#this has all been said countless times but i feel it so strongly nonetheless

[painfully-unoriginal]

music truly is the pinnacle of human connection that transcends space and time, people’s thoughts and experiences and emotions put to sound ....... if you have sung along to the same songs as me, cried to the same songs i have, blasted the same songs with ur friends etc, we are connected in a meaningful way despite the fact that we may never meet or even speak to each other. thru music, none of us are ever alone

[iliveiloveiwrite]

How To Stop Time: Touch

Request: Please could you do a soulmate au where time stops when solemates touch for the first time with draco 💞

A/N: Another soulmate AU and for Draco? It’s like you’re treating me, I swear. You must know how much of a sucker I am for this man. Thank you so much for requesting this, nonnie! I hope I’ve done it justice! <3

Warnings: swearing - it’s a load of fluff and me waxing lyrical about the history of soulmates... again.

Word count: 2.1k

The magic surrounding the tale of soulmates is so powerful that it is said time stops when soulmates finally touch.

The eldest witches and wizards in the magical community believe that in response to the muggle witch hunts across history, and particularly, the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the soulmate bond was created as a way for witches and wizards to identify their other half without the risk of increased danger.

To tiny witches and wizards, they grow up on this tale. They relish in the belief that their love for their soulmate is so powerful that time will stop once they touch; spurred on by the tales of their parents and grandparents before them who had found their soulmate in the other. Across the world, tiny witches and wizards curl up in their bed, dreaming of how time will stop the moment they find their soulmate.

-----

As you progressed in your education at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, countless numbers of your friends found their soulmates. Each of them bounding up to you giddily as they each explained how time stopped the moment they touched their soulmate, and how it felt like time would always stop whenever they looked at them.

As you entered your seventh year and you still hadn’t found your soulmate, you began to question whether you had one. For a small percentage of the wizarding population, they did not have a soulmate, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – those without a soulmate felt the freedom of being able to choose who they loved and who they dedicated their life to. However, as a teenager watching their friends fall in love around them, you were desperate to know if you had one.

Sure, you had crushes. The longest one being on the blonde-haired Malfoy heir, and the part of you that dreams at night, wonders whether it could be him for it seemed that he hadn’t found the person that made time stop for him either.

-------

To say you were frustrated would be an understatement.

NEWT exams were rapidly approaching yet you felt no more confident with your potions ability than you did at the beginning of the year. You had barely scraped by to get into Slughorn’s Advanced Potions class but scrape by you did and now you find yourself questioning why you had ever taken the class.

Not to mention the fact that your soulmate was still to make an appearance. Your closest friend, Sam had found his soulmate in a Ravenclaw boy named James – they were lovely together, but the anxiety of not having found your soulmate as well as the upcoming exams diminished your happiness for them.

They comforted you; promising that you would find your soulmate soon and that you would pass your exams without fail. And though they tried their hardest, you found it hard to believe them.

Instead, you take matters into your own hands, pushing all thoughts of soulmates and your lack of one to the back of your mind as you approach Professor Slughorn after class in which a practical had gone drastically wrong. He agreed to help; promising he would call on you when he found it.

You left the classroom feeling somewhat at ease with his words. You may not have found your soulmate, but you’ll be damned if you don’t pass your exams.

Professor Slughorn calls on you on a Thursday evening; sending a note with a first year to your common room asking you to join him in his classroom. You head straight there, pulling on a jumper as you leave the common room.

“Miss (Y/L/N), thank you for joining us.” Professor Slughorn greets as you enter the classroom, taking in the sight of him and Draco Malfoy.

“Of course, Professor.” You say, sitting in the empty seat next to Draco.

Slughorn smiles at the two of you, “You approached me at the end of our last lesson, Miss (Y/L/N), asking for extra help with Potions, is that right?”

“I did, sir.”

“I spoke to Draco after we had our conversation, and he’s more than happy to tutor you, isn’t that right?”

Draco crosses a leg over the other, “It is. I’m more than happy to help.”

Slughorn claps his hands together, pleased at the fact that he’s sorted this between you both. “I’ll leave my classroom free for you both on Saturday, that way you won’t be disturbed.”

You stand from your seat, smiling at the professor and Draco. “Thank you.” You look at Draco, “I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you leave Slughorn’s classroom.

-----------

Saturday arrives, and you hold back a yawn as you push open the door to Slughorn’s classroom. The chill of the morning and your residual tiredness has you pulling the sleeves of your cardigan down to cover your hands; hoarding any warmth possible.

“I know it’s early, but I went to the kitchens and the Elves were more than happy to wrap us up some warm pastries and give a flask of tea.” Draco greets.

He holds out a small cup of tea, steam still rising. You take it from him, letting the warmth fill your hands and then flow through your body as you take that first sip.

“Thank you, Draco.” You say, taking a bite of the breakfast pastry, moaning softly at the taste of butter and jam.

Draco smiles as he takes a bite of his own. “I thought we’d follow Slughorn’s curriculum, so we aren’t missing anything out. That means we start with Amortentia, is that okay?”

You nod, continuing to eat your breakfast.

Draco smirks, “Besides, it means I get to find out if you have a crush on anyone.”

You snort, “It goes both ways, I believe, Draco. I get to see if you have a crush too.”

Draco laughs, blushing lightly. He potters around the classroom, gathering the ingredients as you sip your tea. Watching him, you realise how attractive Draco truly is. Once you got past the hard exterior; removed the mask he so often wore, he was soft and gentle.

You had always harboured a small crush on the teenager titled the Slytherin Prince. You briefly wonder whether the love potion would smell like him.

Draco places jars and vials of ingredients on the table before collecting his cauldron from where he had placed it on the floor. He plants it on the stand before murmuring the warming charm so the bottom can heat up as he prepares the ingredients in the order that he needs them.

Draco instructs you through the potion; pausing every now and then for you to take down any notes. As you dip your quill in the ink pot for the fourth time, you think that Draco would make the perfect professor – he has a knack with words making explanations easier and relating them in a manner that are easily understood. Not to mention his passion for the subject comes across so clearly as he gestures with his hands and smiles all through his explanations.

He pauses part way through a sentence, “Let me know if I’m rambling too much, won’t you?”

“Of course, but I enjoy listening to you speak – you clearly love this subject, Draco.”

He looks away sheepishly, reading over the instructions he’s already memorised. “I’d like to be a Potions Professor once we leave here.”

“You’d be brilliant at it,” You reply immediately, “You have a talent for this, I already feel more confident in my potions ability.”

His blush from earlier returns as he murmurs, “Thank you. What are your plans for after?”

“I think I’d like to do something in the ministry; in the archives I think.”

Draco nods, understanding, “I’ve seen you in History of Magic. You’d suit the archives, with all the old documents.”

You laugh, “I just think the history of our society is so interesting.”

“You’d be a good professor, (Y/N).” Draco whispers.

“Let’s hope Professor Binns finally retires then,” You start, “That way we can work together.” You internally groan at your shoddy attempt at flirting, but Draco doesn’t seem to notice. He chuckles, “We’d make a good team.”

You stare down at your notes, fiddling with your quill, so Draco doesn’t see the giddy expression on your face.

Draco looks back to his instructions, glancing over the final few steps. He stirs the mixture clockwise for three more minutes before steam begins to rise from the cauldron.

He sits back into his seat, “There we go. All done.”

For a single minute, you watch the steam rise from the potion. Draco brewed it so effortlessly that you wonder where you had gone wrong the first time you attempted it. But with his instructions and his tutelage, you know that you would be able to brew it again successfully.

Temptation rises within you; the urge to lean over Draco’s cauldron and take a whiff of the potion becomes too much. Draco sees you shift in your chair, “Go on then,” he prompts, “What does it smell like?”

The fumes from the potion make your head spin slightly. They smell of something you’ve smelled before; of something you’ve been in close contact with recently.

Burnt sugar and rain give way to the delicate smell of roses.

And it hits you all of a sudden – you’re smelling the teenager sat next to you. Your heart races as you come to the realisation that the crush you had been harbouring for the blonde-haired teenager had evolved into something more.

The desperate thought runs through your head. The pleading thought of: please let him be my soulmate.

If you were already feeling this strongly about Draco, it would be hell on earth to find out that his soulmate was actually another.

“What did you smell then?” Draco asks as you sit back down in your chair.

You avoid his eyes as you say, “I’ll tell you once you have a smell.”

Draco frowns but he nods, nonetheless.

Draco bends over the cauldron, having noticed your reaction to the smell. He inhales deeply; the heady scent taking root within him.

Jasmine, citrus and orchids.

The smell of your perfume mixed with the floral smell of shampoo. It had settled around him.

He had a hunch it would smell like you. He’s had feelings for you since Fourth Year; smelling you perfume, and shampoo only confirmed what he already knew deep down – that he was in love with you.

Draco takes a step back from the table; the revelation hitting him all at one – so strongly it knocks the breath from him.

“I’ve had a thought.”

“I think I’m having the same one.” You say, standing up.

Draco’s eyes blaze as he states, “I think you’re my soulmate.”

You nod, “I think you’re my soulmate too.”

Draco holds his hand out to you; less than a centimetre away from you, but he doesn’t take the final step. Despite it all; despite the certainty, he cannot ignore the spike of fear running through his body. He never expected he would find his soulmate; he never expected that it would be you of all people. Draco had been crushing on you since Fourth Year; since you had sat next to him at dinner and asked his thoughts on the Triwizard Tournament – he was taken aback by your presence that he answered honestly, and the conversation that followed had been one of the most honest he had ever had.

You watch the myriad of emotions that flit over his face; trying to define each and every one of them. The certainty that you feel with the idea of Draco being your soulmate settles deep within your bones; combining with your genetic makeup. It all makes sense now; your feelings for Draco finally made sense.

You take the final step; taking his hand in yours, tangling your fingers together. His skin is smooth and soft against yours. His hand fits perfectly in yours, as if made for you.

And then time stops.

Time stops.

The steam from the Amortentia potion freezes; the ticking of the clock no longer sounds; the sound of younger students running up and down the corridor outside the classroom fall silent.

The only thing moving in this moment is you and Draco.

He draws you into his arms. One arm wrapping around your waist; the other caressing your cheek. His thumb rubs over your cheekbone as he smiles softly down at you. For a moment, neither of you speak for the small fear of breaking the instant in which you find yourselves. This time is so precious; it’s where everything is defined. You beam up at him, savouring the feel of his arm around your waist though you know that you have a lifetime to memorise the way he touches you.

“I never thought I would find you.” Draco whispers, in awe of the situation.

“You have. So what do you plan to do?”

“This.”

It’s all he says as he dips his head and kisses you.

*******************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @dreamer821 @the-hufflefluffwriter @summer-writes @harrypotter289 @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @kalimagik​ @figlia--della--luna​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk​ @sycathorn-slush​

[thejustmaiden]

Heyo, fellow Inuyasha fans! Happy Friday! This particular blog will serve as a collection of random thoughts I’ve been mulling over lately. Hope you’ll consider giving it a read. By the way, it’ll specifically pertain to the Sessrin ship. If that’s not something that is of interest to you, then no need to read any further. Whatever happens, I wanted to get this out before the sequel. Alrighty, let’s go! 

I’m not sure many of us realize just how much fiction sparks public dialogue and shapes culture. There have been countless studies and research done to prove it, therefore this really isn’t up for debate. What the real question here should be is have we taken the time to fully contemplate and assess just how much fictional experiences are able to change or influence our perspective on real, everyday life? The visual arts are just one of many evolutionary adaptations that serve to give us more insight into one another’s mind. If our outlook on fiction contrasts with said insight, then perhaps some re-evaluating is in order.  

Powerful works of literature such as 1984 and the beloved Harry Potter series are just two examples. George Orwell’s book contributed strongly to how readers viewed government and politics during that time, and to this day it’s a book that resonates with many. As much as Harry Potter is cherished all across the world, there are religious and academic institutions that condemn it or have even gone so far as to ban it. I may not agree with the extreme measures taken, but it’s fascinating nonetheless to witness the extent to which fiction can move and mobilize people for a cause.

The takeaway is that indicating fiction doesn’t have the power to create change in our everyday lives is misleading to say the least. So how exactly then can fictional stories that are, after all, completely made up affect society in such profound ways? It all lies in the power of the psychology of fiction. According to cognitive psychologist and novelist, Keith Oatley, who’s been researching the psychological effects of fiction for over a decade, he states that engaging with stories about other people can improve empathy and theory of mind. When we identify with these characters’ struggles, we begin to share their frustration for societal problems that plague them. These types of stories tap into our emotions more so than- believe it or not- nonfiction, and thus their effects inspire us and even have the ability to alter our worldviews. 

I’ll be returning to that specific topic a bit later, but moving on for now!

It’s safe to say that I speak on behalf of the majority of antis. That being said, I first want to add that we are aware that sessrin shippers claim to agree that there was nothing inherently romantic that took place between Rin and Sesshomaru during their travels together. The thing is we have trouble believing you guys when you time and time again provide contradictory statements to defend your stance.

Voicing things like, “all signs point to Rin” and “it’s been foreshadowed” sends the exact opposite message of what you supposedly stand for and, if anything, confirms that you’ve had romance on your mind long before it would’ve been acceptable to come out with openly. You can’t just go along with what we say when it’s convenient to your argument and then back it up later with “who else but Rin.” How can the relationship you’re imagining be so obvious if they didn’t hint at it for the whole duration of the original series like we agreed upon? Elaborate on how we could’ve possibly come to such wildly different conclusions when we started AND left off with the same views for and throughout the series. 

On top of that, making the excuse that we don’t speak for adult!Rin and that she has the right to make her own decisions once she’s old enough is a weak defense. Firstly, because we haven’t even met her. Secondly, because it’s unfair of you to assert that you know what’s best for Rin and then say we’re not allowed to just because it doesn’t align with your beliefs. I get that you feel protective over her character, but do recall that this adult version of her none of us have actually met yet. We have no idea what kind of woman she’s become, what her dreams or aspirations may be, and whether she’s married or even wants to be. I’m not against the idea of her falling in love, I just don’t think it’ll be with Sesshomaru. I guess I’m also a fan of the idea of her following in Kaede’s footsteps, because if anyone can grow up to be an independent, trusted, and wise leader of the community like her it’s Rin.

