aged ten years the last time.”

Kimi, very serious: “We’re not causing drama, we’re causing closure.”

Isack: “Healing, actually. It’s very mature of us.”

Oliver: slams down a giant heart-shaped vision board labeled “BROCEDES: ENDGAME”

Toto, already done: “No.”

Kimi, earnestly: “They were soulmates, Toto. You saw the documentary clips. The little smiles. The Monaco handshakes. The post-race hugs. The post-2016 trauma.”

Isack: “They were the original enemies to lovers to enemies again. We can’t just leave it unfinished.”

Toto sighs deeply. “Do you know what it took to keep them from murdering each other in 2016?”

Oliver: “We know. But hear us out.”

He flips the whiteboard. It reads:

Steps to Brocedes Reconciliation (2025 Version)

Phase 1: Subtle Exposure Therapy

Phase 2: Forced Nostalgia Missions

Phase 3: Monaco Rooftop Reunion

Phase 4: The Kiss (Optional but Recommended)

Now its turn to interview the Witnesses of the Brocedes Love Story

Target 1: Sebastian Vettel – Retired, in peace or was enjoying his peace a few minutes ago

The boys fly out to Switzerland. They find Seb in a garden.

Oliver: “We need your help. For Lewis. And Nico.”

Seb, squinting at them like a tired elf: “What?”

Kimi: “Yes, and also—do you think they’re still in love?”

Seb sighs. Then he just says:

“Nico never stopped talking about Lewis. And Lewis? He never stopped listening to what Nico wasn’t saying.”

Oliver immediately bursts into tears.

Target 2: Valtteri Bottas

Valtteri, sipping wine, wrapped in a flannel: “I once caught Lewis watching their 2012 karting battle on YouTube. Said it was ‘research.’ The tab said ‘Brocedes edits.’”

Isack: whispering “He’s down so bad.”

Valtteri: “Also Nico once accidentally sent Toto a selfie at a karting track with the caption ‘Wonder if he’d show up.’ He didn’t. But it hurt.”

Kimi, taking notes: “Okay. This is gold. This is prologue material.”

…………………….

Lewis enters, casually humming. He pauses.

There’s a chair. Center of the room. Strapped down with seatbelts. In front of a massive screen. A bowl of popcorn on one side. A glass of chamomile tea on the other.

Oliver, stepping from the shadows like a villain: “Have a seat.”

Lewis: “…What is this?”

Kimi, appearing behind him: “It’s not a kidnapping. It’s a loving hostage situation.”

Lewis: “Excuse me?”

Isack: “Brocedes never got closure. And you know it.”

Lewis tries to bolt.

Kimi tackles him with the reflexes of a man fueled by fic-induced passion.

Cut to: Lewis now tied gently but firmly to the chair with branded straps and Isack fluffing a pillow behind his back.

Oliver clicks the remote.

🎥 Title Card Appears: “BROCEDES: THE GREATEST LOVE STORY NEVER TOLD 💔” Edited by: @Cupid_Kimi, @BearmanEdits, @HadjarHurts

MONTAGE SEQUENCE PLAYS:

🎶 "Fix You" by Coldplay starts

Young Lewis & Nico hugging after a karting race.

Nico staring at Lewis mid-press conference.

“We respect each other a lot,” Lewis says.

2016 Spain crash.

Post-race silence. “We were friends… once.”

2014 title win. Lewis wraps his arms around Nico. The softest look ever caught on camera.

Lewis: “That’s literally propaganda.”

Kimi: “And yet, you haven’t looked away once.”

🎶 “Back To December” plays next Oliver: “We call this one: ‘The Regret Era.’”

Nico watching Lewis on the podium from the sidelines.

Lewis looking at an empty second seat.

Nico’s retirement post.

Lewis whispering, “He was my greatest rival. My greatest…” [the clip cuts off for drama.]

“You were never just my rival, you were my finish line.” – Lewis

Lewis yells, “Hey!!! That’s what I wrote in my personal diary?”

“Nothing is safe from us”, Kimi grins.

Isack holds up a tissue box: “Do you need a minute?”

Lewis, blinking fast: “No. It’s allergies. “

Kimi: “Sure, King.”

🎶 “You Belong With Me – Taylor’s Version” starts blasting unironically

Oliver: “This is the fun one.”

Nico glaring at Rosberg fan signs with hearts on them.

Lewis side-eyeing the paddock when Nico’s there with a camera crew.

Mutual stalking.

Commenting on each other’s posts anonymously.

Nico once liking a tweet that said “Brocedes 2020 comeback when???”

Lewis searching “Nico Rosberg interview” on YouTube at 2AM.

Lewis, quiet now: “…okay. I miss him.”

All three boys freeze.

Isack: “WHAT.”

Lewis: “I mean I hate him. But I also miss him. I think. Probably.”

Kimi immediately presses play on a never-before-seen clip of Nico from an interview:

“There’s a part of me that’ll always be waiting for Lewis to look at me the way he used to. Even if he never does.”

Lewis, lips parting. Breath hitching.

Silence.

Oliver: “So… call him?”

Lewis, stunned: “I don’t even have his number anymore—”

Kimi, already holding out Nico’s contact: “Got you.”

………………..

Lewis is focused. Headphones in. Breathing even.

Then suddenly—

The Ferrari comms crackle.

“Box, Lewis, box. We’ve… got a guest.”

Lewis blinks. He turns.

Standing just inside the garage, looking unfairly good in a white shirt and aviators—

Nico Rosberg.

Lewis actually drops his water bottle.

Nico: “You look good in red. Not as good as silver… but I’ll take it.”

Lewis: “You came?”

Nico: “You called.”

THE GARAGE TENSES. Carlos Sainz walks past, sees them, physically gasps. Charles just runs away.

Martin Brundle stops mid-interview. Toto Wolff is shown choking on his espresso. Jenson Button audibly yells “No f**ing way.”*

Camera cuts to: Nico standing behind Lewis’ car. Wearing a pass. Wearing a smile. Wearing every single regret from 2016 like a tailored suit.

He leans in.

Whispers something in Lewis’ ear. We don’t hear it. But Lewis grins—the kind of grin no one's seen in years.

RACE HIGHLIGHTS:

Lewis wins. By seven seconds.

Post-race interview: “That win was for… someone I once raced with, And intend to walk the rest of my life with”

Nico appears beside him during cooldown. Everyone loses their minds.

As the anthem plays, Lewis turns. Nico’s standing by the team, just watching him. Lewis jumps off the podium. Walks straight to him.

The F1 gods cry. The fans scream. The journalists combust.

AND THEN— THE HUG. Twelve seconds long. Head in shoulder. Nico saying something no one can hear.

Lewis pulls back. Looks at him like it’s 2008 again.

The broadcasters don’t even speak.

[SOCIAL MEDIA]

Instagram:

@lewishamilton posts a picture of two helmets. Caption: “He never really left.”

@nicorosberg reposts it. Adds: “He called. I answered.”

Tumblr and AO3 servers crash. Again. #BROCEDESISBACK

[CUPID HEADQUARTERS]

Kimi throws glitter. Oliver is screaming into a pillow. Isack is on the floor whispering “We did it… we really did it.”

Toto, from a Zoom window: “You’re all grounded.”

“You are crying..?”, Kimi asks.

Toto: “I am not crying. I am sweating from my eyes.”

Kimi, Isack, and Oliver: “You’re welcome, old man.”

..............................................

Check out my other works in:

Unexpected Cupid – George x Max ft. Kimi Antonelli

Fake love -Lestappen

Paper rings - Maxiel

[quick-catton]

give me all ur felix and ollie and cattonquick head-canons plz can be nsft if u wish go crazy

ANON YOU LEFT THIS ASK OVER A MONTH AGO. I AM SO SORRY.

i've been waiting to answer it until i had a good list compiled/until i had a better grasp on their characters, and honestly most of these are fairly vague since i wrote them down before we all started going insane on tumblr and digging deep into their psyches LOL but. here are some of my thoughts that i've jotted down over the past month <3

sfw:

felix is a big ol’ scaredy cat, we see that in the film. oliver finds it so incredibly endearing that this big 6’5 man has to sleep with a night light and is terrified of scary films despite adoring halloween and taking the holiday so seriously. oliver definitely loves picking scary movies on the nights where it’s his turn to choose because he loves feeling like a protector when felix is hiding his face, burying himself in the crook of his arm, clinging to him and gasping at every jumpscare. and even though felix pretends to hate it, he doesn’t actually mind because he likes getting to feel small sometimes, having an excuse to press up against ollie.

felix is a little yapper, i just know it. that mfer does notttt stop talking somedays. if he has a thought, oliver is going to hear it. if he’s bored, he’s going to make it everyone else’s problem. as a little gremlin adhd–er, i lean towards attributing it to untreated adhd, but it's also just such a felix thing. of course oliver finds it endearing, but sometimes it drives him up the absolute wall; luckily for him, there are plenty of ways to shut felix up and/or occupy his mouth instead!

oliver is more of a show than tell person, valuing being able to do acts of service for felix, or to gift him things, make him feel good, happy, whatever. i think it makes sense, since he's more reserved and quiet. felix is more of a tell than show guy, always complimenting and speaking unfiltered and dropping words of affirmation left and right, and they balance each other out in that regard.

PET! NAMES! felix is obsessed with them, he drops them left and right even on friends, and on oliver it’s two fold. darling, sweetheart, angel, bambi, my love, doll, lover, all the classics, and oliver never gets tired of it. oliver is less outspoken/public with his affection, coming back to the show vs tell thing. i think to him, calling felix by his name or shortened versions (fee, lix, etc) is just as intimate as any pet name.

felix draws hearts and little messages with his finger against oliver’s skin when they’re in public, or when they’re just laying in bed at home. oliver likes to try and decipher them, or write ones back.

i know felix drives during the roadtrip scene, but i think in a relationship he would actually be an awful driver and a big passenger princess and oliver wouldn't be picky about music so he'd let him have the aux. felix would love to just lean against the window and stare at oliver or stick his feet on the dashboard/out the window and lay his head on the console even though oliver would hate it so much because "what if we get in an accident, felix??"

felix would love to abuse his size difference and would pick up oliver literally any chance he gets and oliver would pretend to hate it but he'd grow to love it bc it means getting to have physical contact with him <3

felix is terrified of bugs and will literally stand on a stool until oliver deals with them, but oliver hates having to kill them so he takes them outside in a cup. or alternatively, oliver is absolutely terrifying and goes into murder–mode to eliminate the source of whatever is scaring felix.

nsfw:

i think they’re both switches & verses tbh, with how their personalities are they would both enjoy having control but also being able to give up control and do what they’re told.

they both have praise kinks and servicing kinks as per my extensive brainrot and whole one-shot about it lol

felix is a little slutty exhibitionist and oliver is a creeper voyeur (/affectionate). he loves to have felix dress up pretty for him and he’s obsessed with taking pictures of him on felix’s film cameras for his eyes only, wallet photos if you will. and felix loves showing off for him and feeling oliver’s eyes on him like he’s just a piece of meat, like oliver is a predator and he’s prey.

oliver is obsessed with body worship, he loves to spend ages marking felix’s skin and getting him worked up and teasing him until he snaps, all the while acting innocent because “i just wanna show you how pretty you are”. paying attention to each individual body part, leaving kisses everywhere, using body worship as an outlet for his intense obsession and fixation.

both of them are possessive, but they deal with it in different ways. felix’s jealousy is quicker to flare up and he’s more likely to be confrontational about someone hitting on oliver; he has a hard time hiding his jealousy too when oliver is being a little too friendly with someone, getting all pouty and sulky, but oliver is good at talking him down. felix leaves marks all over his neck to make himself feel better, to show everyone that oliver is his, and oliver has no complaints about this. oliver’s possessiveness is quieter, jealousy that bubbles just beneath the surface, sometimes grows borderline–murderous, but he’s never confrontational about it. he sits with it until they’re alone, and then makes sure felix remembers who he belongs to. and at the end of the day, knowing he can make felix, this powerful golden god in his eyes, crumble beneath him is enough to quell any jealousy because he knows no one else will ever see him like he gets to. oliver loves marking him up too, but he loves doing it below the collar, like a secret that only the two of them know.

felix has an oral fixation. obviously. in the film he always has a popsicle or lollipop or cigarette or finger in his mouth; it just makes sense. one of his favourite things ever is when oliver lets him lay his head in his lap and cockwarm him until his jaw is aching while they watch a movie or oliver reads, because having his mouth occupied calms his always restless body and mind, but also he loves the closeness of it. he definitely gets a tongue piercing just to fidget with, but also takes so much joy in the way it effects oliver.

they're both definitely into freak shit, that goes without being said. they both always jump to try new things, always willing to feed into each other's obsessions, to play along with each other's kinks and fixations. i could elaborate enough on their kinks for one whole post about it lbr lmfaoo

i think felix probably gets super clingy and soft spoken and cuddly after sex when he subs and how he loves that oliver makes him feel small and safe afterwards, never feeling judged for opening up in that way. oliver is absolutely such a service bottom and service top, so getting to feed into that when domming is his favourite thing. he knows what felix needs before felix does, and felix trusts him with his life (ha.) he does occasionally tease felix for being a pillow princess, though.

and then vice versa, felix loves being able to help oliver get out of his always-racing overthinking mind when oliver subs, he loves making him feel so cozy and protected and safe in his arms afterwards. he feels so special that ever–reserved oliver trusts him and lets his guard down around him like that, recognizes the vulnerability it takes, and oliver feels so special seeing how much care felix takes with him.

both of them love having their hair played with and they both definitely get off on having it pulled.

i'll do an updated one of these soon, i'm sure! honestly most of these are from maybe the first week or so after i watched saltburn for the first time, and i feel like my view on their characters has evolved a LOT since then and i could go into a lot more detail/more niche tropes, but i have a lot of asks to get back to today so i'll save it for another time. <33

[berrypass-de-murdler]

3 - 28 Murder by the Books

neww update!

I finally got into Toyhouse, and will be moving suspect bios there. I'll still keep the sta.sh open as a basic list, but the Toyhouse will be more detailed and also feature other artworks.

It's far from complete at the moment and it's gonna take a while but I'm working on it :3

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

The passage through the maze leads right into a hidden library underneath the Institute.

LOGICO: I didn’t know you had this! I thought the Institute had a library already… IRRATINO: It does, but it’s not as hidden as this one! Having a campus full of secret passageways is aesthetically wonderful, buuut from a safety perspective, I have to admit I’ve made some. Poor decisions.

He picks up a librarian corpse by the collar and shows it off to Logico. 

IVORY: Ugh-uh! What are YOU two doing in MY secret library?! LOGICO: It’s not YOURS, it’s IRRATINO’S!! IRRATINO: Calm down- The library is open to all who find it.

A red blob is darting across the room - Cardinal Cinereous is back. Logico forgot about him, or rather, wanted to forget about him.

CINEREOUS: Well, well! Now THERE’S a face I never thought I’d see ‘round again. LOGICO: Same to you, bucko. Now go do bird things - this is a job for actual people.

Cinereous sneers at the unusually racist comment. The third suspect is Gainsboro, but he looks a bit off-color.

LOGICO: B- Gainsboro, are you feeling alright…?

The person looks up, and is in fact, a different book-winged butterfly. 

BUTTERFLY: Excuse me? LOGICO: OH. Sorry. BUTTERFLY: It’s- it’s fine, I just moved here, and I’ve been confused for some author a few times… My name is Russet.

Logico shakes her hand, and is pleased to meet such a friendly person for once. Then he takes a second glance, and figures out she’s reading ‘How to Murder’, Dame Obsidian’s self-help book. He does a withering sigh. Russet moves a skeleton off the reception desk chair and sits back down. 

Statement time is Logico’s least favorite time.

CINEREOUS: Well, as God would say, Editor Ivory broughta fount’n pen. LOGICO: What does God say about this?

He holds an open book behind the bird and is about to slam it shut, but Irratino gets in the way. 

IRRATINO: Logico, look - there’s wax on this book. LOGICO: …Kay.

He notices a room in the back that’s boarded up.

LOGICO: What’s back there? IRRATINO: Nononono you can’t go back there. It’s been Institute staff-only ever since the Epochalypse. LOGICO: The fuck is wrong with- IRRATINO: I DON’T… want to talk about it.

Editor Ivory has a key she shouldn’t have…

IRRATINO: You! IVORY: Pffff-uhh. The librarian REFUSED to stock any of the books I’VE published, even the ones SPECIFICALLY MARKETED for spooky places. What else could I do?

Logico rolls his eye so loudly. But the Tekkies come knocking on the door!

TEKKIES: COME WITH US.

Irratino grabs Logico and runs. But Logico was just about to ask Ivory if she knew who the Bossman was…

The end!

The people chasing them being Turquoise, Eggplant, and Olive isn't canon, but it looks funny so whatever

Fletch is in charge of Russet, she doesn't make many designs anymore but I love the ones she does make

Time for the long and treacherous toyhouse upload

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[arc-angel-o]

Haven't seen season 5 yet (so no spoilers please) cause I'm still recovering from the S4 finale.

Does no one care about Simon. I love him. We could've had it all. I was rooting so hard for the Keating 6, him joining the team, and maybe a little throuple with coliver? As promised.

What the fuck was up with Michaela this season? I liked that a crossover episode had consequences but like this breakup with Asher was not fun. I've had fun with like Frank & Laurel and Conner & Oliver breaking up, this was just horrible.

I do kinda like "I'm becoming me" or whatever the line was but that's not good enough. I can excuse murder but I draw the line at getting someone deported. I love Michaela, I wanted her and Simon to become friends.

There was a time when I hated Simon too, cause I love Annalise, so fuck him for the posters, but, priorities, people. Everyone and their mother has accused Annalise of murder. And now it's fine, she's winning Supreme Court cases. Remember when everyone hated each other in S1? I wanted more enemies to friends shenanigans 😭

[byneddiedingo]

Harry Houdini in The Grim Game (Irvin Willat, 1919)

Cast: Harry Houdini, Thomas Jefferson, Ann Forrest, Augustus Phillips, Tully Marshall, Arthur Hoyt, Mae Busch, Edward Martin, Jane Wolfe. Screenplay: Arthur B. Reeve, John Grey, Walter Woods, Irvin Willat. Cinematography: Frank M. Blount, J.O. Taylor. Art direction: Harry Oliver.

In The Grim Game, perhaps the best of his ventures into the movies, Harry Houdini escapes from all sorts of things: handcuffs, shackles, a straitjacket, a bear trap, and even a plane crash. But the one thing he can't escape from is the movie's incredibly snarled plot. Houdini plays Harvey Hanford (apt alliteration's artful aid), a reporter for a newspaper that's on the verge of going out of business unless its owner (Augustus Phillips) can get the money he needs from a skinflint backer (Thomas Jefferson). So Hanford cooks up a plot to have the old miser, who just happens to have a lovely ward (Ann Forrest) with whom Hanford is smitten, taken off to a retreat by a showgirl (Mae Busch) posing as a nurse. Then Hanford will plant traces suggesting that the old man has been murdered for his money -- traces that incriminate Hanford. The reason for all this is a little screwy: Hanford has been working on a story about people unjustly convicted on the basis of circumstantial evidence, though what that has to do with getting the backer to pony up isn't clear. What Hanford doesn't reckon with is the fact that the newspaper owner and his cronies, a lawyer (Tully Marshall) and a doctor (Arthur Hoyt), have their own reasons for wanting the old man dead, so when he's found murdered, Hanford becomes the prime suspect. Got that? The whole thing is an excuse to show off Houdini's stunts, but he was not a very interesting film actor. Whatever charisma he had on stage was lost in close-ups, revealing him as a balding middle-aged man with an overbite that reminds me of a Simpsons character. The film was long thought to be lost, but it had been carefully preserved by a collector, and the restored version, in remarkably good shape, was shown publicly for the first time after 96 years in 2015. The movie's highlight, other than seeing the actual Houdini at work, is some remarkable aerial photography and stunt work that resulted in an accidental mid-air plane collision being caught on film. The planes managed to land safely: The crash shown in the movie is staged.

[isaacathom]

genuinely so hype about the dnd campaign bc all the potential with naielle and euphemia makes me feral. and part of that is that naielle has barely interacted with any other (still living) character, except marius? and their interaction was brief that besides some questions about why hes old naielle has nothing to like. hash out with him. when we get back to the normal timeline theres gonna be something a lot more pressing on naielles part that requires his attention, yknow.

but euphemia! in the prime timeline naielle and euphemia are friends! theyre part of the diplomacy/support squad alongside marius! of the two, theyre the big nerds, and also both involved in navigation - the former the navigator, the latter the cartographer, who is herself married to another navigator aboard. they enjoy knowledge and history. naielle trusts her a lot.

but! in the alt timeline euphemia is fucking scary. she forces naielle into the consultancy, reads her mind constantly (always Asking, but to naielle it never feels like she can actually say no). she lied to naielles face! naielle said 'please dont tell Qinan [about the vision where i murder him]' and euphemia looks her dead in the eye and goes 'i wont!' before handing Qinan a scroll of Detect Thoughts and showing it to him instead. maybe not a lie on technicality, but a lie in every way that matters.

naielle is terrified, categorically afraid for her safety, woefully intimidated by the undersecretary saying she 'killed 2 people' for the knowledge she conscripted naielle for.

and so when they get back to the prime reality, presumably remembering some of this, naielle is gonna be FUMING. naielle did not actually know abouy Euphemia's Channel Divinity: Read Thoughts, because it isn't a detectable spell. no part of that process is discernable by the target. its not detect thoughts, where you know theyre doing it if they push deeper. it just happens. you still make a save (and can choose to fail, as naielle consistently does in this timeline), but you dont know its happening. right. naielle DIDNT KNOW SHE HAD THAT.

so its like, point 1 - you can fucking read minds? how long have you been able to do that? have you been doing that to members of the crew? can i trust you to be honest with me about when and on who it was used? can i fucking trust you?