To make matters worse, way too many of you continue to celebrate the drama cd and profess that it was sweet that Sesshomaru basically promised he’d wait for Rin all while somehow ignoring the glaring grooming implications. Why do you only see what you want to see and fail to acknowledge that actual child grooming scenarios do in fact play out like this in real life? A high percentage of people who have been victims of grooming can attest to this. If Sessrin does go canon, all the sequel succeeded in doing to avoid the direct correlation with grooming was skip over the more questionable and dodgy portions of it. Take out the time jump, however, and you no longer have a loophole to cover up the scary unmistakable truth, which is that Sessrin and grooming are essentially one in the same.

No one case is identical to another so please don’t come to me with your “but how is it grooming if Sesshomaru didn’t manipulate Rin” refutes. Nobody knows what the hell went on during those years between The Final Act and this upcoming sequel. Based on everything exhibited so far- that is if we decide to recognize the drama cd like so many of you choose to do- Sessrin’s dynamic is eerily reminiscent of real life child grooming. Why else do you think a lot of us fans have a huge problem with it? It’s triggering for a reason. 

Let’s be honest, Sesshomaru’s supposed love confession could’ve just been the first of many gestures like it. Who really knows, right? According to you shippers, a major shift in their relationship took place sometime during this critical period none of us got to watch unfold. I’m sure you all have explored the various ways this would’ve gone down in fan fiction and through other creative means of expression. Not to spoil the fun, but all I can’t help but wonder about is just how many of those supposed “cute moments” would’ve been as creepy and cringey as that proposal. Hundreds of thousands (possibly millions?!) of fans would undoubtedly agree with me, too. It seems to me this ain’t due to a mere difference of opinion. Taste is one thing, ethics a whole other. 

By the way, in case you didn’t know, groomers don’t necessarily need to plan out every single move in order for their behavior to constitute as grooming. What we should be paying attention to instead is the fact that Sesshomaru made a conscious decision to act on his own selfish desire for a young girl who couldn’t have possibly known in that moment the magnitude of what he was asking of her. Why is it that a vulnerable Rin is put in a position that forces her to be the one responsible for making such a big, life-changing decision for the both of them? Yes, Sesshomaru gave her the choice and, yes, she doesn’t have to make it till later, but why on Earth is he coming to her with this well before a child her age is ready and mature enough to handle it? Even if his intentions are good (broadly speaking of course), his what you shippers probably call “innocent acts” are incidentally coercing Rin into reciprocating his feelings. Whether he planned for that or not, he’s at fault. Period. 

That’s one way the power imbalance works. A child wants nothing more than to please the adult they look up to and adore, because they’re impressionable like that. Maybe Rin processes this like she’ll want whatever he wants, so that’s what she trains herself to believe- either right then and there or over time. Plus, if you really think about it, why wouldn’t she trust him if in her eyes he’s been nothing but good to her and that’s all she’s ever really known? (Psst! Charm is integral to the manipulative nature of grooming so it’s deceiving AKA manipulation can come off as praise or flattery.) Bottom line is that Rin is too young to have to think about this kind of deep stuff at all, and Sesshomaru shouldn’t have taken advantage of the power he had/has over her to influence a decision she was by no means prepared to hear about much less decide on. Your headcanons seem to imply that she’ll eventually have to choose though, and Idk about you but I rather not push my own fantasy agenda onto a underage girl regardless of how much I want it. Idc if she’s fictional, it wouldn’t feel right so why would I want to see that? My principals couldn’t ever allow for it.   

Even if it wasn’t an official proposal, per se, it’s still disturbing to me that so many of you find joy in the thought of a grown adult male essentially waiting for a young girl HE KNEW to become old enough before pursuing her. I know this drama cd ain’t technically canon, y'all, but since this is literally the only source we have that may foreshadow a potential Sessrin to come, and it’s referenced a lot, I figured it still should be called out for exactly what it is- Grooming: 101!!!!

Just as I demonstrated above, fiction has the ability to make even the most inappropriate and uncomfortable situations be viewed in a favorable light when you put the right spin on it. *cough* Lolicon culture, need I say more? *cough* Despite what you may believe, the strategies fiction utilizes to explain themes/concepts can genuinely lead to how we perceive them, and ultimately to how we come to make sense of a similar event presented to us in real life. Especially if we have no prior experience with any of it and have nothing to compare something to, these perceptions can be dangerous yet still persuasive to certain fans- young ones in particular. The more narrative consistency across stories and different mediums, the more likely they’ll influence social beliefs. Minors don’t possess the same capacity as adults to think critically about the content they consume, and if we aren’t more careful about what we put out there then all of us will continue to face serious repercussions.

This is precisely why it’s crucial we persist in our fight against the rabid phenomenon of glorifying young girls in every sexual context imaginable. Just look at what something as seemingly harmless as fiction has the power to do. The scope of fiction is broad and far-reaching, and it’s about time we stop denying that fact and actually do something about it if we have the means to.

The truth of the matter is that we’re in desperate need of proper education and training programs on this issue in our communities. Families need to ensure their children have access to the necessary resources, but it isn’t just on them. ALL of us gotta do our part and ALL of us should be up for the task. It takes a village, right? If we do not properly discuss and address child sexual abuse (CSA) with our children and in public forums, including the internet, then we’re ultimately accepting incidents of CSA should they arise. Consequently, that also translates to indirectly accepting that the predators among us stay untreated and/or unpunished. That’s how the generational and societal aspect of the abuse can continue, and we must do everything in our power to secure our children’s future. Yes, even when it comes to fiction.

If you still somehow don’t think the Sessrin pairing has anything to do with grooming, allow me to break this down for you one more time:

1. If some of your fellow sessrin shippers say that a relationship like this in real life is harmful, then that should be pretty telling in and of itself.

2. Piggybacking off #1: if your only defense to that is “well it’s just fiction,” then you should ask yourself why you can’t ever come up with better reasons. Same goes for history and culture, so please stop using those to justify this relationship. None of the above can or should be applied since it’s already been established that fiction pervades our lives and vice versa.

3. If fellow shippers who are victims of grooming say they are drawn to Sessrin because it allows them in a way to “take back control” from their abuser so that they can better cope with past traumas, then they’re inadvertently admitting that Sessrin does possess qualities associated with the past child sexual abuse they underwent. AKA Sessrin is relatable for its abusive dynamic.

I have to ask by the way, but why do you get so offended when we don’t support your ship anyway? Is it because we interpret it to be controversial and you don’t like your ship getting a bad rap? Is it because it would be insulting to admit that antis actually have a point in it being problematic and you rather double down instead? Or is it because you’re projecting yourself onto Rin and prefer to not go into detail about why that is? Maybe it’s too personal, or maybe it’s because deep down you’re ashamed. Of course that doesn’t mean you’re bad people, but suppressing these kind of negative emotions can’t be healthy for anyone. A little awareness and self-reflection on your part can benefit not just you but all of us in the long run. Cognitive dissonance can suck, but it’s also part of being human. 

I recently came across a comment I’d like to share with you. Unfortunately, this is not the first time nor will it be the last I see the likes of it. Anyway, in it a fan stated how embarrassing it must be being an Anti in this fandom when an episode like “Forever with Lord Sesshomaru” exists. Guys, this shipper and all those who liked their post are showing their true colors. Perpetuating and/or anticipating these sexualized images of young girls is a grave issue in both our society and media alike. I think we can all agree on that, or at least I hope so. It’s remarks like these that prove we still got a long way to go in terms of progress, and if we ever hope to effectively reverse some of our backwards way of thinking. So serious question for ya in regard to this: Why is it too much to ask that grooming be portrayed for what it is? Grooming. To clarify, grooming is bad and needs to be painted in a bad light. It’s as simple as that. If only we could all acknowledge it for what it is, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

Historical accuracy and cultural differences aside, it appears the crux of the matter between Sessrin shippers and Antis is our acceptance and/or denial of fiction’s influence on real life. If we can’t agree on this, then we’ll never agree on anything else. As mentioned earlier, there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that fiction impacts our lives in extraordinary ways. I, for one, believe in the transformative power of stories. I think they do more for us than many of us give them credit for and/or are inclined to admit. 

This is partially why I believe that the majority of sessrin folk are missing the point most of the time. All they do is focus on insignificant and irrelevant information that accomplishes nothing but more gaslighting and strawmanning. Whether it be an intentional or unconscious decision, whatever we argue goes right over their head. All they do is throw around deflections and antagonizing remarks that serve no real purpose other than to make Antis out to be the unreasonable and irrational ones. Making connections between our own lives and our stories is a completely natural and normal occurrence. If those particular shippers insist on denying just how interconnected real life and fiction both are, what that tells me is they’re either out of touch with reality or deliberately choose to be.

Just to be clear, I am of the opinion that most if not all antis aren’t real life predators. If they say they aren’t, I honestly take their word for it. Speaking to Sessrin shipper directly: We know it’s not Sesshomaru you want to be but Rin. No, we’re not calling you pedophiles or groomers. None of us think you are using a fictional ship to attract underage fans to be the Rin in your life or anything of the sort. We are well aware that many of you are self-inserting yourself as Rin, so please don’t feel the need to tell us yourself because that would be stating the obvious.

I learned from a few of you since this sequel was announced that the Sessrin relationship isn’t just a ship but an opportunity for you to confront the person who used and abused you. So there’s two issues with this I’d like to raise. (Sorry if I’m repeating myself, but it’s urgent I stress this again!) This is what I have to say:

If fiction does not affect real life or have the ability to normalize anything as you claim to believe, then why does “fixing” what happened to you via your preferred choice of coping associated with these two characters in the first place? Why bring your past abuse into this at all if at the end of the day it’s “just fiction” and nothing more to you but a source of entertainment?

By confessing that you use Sessrin to cope with your past trauma, you therein reveal that Sessrin does in fact resemble an adult-child relationship with a grooming dynamic. So why then would you want other fans to be exposed to a pairing that brings to mind the very abuse you endured? We’re supposed to stop this toxic cycle- NOT find more ways to manifest and relive it, much less subject other fans to it. 

You may think that Sessrin doesn’t fit the textbook definition of what child grooming is, but that’s not to say it doesn’t embody it or that it doesn’t at the very least have traces of it that stand out. 

“Antis are miserable people who don’t know how to enjoy a good story. It’s just fiction, stop ruining it for other fans!”

Well, no, it’s not just fiction or just a story. Some of you evidently went and proved that yourself, and without my help, by revealing how you relate Sessrin to your own life and apply it to cope with past abuse. Past abuse or not, as far as I can tell we’re all equally invested in these characters. That speaks volumes and just goes to show that fiction touches our lives in long-lasting ways.

I have something I want to say concerning some of who believe that it’s inconsiderate of antis who have been victims of grooming or another form of child abuse to tell other victims who ship Sessrin how they should cope with their trauma. Now as much as I respect the various means victims discover to deal with their painful pasts, there’s always an appropriate time and a place for these things to occur. We must seek out better ways to safely cope with the abuse we lived through (if any) without running the risk of hurting and endangering others. 

There are plenty of fans in other fandoms who don’t try to defend their ships going canon, because they’re able to recognize an unhealthy or toxic pairing when they see one and won’t try to justify it. A Sessrin romance simply does not belong on a show geared towards teens, and I really don’t need to go into detail about why we shouldn’t support it, at least canon-wise. Shipping Sessrin is your right, but if you don’t keep it to yourself and your corner of the fandom then you really shouldn’t be surprised by the opposition. All we ask is you respect that their specific dynamic falls under the category of child grooming (or very close) and should be treated as such in public. The world of fiction may be wider than the world we live in, but that doesn’t always mean “anything goes.” In the creative spaces our minds occupy we must still adhere to the same fundamental and moral guidelines we live by in life. There’s nothing wrong with exploring new terrains and experimenting with ideas, but we must also remember that our stories are all about communicating and connecting with people. So let’s please be more mindful of the sort of messages they’re sending. 

Besides, this isn’t only about you and what makes you feel safe, it’s about all of us. I don’t know how much more I can stress that really. How can thoughts endanger our children, you ask? Well, it’s not like we’re suggesting that our thoughts can jump out of our tvs, materialize themselves, and place kids under mind control. The forces behind fiction are a lot more complex and nuanced than a “monkey see, monkey do” approach, so don’t waste any more time trying to  describe that to us. You’re taking this argument in the wrong direction. 

Take the “violent video games breed killers” theory. I’m afraid you’re misconstruing what we’re saying and then taking it quite too literally. Please stop twisting our words, because nobody on our side is saying that just because you play violent video games that you’ll become a violent person. The Sessrin equivalent of that would be if you ship them then you must be a pedophile or turning into one. *sigh* I know you guys are feeling attacked, but I’m afraid your defensive nature is keeping you from thinking straight. Clearly, there are always exceptions (I’d recommend reading up on the Slender Man case), but Antis aren’t saying you’re one of them.

You see, it’s not so much about the content as it is the notion of the content. Kids and teens who are playing these video games have been informed that killing is wrong, because they grew up learning that early on like the rest of us. No sane person would advocate for violence and nonsensical killing in real life. Since they fully understand the severity of the consequences of killing a person in real life, they are able make a clear distinction between the two. When it comes to killing there is hardly any ambiguity. Sadly, that is far from the truth when it comes to sexualizing girls. It should immediately be perceived as wrong leaving no room for interpretation, and yet here we are still putting up with these inaccurate and demeaning female representations.

Most children who have been groomed don’t realize it till years down the road. If they aren’t ever taught the telltale signs to properly labeling grooming situations, how do you expect them to make sense of and relate to a fictional version? Let’s think of about it from a child’s perspective. Yes, this includes teens who rely pretty heavily on adult guidance and the content we put out there for them. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment and picture that you’ve never had child grooming explained to you (because that’s just the reality for so many unfortunately). Wouldn’t you say it’s possible for them to deduce that what they see on their screens is how they come to discern something in real life, especially if they have little to no experience with it? Perceived realism is plausible, y'all.

What it comes down to in the end is that the ideas and emotions we cultivate behind these stories leave an impression on others. Impressions are capable of influencing the way we see the world, which in turn affects us and beyond just our imagination. The way I look at it, stories contribute to how and why we normalize certain beliefs and trends. If fiction reflects real life like most of us tend to agree, then wouldn’t you say Sessrin is a (in)direct result of this world’s tendency to place young girls in overly sexual or romantic environments? Where do you think fiction draws its inspiration from? Sure, some of it originates from our imagination, but most of what drives us to create these stories is the real world and the people who live in it.