which feeds naturally into point 2 - i cant fucking trust you. i know its perhaps Unfair to hold you to the conduct of a version of yourself in a very different time and place, but as the war we are currently fighting continues, and is likely to get worse before it gets any fucking better, i cannot in good fucking conscience trust that you, right in front of me, will not make the same decisions that this alternate form of you did. and i dont know that i can fucking trust you if you are capable of that.

naielle doesnt have a way out of this. she doesnt have an olive branch to offer. she doesnt know what shed want euphemia to do to prove any sincerity. euphemia could offer her every excuse under the sky and i dont know that naielle will care, vis a vis the vision specifically. because while naielle isnt the Most self aware person, i think she can look at how she was personally acting in this alternate timeline and go 'you didnt have to lie to me to get the result you wanted. you could have told me no to my request. instead you looked at an elf who is on the verge of a breakdown and has just witnessed some pretty distressing things and decided to be a pedantic fuckstick. "i didnt tell him" fucking tripe. you could have said "i cant promise that, it might be important for him to know" and i wouldve gone "oh :(" but i wasnt gonna fucking stop you! are you insane????'

euphemia could offer whatever justification she likes, but naielle feels fundamentally betrayed by Euphemia's action there, and a little violated by the mind reading shit. naielle only came back to the royal quarter because there was nowhere else she could possibly go when she realised there was trouble, and the group had agreed to work together to try and fix the realities. shes going back because she saw marius and went 'well. he was nice to me earlier, i think. and the strange man seems friendly. ill trust them if i have to, to fix this'. shes not coming back because shes loyal to euphemia. shes back because shes scared, and the group had an answer, and she thinks some of them might at least listen to her. shes terrified.

so prime timeline naielle, a woman in possession of a Fucking Backbone, is going to remember this, in whole or in part, and turn to euphemia like 'we are going to discuss that later. and if i have to pull rank to do so i will, comprenez-vous?' and not wait for an answer. shes gonna be so mad.

[roscgcld]

RYOMEN SUKUNA || pretty little thing

note: am I simping for volume 12 cover sukuna once more? ...yes, and am not afraid to admit that. that man can glare at me and i will apologise for gracing him with my unworthy self lmao. but i do enjoy this entire idea of super mean and evil sukuna and his cutesy lover that can do whatever she wants to him and he wouldn’t stop her - not like he wanted to anyway lmao 

pronouns: she/her

warning: mentions of murder and acts of murder as well, and if you squint a little there is mentions of minors, but it doesn’t play a big role in the story

The small group of sorcerers stood before the towering man, trying not to show the fear on their faces as they tried to look at the glowing red eyes head on. Sukuna was seated on his throne, two of his four arms resting on his while another was propping up his cheek; the other tapping his fingers on the plush fabric of his throne. He hated having his time wasted on useless things, and the socerers before him were starting to wear their welcome too thin.

Sighing tiredly, he tilted his head back, a sign that had the sorcerers tensing up. They knew that body language all too well - if they do not tell him what was the purpose of them coming all the way to him temple, and even daring to walk up to his alter will lead him to murdering them all in cold blood. 

He doesn’t care how important they are in the town, or in jujutsu world either - to him, he is the most important. And everyone else is beneath him.

Well, everyone but one person, that is.

As if the Gods took pity on them, the soft sound of delicate footprints came from somewhere beside the group, causing the group to stop their whispers between one another at the sound of soft footsteps. Within seconds a beautiful woman walked out from the shadows and into the main room of the temple, her kimono trailing behind her delicately. The beautiful crafted garment hung on her frame perfectly; not too tight where it left little to the imagination, yet not too loose to hide her beautiful figure underneath it either. It was clearly crafted by a master craftsman, and the fabrics it was made of show how expensive it must have been.

A hana kanzashi was delicately placed on her perfectly styled hair, a streams of flowers hang off the end of the pin, giving the woman a more mysterious look as the sunlight casted a shadow over half of her face. She gave the sorcerers no more than an uninterested glance, trying not to roll her eyes at the sight of the group of mostly men - the same group of elders in her town that were so willing to sacrifice young girls to the man before them in exchange for peace.

She would know - she was one of those sacrifices, after all. However, the difference between her and the others was that instead of being killed after their purpose was done, Sukuna was now wrapped around her finger tightly. She can’t be too proud of it either; she was equally as obsessed with him as he was with her, so the better word to describe it might be mutual pining.

Sukuna will never admit that though, claiming she is just a foolish woman he likes keeping around for food and a warm body. But if she tries to get up and leave, or if he knows people are even thinking about bringing her harm? The world would suffer through Hell like they’ve never seen before.

Speaking of the man - Sukuna’s ruby red eyes watched as the woman made her way towards him, carefully climbing the steps of his alter like it was her own home; a soft pout resting on her lips as she walks closer to him. He didn’t get the usual burst of annoyance when anyone dared to look at him in eyes, or the anger he’d feel of having someone even daring to take one step towards the direction of his throne. Yet all he felt was amusement as he shifted in his seat ever so slightly; watching how the woman just made her way towards him and sat down in his lap like it was her throne.

Which it was after all, and Sukuna will let her indulge herself in such a luxury. He loves to spoil her, letting her do as she pleases

“Yes, my beautiful flower?” He hums softly as the hand that was once tapping his fingers along his seat reached up, stroking the apple of her cheek delicately as he raised an eyebrow at her. At that moment he didn’t care who was in the room - all that mattered was her. And he has a gut feeling he knows why she is currently sporting that cute pout of hers, her arms crossed over her chest adorably. “You’re taking too long. I got cold.” 

Immediately a low chuckle rumble from somewhere in his chest as his other arm wrapped around her protectively, his tattoos a contrast against the unmasked skin of her bare thigh that was revealed by his simple action of pulling her closer. “We can’t have that now, can we?” He cooed ever so softly, something so foreign and so unheard of coming from a cold hearted killer that it scared the already terrified sorcerers even more. A few of them were even shaking at the sight of the woman, who was a mere girl when she was scarified, now perched in the lap of such a fearsome creature like she was a lazy house cat.

How can such a relation be so natural?

“What a pretty little thing she is, isn’t she?” Sukuna suddenly stated loudly, his ruby red eyes now dull and clearly showing his boredom as he turned to address the sorcerers before him once more. The woman from before just smiles softly as she curls up into his warmth, not caring about the others in the room; quietly purring at the feeling of a large hand stroking along her face delicately. An action that might seem hard for a man his size to achieve, yet he still somehow manages to treat her like fine china beneath his fingertips.

“I should thank you for being blind enough not to keep a beauty like this for yourselves, but it’s because of your blindness that landed her in my lap in the first place.” Sukuna continued into the silent room, the hand that was once cradling his cheek waved in the air lazily; a smirk tugging against his tattooed face. “All the ones you sent before as sacrifices were quite sad little things; blubbering and whining so much that I rather send their heads back to you so you can see just how pathetic they really were.” He sighs in annoyance, his face curling a little as he remembered all the past women he had.

Some were pretty, yes - but there was just something about them that just irked him. He didn’t know what it was; maybe it was their constant crying, or how they try to pretend to be head strong and threaten to kill him in his sleep. He just took what he wanted before slicing their head off just as he climaxes; not really caring for their own pleasure. It’s not his problem if they were satisfied or not.

However, when his little flower came, sniffling with tearful eyes at how she had been yanked away from her loving family; yet eyes curiously staring up at the man that she had heard so many stories about. There was just something in him that lets him know that she was the one. That she was the one that is going to scratch that insatiable itch that he has whenever he is sent a new sacrifice from the town that he is currently residing in. And he was right. “Yet, with that being said, that doesn’t mean I am not growing tired of your antics. Speak now before I make you.”

Immediately a few eyes glanced over at the woman in his lap, as if they were silently begging for her to lend them a hand. Yet this actual caused Sukuna to scowl as he looks over at the group, snapping his fingers to drag their attention back to him. “Who gave you the permission to turn your disgusting gazes at her? She can’t help miserable excuses like you lot anyway.” He scowls, his eyes narrowing in anger at how they thought they even worthy enough cast their dirty eyes on her, as if she would extend the olive branch to them after they’ve done.

Before he can do anything rash, the woman decided to step in, gently placing her warm hand against the exposed part of his chest from underneath the kimono he had worn. The feeling of the familiar touch caused him to sigh softly as he leans back into his throne once more, but he glared at them with the same intensity as before, watching them for a moment longer. “You know what? I think I know what to do with you lot. I mean, I hope you didn’t forget - you did make my little flower cry.” 

Just as he finished saying that, he gave them all a sadistic smile before he swiped his hand in the air leisurely. His other arms immediately wrapped around the woman, turning her face away from the scene before them as the sorcerers all started to be sliced up one by one by invisible blades, the sound of wails and body parts flying about as they landed on the ground in bloody heaps. A few. who watched their fellow comrades be sliced up in horror before they tried to run, turning and running towards the entrance as if they can escape their fate. 

They should know better than to try something so foolish.

“The clean up is going to be a pain, you know.” Y/N sighed softly as she looks up at her lover, knowing that he was shielding her from the horrors he had committed. If she was being honest, she had never seemed to fear how easily he dispose of others - whenever he does kill people, it usually leads to a much more wider and bigger picture at the end of the day. What she can’t stand though, is the mess he tends to leave behind. “The maids just cleaned the rugs too.”

“It’s their job, flower.” He just sighs and shifted her so she was straddling his lap leisurely, letting her hands rest against his warm chest as two of his arms wrapped around her waist. One of them rested against her cheek lovingly, letting her lean into his touch once more whilst his other hand went back to cupping his cheek in his hand. “You can still make it less dramatic, no?” She mumbles softly with a soft giggle, to which Sukuna just rolled his eyes at her comment. 

“Why make killing so dull? I enjoy the flare of dramatics, flower.”

With a fond roll of her eyes she just leans forward to press soft kisses along his face, knowing that he will not push her away; not when his arms tighten their own hold on her. “Whatever you say, my King.” She cooed at him quietly, still placing feather-like kisses against his face as he closes his eyes for a moment. Soon he grew bored of them, and with a firm hand on the back of her head, guiding her face down to his. He presses a passionate kiss against her as she smiles, her hands trailing up his chest before they found themselves wrapped around his neck where they belong.

Maybe it was an obsession, or maybe it really is fate - whatever the reason may be, he’s going to make sure that his little flower is safe and content. Even if it means killing an entire army of people at her command, or tearing out his heart for her if she so much so as asks.

He is her slave, and he doesn’t see a reason to fight against his faith.

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[ruqaiyahdayne]

★

a part of her was perplexed upon realising that the ghost of ghost hill had remained standing before her, gaze sweeping over the grace of the morning as though in any moment the mosaic would shatter, and this was the last moment. perhaps she had not been expecting to see her here, and there was some egotistical surge at the idea that she managed to render devani speechless; for once.

but then again, why was she thinking as though she still knew devani toland? who even was she?

why was she thinking she could guess anything about the woman's behaviour, as though they had not been strangers for over a decade. she did not know her anymore, and that creeping realisation came as ruqaiyah still refused to look toward her. looking at anyone, or anything else; ever the social climbing butterfly, she would indulge in mindless chatter if it meant she did not need to face what was brewing.

and when she looked briefly at her deewani devani, she noted there was a usual smirk on her features; and she felt her stomach drop.

how? how was it someone was able to still put up such a facade, such a portrait? was it not exhausting? would it not be better should they sit across from one another and pretend they did not need to speak. her brother had just murdered her best friend, there was an impenetrable excuse.