Fiction is meant to mirror reality, but it’s ridiculous to suggest that it’s only a one-way street. That fiction in no way, shape, or form influences our reality? Or that it only works the other way around? With all due respect, that’s simply not true. No productive discourse can be had if we choose to ignore the truth and don’t come together (at least halfway) to tackle the real issues at hand. 

Okay, I think I’ll leave it off there! Thanks so much for reading. I expect this to be my last blog on any topic regarding Inuyasha in the near future. As much as I’ve looked forward to answering all of your asks and writing all the blogs I have over these past almost 5 months, I think it’s best if I spend some time away for now. With the sequel fast approaching, I’m doing what I always do: hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I’ve met some amazing people along the way, that’s for sure. And who knows, maybe you’ll see me active in the tags sooner than we think. Until then, it’s been an absolute pleasure! Enjoy the sequel, all of you. 💜

[ratmonky]

Smooth Criminal

Hee hee~

One special fic for one very special person! <3

@a-nonnie-mousse​ wrote this at 3 AM and the horny bitch I am, I wanted to write something out of it!!

Here’s a link to her artwork of the same post!

2.5K Words

It’s been an entire week since Illuso had left Naples for a mission. The mission itself wasn’t difficult but he’d been looking forward to having a day off before Risotto handed him another file of a man he had to take care of. The target was in Bari, he’d stolen from Passione. To his surprise, the man wasn’t even a Stand user. It was an easy mission but it took him a literal week because of how well the man hid.

Simply, he was in a bad mood because of how much time he lost to find the man. He was both tired and very upset over why Risotto gave him a mission in Bari where he’d have to track the man with little to no trace at all. Melone would’ve been perfect for this mission.

He could’ve complained but he didn’t have the heart courage to disrespect his leader. That’s why he was going to the base at midnight, just like Risotto asked. The leader wanted Illuso to write a report on how the mission went.

It wouldn’t take long. Maximum an hour or two.

He could go home and finally open that bottle of wine he got from Gelato as a present. Getting drunk on red wine before dozing off would bring him in a good mood, definitely.

Illuso pushes the door open and the foul smell of mold and dust overwhelms him even before he steps inside. Covering his mouth he looks around to find the source of the horrible smell but he’s not sure if it’s the old food that’s literally decomposing on the coffee table or the horrid stains on the carpet and the walls.

“What the hell happened here?” he yells to the only person who seems to be unaffected by the smell and the mess around her and of course the only person in the base.

Shrugging you continue reading your magazine.

“How can you sit there and continue reading your shitty fashion magazine?” he yells turning around to indicate the mess around the base, “You were told to stay back to clean the base and take care of it. Not to trash the fucking place.”

You stare at him over the magazine but nonetheless flip a page in disinterest.

“You fucking-” Illuso snatches the magazine away from your hands, “Are you fucking listening to me?”

You click your tongue and give him a death glare, how dare he interrupt your ‘me time’!

“It wasn’t me, this happened because of Ghiaccio and Formaggio. They had a fight and-”

“I don’t care what happened, you were ordered to take care of the damn place!” Illuso interrupts you again and makes it clear that he doesn’t need to hear any unnecessary explanations from you, “You’re useless.”

“Oh am I?” you jump up from the dirty couch and point at him, “Who’s the idiot who lost track of his target and wandered in Bari for a week?”

Illuso’s shoulders tense, “What did you say?” his eye starts to twitch.

You smirk at him, “I said that you aren’t shit, Illuso.” your mocking tone makes his blood boil, “You’re the weakest member in our team. Even Pesci could easily kill off that target.”

“You don’t belong here, you can’t kill on command, you can’t work in pairs and you’re doing nothing to be useful to Passione. Why are you even here?” Illuso asks flatly, trying to maintain a calm tone to not start another fight between you two, “I’m not asking this to start a fight,” he assures but a sharp blow to his jaw from you gives him the answer.

Illuso halts for a moment as he brings his hand up to his face to rub his aching chin but it’s enough to make you regret your actions... just a little too late.

“Man in the Mirror,” he brings out his Stand even if it’s in the rules that nobody in the team were allowed to use their stands during an argument.

Before you can manage to call out your own Stand Illuso drags you into the mirror world, leaving both of your Stands back at the base.

“This is going to be a fair fight,” he starts, rolling up his sleeves, “No Stands-”

“It isn’t fair, you deserved that punch!” you ineffectively tried to end the fight before it even began but Illuso wasn’t having it. You swung at him with every intention of starting a fight, it always has been in your nature to start meaningless fights.

“We’ll fight equally. I won’t hold back and you shouldn’t either,” Illuso sneers at you, you both know he’s more of a fighter than you are.

“Take me back,” you warn, tone low and dangerous.

Without warning, Illuso lurches forward, grabbing you by your hair and twisting it around his hand to get a better grip on it. He pulls your back flush against his chest and yanks your hair, “Just admit that you’re useless to the team.”

A startled sound escapes your lips when he pulls your hair harder, “Son of a whore!”

This wasn’t a fight, this wasn’t even equal as he said it would be. He was just taunting you and not giving you a chance to fight back. You knew he’d be unfair and wouldn’t let you fight him but he wasn’t even giving you the chance to argue with him either.

“Repeat after me; I’m no use to Passione and to my team.” he scoffs.

You’re the best assassin they could find, he knows he’s wrong. You’re superior to even Risotto with your Stand for fuck's sake.

“Die you dumbass!”

When you start struggling, he pulls your hair harder and reminds you once again as he’s done countless times, “You’re here just because of your Stand, without it, you’re nothing.”

You grit your teeth and try to twist your body to hit him. It hurts to admit that he’s right. Everyone in your team knows that you’re accepted in the hitman team thanks to your Stand; Back to Black.

With the power to wear your Stand like a suit, similar to Ghiaccio’s White Album, you could move within shadows. Your power gave you the ultimate advantage to kill your target without being followed or having to risk your life. Because once you drag someone in the shadows with you, their Stand separated from them.

This was the main reason why Illuso hated you the most, with Stands similar to each other’s, your fights mostly ended in a deuce.

“Same goes to you,” your mocking tone must’ve caught him off guard because you felt his hold on you loosen for a second, enough for you to use the floor as a springboard and slam into your teammate as hard as you possibly can.

Illuso lost his balance and fell backward. You fell right onto him with your entire weight, earning a pain filled grunt from him.

Not even waiting for another second, you make a move to get back on your feet to declare your victory over him but Illuso pulls you right back on the floor with him. He captures you under his weight, pressing you flat on your stomach while muttering, “I hope you eat shit and die.”

With all of your might, you try to use your hands to leverage yourself up but Illuso forces your hands down with his own.

“I’m stronger than you don’t ever forget that,” he whispers in your ear huskily. He’s out of breath and still isn’t aware of how close you two are to each other but you’re painfully aware of everything. Like how warm his chest feels against your back and how attractive he sounds when he’s on the verge of snapping.

The position he’s holding you down is even worse. He’s using his hips to hold you down while your hands are strongly being held down by his own and Illuso’s hot breath is tickling your skin.

It’s all too much to handle. You can feel your cheeks blushing and a wave of arousal hitting you like a brick.

“Illuso,” you call out his name desperately, “please get off of me.”

Your pleads falls to deaf ears, your teammate chuckles at what he thinks is your shame of losing to him.

“I win,” he declares and you nod rapidly to confirm his victory over you, hoping that he’ll get off of you as soon as possible.

But again, this is Illuso. He loves to brag about his win.

“Say that you’re a useless pawn without your Stand.”

You repeat after him without hesitation.

Illuso raises a brow at your submission. It was hard to even get an apology or a couple words of gratitude from you but now you were bowing your head to your literal arch nemesis?

He had to take it as far as he can, he wanted to see how much he could milk this.

“Who’s the worst and weakest Stand user in the team?”

“Me.”

“It’s your fault that we’re not getting paid enough, you’re nothing but a nuisance to our team.”

“Yes.”

After you admit another dozen ‘facts’ he finally got bored. It wasn’t fun at all when you weren’t resisting or calling him names while cursing.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he mutters to himself.

He pushes his torso up with his hands and turns you to face him so he can lecture you about how you should do as you’re told by your higher ups but the words don't come out.

Illuso stares down at your flushed face in awe.

(Had he taken this way too far? To the point to make you cry?

No, you weren’t crying… you wouldn’t cry because of his words.

Nobody ever managed to get to you, this had to be a prank.)

“Don’t look at me,” you cover your face with your hands.

The atmosphere of the situation suddenly shifts to something much more sultrier. Illuso would’ve looked away, got up and return both of you back to the real world to never talk about this again… But! He couldn’t. Not when you looked so cute, hiding your pretty face behind your hands, begging him to look away.

Sorbet and Gelato had told Illuso many times that the new member of the hitman team was head over heels for him but he thought they were baiting him on it. It had to be a lie. You wouldn’t even look at his way without insulting him or starting a fight.

ALl out of a sudden the realization hits him harder than any of your punches.

Illuso leans forward with a smile, “You know, nobody can see you inside the mirror but me.”

“So you can be as vulnerable as you want to be,” he adds by whispering in your ear, slowly pulling your hands away from your face.

Illuso finds himself studying your pretty face, “Melone keeps talking about how cute you are,” he purrs, ignoring completely what they were fighting about. He lets out a raspy sigh, “I never thought I’d agree with him on something.”

Blushing red, you cover your face with your hands once again. He enjoys the view for another second. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathes out.

You groan, taking a peek at him through the gaps of your fingers, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he smirks and raises a brow, leaning even closer to your face.

Your hands go to his chest to push him away, “This.”

Pouting, Illuso gives you the best puppy eyes he can pull off, “I thought you liked me.”

You decide to look up to his face and tell him to fuck off but you simply get lost looking in his eyes.

“I do,” you confess. Catching him by surprise.

Illuso loses no time on pressing his lips on yours as he hovers over you between your legs and you kiss him back hungrily. You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer to where you need him the most, Illuso is quick to roll his hips into yours to let you aware of his growing erection under his pants.

“I need you, Illuso.”

Your needy voice sends shivers down his spine, he pulls back from you to pull down his zipper and kick off his pants. You waste no time slipping out of your leggings.

Illuso looks down at you as he’s pumping his cock, “I never thought I’d see you like this.” he chuckles.

“Me neither.”

His cock slides inside your needy hole with a little too much force. A shaky moan escapes your lips before arching your back and holding onto his strong shoulders.

Smirking, Illuso slams into your slick heat harder to tear a louder moan out of you and it works.

It’s been a while for him, so he can’t stop himself from thrusting in your needy pussy without warning. As wet you are, with every thrust a squelching sound echoes in the mirror world’s base. The sounds of skin slapping on skin fill the dead silence of this world. Your lips part and call out his name in need, “Illuso!”

His cock fills you so well. You can’t help but lift your hips to meet his thrusts, shamelessly begging for him to fill you even more. Noticing what you want from him, he starts to fuck you frantically.

Your moans fill the void world of the mirror once again before his cock twitches inside of you and giving you what you actually need from him, filling your pussy full with his seed. You feel his warm cum gush out of your spasming cunt when he finally pulls out.

Taking a minute to catch his breath, he can hardly believe what you two just did. You seem to agree, it’s easy to tell from the way how silent you are.

“Uh,” he doesn’t know what to say.

Thanks?

That felt good?

We should do this often!

“We should return back to the real world,” he looks at you and you agree with a silent nod as you’re dressing.

He uses the same mirror he used as before to return to the base with ease and in the middle of a meeting your teammates are having.

Although your teammates were used to seeing you two fight in the mirror world and come back with messed up looks, there was no way for either of you to be able to explain why you’re both trying to put your clothes back on.

You sink into the shadows with the advantage of having your Stand with you now to avoid looking at your teammates.

“We can explain-” Illuso started but got cut off by the people around the now clean coffee table to collectively groan and throw stacks of money on the table.

“We told you they’d do it in the mirror world,” Gelato says as Sorbet is collecting their teammates’ money off the table with a smile.

Gelato throws a stack he got from his boyfriend to Illuso, “Take her out on a date next time.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Beautiful Imperfection

*Loki x reader*

Part: Oneshot (or possible part 2 of Beautiful Stranger)

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: none, only fluff and domestic Loki

Summary: Inspired by your artworks, Loki decides to try his own luck with drawing and painting… Yet, things don’t remotely go as planned and he ends up needing your help to learn how to surrender.

A.N.: Who could resist Loki making a mess and covering himself in paint? 😁 This is fun and fluffy and might or might not include Loki using you as a canvas 😉💗 enjoy! @daddys-littlewhitegirl

______________________________

“Loki, have you seen my pencil sharpener?” You called through the whole apartment in such a desperate voice that Loki had to bite his lip to keep from smirking as he lay on the couch with his legs crossed at the ankles, reading peacefully.

“Would you like me to help you find it?” He called back in his best attempt to keep the humor out of his voice. It wasn’t working too well.

“No, it’s all good, I found it! Thanks!”

“Too bad…” Loki sighed to himself, smiling as he flicked to the next page.

“What was that?” You asked lightly as you came walking into the room with bouncy steps that made Loki want to grin even more. Ever since he had met you, he hadn’t been able to stop wondering how he deserved such an enchanting creature… how he got to call you his, how he was granted to spend every single day with you.

“Oh, nothing, dear…” He mused with a smirk, looking at you for a second and then back to his book. That probably was one of the things he adored most… your incredible curiosity. And teasing you, that as well.

“C'mon Loki!” You laughed, standing in front of the couch and staring down at him for a moment before simply sitting down on his stomach. Since the whole couch was blocked by his long frame, you didn’t have any other choice… and you didn’t want one either. Loki was comfortable and warm and you knew that he secretly enjoyed it when you claimed him like that.

He pretended to groan under your weight for a second, then couldn’t help but chuckle. God, you really weighed nothing… to him at least, and honestly that’s all he cared about really. You, a lot, and himself, a little. Yet, he also had discovered a tendency within himself to care about the things you cared about… which could extend from paying the bills to saving the rainforest. It depended on the day, really.

“I said ‘too bad’, if you must know.” He finally answered honestly, enjoying your intense gaze as you looked down at him with an amused frown.

“Too bad… that what? That I found my pencil sharpener and can continue to colour the drawing?” You chuckled, rising an eyebrow at the absolutely insufferable man beneath you, who you just happened to love so very dearly.

“Indeed.” He smiled, humored. “All you did today was drawing… When am I going to get some attention?”

“Well, all YOU did today was reading, so I could ask you the very same thing!” You laughed, shaking your head to yourself.