"lady toland." ruqaiyah greeted, her tone seemingly posed and graceful; she spoke with the prejudice and ancient lineage of starfall, and it's descendents. she felt as though the sun, the moon and the stars were falling on her this moment. she ignored the slight ache that came in her chest at the compliment; how words of affirmation from her had always had such an effect on her. made her feel like her heart was blooming - the first rain of the year.

"yes, i do." she responded, her own pride ringing true in her words. there was a dramatic pause, awkward in it's very essence as she looked back at him. contemplating whether to even say her next words. "...so do you, i suppose." ruqaiyah decided, in that moment, that she would act as though nothing had ever happened. there was a smile being offered in her direction, an olive branch; and the smile in return was one of pure civility, and falsehood.

ruqaiyah liked fashion. devani knew she did. they could talk about that. "nice sari...essosi silk?" she asked, reaching forward to take a piece of the sweet barfi. "where about?" where have you been? where did you go? whatever it was that made things awkward, no longer existed. what was their to think fondly on and even remember? nothing. these were two strangers sat at a table. she did not remember. she would not remember. she leaned forward, looking for her brother in the crowd, or for lady jordayne. "do you find sunspear much different?"

devani's reintroduction to dorne had been slow. she did not burst back into the lives of everyone she knew all at once, a glorious firework that demanded all attention. no, she had opted for a more gradual approach. first to dante, which had gone well, then to her family, which hadn't. she had spent the weeks since her feet had once again touched dornish sand slowly, steadily, creeping her way back into the lives of those she had known before, and all she hadn't.

it had been a plan of mixed effects. successful, in that she had managed to reintegrate herself without too much bother. flawed in that, despite her caution, she had still attracted the wrong sort of attention. that wasn't devani's fault, though. she certainly could not control what people were doing around her. without knowing it, the actions of the man she had called her dearest friend had left her between a rock and a hard place. and so, despite her instincts screaming at her to flee, she stayed, and she smiled and sympathised and pretended like she understood why dante uller had to die in order to keep her own back free of any knives.

despite recent events, she had been back long enough to be comfortable. she had spoken to most of those she had left behind her, and had largely been forgiven for the transgressions of choosing herself. there was only one familiar face she was doggedly avoiding, but she deemed sunspear a safe place to hide from ruqaiyah dayne.

until it wasn't.

devani approached her seat, and she froze. for the first time in many, many years, the wandering lady of ghost hill didn't know how to react, for there was ruqaiyah, no longer a girl freshly emerging from adolescence but a woman grown. her eyes met devani's, and she saw that there was recognition there. it was enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

and then she looked away, but devani did not, could not. she stood there, hovering for a moment, her eyes fixed on drinking in every aspect of her appearance in silence, noting what had changed and what had not.

after what felt like eternity, but may have been mere seconds (devani didn't know. it was as though time had ceased to pass), she took her seat, taking longer than necessary to arrange herself in it to delay the inevitable, to compose herself. when there were no more skirts to straighten and cutlery to rearrange, nothing left but to speak.

she lifted her head, her lost expression gone and replaced with her trademark smirk, but her eyes told a different story. in them was all the panic of a wild animal, poised to flee from a predator's hunt.

"hello, ru," the old, affectionate nickname slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. she desperately tried to recall what was said when last they saw each other. would it be better if their parting had been on a soft note, or a blaze of fire? devani didn't know, and couldn't remember.

she had left so many behind, and within a few months across the narrow sea, she had stopped thinking of them at all. even dante uller had crossed her mind only rarely. but ruqaiyah dayne had found herself the subject of devani's thoughts more than most, an echo on her heartbeat that she had tried and failed to drown out again and again and again. how could she put that into words? what could she say that would ever live up to fourteen years of silent thoughts from half a world away?

"you look well." complimenting her appearance seemed like a safe bet. once more, devani's eyes sought ru's out, but she seemed determined to look anywhere that was not devani. "it's good to see you." if she wasn't so focused on keeping a smile on her face, devani would have winced at the utter drivel falling from her lips.

[thesolferino]

Blood Red

⤷ knight!dream x assassin!fem!reader.

— summary: technoblade hires you to kill sir dream at king george’s ball while he’s off duty; sir dream wants a dance with the peculiar lady wearing a peculiar gown.

A red gown flashes past the sea of white and baby pink ones in a dazzling fashion, one of a Duchess or a Countess, surely not of a simple lady, but it flies by quick, so quick that you simply don’t get to catch the face that matches it. Quick enough that it leaves you stunned, slow enough for a knight’s eagle eye to spot.

The red is dark, darker than the simple scarlet red that the women wore on top of their buns or at the ends of their braids in the form of carefully tied bows. It’s dark, a dark maroon red, walking the line between uncomfortably red and obviously brown finely, careful not to cross each side. It’s an unsettling red, which makes it even more intriguing, especially to a knight - a knight who dances, off-duty, but fails to keep his eyes on the Dame in front of him, and he’s sure it might’ve gotten him in trouble if the porcelain mask hadn’t stayed stapled on his face, shielding his eyes from betraying him.

The red is outstanding, eccentric amongst all the pale, and the knight isn’t the only one who steals a look - the red was noteworthy, among the rest, and wasn’t that what a killer like yourself was made to avoid? Getting seen, getting noticed? Being the center of attention was for the masterminds, after all, not the ones who get their hands dirty; somebody might catch them staining.

It was a bad idea, the ones in charge had said many times before, but you always wore red to the job. They always dumbly ask why, you always repeat the answer. The blood would become invisible, you said. It was as if nothing had happened, at all.

That’s why your maroon flashed amongst the sea of ivory and lavender unapologetically, beautifully shining against the blush pink tiles, matching red heels clacking in obedience with your footsteps, feet moving lightly, gracefully, as if made for such a setting.

And when the song decrescendoed into silence and the violins started moving in a different pattern, the knight callously let go of the Dame’s hand and his feet carried him to where his eyes remained fastened on for hours, pale hand outstretching to your own, finally getting to see your face for the first time in the evening.

The red was too much for a Lady, and that’s why he knew exactly who you were. Maybe not by name, or by age, but profession and motivation were a strong guess. He’d been waiting for this moment - might as well make the most of it.

“May I have this dance, miss?” He spoke, hand still hovering in the air calmly, as she stared dead into the mask, right where she could imagine his eyes were. The stare gave him the answer to an already solved question - your gaze gave away absolutely nothing, and that’s what made him sure of it all. You’re good at your job, he supposes.

Beats of silence pass as couples sway behind you, some more gracefully so than others. You set your hand in his, lightly, carefully, so timidly it almost made him rethink it all. How could such a hand commit such vile things?

“Alright.” You spoke in return, placing your hand behind his shoulder, touch still as soft as before before slipping your other hand in his, not letting your fingers intertwine the way he may have wanted them to. He placed his arm on your back, just below your armpit, beginning to dance and move towards the center of the ballroom.

“From what I’ve observed, you seem to be a good dancer.” He mused, stretching his hand to let you spin, gown flapping around as you did, and he could’ve sworn it might’ve left trails of stardust on the floor everywhere you stepped. You smiled, in a way that screamed at him to escape, but his hand stayed glued to yours, moving further.

“I know a couple of things here and there.”

“How come? Excuse me if I am being intrusive, but I have not seen you at many balls. At least not the ones I attend.” He knew exactly why this specific ball was the one she attended, and the whole conversation inevitably leads to the answer he’s already aware of - he just wants to see how good of a liar you are, though.

“This is my first time here. I’m not a woman of some importance.” You replied, charm beaming off you like rays of light off the sun, and Dream could almost feel his legs tripping after the very hem of your dress. He’s playing with fire, and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself and pour heaps of gasoline. He’s always been like that, and perhaps George hates him for it, but George doesn’t matter anymore - he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t look at him. He’s off duty, and if he wants to play with the fire that lights just to burn him, then he shall do exactly that.

“Oh, believe me, you are of utmost importance if I’ve ever seen some.” He says, and you reply with nothing, simply spinning another time under his arm that holds yours firmly. He takes it as an invitation to spark some panic in you.

“Besides, the color of your dress would suggest otherwise. How come a simple lady’s wearing such kitsch cloth?” Dream points out when the two of you move a bit farther back, led by you, and he’s just about impressed at how well you are at suppressing all of this, especially when you let out a perfectly timed, airy chuckle in response, not a single flash of fear or danger in your eyes. It’s the first time that night that he’s actually felt like prey. Techno taught you well, didn’t he?

“I don’t think you’re one to speak on that, Sir Dream.” you respond, eyes flashing from the collar of his basil green suit to the nicely paired olive points of his shoes, back to the hollow eyes of the mask with a mischievous glint in your eye. He exhales a laugh.

“The color is pretty, isn’t it? Aren’t simple ladies allowed to feel like Duchesses every once in a while?” you continue, pulling the two of you mere centimeters closer, enough for any of the passing guests not to spare a single look, and enough for him to notice what you’re doing. He can almost feel a bead of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Maybe he’s more scared of death than he thought.

“I don’t think you’re a simple lady.” He professed, following your lead. You were pulling him dangerously close to the south side, where the balcony stood. You were impressingly good at this. “Simple ladies don’t have knives strapped to their thigh.”

He waited for a slip up, and he got none. Not a single hitch in your breathing, a stutter of your tongue - your lips, marked with a red lipstick that suddenly looked a lot like smeared blood even though it wasn’t, simply stretched into another coy smile. You say nothing, simply keep dancing, feet moving in a little bit of a different direction now, as to delay the operation, and he likes to think that’s enough of a slip up.

“Are you scared of death, Sir Dream?” Violins stammer in staccatos behind him, an awful representation of the tension he knows both of you feel, yet not a single other soul in the room can behold. The back of his neck grows warmer, and maybe it’s fondness, maybe lust, or maybe danger and that known feeling of being the prey in this situation, that he taps in with one foot, the other safely yet artificially placed on predator territory, because he refuses to admit he’s no longer the one with the upper hand, and his leg has lifted off predator land long, long ago.

“My death will be nothing more than a false victory to you.” He offers instead of an answer, hips swaying to the music and steals a glance at the rest of the couples dancing. It’s such an airy atmosphere, so calm, casual yet fancy, elegant. Gowns fly around and snake around naked ankles, but none of them are as pretty as yours. Dream refuses to think about the way his blood would look soaking it, and that’s when it clicks. You’re not so dumb, after all.

“I suppose it will, but your murder will be a true one.” you say, and your feet are tapping on the tiles a few feet too close to the balcony. Dream feels crazy, still dancing like this. He feels crazy, and maybe he should ask for help, scream, but he doesn’t. He dances on, dancing until either the stars or you take him.

“Will you feel alive if I take it off? Will he be more satisfied?” His head moves comically, just to bring attention to the mask that feels so unbelievably tight and suffocating, the strings pressing to the back of his head, threatening to snap. He wants them to snap so badly.

“It’s too late for me to feel alive now. I’ve been dead for years, and I’ll stay that way. Whatever you want, though, honey.” Your voice feels more like music than the actual musing of the fuse of piano and strings in his ears, and he still feels crazy. He feels high on something he’s never known. You haven’t killed him yet - maybe you’re high as well.

“I can bring people back to life.” He replies simply, six simple words that are nothing more than conversation fuel, but they hold so much meaning that he can’t miss the glint in your eyes. Your step falters for a second, but the knight’s eagle eye never misses.

“You don’t want me alive, you want yourself alive.” You whisper, heels clacking louder and louder now. Dream is convinced he’s going insane, but his feet move at their own accord, of their own body and soul.

“I want both of us.”

“Only one gets to stay.” You say, and it doesn’t make his blood go cold like he expects it to. It’s sort of depressing to know that his heart accepted his morality so quickly, much quicker than his stubborn brain.

“I don’t think you want me to go, though.” It’s one hell of a ballsy move, but when you press your lips together, he knows he’s done it. Unsure how, but happy he did, nonetheless.

“I’m quite unsure of what I want, I must say. Sir Technoblade does, though.” You spit his name out, and it forces an unwilling laugh out of Dream.

“Be careful, it’s death you’re dancing with.” You say, gaze as fiery as ever, reflecting the blood of your dress and the blinding lights of the chandelier that light your eyes on fire. He returns the gaze just the same.

“May I get one last dance with Death, then, before she makes up her mind?” The knight cheekily smiles, even though you can’t see it, but he’s sure you feel it. Your hand manages to go warmer in his own when you grip it tighter, and he thinks he’s got his answer.

“You know what? Death’s a pretty good dancer, but so are you. She’ll allow it.”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 13

Hello friends we have come to the end of Cult Girl. Thank you all for hyping me up throughout this story and giving me the confidence to actually post my work. Y/n and Hannibal throw a dinner party.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the entire kitchen in that homey mid-morning glow. You were enjoying your coffee and scrolling through an article on your phone.

"Senator Hatch reportedly coughed up his late wife's toe on the floor of the precinct." You read out loud. "Huh. Wonder how that could have happened."

You side-eyed Hannibal, who was contentedly sharpening his knives. Placing a rather large meat cleaver to the side, he met your gaze. "I have my ways."

You finished off your coffee and brought the mug to the sink. "There was no way Theresa was going to survive that night, was there?"

"Clever girl." Hannibal praised.

"You were going to kill her if I didn't, were you?" You felt a smile coming on. "Did everything turn out as expected?"

"Darling, this all went much better than I could have ever hoped for." He smirked. "See, I had the whole evening mapped out. I was hoping you'd be the one to deliver justice and kill her, but I had to prepare for the possibility that you wouldn't."

You folded your arms and leaned against the island. "Is that why I was so sick that day?"

You could have sworn you saw some hesitation in Hannibal's face. Maybe even a touch of regret. "Yes. You needed an alibi. It was as easy as removing a single birth control pill from your packet. You'd see it was missing and think you'd already taken your medicine-"

"So I'd neglect to take my focus meds." You cut in. "Yeah, I knew something was off."

"By the end of the day, you'd be experiencing full withdrawal symptoms." Hannibal nodded. "I don't take any pleasure in upsetting the delicate balance of your brain chemistry, and for that I am sorry. I did what I had to."

"Yeah, don't ever do that again." You ordered, no disarming smile in sight. "I need those meds to function."

"I promise you, darling," Hannibal said, sincerely. "I would never keep you from being anything but your very best. I was just looking after you."

"I suppose now that all this is out in the open, you won't need to pull any shit like that again." You muttered. "But I'm still going to keep my pills at my apartment."

"That reminds me." He said. "Would you like to invite your roommates for dinner tonight? I've prepared a wonderful Spanish-inspired menu that's perfect for entertaining."

"I'd love for you to meet my friends, but, they all keep such weird hours I doubt they'll all be free tonight." You shrugged. "I'll give them a call though."

"Wonderful." He smiled. "You make arrangements while I prepare the kitchen."

You stepped into the office and called up Pilar. She answered within the minute.

"[F/N]!" She near shouted. "Holy fuck, how are you doing?"

"I'm actually doing..." you looked back into the kitchen, watching your beloved Hannibal in his element. "Really well."

"I heard about your cousin." Pilar cut in. "One down, two to go."

You snorted. "No fucking shit."

"Sorry, was that okay for me to say?" She apologized. "I know you said Theresa was a bitch, but it's your trauma and I-"

"No, you're fine." You laughed. "She was a bitch. Hey, do you have any plans tonight?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so." She answered. "Why?"

"Hannibal wants to invite you all for dinner tonight." You said with an audible smile. "Y'know, to celebrate the bitch's death."

"Yo! Steph!" Pilar shouted across the room. "Wake Randy up! We're having dinner at [F/N]'s rich boyfriend's house!"

You could make out Stephanie's voice in the background. "It's about damn time. We've been waiting for her to redistribute the wealth."

"She means thank you for the invitation." Pilar corrected.

"It's not like I had to twist his arm or anything. It was his idea." You chuckled. "He loves having guests. And excuses to dress up."

"Oh so we're getting fancy, huh?" Pilar's voice turned up in excitement.

"Hey [F/N]!" Randy snatched the phone from Pilar. "Text me the menu for tonight. My girlfriend'll steal a nice bottle of wine to pair. She's a pro, she works over at Cavatappi's wine and spirits."

"Much obliged, Randy." You said. "I'll see you guys at seven."

You returned to the kitchen with a smile. "They're coming."

"Well, we don’t have a moment to lose, then." Hannibal placed something wrapped in butcher paper on the counter. "Come now. Let me show you how to properly prepare a heart.

You and Hannibal spent the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon preparing a bountiful meal. You reveled in the irony of finally finding a space for Theresa in your life. That space just so happened to be on the stove.

Seven came far too quickly, but your friends were always a welcome sight. You greeted them at the door with hugs, Hannibal watching with stoic adoration.

"Guys, this is Hannibal Lecter, my partner." You introduced. "Hannibal, this is Pilar, Stephanie and Miranda."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies." Hannibal greeted. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

"Here you go, Dr. Lecter." Randy handed him a bottle of wine. "Thank you for inviting us."

Hannibal examined the bottle. "Yes, this will pair quite nicely with our meal. Thank you very much. [F/N], could you show our guests to the dining room?"

You nodded and accepted the bottle, given the extra responsibility of pouring. You led your friends to the dining room and wasted no time distributing the alcohol.

"A toast." Stephanie rose her glass. "Too many of history's worst have had the privilege of dying on their own terms. Today, we celebrate the death of one who didn't: Theresa [L/N]."

"She will join her sisters Nancy Reagan and Madame Nhu in hell tonight." You concurred, tapping your glasses together with a series of satisfying clinks.

"Okay, you need to spill." Randy scooted her chair up and leaned towards you. "How the hell did you get away with it?"

"Well, it helped a lot that her husband was already a felon." You teased. "If I didn't kill her, he was going to eventually."

Pilar made a face. "I can't believe it took actual murder to get that latter-day lump thrown in prison."

"Well, the LDS church is a very influential organization with a stronghold on all of Utah." You explained. "There's a long history of legitimizing sex abuse there."

"We know, cult girl." Stephanie laughed. "You remind us every time your pedophile cousin-in-law comes up. Relax and take your victories where you can get them.” 

“Ladies,” Hannibal entered. You rushed to his side to help him with the dinner plates. “Have we ever tried organ meat before?” 

Everyone’s eyes found Pilar. 

“Braised liver is delicious and you guys are just cowards.” Pilar protested. “I will die on this hill.” 

Hannibal smiled and presented your friends with their plates. “You are a woman of good tastes, Pilar. Our first course is Riñones al Jerez.” 

“Kidneys.” Randy translated. “Who’s kidneys are we eating today, Dr. Lecter?” 

He tilted his head. “Theresa’s, of course.” 

“I don’t care whose organs you harvested.” Stephanie said, her eyes rolling back into her head. “This is delicious.” 

You and Hannibal shared a glance and a smile. 

You and your roommates devoured the Riñones al Jerez, then dug into the next serving of heart stewed with chickpeas and olives. You finished off the evening with natillas de leche and a bottle of Sauternes Hannibal just happened to have lying around. 

“This is the first time since like, Keith Raniere got sentenced that I’ve seen [F/N] happy-drunk.” Stephanie observed.

“Or even just... happy." Pilar said, looking at Hannibal. "I'll have some of whatever she's having, please."

"My pleasure." Hannibal poured her another glass of wine.

Your phone began to buzz on the table, capturing the attention of your guests. You didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Nobody else in the world had such horrid timing.

"Shit, you've got to answer it here!" Stephanie pleaded. "So we can all give her a piece of our mind!"

You looked over to Hannibal, who you knew was just as curious.

You dragged the answer icon across the screen and put it on speaker. You gestured for your friends to be quiet. "Yeah?"

"Well look who finally decided to pick up." Grandma said. "Thank you for gracing me with your attention. I know you have so much going on right now, you're just too busy to pick up the phone and talk to your grieving grandmother."

"For your information..." you stumbled over your words. "I was interrogated by the police yesterday. I think that counts as having something going on."

"Are you drunk?" Her voice was laced with a disproportionate level of disgust.

"I'm grieving too, Beatrice." You counter. "What, suddenly you're the only one who can drink the pain away? That's not very democratic of you."

"In your state, you shouldn't even be thinking of alcohol!" Grandma scolded. "You of all people should know the effects alcohol has on an unborn baby."

You smacked yourself on the head. Of course Theresa would plant a seed to fuck you over one last time. "Did Theresa actually tell you I was pregnant?"

"It was her last message to me, actually. Anyway, you're coming home." Grandma said, without so much as waiting for a response. "I won't have my great grandchild living in that dangerous city that your cousin was killed in."

You exchanged looks with your friends, who were going through the same combination of emotions as you were. Grandma's words just seemed to fade out as you shared an entire nonverbal conversation with the people around you.

"And you're leaving that terrible, terrible man."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and looked at you, waiting to see how you'd respond. You knew what you had to do. It was finally time. You did something you should have done a long time ago.

"No." You said, your nerves loosened by the wine.

"What?"

"No. And I mean it." A big smile crossed your lips. "Theresa lied to you. I'm not pregnant. And you have to live with the fact that your granddaughter's last words to you were a blatant lie."

Hannibal looked at you with pride and your friends began to silently gas you up with encouraging gestures. "

"...And that you're the only one to blame for her deception." You continued. "You raised her in your own image."

"This is why I refuse to let you raise my great grandchild with that man!" She wailed. "He's twisted your mind against me! He's made you cruel!"