“If you wanted my attention you just could’ve asked, darling…” He said with a small smirk, looking at you in the utmost adoration while you playfully smacked him in the chest. You really were absolutely incredible, perfectly imperfect. Loki didn’t like perfection. Perfection was boring, and you were VERY far from boring and so was your life with him. Loki would gladly give you everything you asked for and yet so much more.

“I’m almost done with the drawing…” You sighed, then grinned at him. “After that we can give each other some very much necessary attention, alright?”

“Sounds lovely. What are you drawing anyway?” He asked, sitting up once you had risen to your feet to collect your sketchpad from the desk on the other side of the room.

The apartment Loki and you shared was small, but Loki loved it nonetheless. He would gladly forgo every palace in existence for this little kingdom that was your home. You were his queen, and Loki your humble servant. As long as you were together, Loki was content. Happy, even, more than he was able to properly express.

“You.” You shrugged, chuckling as you made your way back to the couch to sit down next to him.

Loki snatched the sketchpad out of your hand before you could protest, looking at the partially coloured drawing in awe. “This… this is absolutely beautiful. I still have no idea how you can draw emotions and feelings like this. In every new piece you showcase a small piece of my soul.”

“Well, it’s not hard to draw something beautiful when the beauty is sitting right in front of you, reading all day.” You smirked, shoving him a little in the side as you took your work back and got comfortable in one corner of the couch.

“How many drawings of me do you have by now?” He asked with a smile as he handed you a blanket that was draped over the backrest of the couch on his end and watched you wrap it around yourself in amusement.

“Countless. Really, I have lost count and even lost the ABILITY to count them all.” You snorted, picking up your box with pens from the coffee table.

“If you want to draw true beauty, why don’t you ever draw a self portrait?” Loki rose an eyebrow at you as he sat down in the opposite corner of the couch more comfortably.

“Ha ha very funny.” You rolled your eyes, looking back to your drawing instead of him.

Loki pick up his book once more, flipping to the current page. He tried reading a part, and another… Yet, his mind wouldn’t take in on any of the words as it was too busy with his own thoughts, the letters on the page faded as he kept thinking of your drawing.

It had been a while now… a long while of you creating those stunning and breathtakingly expressive drawings of him. Sure, you did draw other things too, occasionally, but knowing that you did draw him oh so often and with such a joy made Loki both proud and desperate. Proud, because you knew and understood him so incredibly well and still chose to love him, and desperate because he felt so many things for you, knew and understood you too… and yet failed (in his eyes) to show it.

The urge within him to give you something back grew with every new piece you showed him, with every emotion caught on point and every perfect piece of his imperfection.

“Can I try?” He asked straight out, without giving himself the change to back out now. Drawing wasn’t something he had done all too often, but some basic sketching had been part of his education nonetheless. Yet, that had been decades ago and he wondered if he could still do it at all. But he wanted to try to express his emotions in a drawing, just like you did.

“What?” You asked in utter irritation, finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

“Can I try to draw you?” He asked with a sigh, unsure of what he’s just gotten himself into. “Since you refuse to draw yourself, I would like to try.”

Your lips parted in surprise as you started at Loki for a moment. Then you nodded strongly. “Uh, yeah… I mean yes, of course you can! Feel free to use whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” With another soft sigh Loki got up from the couch, placed his book on the coffee table and picked up an empty sketchpad and some pencils from the desk.

You watched him selecting his tools with care, smiling at the sight. Loki loved art, you had known that from the very first day, but he had never made an attempt to actually create something himself. Usually he would talk to you about your works, or fill in with some knowledge about art history while you were going to the museum. This new ambition was both intriguing and amusing. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he sat down on the ground instead of the couch, crossing his legs beneath himself and placing the papers on his thighs. An inevitable smile came to your lips… Loki just looked effortlessly gorgeous in absolutely every situation (which was kinda unfair, really). Even sitting on the ground in tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, a deep frown on his face as he marked the page with some reluctant lines. The way the sharp edges of his face stood out even more when he concentrated on something was enough inspiration for you to let the colouring be for now and do some portrait sketches instead. Maybe Loki would one day believe you when you told him that he was amazing indeed. However many sketches and drawings that might take.

For quite some time the two of you stayed like that, listening to quiet music flowing around the apartment while drawing each other with the utmost care and attention to detail. Until finally, Loki decided that he was done. He didn’t like the outcome of his work at all, and after he had separated the drawn page from the rest, he looked at it for two more seconds, then at you… and ripped the page apart into tiny pieces.

“Loki!” You protested, dropping your own drawing supplies on the couch and moving to sit in front of him on the floor. “Why on earth did you rip it!?”

“I didn’t like it.” He said quietly, with a sharp edge to his voice, looking down at the small shreds of paper between you and him.

“But I wanted to see it nonetheless…” You said quietly, taking his hands in yours and gently caressing his knuckles. “I’m sure it wasn’t half as bad as you think it was.”

“It didn’t do you justice at all.” He stated in pure disappointment with himself. “You would’ve hated it.”

“I promise you I wouldn’t have.” You sighed, letting go of his hands to place your arms around his neck. With a low hum coming from the depth of his chest, Loki wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer until you were sitting in between his legs, comfortably wrapped around him.

“You’re too hard on yourself.” You whispered against his neck, playing with a few strands of his raven hair. “I love everything you do, and I love YOU very very much. You know that, right?”

“I know, darling. I really do… Do you really want to see the drawing?” He asked in an equally quiet voice and you nodded, brushing your lips against his soft skin in the process.

Loki leaned back a short moment later, unwrapping his arms from you, and thus allowing you to place your legs over his and around his hips to sit more comfortably, closer.

“Good for you that I can fix stuff with magic.” He mused with the tiniest smile as he held the good-as-new piece of paper out to you, his eyes locked with yours in the most serious expression.

Gently you took the drawing out of his hand and when you looked at it, your lips parted yet again.

“Are you trying to tease me?!” You finally managed to say as the corners of your mouth curled into a soft smile.

“Usually, yes. Right now, no.” He replied calmly and the expression on his face told you that he was being serious indeed.

“But… wow.” You were at a loss for words, staring down at the drawing in your hands incredulously. “Did you really draw this in the last thirty minutes? Without magic?”

“Yes.” He replied shortly, looking surprisingly flustered. “Sorry.”

“Why in any world would you apologize? This is absolutely gorgeous! It looks like a photo, seriously Loki, it’s absolutely perfect!” You rambled, staring down at what really looked like a photograph of yourself. How could he seriously think this was bad?!

“I don’t want perfect.” He sighed, resting his hands on the small of your back once again. “Perfect is boring. It’s vain, and cold and distant…”

“So is your problem that the drawing is perfect or that I am not?”

“You’re perfect for me, don’t ever doubt that! Yet you’re not universally perfect, which I am honestly very glad about. That would be awful… I’m a flawed being and you are too and that makes us our own kind of perfect.” He argued eloquently, making you smile at him fondly.

“And what bothers you so much about the drawing?” You inquire as you placed it on the coffee table before resting both your hands on his shoulders once more.

“It’s absolutely nothing like yours.” He shrugged.

“Well, it shouldn’t be. It’s your drawing, so it should be like you.”

“That’s not what I meant… See, your drawings speak to the viewer. They express emotions and soul… while mine is just a photograph. Perfect in technique but blind in emotions.” Loki sighed, suppressing the urge to yet again rip the drawing into pieces. He knew you’d be mad at him if he did, so he let it rest on the coffee table in one piece for now.

“Don’t be so upset about it, please. I’m absolutely amazed by your drawing and even more that you drew something at all! Just for me…” You whispered to him with a soft smile, placing a gentle kiss to his lips.

He hummed quietly against your lips in return, pulling your body closer to his as he deepened the kiss. If he failed to express his emotions in art and drawing, he might just have to show you the depth of his love, the core of his soul in another way. For now.

_______________

However as Loki lay in bed that night, your small frame curled around his and your head on his shoulder, he found himself thinking back to his 'failed’ attempt at drawing. He had come to accept the fact that he didn’t need to show you his emotions through art, as you had solemnly sworn that you knew indeed how much he loved you…

But Loki wouldn’t be Loki if he’d let the things go that he hadn’t been able to accomplish to his fullest contentment. And just because he didn’t NEED to express his emotions this way didn’t remotely mean that he didn’t WANT to indeed. It had become a challenge the moment he had tried and yet failed, and Loki wouldn’t ever back down from a good challenge.

So once you had gone to work on Monday morning, kissing him goodbye like you always did, Loki got out a piece of paper and a pencil and started sketching random objects around the apartment.

It started out small, with a bouquet of dried flowers… A glass bowl with your favorite candy… A bottle of Loki’s prefered wine. The graphite stood out against the white paper in a way that made the objects jump straight out of the page, realistic as ever, almost a grey scale photograph. Loki frowned to himself. This, again, is not remotely what he wanted, not remotely what he meant to draw.

So he switched out the medium. Until now, he had only tried graphite on white paper, which (as proven multiple times) led to him drawing a perfectly realistic photograph. He was quick to decide on using another pen, first of all. Surprisingly quickly, he did one drawing in black ink, which he soon realized he did not like at all, even less than the pencil. Sighing, he tried to get rid of the ink stains on his hands by rubbing his palms against his tracksuit bottoms. Didn’t work.

Thus, with a doubtful eye, reluctantly circling your drawing supplies like a wounded predator on the hunt, he scanned what other mediums were available to him. He really would need to get braver, bolder, to go bigger.

First, he tried charcoal. Needless to say, he ended up creating a huge, black and smudged mess on the livingroom floor and also on himself. But he actually, finally, ended up with something that looked less like a photograph and more like an actual drawing, which in this case was a step into the right direction. Yet, it still wasn’t what he was trying to get to, so the paper landed somewhere below the couch as he pushed it away angrily. How was it possible that he was so BAD at this?! Loki wasn’t used to being bad at something. At least not at something he was actually trying to be good at. And oh, he didn’t like it at all.

As he rose to his feet, pushing the long sleeves of his green t-shirt back over his elbows, he made his way through the mess of papers lying everywhere, back to the arsenal of materials.

Next, he settled for oil pastels. At least those were a little less messy than the charcoal… Loki wasn’t too fond of messy things, and even less of willingly creating a mess. But he HAD to get good at art, and he would go great lengths to get what he wanted. So he moved back to the only empty space on the floor in the middle of the livingroom, his bare feet leaving black footprints on the warm wood. Maybe he shouldn’t have stepped onto the charcoal drawings…

Surprisingly, Loki did like the oil pastels a lot. It was nice getting to blend colours a little, to work them together and get both crisp edges and soft blurs… yet, after filling pages upon pages with whatever motives he could think of or see around himself, he found that it wasn’t ideal either. It was getting better, yes, but it still wasn’t imperfect enough to be beautiful. He groaned to himself, running a hand through his hair and leaving small smudges of colour on his forehead.

By now the livingroom was an absolute mess and so was Loki. He was angry with himself, frustrated and just desperate enough to continue on nonetheless. So he pushed the enormous amount of paper around him further away, off to the side, wherever… Then he took the oil pastels back to your stash, restoring them to their original state with a subtle green light. He didn’t want to use up all your supplies, so he made sure to replace whatever he took. And while in the knowledge that he could very well clean up the living room in an instant, he just couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. His mind was occupied with so many mixed emotions and somehow, the mess in the livingroom represented that fairly well. Also… he was getting closer. Closer to creating something imperfect enough to be ENOUGH at all.

He went for acrylic paints next, a step further, a step bigger… But he went with a random piece of cardboard that he tore off a box, instead of a canvas. In his mind, a canvas was for art. Not for whatever it was he was doing here.

So he slumped back down in his small circle in the middle of the room, frowning. What was he supposed to draw next, what could he try to give meaning to? With a single thought and a swoosh of green, he arranged all his previous drawings in multiple rows of circles around himself. There really was nothing he hadn’t tried to draw… nothing he hadn’t tried to wrap into emotions (and failed to express anything at all).

With a sigh, he decided to draw his old bedroom in the asgardian palace out of his memory, for once. It was the one place where he had spent the most time throughout his entire childhood and he could see it in front of him in every detail. It was a lot of gold, just like the rest of the palace, but also some green and beige tones… He spent quite a while painting, getting used to the acrylic paint and the brushes… creating even more of a mess of himself and his surroundings.

Maybe it was the painting, or the focus, the memory of a lost home or the general frustration of not getting it right anyway, no matter how hard he tried… but after he had covered the entire piece of cardboard in paint, he felt even more desperate than before. It was yet again closer to what he wanted his art to be, but still not quite right. With an angry frown he tossed the cardboard into any direction and lay down in his small empty circle, staring at the ceiling. Maybe his art was doomed to mirror himself in being a failure indeed.

_______________

When you returned home that afternoon, unlocking the door with a long sigh, you dropped your bag and jacket in the hallway and moved to find Loki. Usually he would either pick you up from work, or be waiting here for you with a decent enough excuse for why he didn’t come to pick you up in return.

Yet today, as you walked around a corner and your eyes fell upon the mess that was your livingroom, your lips parted and you gasped at the sight in front of you. Colour absolutely everywhere, drawings and paintings scattered all across the floor and the furniture, and right in the middle there was Loki. Even though he was lying on his back, you could tell that he was covered in all kinds of paint, his clothes, his hands and face… And a slow smirk spread on your lips that soon turned into a huge grin.

“Hey Loki.” You chuckled, standing in the doorframe and watching the artistic massacre in front of you. It really did look like Loki had fought a war with your art supplies and the thought alone almost made you snort.

“Hello darling.” He replied quietly, not once averting his eyes from the ceiling.

“Uhm… What exactly happened to the livingroom?” You asked, suppressing a laugh rather badly as your eyes scanned the absolutely incredible drawings strewn around.

“I’m a failure, Y/n…” He sighed deeply instead of answering your question. “I tried to art, and I failed.”

You tried really hard not to laugh at his overly dramatic demeanor as you took off your shoes and socks and tiptoed through the pagers on the ground, making your way towards Loki. The closer you got, the more you realized that he was seriously upset and not joking at all and that made your heart fall immediately.

Careful not to wrinkle any of the papers, you sat down next to Loki in the middle of the drawings and looked down at his paint smeared face with a soft smile. “C'mon, sit up and let me hug you. Please?”

Sighing, he did as you asked and you wrapped him into a tight hug, to which he responded by pulling you into his lap indeed.