"Hannibal made me see clearly that you made me cruel." You said with absolute certainty. "You'll never see me again."

"Don't be like your mother, [F/N]." Grandma snarled. "Don't cut people out for trying to help."

"You'll never see me again." You repeated and decided to leave it at that. You ended the call and blocked the number, joined by an eruption of excitement from your friends.

It was finally over. Your life could truly begin.

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 8

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

High Valyrian is in cursive

You were listening intently to the conversations going on in the war room, so many faces that you wanted to remember, their names, their houses, their history, but for now you settled on staying silent and listening, “are you really sure we can discuss this around her?” your head snapped towards the accented voice, seeing a beautiful woman with olive skin, black hair and dark brown eyes, and you wanted to look to your mother for help, but decided that you couldn’t use her as a pillar forever “(Y/N) Targaryen, Lady…?” you couldn’t help your tone, you were not a little girl wearing a collar around her neck anymore, jumping at the slightest of sounds. You were still timid and childish with Daenerys and Missandei, because you knew you could afford it, but you didn’t know these people, they were allies of your mother, but you didn’t know them.

“Ellaria” she sounded tense as she responded, she probably hadn't known you were the daughter of Daenerys, but you merely nodded “well, Lady Ellaria, I would prefer that if you are done questioning who your Queen trusts, perhaps we could get back to planning the war we are currently in” you heard a short laugh, your eyes glancing to none other than Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, and the only living Tyrell left. “Are you sure you did not birthe her? She has the spirit of a dragon that one” Daenerys did everything to not smirk proudly at Olenna’s comment, and even Ellaria looked a bit surprised at your response “now… I agree that a foreign army would send the wrong signal, but an army from Westeros, it would show that we are not here to raid and pillage, the Dothraki will not do so unless their Khaleesi orders and my mother never will, the Unsullied are obedient and loyal, so they won’t either, but we need Westeros with us, and showing that their own houses are turning on Cercei is a good way to win quickly and without a lot of losses, on either side”, you studied the map as you spoke, unaware of the impressed looks everyone gave you, Tyrion being the first to speak up “well… I agree” you glanced at him and sent him a quick smile, one of the few smiles you had offered him, but you didn’t really know him either, so it was justified that you didn’t treat him, or Varys, as warmly as the rest of your mother’s allies.

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You stood impatiently besides Daenerys in the throne room, and Daenerys couldn’t help the amused glance she shared with Missandei “alright go, but change before you do!” you barely even heard the rest of her sentence, you were already off, heading towards your room. In record breaking time you changed from your formal dress to a special outfit you had made for you. You had been riding Rhaegal much more frequently, and today were the day of the arrival of Jon Snow, King in the North, and you had promised to stay for his arrival and then ride Rhaegal after, but you couldn’t help fidgeting, and were more than happy that Daenerys excused you. You put on your leather trousers, securing them with a harness that was connected to them, ensuring that they didn’t fall down, not even an inch, you had a tunic under your harness, pulling a shortened cloak over your shoulders and tying it to the harness, making sure the knots were tight, the cloak was warm but light, it reached just below your hips, but kept you warm. Next you threw on a pair of gloves made from cloth on the inside and leather on the outside, and then your boots, they were high, they almost reached your knees, and you pulled the laces tight, so they wouldn’t fall off during the flight.

Your room had an open balcony, just like Daenerys’, and you approached the edge, grinning widely as you waited. You couldn’t help the excited giggle you let out as you heard him roar as he came closer, and in a leap of faith you jumped off of the balcony, you let out a little huff as you landed on scales, and a few moments later you got a good grip, holding onto Rhaegal as you flew away from the castle, going high up and then soaring, admiring the landscape below, seeing a ship you presumed belonged to Jon Snow, you flew towards Drogon and Viseryon who were flying on the other side of the island. You could still just about watch Tyrion greet Jon Snow, and saw them making their way towards the entrance.

A wicked smile grazed your lips as you got an idea, and somehow Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal knew what your plan was, Rhaegal let out an ear shattering roar as you held on tightly, flying towards Tyrion and the two men he were leading up the long stone staircase. You leaned forward as you flew closer to the ground, Rhaegal barely managing to not hit the small people below, something that made you laugh loudly and you couldn’t help but cheer, Tyrion seeing you on Rhaegal as you waved at him, and you could see him shake his head, but you also knew of the smile he tried to hide, he was probably telling Jon that he himself wasn’t used to the presence of the dragons.

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You heaved heavily as you ran into the throne room, your hair wild from the wind, your chest rising dramatically as you tried to catch your breath, standing besides Daenerys who did her very best to not smirk at you proudly, instead she tried to look as regal as ever, waiting patiently for this, Jon Snow, to arrive.

Rhaegal had barely managed to throw you off on the open balcony you jumped out of earlier, you almost bumped into a few tables on your way to the throne room, a fact that made you smile amused before trying to hide it. “Well, at least you made it back in time” her words could be mistaken as scolding, but you knew her better, and you couldn’t help the breathless giggle you let out “think I scared an inch or so off of Lord Tyrion” Daenerys let out a short, although quiet, laugh at your comment, shooting you a very poor attempt of a scolding gaze before looking back towards the large doors at the end of the throne room, making you straighten your back, your smile faltering and your hands placed in front of yourself, as you always did when you had attended any court meeting.

You watched the two strangers as Missandei went down the list of titles that your Queen had acquired along the way, something you took great pride in, she was your mother after all.

“And this is (Y/N) Targaryen, daughter of Queen Daenerys Stormborn, princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the throne” Missandei finally ended, and the two men looked at you confused, giving you the impression that they didn’t know that much about your mother, and therefore you, they had probably only heard rumours, lies or other falsehoods, and therefore didn’t know of your existence, which was probably not a bad thing. You had heard of how the usurper King Robert Baratheon had sent assassins to kill Daenerys, even while she was pregnant, so who says they wouldn’t have been sent after you, back then nothing more than a little girl, had the usurper's children heard of your existence, and Daenerys’ love for you. You were snapped out of your day dream as Daenerys got up, approaching Jon Snow and his adviser, and first now you tuned in on their conversation, a small frown resting on your brows, hearing her words, but you couldn’t deny the pride it gave you, despite hearing all that she had suffered, “I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing, through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any god, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries, until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will, and so will my daughter.” Her gaze turned to you for a brief moment and you smiled proudly, one she proudly returned before turning back to Jon Snow.

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You frowned as you watched your mother study the map in silence, you wanted to say something, you really did, but what could you say? The Iron Fleet was gone, Yara and Ellaria had been taken prisoner and Jon Snow refused to bend the knee and instead only wants to hack away at some mysterious stone somewhere in a cave on the island, claiming that an army of undead people and giants are the true enemy.

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips, you being the only one to actually make a sound in the entire map room “maybe…” you dared a glance at your mother, not that you feared her, but more that you knew of the thin ice you were balancing on “maybe you should just let him mine this… ‘dragonglass’... it means nothing to you after all” Daenerys looked to you slowly, and for a second everyone in the room were praying to whoever and whatever that you hadn’t crossed a line, but when you received no response, you continued, “you didn’t know it was there, no one did… there are two options here, either he’s right, in which it doesn’t hurt you or your army or your dragons to comply, or he’s mad, and it won’t hurt you, your army or your dragons either. There’s no outcome here where anything bad is an outcome, you complying will also show that yes, you are to be feared, but you are also complying and reasonable, and allowing one man, one person to mine something of no value is a sign that you are with the people of Westeros” there was another second of silence, but eventually Daenerys smiled at you, walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek, looking at you with a proud look in her eyes before walking off.

“Where is she going?” Tyrion looked at you baffled and confused, but you simply shrugged “to allow Jon Snow to mine the Dragonglass” you leaned over the map table, studying the different areas, looking at the different highlighted places, such as King’s Landing, Winterfell, all the places you’ve only ever read about, you couldn't wait to see them for real.

[aftgficrec]

First, I LOVE what you are doing, thank you so much.

Second: any that focus on the baby foxes—aside from just Neil punching Jack?

All the older foxes have stories that go more into their character, we can see why they are assholes (and almost excuse them). Any for the baby foxes (particularly Jack) like this?

Alternatively, any where the older foxes are held accountable for their asshole actions? (Andrew forcing Aaron’s withdrawal, the chocking incident, the speedballs, Matt’s attacking Kevin for stuff that isn’t his fault, Nicky’s kissing Neil, Andrew’s drugging of anyone he considers suspicious, etc.)

Ok, so Robin Cross and Jack are future foxes discussed in Nora’s extra content. Robin has some in-depth fics written about her backstory, most notably the true crime podcast AU ‘Red Rabbits: Season 2,’ below. We found a bit of Jack’s past in ‘Lessons In Cartography’ (chapters 19 and 20), and a bit of Robin’s in sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ (chapters 8 and 13), find both here.

I’ve also got some accountability fics for you. - A

Robin & Jack:

fics featuring the freshmen here

Jack and Sheena being assholes here

Neil fights with Jack here

‘pick up all the pieces (and what’s left of my pride)’ here

‘Red-Breasted Fox’ here

og foxes held accountable:

Confrontations about demisexuality/Andrew's soullessness here

Foxes feel guilty about Andrew here

New finds for Nicky kissing Neil here; master list here

Andrew apologizes to Kevin here

you may also like:

some with Jean reacting to Kevin’s role at the nest: ‘playing on’ and ‘Staring at the Sun’ (updated) here; ‘give your tears to the tide’ here

‘creature of habit’ here (fix-it fic for Nicky’s character)

Aaron’s ptsd from withdrawal here

in-depth fics for Robin Cross

Teaching a caged bird to fly series by Charcoalll [Rated T/M, Collection with 4 complete works, Last Updated Sept 2021]

Part 1: Sunrise over Home [M (we say T), 7870 Words]

Robin Cross is regretting ever signing with the Foxes more and more every day. But when a disastrous day at court leads to emotions culminating, she has a much needed talk with her coach. Turns out her recrutation wasn't as random as she thought, but why would Andrew Minyard off all people have an interest in her?

No matter what, it all ends on that cursed roof at midnight.

tw: violence, tw: negative self talk, tw: bullying, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced csa

Part 2: Guilt, Fault and Blame [T, 9093 Words]

Whatever that night at the roof meant, it changed Robin's life rather quickly. On the edge of a life she never thought she could have, she has to make some thought decisions.

What is Andrew's true intentions?

What does he want with her?

And is Steven still in controll of her from his prison cell halfway cross country?

Or; Robin begins driving with the monsters from practice and suddenly everything changes.

tw: anxiety, tw: drugs, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced murder of a child

Part 3: Never felt Safer [T, 3465 Words]

Robin finally earned Andrew's attention. Now she's standing in front of the biggest changes her life has seen, but as it seems it's only for the better.

tw: violence

Part 4: Secret Privacy [M (we say T), 15790 Words]

5 times Robin saw the emotions others seemed blind to, and 1 time it was painfully obvious.

Or Andrew and Neil through Robin's eyes.

tw: alcohol, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: slurs

Red Rabbits: Season 2 by bloodydamnit, jeni182 [Rated E, 282064 words, complete, 2020]

You’re listening to Season Two of Red Rabbits, the Case of the Newark 9. My name is Robin Cross. I’m number 8. And I survived.

Disclaimer: This season is dark. We won't pretend it's not. It's dark and it's not for the faint of heart, but we really tried to make every single action we take justified. Nothing that is tagged under abuse or otherwise is current and it is in no way detailed, whatsoever. We really took every reference seriously and there will be a list of triggers before every single chapter. It's part of the reason why getting this story out took so long. We want you all to know we have been double and triple checking ourselves to make sure every topic in this Season is handled properly. If there are any questions, please message us via the links in the AN of ch 1.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: referenced kidnapping, tw: referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: scars, tw: implied violence

accountability

cause and effect by clarodelune [Rated G, 2682 Words, Complete, 2020]

cause-and-effect [ kawz-uh nd-i-fekt, -uh n- ]

adjective

1. the principle of causation.

2. noting a relationship between actions or events such that one or more are the result of the other or others.

or: in which andrew understands actions have consequences and that losing kevin might just be one of them.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced non-consensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd

hand over hand series by lackingsoy [Rated T, Collection, 4 complete works, Last Updated August 2020]

Part 1: the deal's done [4091 Words]

"Does it hurt," Allison's voice was bleak.

"What do you think," Kevin replied, somehow managing to sound steady despite his closed throat.

Allison looked at him, eyes remarkably cool for someone who went toe to toe with Seth and other despicable players. "I think," she said, lips popping on the last word: "You, Kevin Day, are heartbroken."

Five fingers, one promise, and the end of a lifeline. Post-hotel scene, the long hours after but before Neil gets picked back up by the Foxes, wherein Kevin stares into the face of his wounds, Allison extends an olive branch, and Renee decides, in the privacy of her own mind, to stop playing mediator.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Part 2: domestic bliss [4251 Words]

It was a vindictive, vicious sort of triumph, Kevin supposed, that made him turn his face to meet Andrew’s gaze. To rear his head just a little, bare his throat. A steady dark line, marred and patented.

Abuse aftermath is seen to seriously by Wymack and Abby; consequences are left in the hands of the Foxes; and a few finally make unprecedented moves. Kevin just wants to die, so maybe nothing's different. (Except it is; has to be.)

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced violence

Part 3: you asked for this (he didn't; you spat in the face of him) [1326 Words]

“You were supposed to be better,” Renee said. “For him.”

“That was never the deal,” Andrew told her.

Re: the loud crash. What actually happened when Renee sought out the Monster(s).

tw: violence

Part 4: a minor inconvenience, a smaller promise [1022 Words]

Aaron looked like he wanted to die this time. His shoulders shifted side to side, uncertain and uncomfortable. But his eyes were very clearly honed on the discoloring still visible on Kevin's neck, Allison's intensive powdering long washed off, and the darkness that passed over his eyes could've been misinterpreted for anger and maybe stupider still, regret.

tw: implied/referenced violence

Like Damned Guilty Deeds by EmilyScarlett [Rated M, 1679 words, complete, 2017]

The first time Jean and Kevin train together again after the events of the books.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety

[sweatergirlsposts]

Imagine Being Part of The Wolf Pack and Imprinting on Carlisle (Oneshot)

(A/N: Back by demand here is a longgggg oneshot of this imagine. I’m a little rusty, but I hope you all like it)

Ever since you turned, life had gotten lonelier for you. Living the pack life meant separating yourself from your closest friends and finding only solace in your brothers and sister in the pack, but it wasn’t always enough. No one could know your secret, especially your mother. 

Your mother thought all the stories about turning into wolves was entertaining for children, but to ponder on them as adults was a waste of time. Your father was a Quileute while your mother was a resident of Forks. Your father never turned or imprinted but he did fall in love with your mother and stayed on the La Push reservoir until he died. 

You turned when you found out the news of your father’s mysterious death. The police described it as an accidental fall off a cliff, but you knew your father wouldn’t even be near a cliff, for he had an intense fear of heights. According to a police report, that you stole, they found long wavy auburn strands on his body. Your mother’s first thoughts were that your father probably had an affair, but you also knew that your father wouldn’t even dream about being with any women other than your mother. Least to say, your hypothesis was that your father was murdered.  

Still living in La Push, you come up with excuses to your mother of why you’re always out late and how your friends with everyone in the pack. She thinks it’s weird but tells you that if it gets out of hand then she will ban you from leaving the house. You didn’t see the point seeing as were an adult, but you let her say whatever made her feel comfortable.

Currently, everyone in the pack were getting ready to go train with the vamps, or more formally known as the Cullens. 

You only knew/heard of their family and individual names in passing, whenever Sam or Jacob would rely a thought through the pack connection. One name that you heard all time was Bella Swan, the human girl whom you’ve briefly met, that was involved with them. Everyone in the pack would always recoil at the thought of Bella and Edward, her Vampire significant other, being together. You could give less of a care in the world. The only thing you cared about was if they were to kill another human or if they passed into your land.

“Get ready to head out,” Sam yelled who stripped down to his skimmies like everyone else. To say that you go through a lot of undergarments in a week was an understatement. 

“(Y/N), you take behind the pack,” Sam ordered. Sam trusted you to keep the pack safe from behind, seeing that you were just as strong as himself and Paul. 

“Yes Sam,” you responded with compliance waiting for everyone else to turn before you did. 

You changed thinking of the only thing that could make you enraged, the death of your father. Bursting from your human form, came forth your wolf form. You were covered in thick dark grey fur with highlights of white that reflected when the sun hit it just right.  

‘Let’s go’  is all Sam said through the connection as Jacob howled to let the Cullens know that you all were coming.

Apparently according to Sam and Jacob, the Cullens had offered an olive branch because they need your help to take down a common enemy, rouge vampires. These vampires were coming after Bella and therefore were breaking the treaty of harming humans and would get the punishment the tribe saw fit for this conflict; to be put to death. One of the vampires of their coven, Jasper you believed his name was, said that they could train you to fight against these vampires, for his prior experience with some.

‘What is the point in meeting up with those bloodsuckers! What can they teach us that we don’t already about killing their kind.’ Paul sneered through the connection as you ran as a pack to the meeting spot.

‘It’s not about what they can teach us, it’s about keeping treaty and protecting our people, even if it means working with them for short amount of time’ Sam growled with his hackles raising to assert his dominance. 

Sam was the first to make it over the hill to the clearing the Cullens agreed to meet up at. Still in a protective approach, one by one the pack emerged from the brush. Since you were last, Sam expected that you would circle the perimeter to make sure that there were no unexpected guests.

“They don’t trust us enough to be in their human forms,” you heard from a soft masculine, almost throaty voice, as you soon finished your circle around the area. 

“They came. That’s what matters” said another voice that sounded silky and comforting. You shake the ghost chill that ran through your fur giving you goosebumps as you made your way up the hill.

“Will you translate?” asked the second voice before the first protested.

“Hold on there’s another one coming up the hill,” the voice sensed your approach making it’s way atop of the hill. Finally showing yourself, you observed the clearing in which everyone would practice in.

Your eyes came across each Cullen and Bella. One by one, you surveyed how each one looked with what you assumed to be their companion, until your eyes stopped on who you assumed was their leader that stood in front of your group. 

And in that moment you could feel you heart almost drop out of your body. Your head became overwhelmed and dizzy as if you had rolled down a hill and you were trying to find your equilibrium to stand. Something flowed through your veins, stronger than hormones and more numbingly intoxicating than morphine. As soon as the feeling came hitting you like you ran into a brick wall, it disappeared. 

You knew what you did and oh boy did you regret it. You imprinted on the angelic blond vampire in front of your whole pack and they felt it through the connection.

The vampire with Bella turned his head towards you with a taken aback look but also one of understanding. It was like he was reading your mind. He looked back and forth between you and ‘him’    

‘Oh fuck’ is all you thought after imprinting on the vampire.

“Carlisle we might have a situation,” informed ‘Bella’s’ vampire to ‘him’ while still staring at you before letting him say anything. 

Before you knew what was happening, Sam jumped atop of you knocking you onto your back.

‘YOU IMPRINTED ON ONE OF THEM!!’  Sam ferociously barked in your face, ready to attack in case you resisted.

‘Disgusting!’ yelled another through the connection.   

‘I can’t control it Sam, you of all people know that’ you whimpered meekly. Considering that you usually had a strong demeanor, you’ve never felt so vulnerable and powerless within your time being in the pack. 

“Hey!” called Bella’s vampire, “Let them go, they can’t control it”

You took advantage of this distraction and pushed Sam off of you. Once freed, for a mere moment, Sam caught you by the leg and punctured it with his massive teeth. 

Letting out a yelp at the sudden pain to your hind leg, you donkey kicked Sam in the face with your other leg and ran away limping. You couldn’t believe what Sam just did to you. You needed air, you needed space from your pack, and from him.

All your instincts told you to turn around to be near your imprint, to protect the bewitchingly good looking vampire from your pack in case, but you couldn’t be near him. The shame that your stupid wolfy senses put upon your shoulders was too much to bare right now. All you wanted right now was be alone with your thoughts and to go get help for your leg.

Meanwhile in the clearing, all but one vampire was very confused at what went down.  

“What just happened?” Bella asked being the first one to verbalize everyone else’s thoughts

“They imprinted on Carlisle,” Edward stated confound, “The one that Sam attacked”  

No one was more surprised than Carlisle. He didn’t really know how to take it, especially if the feelings were coming from one of the people they had a treaty with. One thing he knew for sure was he needed to check on you, if that bite got infected while your out in the forest it was going to cause you a lot damage to your human self. 

Reading Carlisle’s mind, Edward knew that he was coming along to track and translate once you were found. 

Carlisle turned to Jasper, “You continue you to show them how to take care of the newborns, Edward and I will be back soon.”

Leaving the clearing, Carlisle followed Edward so he could track your mind to find you. 

You laid on the river bank, still in your wolf form and bleeding from your back left leg. This river was the one that your father would take you to go fly fishing in when you were a kid. It was the river in between the land of both the Cullen’s and the Quileute’s, but the part you were at was far enough down that the pack wouldn’t hear your thoughts from there. 

The pain from your leg hurt like a bitch. You were so livid with not only Sam and the pack, but yourself. 

‘How could you be so stupid to imprint on one of them?!’ you thought to yourself, ‘Of all people and creatures, it had to be the people that your people were sworn enemies to! The pack will never want me back’ 

Trying to distract yourself from your mind, you tried ‘cleaning’ your wound with your tongue as disgusting as it sounds. 

Edward could hear your thoughts of pain as you tried ‘cleaning’ the bite. Werewolf blood was in a way revolting like the smell of them. The blood was still edible but unnecessary to the vampire diet. Both Carlisle and himself, arrived at the edge of the tree line where you couldn’t see them.

“Let’s try not to scare them off. By the substantial smell of blood, if they keep straining the wound, they’re going to pass out soon,”  Carlisle smelt the aroma lingering in the air, “I think you should go first to talk to them Edward”

You could smell that someone else was there. Vampire with possibly more vampires. You try standing up in case you have to defend yourself but stumble backwards.