“Hey…” You whispered, looking into his eyes with an encouraging expression.

“Hey.” He replied in a breath. “I apologize for creating a mess.”

“You’re pretty adorable when you’re covered in paint.” You chuckled, brushing through his tangled hair with your fingers.

“I am not adorable! I’m a god, I’m imposing and powerful and…”

“Covered in paint.” You chuckled again, causing Loki to roll his eyes. “May I look at your drawings?”

“If you have to… I’m not hindering you. But be aware of the fact that I despise every single thing in this room but you right now.” He sighed and you picked up the drawings you could reach without having to get up. They really were absolutely stunning, each one better than the previous, and you marveled at the detail and the colour choices and just everything really… It was impeccable.

“I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but these are absolutely gorgeous, Loki…” You sighed with a smile, looking at his deep frown.

“You’re right, I don’t believe you.” He replied with a chuckle, hugging you tighter to himself and pressing a kiss to your neck.

“You’re smudging paint all over me!” You laughed, trying to shove him away, but he wouldn’t let you and continued to shower your neck with tickling kisses until you were breathless from laughter.

“Am I really covered in paint all that much?” He asked after a while, pulling back to look at your face and to allow you to look at his.

“You most definitely are. But that’s no surprise when you paint and draw obsessively like you did today.” You smiled at him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face and thereby causing him to sigh a little. “What happened that made you create all this?”

“Yesterday I tried drawing emotions like you do, and I failed. Thus I had to try again today.”

“And why all the different mediums?”

“I was hoping that I simply needed to find the right tools to create something that would be beautiful. I assume I got a little better with the oil pastels and the acrylic paint, but it still does not express emotions, nor does it have soul.” He sighed, moving some papers over, towards you, so that you could see the minimal progress he’d made. It wasn’t like Loki would ever admit to anyone else that he had failed at something, or that he wasn’t good enough… but he had learned to trust you more than himself, and thus he had grown to share every thought with you in utmost honesty.

“So you have created all these amazing pieces of art in an attempt to create something that YOU can consider art?”

“Precisely.”

“Alright.” You sighed, sitting up a little straighter and placing the drawings back on the ground after you’d inspected them closely. “I DO consider all these pieces works of art, brilliant works of art even. But I understand that you are aiming for something else and I’ll help you get there. BUT…”

“But?” Loki asked suspiciously, both excited and embarrassed at the prospect of having your help in this. Yet, the embarrassment passed after a short moment, for even though Loki was a rather proud person, he was also smart. And that meant he knew when to accept help from a superior. You definitely were his superior, a higher being in every way and he loved it beyond measure.

“But! I’ll only help you if you allow me to keep everything you created today, intact and just like you drew it.” You grinned smugly, causing Loki to roll his eyes. “And I want you to stop trashtalking yourself and your art. What you do is beautiful and I need you to stop saying it’s not. If you can do that, I’ll help you create something you are trying for.”

“Alright.” He sighed. “You can keep everything and I will refrain from saying a bad word about it. Now, how exactly are you going to help me?”

“First, we need a little more space.” You smiled and a moment later the papers started moving around to create a neat pile in a corner of the room, leaving the livingroom floor visible once more. “Gosh, I love magic. Can’t you teach me that?”

“I can try, darling…” Loki chuckled deeply. “But right now we are teaching me how to art.”

You laughed, shaking your head to yourself. “I love how you say that… 'how to art’…”

Loki didn’t say anything and only looked at you expectantly, while you moved off his lap to sit in front of him with the box paints and brushes in between you.

“Now, you want to draw with emotions and soul, right?” You asked calmly.

“Yes.”

“Well, first of all you need to actually FEEL something in order to draw it. You need to allow yourself to feel things, and you need to allow your emotions to surface through the channel of art.” You looked at him intently, in the knowledge that honesty of feelings and Loki didn’t necessarily go together well.

He was quiet for a moment, looking at you as if he was contemplating existence. “I don’t want to draw my own emotions. You can draw mine perfectly well, or anyone else's… can’t I start with that?”

“See, that’s the first problem right there. I need to feel what someone else feels in order to draw it. It’s called empathy, Loki, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” You chuckled, looking at him kindly. “But that’s another thing, so let’s focus on your own emotions first. That’s easier.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Y/n.” He replied quietly, looking down to the many colours spread out in between you.

“You can, and you will. I know you don’t like it when people see what’s going on in your mind, and…”

“I don’t mind when you see.” He interrupted you, eyes locked back with yours in all honesty. “I never minded that you know every part of me.”

Your smile widened at that. “I know. But I think I know a way to make it easier for you nonetheless.” With that you unzipped your hoodie, tossing it off to the side. Then you lifted your shirt over your head and Loki rose an eyebrow at you in amusement and suspicion.

“I am nowhere near complaining, but what are you doing, dear?” He asked, trying not to laugh.

“Giving you the right canvas. You’re gonna draw on my back.” You stated calmly, with such a certainty that Loki found himself obliging. With a smile you laid down on your stomach in front of him, resting your head on your arms, smiling. “This way you won’t have to worry about anyone ever seeing what you choose to create now. We can take a shower afterwards, and you can wash it off and all that will be left is you knowing that you completed your mission.”

Loki felt his heart swell with adoration as he looked down at your bare back, smiling to himself in the knowledge that you knew and loved him indeed, with a depth and intensity that no one ever had.

“Any more tips you can give me?” He asked. “About what I should draw? Or how to have better control over it?”

“See, Loki, the things is… You shouldn’t control your art, nor your motive. You need to let go, and allow the emotions to control you indeed. Surrender to the art, to the act of creating. Otherwise you will always end up with another photograph.” You mused, and Loki frowned.

“I’m not good at letting go of control.”

“I know!” You laughed, as goosebumps covered your body upon his cool touch on your skin. “But didn’t you say yourself that your drawings got better towards the end of your trying? That’s not because you practiced, but because, and I’m making an educated guess here, you grew frustrated and angry with yourself more and more and that anger took control over you. And that’s what I see in your latest drawings. Desperation and anger. And if you can let those emotions control you involuntarily, you can let positive ones lead you to a greater art.”

Your words echoed in Loki’s mind like a sharp and clear note sung in a cathedral and his lips parted slightly at the realization that you were right. He could do this, and he could let himself be vulnerable for once in this safe haven that was your love.

“Fine. I will paint something beautifully imperfect, and you will tell me about your day.” He smiled, picking up a colour at random and chuckling as you flinched upon the contact of the chilled brush and the wet paint on your back. “Alright, darling?”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled widely, enjoying the innocent intimacy of the moment.

And just like this, Loki finally created a true piece of art, one he was content with. A piece of beautiful imperfection.

________________________________

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If you would like to be added to my general tag list, tell me in the comments 💗✨ I hope you guys enjoyed this!

[teaveetamer]

Looking at Edelgards wiki page, and aside from all the spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes and horrible sentence structure, dear LORD is it filled with such vague, unspecific language to make her look better. Saying in "some endings" she passes on the role of Emperor to someone else while in others she "rules for an unspecified time" to support she steps down after the war, completely ignoring Lysitheas ending where she rules for the rest of her life and not clarifying the specific (1/3)

numbers of endings where she retires (I counted, its two, and even then only in her later years). Crimson Flower apparently ends "much faster" than the other routes instead of directly stating its three months faster. Saying she only spoke so harshly to Dimitri before executing him to allow him to "hate her" until the end (how compassionate of her /s, also I cannot find any proof of this in the script so either I'm missing something or the editor is just posting headcanons). (2/3)

All in all, Edelgards entire personality wiki section is a complete joke. The person that wrote it should have their editing priviledges removed. (3/3)

I mean we know who is making all of those edits. It’s our resident contrarian that people were sending a dozen asks about yesterday. It just comes off as another of many poorly thought out arguments, since they keep pointing to specific supports or text in the game when that’s... Not really necessary. We all played the game, you only do that shit when you’re trying to win an argument.

Honestly if I were in control of the page it’d look more like this:

Edelgard holds herself with a dignified air, but full of melancholy and solemn wistfulness. which can make her appear outwardly cold. As heir of the Adrestian Empire, she is an exemplary student and a natural leader. She keeps a modest stoic front. rarely cutting loose and maintains formality. She rarely cuts loose and maintains formality at all times. Her colleagues classmates (who the fuck calls the people they went to school with “colleagues”?) express great surprise whenever she does relax. While She is generally a private person, she does recognize the importance of her duties and expresses confidence and faith in the abilities of her allies. and she is rarely shown opening up to other people.(the previous line did not make sense, her recognizing the importance of duty has no relationship to being a private person).

She is a capable dancer, having taught Dimitri at a young age and has a talent for drawing portraits, though she is embarrassed to show them to others. (These really belong in a separate “skills” section but whatever the wiki doesn’t appear to have that category for this game). She has a personal nickname, El, of whom which she only allows very close individuals, namely her family, to call her.

Though she tries to keep it a secret, Edelgard is deathly afraid of rats, as they remind her of a past she is uncomfortable with. Edelgard is deathly afraid of rats since they remind her of a past she is uncomfortable with, though she tries to keep this fact a secret. She is also fears afraid of the ocean since because she cannot swim.

Edelgard is far more complex than she initially appears, as she had been scheming to dismantle the corrupt systems of Fódlan, namely the influence of the Church of Seiros, the oppression of the Crest systems, and the hidden machinations of the Agarthans. Driven by her desire to remove these influences, she is willing to sacrifice both her life and reputation as she believes that the only means of achieving her goals is through war and sometimes underhanded tactics. (Such unnecessary fluff). Edelgard will use whatever it takes to achieve her goals, using all three of the aforementioned systems begrudgingly as they are the current means for her to amass any sort of power and influence in order to instigate meaningful change in them. Edelgard is extremely driven, and she is willing to use whatever it takes to achieve her goals. This is evidenced by her willingness to work with Those Who Slither in the Dark, as she believes they are the only ones who can help her amass enough power to achieve her ends.

Edelgard strongly believes that the ends will justify the means if she were to win the war, as she despises the structure of Fódlan society and believes it has to be replaced by a more just system under which humanity can flourish. In the Azure Moon route she states she went to war after weighing all options and determined that it would be much faster with far fewer casualties than to continue on in the continent's current state. This is reflected through the Crimson Flower route that ends much sooner than the other two, albeit a later war is impending against the remaining Agarthians, where she manages to wipe them all out, compared to the other routes where the Agarthans survive to return at a later time. As a result, she does realize the gravity of her orders but chooses to remain steadfast in her belief in improving society for everyone. She also does not desire to remain Emperor for too long as according to a tea time conversation with her, Edelgard states she has no intention of handing the throne to any children she might have, instead planning to pass it on to someone brilliant and kind, which a few endings do, while others she rules for an unspecified time. (Literally this entire paragraph is unnecessary fluff.)

Dimitri has had a significant impact on her life as the two are step-siblings when her mother Anselma married King Lambert under the name "Patricia." In their childhood, neither were aware of their relationship to each other, but they were close nonetheless, with Dimitri affectionately calling her "El" which only those particularly close to her are allowed to call her. Dimitri gifted her a dagger which she held well into the present, which was symbolically meant to tell her to carve out her own ideals and face the numerous hardships she had to endure up until the present. If met at the Goddess Tower during the Academy Phase, she admits that her first love was a Faerghus noble who she cannot recall, implied to be Dimitri. Despite her past feelings towards him, it is heavily implied for most of the game that Edelgard no longer remembers Dimitri nor that he gifted her the dagger, possibly as a result of her trauma from the experiments. In the Azure Moon route, she accepts Dimitri's invitation to parley on a whim. Despite failing to come to an understanding with one another to end the war peacefully, she is nonetheless able to express her gratitude to him for the dagger and the strength it provided her when he reminds her that it was a parting gift from him. (Everything in this paragraph would really be more at home in a separate “relationships” subcategory, which this wiki also does not feature.)

Edelgard's personality and ambitions are a result of tragedies that painted her view of the world. The traumatic imprisonment of her siblings and herself due to the experiments of Those Who Slither in the Dark created her hatred of Crests.  Edelgard’s personality and ambitions are a direct result of the suffering she faced at the hands of TWSITD. Her imprisonment and the subsequent experimentation on herself and her family were a key factor in her disillusionment with Fódlan and the Church of Seiros. (Don’t ask me how she got to that conclusion. Also take a shot for every time this dude uses the word “tragic”.) She also despises most nobility, especially the Adrestian Nobles, as they are partially responsible for the circumstances leading to said experiments, but also due to the fact that Crests are used as societal leverage by most nobles as a sign of their prestige. She even shows sympathy and pity to Miklan, whom she praises for becoming a leader despite being disowned and leading a group of bandits, calling his death "a waste". One of her main goals is to dismantle the current nobility system and having the people earn their position by merit rather than birthright, which she achieves in her ending in the Crimson Flower path. (More fluff.)

Edelgard has a complex view of the current Church of Seiros as her tragic history with the Insurrection of the Seven along with the knowledge given by her father regarding the truth of the War of Heroes paints her radical opinion. She bears a large distrust of Rhea due to her withholding of knowledge and context behind the history of the church, even pointing out some of the Church's hypocrisy of remaining neutral across Fódlan, yet allowing the Crest system to flourish that Edelgard despises. She does not fully dismiss the concept of faith however, even allowing it to continue to exist in her rule, though heavily monitored by the Empire. (Oh hey Edelstan is acknowledging her state run religion at least) She even tries to learn more about it from Manuela but does not plan on ever becoming a devout follower by any means. When as an enemy, however, she will cause those who are faithful to be afraid for their lives and flee the Empire. However, during Crimson Flower, several Knights of Seiros that have become unnerved by Rhea flee to the Empire, while those involved with the Church in the Empire flee for the Eastern, but then flee to Faerghus due to lack of a military. (Fluff.)

Despite this, Edelgard expresses fear and anxiety over the consequences of her actions her chosen path should Byleth side with her in Crimson Flower, as she understands that she would be her actions make her responsible for the deaths loss of countless lives. (lmao “the deaths of countless lives”) This is proven further when Randolph and Ladislava die defending Garreg Mach from the Church, and how she laments that another life is lost in the war because of her choices. She mourned Dimitri's death, letting herself be hated by Dimitri to the end by speaking harshly to him to let his perception of her remain, lamenting how she could not save him from Thales's manipulation. (wut) Dimitri's death struck her to the point that Byleth questioned if Edelgard was crying, which she denied, claiming that the Edelgard who cried had perished years ago.

Edelgard's relationship with Byleth greatly affects her personality and fate in the war. Edelgard admits in her support that she feared expresses fear that she would have become "a harsh ruler with a heart of ice" if she had to walk her path alone. In the other routes where she is not taught by them or where Byleth sides with the church against her, this becomes a reality and ultimately leads to her early demise. This is likely expressed in the conversation with Dimitri, where, in the Japanese version, she retorts Dimitri's statement over the lessons he learned with his friends and Byleth with her stating that he can understand that because he has what she lacks, referencing how Edelgard felt Byleth was the only one she could consider an equal that is not bound by status but simply as Edelgard. As her enemy, Edelgard will express regret that the two did not walk the same path and even find some semblance of closure falling to Byleth's sword in the Silver Snow and Verdant Wind paths. Should they choose to support her, she has a far easier time expressing kindness and regret over her actions over the course of the game herself. She will opt to force her enemies to surrender instead of wiping them out, where she even offered to spare Rhea and the Church followers if they surrendered, while the former was willing to sacrifice the city the final battle takes place in. (This doesn’t even make sense, she never forced Rhea to surrender she just half heartedly gave her the option of surrender). She also has several fleeting moments of peace and happiness, such as when she takes to drawing portraits of Byleth, which she is self conscious about due to their lack of quality in her eyes.

That attachment towards Byleth is even perhaps stronger than that of the other house leaders. When they teach the Black Eagles, she makes several attempts to get Byleth to understand her world view, even though Hubert advised her it would not be wise and personally invited Byleth to her coronation. In the Crimson Flower route, Dorothea notes that among the Black Eagles, Edelgard was the most emotionally affected by Byleth's disappearance. Edelgard's fondness for Byleth goes so far as to encourage Byleth to call her El and even let Byleth give her orders on the battlefield despite her dislike of not being in control. Despite her earlier statement that she does not cry, she openly cries at the end of the Crimson Flower route when Byleth supposedly dies after slaying Rhea, but is overjoyed when they are revived. Edelgard's bond with Byleth can ultimately result in the marriage of the two, regardless of their gender. It is in her proposal to them at this level where she asks that they stay close to her and that she will need them for the rest of her life. Regardless of her relationship status with Byleth, in the Crimson Flower route, it is through their influence that she ultimately achieves her goals and is remembered far more kindly than in the other routes where she perishes. (Again, would be more at home in a separate relationships section since it says almost nothing about Edelgard as an individual. You could maybe keep the bit about her disliking not being in control, but I’d combine it with an earlier paragraph since it doesn’t make much sense as its own thing.)

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 44 – The Story Unbeknownst

“Welcome back. And thanks. We owe you so... Miss Lunark?”

Tao beckoned Lunark; he was outside, having watched the four teenagers leaving less than a minute ago.

He raised his arm halfway before he froze awkwardly, upon checking the composition of her face.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at the KSA?”

“Oh, yes. Something did happen – something far from small. And for your information, this has nothing to do with the fact that you made me your substitute.”

Lunark foresaw what Tao will first and foremost forecast and barricaded his apology.

“Is everyone home now? I reckon this is something I gotta share with all of you.”

She directed her eyes towards Frankenstein’s house as she spoke.

Tao instantly understood what she was implying and in return nodded as he turned.

“This way, please. And I’m sorry, but could you please give Takio a few moments? He has yet to come back, and...”

“Forget it.”

“Pardon?”

Tao for a moment was appalled by the apparent distaste she has come to harbor for one of the founding members of RK, probably because of his connection to Yuigi, but soon enough he was told wrong.

“We don’t have time to wait until he makes it back. Call him. Use the video call feature on your phone.”

“What? I-is it that serious?”

Lunark did not issue a reply for him.

Which was more than enough for him to fathom the magnitude of the situation; Tao promptly led the way for the werewolf warrior, thumbing through his phone to scroll down his recent call records.

*****

The gathering was held for the second time, featuring Tao, M-21, Raizel, and Takio through a video call.

It was revealed Takio was at the other safehouse under Frankenstein’s ownership.

Yuigi had been made homeless, with the previous safehouse no more. So he was helping her to move in to her new residence, as well as installing and auditing the variety of defense kits devised by Tao, in order to prevent anything reminiscent of Kornel’s visit from taking place.

He was finished with his task by the time Tao’s name popped up upon his phone screen, so he was currently standing atop an empty building on his way back home.

And this time they were occupying the underground lab, originally Frankenstein’s possession now passed on to Tao.

If it were not for the essence of the situation, Lunark would have been completely mesmerized by the touches and traces of Frankenstein flaunting themselves in his lab.

“I got the item from the KSA – Yuhyung’s USB containing a security program developed by the man himself, along with its upgrade version from their doctor. But of course, that’s not what I requested this meeting for. It’s the researcher we have to talk about.”

The moment Yuhyung’s name came up, all men’s eyes glinted with nervousness as they flickered over Lunark’s face.

Keeping her facial muscles in control, despite knowing it would be no use once she is done talking, Lunark pulled out from her head the conversation she had at KSA.

*****

“...That’s what he told you?”

“What? What is it?”

“We beg your pardon, but could you reiterate for us exactly what he told you?”

“Hmm... He said... ‘The shock I received was too severe for me to return to work. I was half-forced to take off work, and I could return after much time was spent.’”

Taesik’s and doctor’s expressions were intensified with anxiety as they met each other in the eyes, holding something somewhat different from useless concern.

What their pupils were hinting were not meaningless concern; it was untainted apprehension, close to fear.

“If there is something going on between you two, I’d really appreciate it if you could share with me. Whatever it is that you know about him, I’m obliged to learn. He’s not the only one affiliated with the QuadraNet project.”

Lunark’s words were inquisitive, not imperative or exclamatory.

Albeit she could not help emitting a splinter of annoyance, she had no intention of telling them off.

Nevertheless, Taesik and the doctor grew much smaller in presence, like brothers whose parents figured out at last what they had done wrong and kept as secret so far.

“Listen carefully, Miss Lunark. About the reason why Yuhyung took off work in the past... It wasn’t a vacation or anything of the sort.”

“What are you talking about?”

“At least on his dossier, it is described as personal vacation. And that’s what all personnel and staff of KSA think regarding his temporary leave.”

“Are you saying in reality, he was momentarily kicked out or something?”

“That was not what we had in mind, but... I guess he’d say that was the case. Because he left not because of the assault you mentioned.”

“Strictly speaking, that assault is not completely unrelated to this matter, but in reality there’s a difference. This is partially why we can’t stop asking you if Yuhyung has troubled you in any way.”

Taesik solemnly clasped his hands upon his desk, and the doctor wound up his arms behind his back as he stood beside his boss.

“Do you know what Yuhyung majored in during... I mean, do you know what he used to specialize in before joining us?”

The doctor unfolded for Lunark almost the exact same thing Sangin and Yeonsu relayed to Rael on his first encounter with Yuhyung.

The fact that prior to the job offer from the doctor himself, Yuhyung majored in Bio And Brain Engineering at KAIST.

The fact that 6 years have passed ever since, and he is now the lead technological assistant and one of the lead researchers of KSA, making majestic contributions to bioengineering studies and developments.

The fact that he is almost solely responsible for the studies associated with artificial intelligence and brain and neurology.

“He had made names for himself during his time at KAIST for his creative-slash-bizarre imaginations and suggestions. Some would dub them as innovative and original, while others would dub as unrealistic and preposterous.”

“Really? But wouldn’t your folks consider those handy? You’d need to take your perspectives and imaginations way over human boundaries to struggle and survive against a bunch of people with supernatural, superhuman technology and knowledge.”

“You’re right. And we wouldn’t have stayed on the edge of our seats if Yuhyung had... Kept his limits, to say. Ever since the assault you mentioned, he was basically a ball of glass on the tip of a sword.”

Once again came up the assault Lunark laid on Korea along with Zarga and 8th Elder; nonetheless, this time Lunark did not even flinch.

She was too curious about the contents and conclusion of this mystery to care.

“Just a few days afterwards, Yuhyung visited us in private, to make scandalous proposals.”

“He proposed that KSA accepts the Union way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Was he suggesting KSA should officially request Union to share its technology on body modification?”

“No. He meant it in a literal sense. He wanted us to adopt Union technology and methodology completely void of ethics or morals, treating humans as nothing more than shovels and garden trimmers in paving and shearing way towards goals.”

At this point, Lunark felt highly inclined to pause the current situation, to instead run over to Frankenstein’s house and book a full body exam on her auditory system.

She has witnessed countless examples of immorality and corruption throughout the past centuries. Even with such pre-exposure, she had been thoroughly disgusted at what Union could and would do.

And now that she has learned that the human so very timid and clumsy but meticulous and passionate in his job wanted his lot to copy and paste the Union’s manners, she felt positive that there must have been a mistake, much more strongly than she did with Adne’s potential betrayal.

Alas, just like with Adne, her suspicion was altogether blown away by Taesik and the doctor.

“After the assault you referred to, Yuhyung came to us and said... He said even though Korea’s history on modified humans is short, especially with Union watching, this was not supposed to happen. He said he couldn’t take that Korea’s modified humans could do nothing to defend their motherland, leaving everything to the modified humans in the ex-chairman’s team and creatures outside human classification. Which gave him nightmarish despair, making him question KSA’s existence and the purpose of studying body modification.”

“I remember how he appeared more agitated than usual. However, the sense of guilt, insecurity, and helplessness seething from his every vowel and consonant were neither exaggerated nor feigned.”

“And he urged us to remove all cautions and limits in studies, claiming that since our technology is an imitation of Union’s arts, there’s no reason for us to leave their ideology unimitated. He claimed that if we stick to rules unlike the Union, we will make no progress at all.”

“He even insisted on making it mandatory for incoming agents to go through body modification.”

Lunark could not even feel her lips parting. She was too busy suspecting whether the one they were designating was really Yuhyung Jang.

“Make body modification mandatory? That’s exactly the kind of thing Union would do, but not even Union went that far. Not that the Union kept the final line uncrossed – it was simply because their system did not need all of its human resources to pay at least one visit to the lab tank.”

“Is that so? Anyhow, this was what he had in mind – we are undoubtedly short of data on body modification, so reserving for ourselves more trials and errors in body modification would lead to natural collection of data, which will ultimately lead to progress.”

“Both of us vetoed the idea. No, there was no need to veto it. We never took into account his idea in the first place. I mean, force body modification? That’s just plain wrong.”

“Moreover, something was not right with Yuhyung back then. His mouth spoke of KSA’s progress, but his eyes were...”

Taesik and the doctor shuddered as they brought up the memories of the day.

“His eyes were shrieking vengeance and insecurity.”

“So the director gave him vacation, just to force him away from his lab. We figured we had to do something to separate his mind from such unreasonable thought.”

“Once he was back, he began to sort out and discard all his studies and creations on body modification, to instead shift his attention to artificial intelligence. So we figured he has come to his senses.”

“But listening to you, perhaps we were told wrong. Or are we being delusional here?”

Taesik and doctor stared at Lunark, as if imploring her to tell them they are being delusional.

But of course, she could not meet their demands.

*****

Tao, M-21, Raizel, and Takio beyond the phone could not even bat an eye, their bodies now entirely taken over by the danger alert that was growing increasingly cacophonous as they were listening.

The fact that the man of their interest did not outright deceive them but nevertheless led them to believe otherwise regarding the reason why he had to leave his job.

The revelation on his standing as a researcher, close to that of a mad scientist.

His specialization on artificial intelligence and brain, which ominously stood out for them as of now.

The raid by weapons against heads of noble clans that Rael and wolfkind suffered nearby Lukedonia and in their front lawn, respectively.

And the exhibition of changes in the weapons, indicated by the fact that they could now interact with each other and exercise strategies during battles.

For some very strange reason, it fatally dawned upon them that there must be a missing link in all of these.

However, none of them voiced their suspicion.

Things happened, but there was no evidence, material or immaterial.

More importantly, they knew that if they are to even pretend to point it out, the dam that has been remaining firm would finally break down, to result in something irreversible, inevitable.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“Uh... Sorry?”

“You said that something came up after hearing what I had, so you had to look into it. Doesn’t that mean now you have something new to tell me?”

“Uh... Uh, right!”

Tao spun in his seat, to race his chair towards the humongous desk plastered with a bunch of screens.

The rest followed suit, and Tao began to speak as he let his fingers dance.

(next chapter)

That’s right - Yuhyung had a secret. And guess what - there’s plenty more where that came from XD For now I don’t want to provide too much details about his past, as I do not want to spoil my own fic. Please stay tuned to find out more about Yuhyung!

[golddaggers]

come here, lover boy

pairings: thor x reader, steve x reader (tho its friendship only)

warnings: hmm, cursing and mentions of sex. but not reaaaally explict.

a/n: i wrote this after i watched dirty dancing. what? its one of my comfort movies. either way, it’s just a short, quick thing that i hope y’all enjoy (?). well. lemme know.

word count: 1,5k+

If there was anything that could tear apart his soldier focus, it was definitely the rhythmic sway of your hips, going low as they wiggled to the late seventies song. It was sexy, hypnotising even. Thor just couldn't keep his eyes away, wishing he could go up there and wrap his arms around your waist, feeling the gentle rub of your ass against his own hips as you two danced together.

Sighing, he sat back on the couch and took a sip of his bear in hopes that it would help soothe the discomfort growing within his trousers. It was taking all of his strength to not drop your mutual agreement to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of the Avengers, because all he wanted to do that very second was to feel your skin, your arms around him. And pretty honestly, your wet pussy under his fingers. He wanted to show you off.

"You should talk to her, you know," Bucky said, sitting beside him and giving a friendly pat on Thor's shoulder. "She doesn't bite."

"Oh, but she does." The thunder god mumbles under his breath, smirking upon remembering the events from the night before.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're right, I should talk to her." There's a heaviness in his words, suddenly doubting why you should keep your love a secret. There were good points when you talked about it, though he could only really focus on the tight bra pushing up your breasts in a way that it was not fair. "Is she with someone, though?"

"Hmm, I mean, I don't know." He shrugs. "Maybe she's got a little thing going on with Steve, but he wouldn't tell me no matter what I did, so I can’t tell."

"Oh really?" A pang of jealousy hits him hard, gazing up to find you still dancing excitedly, the cute, tiny dress going up and down tauntingly. "What makes you think so?"