“Easy (Y/N)” you whip your head to find Bella’s vampire walking towards you slowly from 10 feet away, “I’m Edward, and I’m here to help”

You wondered how he knew your name but remembered that his kind had special gifts, you assumed his was mind reading.

‘I don’t need your help, I need to be alone right now please,’ you growled lowly as a warning.

“I can’t let you do that, especially if you’re bleeding that much,” he said gesturing to your injured leg and how the thick substance spilled from it matting your fur. 

‘There’s more of you here, I smell someone else’

“I brought someone that could help your leg. I brought Carlisle, he’s the one you imprinted on”

You let his roll around in your mind. It sounded like the name of someone who belonged to bloodline of  royalty. Edward smirked reading how you played around with Carlisle’s name. 

Starting to feel the blood loss, you fall down into a laying position on your side.

“Carlisle!” Edward called over to his adoptive father as he watched you fall to the ground

Catching your breath, you felt two presences over your form, Edward by your muzzle while Carlisle was by your leg analyzing it.

“They’re losing a lot of blood. We’re going to have to get them to turn back so we can wrap a tourniquet around their leg,” Carlisle relays to Edward before turning to you, “I’m going to need you to revert back so I can help you”

You looked into his amber eyes. Even though his colour was similar to Edward’s and the rest of the Cullens, you could see that his had matured longer to be that certain colour. It was like first day break rays hitting rich honey. 

‘I will be nude if I change back. Can I have a cover of some sort?’

“Carlisle, (Y/N) would like to use your jacket to cover up when they turn, if that’s okay they asked” 

Carlisle had no objection there, as a doctor he had seen everything but he understood that you would like to cover any and all modesty. He took off his jacket and placed it over your large form. 

You calmed down and slowly felt yourself shrink back into your human body with the jacket, thankfully, covering enough of your skin. Edward held your head above the rocks, trying to keep you awake. Carlisle took off his blue crew neck sweater, leaving him in a white undershirt, and made the tourniquet on your upper thigh above the teeth gash on your inner and outer thigh. The blood soaked through the sweater but Carlisle didn’t care, his main concern was getting you some where to stitch you up.   

“We should take them back to the house. Edward call Alice to tell them to stay out of the house for a couple hours”

Finally looking to your face, Carlisle had to stop for a second to take you in. Your features were soft yet seemed like they were chiseled in a likeness to statues he had seen in his time with the Volturi. There was only one word that came to how he felt when it came to looking at you in your human form. 

Alive

As if a shock of electricity flowed through him, and jump started his heart he  could see why you imprinted on him. If he was your imprint then you were his ‘true’ mate. 

Similarly to imprinting, when Vampires find their ‘true’ mates an eternal romantic bond is formed, it cannot be broken, and it can be anyone. Esme and himself acted as partners for many years as to not draw attention from the locals, for it would be suspicious that two individuals would raise six adopted children. He too had been lonely for over the last three and a half centuries but he would have never suspected that you, a shapeshifter, would be his true mate. 

Again for the second time today, Edward was astonished but had to stay composed enough for Carlisle and to not drink your blood.

“We should get them back Carlisle,” Edward broke Carlisle’s train of thought back to the fact you were indeed bleeding out. Edward moved away a couple steps so he could get out his phone and call Alice.

“I’ll send you the money for your dry cleaning,” you said to Carlisle, wearily trying to stay conscious.

“No need to do that (Miss/Mr/Mx) (Y/N). Edward and I are going to take you back to our house to give you stitchs”

“I would like that very much,” you slurred feeling the effects of blood loss before falling into unconsciousness.

Carlisle scooped you up into his arms. In perfect contrast, your form burned and he was frigid to the touch. It was comfortable for once not being the temperature of a blast furnace for you, and him to not feel like glacier to others.

Meeting your imprint was far from how some of the pack described meeting their’s, especially with all the blood and confusion. Eventually, you knew that you’d forgive Sam for what he did to you. And he and the pack would come to a place of understanding for their feelings about you and your imprint. For now, you knew while floating in between being conscious or unconscious in the doctors arms, that you’ll never feel truly lonely ever again.

MASTERLIST

(Request are open! Gif Source Unknown)

[invncibleiron]

@murder-popsicle continued from here 

“Why would you help?” Bucky asked, taking a sip from her flask before turning her attention back to her left arm, which was resting on the table with two of its access hatches open, revealing the malfunctioning servo that she’d spent the past three days trying and failing to repair. She couldn’t even move her left thumb anymore, and while she did have the skills necessary to perform basic maintenance on her prosthesis, whatever had broken this time was starting to look like it was beyond her ability to repair.

But she wasn’t going to go to Tony for help. He wouldn’t even look at her these days, and she did her best to avoid being in the same room as him, not wanting to inflict her presence on him when it so clearly caused him pain.

“I did somethin’ terrible to you,” she said, poking at a clump of wires. “You can’t even look at me, and I don’t blame you. Hell, I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me out. I’d’ve thrown me out, if I was you. You’ve already done way more for me than you should’ve. I’m not gonna press you for additional help. You don’t owe me shit.”

She’d very nearly left the Tower entirely after her confession, when Tony had locked himself in his workshop for three days and not come out. Surely, she’d thought, surely he would feel better if his parents’ murderer wasn’t living in his Tower anymore. But Steve had talked her out of it, pointing out that she had nowhere else to go and telling her that if Tony wanted her to leave, he would have said so. That hadn’t made much sense to her -- why wouldn’t he want her gone? -- but she trusted Steve, and Steve knew Tony better than she did. So she stayed, but she’d done her best over the past few weeks to keep herself away from Tony.

He didn’t need any more reminders of what she’d done.

It was Steve that mentioned Bucky’s arm. He hadn’t asked him to fix it, hadn’t even hinted at it. But he knew Tony, and he knew what would work. He’d handed him a reason, an excuse to finally face Bucky, shown Tony something he could fix. As far as Tony was concerned, he’d take a mess of wires over an olive branch any day. Mechanics made sense. Part A goes into part B. He cold do that. He wanted to do that. Anything to get out of his own head. 

When Tony had first gotten the news--when Bucky admitted what she’d done, what she’d remembered--a static had rose in Tony’s brain that hadn’t quite gone away yet. The rage came first, cycling through layers of grief and confusion before settling into a numb haze. He’d like to have said he handled it maturely--he knew she’d been brainwashed, knew none of it was her fault--but all he could do was walk away and thank his lucky stars he hadn’t hit something. Or her. 

He’d needed time. Time to fight past the emotion and get logical, to be a scientist and not the scared teenager who got the news from Nick Fury that his parents had died. It was the 16th of December--not close enough to Christmas for him to feel any sort of regret that they weren’t home (not that Howard always came home for Christmas anyway)--and a few days away from winter break. He’d been finishing his exams at MIT. On the 17th, he was going home until the New Year. He couldn’t say he was looking forward to it: it would be two weeks of arguing with his dad, but at least he’d see his mom. 

And he did get to see her. But this time, it was in a coffin. 

They’d put her in her favorite dress. 

They’d told him it was a car accident. He might never stop missing her, but that case had been closed. Tony had bought out the car company and fixed their breaking system, made sure the “accident” that killed Howard and Maria Stark never happened to anyone else. Well, he thought, at least that was still true: the cars were still safe. That was something at least. 

So he’d come out of the lab eventually. But the lab was safer. In there, he could blast his music so loud he couldn’t think. He could tinker on every half finished project in his arsenal and pretend he didn’t want a drink. He could watch old news clips of his mom’s tight smile, ever gala or charity event where she was clearly as uncomfortable as he was, and he could pretend he didn’t want a drink. He could ignore Steve’s knocking on the door and pretend he really, really didn’t want a drink. 

Now, he watched Bucky sip from the flask and felt the thirst down to his bones, a physical ache. But he was almost glad for it. That monster--fighting that monster, knowing how close to the precipice he was to ruining his own life --was easier to face than that old wound, easier than missing his mom. Missing him. He didn’t want to miss Howard. But he did. He always did. 

He picked up the arm and held it up to the light. It wouldn’t take very long to fix. A couple of repairs and he could leave, go back to pretending Bucky didn’t exist. But he wasn’t sure he wanted that. He’d built up a million things he wanted to say to her, but now that they were face to face, now that he could see how hard she was taking it, that anger all fizzled out, leaving nothing but a deep ache in its wake. 

“I know I don’t owe you. I’m not going to fix it because I owe you. I’m going to fix it because I’m a mechanic, and it’s a mechanical issue, and because I can.” He sat down next to her and dropped the toolbox he’d brought with him onto the table. It hadn’t occurred to Tony to throw her out. This was her home now. He’d offered her a place in the tower, and he’d meant it. He had stopped thinking of the tower as his a long time ago: he wasn’t going to take a home away from anyone who needed it, no matter what his personal feelings might be. So he got to work. Without looking up from the task, he added, “The tower is your home as long as you want it to be.” 

Another beat of silence, reaching into the box for a different tool. “It wasn’t you,” he said quietly. “It was the Winter Soldier, not you. I know the difference.” He was trying to know the difference, had been telling himself that on repeat since he’d gotten the news. Logically, it was easy. Emotionally? Well, he was working on that. 

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)

Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

nah.

Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.

Ha.

Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.

There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass. 

Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.

“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.

Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper. 

There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.

She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.

It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape. 

She can’t keep making mistakes. 

Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.

Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks. 

Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.

Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.

What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery? 

When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.

Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing. 

She opens the curtain.

Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.

“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.

“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

“How is that possible?”

“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”

“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.

There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

“Get out of here.”

His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind. 

Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate. 

Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.

Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face. 

“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches. 

“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.

When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”

“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.

“You’re a liar.”

Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”

“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this. 

“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.

“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”

“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”

Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”

Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”

Ven rolls his eyes.

“In the communal shower.”

He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”

Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.

“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”

Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.

Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.” 

At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time? 

Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack. 

“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.

Kiss.

A word as loud as a volcano erupting. 

Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.

Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.

Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.

Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.

“It’s just a sock, Terra.”

Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.

“Call me stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn.”

She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.

Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.

Shit.

Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.

He opens his mouth to say something.

Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”

“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap. 

Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?

“It was an accident, Terra.”

He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”

“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake. 

That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it. 

Shit. 

Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.

“Terra?”

He hesitates. “Yeah?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.

“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”

Her cheeks burn harder. 

“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.” 

The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.

“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”

All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.” 

“So the mud—?”

“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”

“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.

Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”

“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.

The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”

Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal. 

When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes. 

Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.

“What was that?” he whispers.

Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.” 

“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.

“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.

“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”

Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”

Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”

“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”

“No.”

Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too. 

“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”

“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter. 

“What were you doing?”

“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.

“Typical Aqua.”

At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.

There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.

They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No, wait, I’m helping you—”

“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”

“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”

“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms. 

“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away. 

Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.

Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.

She gets tapped on the head. 

“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.

Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.

And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.

Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand. 

Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”

Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”

They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”

“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”

Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him. 

Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world. 

It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.

Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.

Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”

They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.