An answer wasn't necessary as a loud squeal brought the men's attention to the centre of the room, you jumping happily to the track that had just begun.

Since it was a seventies night party, all it had been playing was some old tunes you apparently love, Thor presumed. This one, however, he knew you liked quite a lot because very often he'd find you dancing to it.

"Steve!" Your voice got Thor's eyes sewed to you. "Come on, dance with me. You know this one!"

"I'm not sure, Sweetkins." The nickname makes a smile creep up in your lips, a thunder cracking in the clear sky as soon as you do so. You have learnt to ignore when that happens, every minimum disturbance on Thor's emotions can cause such things. "I can't really dance."

"Oh shut it, Stevie."

The "Love is Strange" lyrics are still playing in the background when you engulf Steve into your arms, guiding his hands dangerously low on your hips, then resting yours on his shoulders. You had on the highest heels in your wardrobe, possibly why you were able to dance nicely with him, your bodies grinding together to the sexy tune.

It was mean of you to tease him like that, to bring out the jealousy from the depths of your thunder god. In your defence, you had told him countless times Steve was just a friend you liked hanging out with, that he was nice and sweet. Plus he had his eyes on somebody else, which was exactly why you were dancing with him like that. You wanted to urge jealousy from her so she’d finally speak up about her feelings towards Steve.

“Thor is going to kill me.” He mumbles into your ear, your body being thrown back lightly only to be jerked back up. “Have you seen the way he’s looking at us?”

“Shhh.” You giggle, placing two fingers against his lips. “Only you know, Steve, plus I told him nothing is going between us. He trusts me.”

“I don’t think he trusts me, though.”

Hiding your face on the crook of his neck, you laugh again, another thunder roaring outside. You remark yourself to have a really serious conversation with him about that. The song was nearly over when you were startled by the sound of a door being slammed, so strongly you feared it'd go off of the hinges. A sigh escaped as you unwrapped your arms from your friend, whispering that you'd take care of that situation.

As you made your way into the balcony, your mind swirled around the fact if your friends suspected of your involvement with the mighty Thor, they were now sure something was going on. Not that you were embarrassed by him or anything. God, no. You wanted to rub him on each person who ever diminished you and made you feel hard to love.

Thor loved you easily, that's why you wanted to keep him as your little secret.

"Thor…" Carefully placing your hand on his middle back, you feel him tense up. "Why'd you leave like that?"

"Why do you care?"

"Oi!" It comes off louder than you expected it to be. "Don't treat me like that, mister."

"Fine. Then tell me something." Thor suddenly turns to you, eyes in a dark shade of blue, filled with resentment. "You work so hard to keep us a secret, you say that it could be dangerous for both of us, but I don't see you holding back with the Captain."

"Because everybody knows he's just my friend." A low grunt rumbles on his chest, you inch closer to him. "Are you jealous, my love?"

Dropping his shoulders in defeat, Thor gives his back to you, gazing up at the dark sky, greyish clouds gathering together once he does so. It looks like it's going to rain soon. You realise that this little stunt of yours got to him more than it should have. You hate that you made him feel insecure about your relationship, it was never really the point.

If Thor wants a dance, he’ll get a dance.

"Come here, lover boy." You mumble, mimicking the song you were dancing with Steve just a few minutes ago. He doesn't answer, he doesn't even flinch. "Oh, lover boy…"

There’s a slight change of weight between his long legs, although he’s still not looking at you. Smacking your lips, you move closer to him again, wounding your arms around his waist, your hands dipping under the loose t-shirt he was wearing, crawling up to his chest, brushing the sizzling skin. Only then you notice him relax a little, his guard still very much up.

“Baby...” Tracing up to the toned muscles on his back with your nose, you take in his inebriating smell,  clinging to the feeling of him shuddering under the palms of your hands. “My sweet baby…”

In a swift movement, so fast you can’t even tell what’s happening, Thor has you pressed against the wall, the chill temperature and the fact he’s so close to you makes it hard to breathe. Your breasts bump into his abdomen lightly, arms wrapping around his neck while he lifts you up by holding the back of your thighs, hands so large gripping the tender flesh.

A quiet moan leaves your lips, fuelling him to move his hips against yours even further.

“You’re the one.” You finish. “The only one for me, my love.”

“I cannot stay mad at you, can I, my queen?” Thor’s voice is raspy, so deep that if your core could scream, it would be doing so at full lung capacity. “Do want to leave his party?”

“I have the feeling that if we don’t, you’re just going to take me right here.” A chuckle trembles on the crook of your neck, the prickling of his beard lighting a fire within you. “And I’m really not in the mood to put up with Tony’s witty remarks about my sex life.”

“So you are no longer concerned about them knowing about us?” It shoots off mixed sensations, a wave of guilt washing over you again.

“No. I don’t care anymore.” You answer softly, cupping his cheeks. “I love you. You have no idea how much.”

“So do I, Sól mín.”

The sound of his voice when speaking in his first language send chills down your spine, so you hug him like you’re afraid to let him go or move away from you. Every moment with him is like that, an abrasive will to forever be by his side, to eat him whole and be eaten by him. It was crazy how much she needed him.

“What does that mean?”

“My sun.” He says, helping you down so you can finally leave. “That’s what you are to me.”

“The sun is actually a pretty small star.”

“Hmm, you are a pretty small star too, my queen.” Thor mocks, patting the top of your head. “But I love you nonetheless.”

“Come, otherwise we will have to put up with Tony’s jokes because I most certainly will rip your clothes off and make love to you right here.”

He laughs, guiding you out through the people and towards the exit of the building. The eyes of all of your friends never leave the two of you, but, at that moment, you’re happy and nothing else matters.

tags!

marvel: @frenfics

thor: @lancsnerd @odinson-barnes

[plumoh]

[FE3H] a sword length apart

Word count: 3118

Summary: Annette is a swordswoman and Felix is a mage.

Note: AO3 link. This was originally written for Felannie week day 1: role reversal! No specific route.

“Why are you so good at wielding a sword? I’ve never seen you fight with one!”

Felix pushes the bangs out of his eyes and smirks. “What, are you surprised I’m better than you?”

“You’re not better than me, don’t be delusional.”

Annette adjusts her grip on the training sword and lunges at him again. Her frontal attacks are weak but that’s only because she puts all her efforts in follow-up strikes meant to drive her opponent into a corner before landing the final blow. Felix has observed her form long enough to understand her fighting style. It’s not the most common and definitely not the one he was taught, but he recognizes there is value in it.

He hasn’t properly practiced with a sword for years. He retained all the teaching he got and the countless hours of form training, and he’d certainly do well in a duel but not on the battlefield. He hasn’t held a sword with conviction since he’s realized there was no point for him to chase a shadow, then a corpse.

Annette is diligent and enjoys training as much as he enjoys reading and studying, and that look of joy suits her. He blocks and dodges and retaliates, but she’s still faster and more at ease than he is so she swiftly knocks the sword out of his hand and grins.

“I win!”

Felix rolls his eyes and sits right there on the floor, in the middle of the training grounds. Annette is still radiating mirth when she joins him after picking up the discarded sword, placing it and her own in her lap.

“We should keep sparring, it’s fun,” she says.

“There’s no point in me sparring with you. I’m not a swordsman.”

“Maybe not, but I like sparring with you.”

Felix stares at her with unmasked surprise, and the scrutiny of his gaze makes her flush. And he feels himself grow hot.

“I-I mean, training isn’t only about fighting strong opponents? We can have fun sometimes? You know?”

It’s been too long for him to consider the idea of associating sword training and fun—and he’s buried that earnest boy long ago. It’s not serious; he’s not swinging his sword to prove something, or to push the limits of his own body. It’s completely different from what he’s used to, but there is still some cold twist in his stomach preventing him from accepting the offer.

“Sorry, you should ask someone else,” he mumbles. “I’m not that good with a sword anyway.”

Annette looks like she wants to say something else, but Felix gets up, and runs away.

***

The library is his favorite place in the monastery, since there are books and nobody will come to bother him with stupid questions or coerce him into a conversation.

“I never got the hang of magic, to be honest.”

Annette sits just across him, holding a book about chivalry that he remembers not finishing because it pissed him off halfway through it. Clearly she’s not reading it either since she seems more interested in the textbooks he’s poring over.

“My tutors told me I wasn’t focused enough, and that’s probably because I only wanted to practice my swordsmanship.”

She always wears that dumb smile when she speaks about training and swords, and when it happens to other people Felix thinks it’s laughable but Annette looks...endearing. He quickly dismisses the thought.

“Not everyone is cut out for some things,” he replies evenly.

“You’re right, and that’s why I gave up magic to only train with my sword!”

Felix sighs and leans back into his chair.

“Why are you bringing this up? If you haven’t noticed, I’m busy.”

Annette at least has the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry, I saw you in the library and wanted to say hi,” she laughs awkwardly. His heart is racing. “And I, uh...wanted to apologize for the other day.”

Now it’s his turn to be awkward. “Why would you apologize?”

Annette plays with a lock of her hair, and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have been so insistent, you clearly didn’t want to spar with me. I’m sorry.”

He stays silent. He has been rude too by leaving and ending the conversation so abruptly, and his throat itches with an apology of his own.

“It’s alright,” he says instead. “It’s not a big deal. I...maybe another time. One day.”

Felix pushes down the uncomfortable feeling speaking these words brings him. He’s not a child anymore, and he shouldn’t let emotions dictate what to do—how to live and to get by.

But Annette shakes her head, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you to do something you dislike.” She pauses, and frowns. “Well, I’d ask you to forget you heard me singing, but you’re evil.”

This is an easy conversation he can slip into.

“You’re right, it’s too good to forget,” he snickers, and Annette puffs out her cheeks.

***

She’s never reckless in battle, but she does get too intense, sometimes, and makes mistakes that leave her skin all bruised and cut up. She doesn’t learn her lesson even though people tell her she should cover her left side better or to step back when the cavalry arrives too strongly, but she’s too stubborn. Felix guesses he relates to her desire to prove herself.

“You know, when I said I was going to learn faith, that wasn’t for you to come to me as a regular patient for practice,” he grouses.

“But Mercie is going to chide me again if she sees all these new cuts,” Annette whines, like that’s the main issue here.

Felix deeply sighs but never stops his Heal spell, grumbling some more about her fighting style that will attract more incidents in the near future. Lecturing her about prudence and knowing when to stop would be hypocritical of him, since his friends still come to drag him out of the library late at night. Annette spends time in the training grounds destroying dummies and nobody has managed to convince her that endless training will be more harmful than beneficial to her. Not that Felix listens to gossip and his classmates’ babbling, but he just happens to agree to what he hears.

“Besides, it was only a skirmish, so I don’t want to bother her. She’s already doing so much for our class! And I know you need to practice, anyway.”

Annette grins at him, unabashed though there is shyness dancing in her eyes, and Felix covers the sound of his heartbeat with a snort. Casting white magic demands more control and accuracy than black magic, which from the get-go is a struggle for him as he’s always preferred blasting entire zones with a powerful spell rather than focusing on a single target. But he’s trying, even if he’s complaining all the way, but he accepts the Professor’s praise at his progress nonetheless.

“It sounds like you’re making a sacrifice,” he says lightly.

“Mh, it’s just that I know you’ll take care of the injuries.”

Felix’s eyebrows furrow and he lifts his gaze, but has to look away just as soon when his ears start burning with the same red spreading over Annette’s cheeks.

This is ridiculous.

“You’re ridiculous,” he coughs.

“Maybe. You’re ridiculous!”

“Why am I the ridiculous one? That doesn’t make sense!”

Felix furiously avoids Annette’s eyes and puts all his efforts into his healing, even if the cuts are only thin scars now and will disappear in a few days. Annette stays silent after trying to sputter a sentence he didn’t catch any of its word, and they remain that away until Annette leaves the infirmary when a much too amused Sylvain pokes his head inside.

***

For a long time, Felix has been banned from the front line due to his utility as a long-range spellcaster and his tendency to destroy more land and soldiers than he was initially told. Over the five years they’ve fought their side of the war, he’s tried to control his accuracy to get stronger but also faster, and maybe his training paid off or Byleth simply needed more people at the front. Since he’s always been readily available and very vocal about wanting to fight alongside his allies, and not behind them, nobody was really surprised to see him wandering among a battalion of infantry soldiers while they march towards the Empire.

Annette shoots him a curious look, but he can definitely see the worry etched on her face.

“If you say anything I’m going to leave all the healing to Mercedes,” he warns.

She doesn’t look intimidated by his glare but she purses her lips, her hand fiddling with the pommel of her sword. She’s dressed like a proper swordmaster, with light armor over her padded cream-colored tunic while her left leg is uncovered as her boots don’t even reach below the knee. Felix has always thought it was a stupid outfit designed for practicality when it was only a recipe for disaster. His thick robes and simple armor cover and protect him better than what she wears. He still averts his gaze from her when embarrassment prickles his neck.

“I...be careful, okay?” Annette says in a low voice. “I’ll stick by your side, but...”

“I don’t need protecting, Annette. Don’t patronize me.”

The bitter words rush out of his mouth before he can think them over, and he’s only left with mild guilt when Annette doesn’t say anything else. Whatever—he’s perfectly able to decimate the enemy and still look after the injured. His grip tightens around the Caduceus staff Byleth has entrusted to him for this battle, and waits. From the corner of the eye he sees Annette stepping closer to him, but he pretends not to notice.

As soon as the fliers sent out as scouts come back, they get the order to charge. Some people around Felix let out a battle cry while others whisper prayers for their victory, but Felix stays silent, and follows the battalion. There are pegasus riders and cavalrymen charging at them but they make quick work of them. Even though he asked to be on the front line he knows he can’t cast whatever he wants in such close range of his allies, so he steps back, still surrounded by the other soldiers, and conjures up thunder striking down one, two, then three and four soldiers. The air is crackling and makes the screams even more morbid, while his allies rush past him without hesitation and finish the job. He looks ahead and advances, never faltering in front of the blood and the violence he’s grown up with, and calmly prepares another spell.

Felix isn’t one to be praised for his observation skills, but his instincts kick in and his senses sharpen when he’s on the battlefield. He watches the movement of his enemies to halt their advance with a well-aimed and well-timed spell and dodges every thrust of lance targeting him. Ingrid once told him his concentration in battle is terrifying, like his eyes thirst for a good fight and relish in the demise of his enemies. She’s not wrong; he has never felt more alive than when he’s hearing the noises of weapons clashing and seeing the blood pooling under his feet, while his hands call forth unbridled power. It’s war—it’s something he’s been raised for.

Annette materializes next to him and slashes down an assassin sneaking up on him. She dances on her feet and waves her blade like it weighs nothing, her blows always striking true and not letting any chance of survival to her opponent. She parries the onslaught of hits from another swordsman and Felix seizes the opportunity to fire a spell at him. Unable to dodge both the spell and the sword, their enemy is quickly taken care of when Annette runs her blade through his chest. He falls down hard on the ground, and in that few seconds break between felling two soldiers, Annette whirls around and looks sternly at him.

“Don’t get distracted!” she admonishes.

“I’m not getting distracted,” Felix retorts viciously. “I saw them coming.”

“Well, next time see them faster! Stay close to me.”

Felix is not going to follow Annette around in this battlefield—but if he doesn’t then she’s the one who will stick around him, so he begrudgingly lets her do whatever she wants. With the staff in hand he manages to push his spells farther than he usually does and in a much wider circle, while Annette is content to simply kill every soldier charging at them. He can’t say that his attention isn’t divided; he perfectly knows that not focusing on a single point can mean his end but fighting alongside Annette naturally forces him to make sure she isn’t throwing herself head first into danger. She’s a skilled warrior and light on her feet, but past experiences leave him with a nagging suspicion he will have to watch over her, too.

Annette makes sure that she stays close to him, but not too close; moving around and slashing her opponents don’t give her much of a choice, and Felix wouldn’t have recommended her to get into his personal space when he’s summoning his enemies’ worst nightmares. They work surprisingly well despite their infrequent partnership and their different fighting styles. None of them steps on the other’s foot and causes an incident, and despite Felix’s preference for long-range spells, from time to time he will zap anyone trying to get close to him into the void. Annette looks extremely pleased by this teamwork, so he can’t repress a small smile of his own.

The enemy troops are already retreating, as they were outnumbered and they probably shouldn’t have run into them in the first place. Smoke is rising from the ground where fire and thunder have scorched it, and blood has painted their clothes and their faces like a possessive mark of their passage. Sighs of relief echo amid the silence that falls upon the after-battle.

Felix looks critically at Annette, searching for an injury. She is dusting off her tunic and doesn’t notice his gaze, so he slowly approaches and claps her on the shoulder where his fingers start glowing. She startles and tries to turn around but Felix keeps her rooted on the spot.

“Don’t move, I’m trying to heal you,” he snaps.

“Felix, you could have waited until we regrouped with everyone!” she huffs, but stays still.

The gash on her shoulder isn’t wide or particularly life-threatening, but Felix doesn’t want her to keep bleeding all the way to the meeting point. That would kind of defeat the point of him being here on the front lines.

“You didn’t unnecessarily put yourself in danger today,” he remarks, and he’s glad he can’t properly see her face.

“Well, I...I had to protect you, too. It doesn’t matter that you think otherwise.”

It’s useless to argue with her because she will win. He doesn’t need protection, and especially not from her, who is just as vulnerable to sneak attacks and arrows. He can’t deflect the blows as quickly as she can, but he is alert enough not to let them happen in the first place. His grip on her shoulder relaxes, and she immediately turns around to lock her eyes with his. He resists the urge to look away—she’s shorter than him but her whole body language screams confidence and she’s always managed to make herself bigger than she is.

“I don’t want you to get injured,” she states firmly. “So please let me stay by your side when we fight like we did today.”

He exhales slowly. “Annette, I told you I’m fine—”

“I know you can take care of yourself! But I just...I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

There is no way for him to convince her otherwise. His fingers are still tingling with the sensation of the spells he relentlessly cast, and now that they’re all safe, that Annette isn’t bleeding anymore, he feels all the adrenaline leaves his body in one second. And Annette is the one to cast her gaze downward.

“I don’t want you to push yourself to—to prove you can fight or something, I know that using magic is hard and can easily exhaust people, so if I’m not here to help you when you’re already tired after both killing our enemies and healing our allies—”

Felix grabs her arm and she instinctively lifts her head; for a split second he takes in all the worry her eyes are shining with.

“I get it. Stop it,” he grunts. “Don’t be reckless, that’s all I’m asking.”

Annette is still staring at him, but slowly her lips tug upwards and she nods frantically.

“And I still don’t need you for protection,” he adds hastily before she can get any more ideas. “I’m the one who should keep an eye out for you.”

“Well, let’s say it’s mutual protection then!” Annette chuckles.

He’s fine with it. Felix snorts and tugs her along with him to regroup, and he knows she sees the slight smile on his face because she keeps laughing and looking at him as they cross the entire battlefield.

***

Felix thinks Annette didn’t expect him to ever step into the training grounds ever again, which is why she points at the lance, then at him, and again at the lance.

“You want to spar with me?” she asks, confused.

“Yes,” Felix grits out. “I figured I should polish my skills on horseback. With a weapon.”

“...And you chose a lance?”

She remembers their conversations from five years ago. She knows he refuses to wield a sword but has never asked why, and even now her gaze is full of curiosity. Felix chooses to ignore it altogether—he’s not ready to have this talk yet.

“We have a better reach with a lance.” He shrugs. “Sylvain and Ingrid showed me the basics, but training with them is annoying.”

(And a long time ago, the prince of their kingdom guided him through the moves of a lance before Felix decided that a sword was way cooler.)

Annette nods like it makes perfect sense, though her smile is a little too pleased.

“Right. Your magic is impressive, but I understand why you would want to use a weapon too.”

She gets into a defensive stance, and grins.

“Do your best, Felix! Don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you’re a mage.”

He lets himself get carried away by her enthusiasm, and prepares his attack.

“I wasn’t expecting any less.”

Perhaps she was right all along; sparring can be fun.

[anchored-in-high-tide]

MILK

Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock/Johnlock Rating: GA Words: 2k Tags: Post Mary’s Death, Pining Idiots, First Kiss, Parentlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grocery Shopping

Summary: It's been two months since Mary's death but John doesn't blame Sherlock. They live together again but still struggle with their past, caring for baby Rosie, and their feelings for each other. A trip to the supermarket might change everything.

John sighed. “Damn, I forgot the milk.” His shoulders slumped in defeat as he spoke. He loaded the bananas on the belt a little more forcefully than necessary and pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes shut against the cold neon light. It was already dark out. They should be home by now, lounging in their chairs or on the sofa, watching something trivial on the telly. But between a particularly gruesome triple murder and flu season at the clinic, neither of them had had time to go out for groceries. With Mrs. Hudson gone to her sister’s, their emergency food supplier had forsaken them as well, leaving their fridge and pantries shamefully empty. They had had no choice. In her baby carrier, Rosie gave another sharp wailing sound that drowned out the soft 80s music droning from the speakers. The little girl had begun to fuss and cry as soon as they had entered the supermarket, raising either annoyed or pitying looks from other customers. John had hardily ignored them while he put toast, produce, and diapers into their cart and bounced his agitated daughter. Sherlock shot John a quick glance, eyes taking in the deep bags under John’s and the way his skin seemed to gradually lose its usual golden colour. He could all but taste the exhaustion oozing out of every pore, seeping through John’s shirt and coat, tainting the air with sleep-deprived resignation, so tangible it might actually be contagious. “I’ll go get it,” Sherlock said before John could ask. He weaved past the other people in the queue behind them. “I’ll be fast.” “Thank you,” John called after him as Sherlock disappeared into the next aisle, his long legs bridging the distance to the dairy section much quicker than John could’ve managed with Rosie strapped to his chest.

As he reached down and grabbed one of the cartons, a sad smile fought its way up to his lips. Buying milk. This used to be such an innocent annoyance when they had first moved in together, a cause for infinite bickering and countless jokes. But that was before everything had changed. Before Sherlock had gone and come back. Before John had gotten married and Sherlock had been shot. Before Mary had jumped in front of him, had spared Sherlock a second bullet and given her life in return. Before her loss had rippled through the already stained fabric of John’s existence and torn it to shreds. And yet, hanging on barely more than threads, John carried on, ever the brave soldier. Every day, every night, he marched onward with bleeding feet and steely stubbornness, Sherlock always by his side to catch him as soon as his legs would ultimately give in. It had been two months and not a single accusation had left John’s lips. In fact, he had barely spoken at all. Uttering not one word too much, he had organized the funeral, taken time off at the clinic to arrange everything for Rosie, packed up all their belongings and moved back to Baker Street. Somehow, he had brought this impenetrable silence with him. Maybe it was the boxes containing what was left of Mary. They still stood in John’s old bedroom, a brooding monument of their marriage, filling 221B with her presence. Sherlock knew—or at least strongly suspected—how unhappy John had been in the few months he had been married, not only because his wife had turned out to be an ex-assassin and shot his best friend. In John’s eyes, carefully covered with layers upon layers of self-preservation, swam something else, something like regret and longing and shame. Sherlock could catch a glimpse of it some nights, when John had numbed his sorrows with one too many glasses of whiskey. This look, this strange look he gave him, had grown so familiar over the years, its intensity waxing and waning. Lately, it had become so powerful that Sherlock was sure it would break through the surface at any moment. Or maybe he was just wishing for it, actively looking for the mirrored image of his own distraught face in those dark-blue eyes. They hadn’t talked about it, of course. And now that Mary was dead the conversation seemed, paradoxically, even more out of the question. Her death had sealed their fate and their lips alike, presumably forever. Some things simply had to stay unspoken, unseen, unfulfilled. Sherlock didn’t care though. John was back at his side again—a worn-out, almost pellucid version of him, but John nonetheless. This time, Sherlock decided, he would do everything right. He would be as supportive and kind and accommodating as he could muster, for John, and for his goddaughter. If this resemblance of togetherness was all that could ever be between them, he would take it. Even if it meant accompanying John on such tedious tasks as grocery shopping. The milk slowly bedewing with little drops of perspiration, Sherlock hurried back to the check-out, finding that the cashier had already begun to scan their items. He shimmied past the other waiting customers and slammed down the milk just as the clerk picked up the last item, the box of formula for Rosie. Her eyes coolly eyed the packaging before wandering over to John who still tried to calm down the baby while packing up the groceries. She pursed her lips into a tight smile. Her voice thinly masking her condescension, she said: “Someone’s a little fussy, I see, being out this late. You know that breastfeeding is actually much better for your child, don’t you? For their immune system and—” “What did you just say?” Sherlock interrupted her, stepping closer and fixating her with an adamantine stare. John startled and halted in his movements, only his eyes flicking back and forth between Sherlock and the victim of his anger. “Excuse me?” the cashier asked, her disapproval still written all over her face. Sherlock examined her closely; the way her cheaply coloured hair framed her turgid, starkly rouged cheeks; the company-issued t-shirt that clung to her sinewy body; the nicotine-stained fingernails. His voice dropped to menacing depths as he cocked his head and said: „Did you seriously just try to shame him for buying formula for his child?” The woman didn’t avert her gaze but swallowed heavily. “I just—” “Do you have any idea what this man has been through? His wife died only weeks after giving birth to their daughter and here you are, you sorry excuse for a human, and try to lighten the weight of your own meaningless existence by belittling a grieving father!?” His voice was barely more than a deadly whisper but the cashier stared at him as if he had shouted. The look on her face—shock, confusion, defiance—made Sherlock’s synapses sizzle like high-voltage lines, sending white-hot sparks to his eyes and overriding his self-control mechanisms. How did this horrible woman dare to even look at his John with anything other than utter admiration? The anger that bubbled up in him like boiling sulphur kept spilling out. “Oh, it’s so much easier, sitting in your chair and judging other people, without having to give their problems a second thought, you insensible woman. Just so you know: This man is a war hero, a doctor, and now a widower and single father. He’s the most hard-working, loyal, and intelligent man you’ll ever meet, but you wouldn’t recognize intelligence when it hit you in the face, now, would you? What have you ever accomplished in your life, apart from becoming a bitter, arrogant underachiever who can’t even work her way up the ranks by shagging the manager? What on earth gives you the right to spill your unqualified, self-absorbed opinions on decent men like him? You’re not even worth the dirt under his shoes so, for fuck’s sake, just shut up.” The woman’s mouth stood agape, giving her the look of a carp in an existential crisis. Sherlock felt a grim sense of satisfaction rush through him and took a deep breath, readying himself to fire another round of words sharp enough to sever limbs. A warm hand on his forearm stopped him. “That’s enough, Sherlock,” John said, his voice calm but stale. He lifted their shopping bags off the counter and made for the door without so much as looking at the cashier or any of the other customers. For a second, Sherlock stood there completely motionless, his eyes following John out of the store. The sight of his back, upright and sturdy as always, extinguished Sherlock’s anger as if John had emptied a bucket of ice water over his head, leaving nothing but wet, charred doubt. Hastily, Sherlock grabbed the milk, threw a few pound notes on the counter, and hurried after John without waiting for his change. Outside, the chilly wind blew away the last wads of smoke still erupting from his curls. It already smelled of spring. John was waiting for him, only a few steps away. The store’s harsh lighting illuminated his figure but his face remained hidden in the shadows as he bowed his head down to Rosie’s and cooed sweet words that finally seemed to calm her down. Cautiously, Sherlock stepped closer. The milk carton in his hand weighed five stone at least. “Why did you say that?” John asked in a tone Sherlock couldn’t quite place—confused but soft and… hopeful. Taken by surprise, Sherlock took a moment to answer. “It just… made me so angry that she assumed you weren’t doing what’s best for Rosie. She shouldn’t—no one should be allowed to talk to you like this. Not on my watch.” Maybe it was just the neon light playing tricks on his eyesight, but Sherlock was certain that John had smiled for just a second, even though his expression was more serious than he had ever seen when he finally looked up. “No, I mean, the things about me.” “About you?” Sherlock knitted his brows. How he hated stating the obvious. “Because it’s true. You are the best person I know, by far.” John moved closer, this unidentifiable thing floating in his eyes again, right beneath the surface. “So, you meant it?” “Of course, I meant it. Every word,” Sherlock rasped out. Why was his heart pounding so fast? When John gave him a doubtful smile, he added: “John, you are amazing, how do you not know that? You’re an amazing doctor and a great father. You’re irreplaceable as an assistant and a friend. You’re talented and smart and funny and understanding and basically every good thing I could never manage to be. I never dreamed that someone like you would even consider putting up with someone like me. And yet, after all we’ve been through, you are still here and you are still as amazing as ever.” With these words, Sherlock saw it finally break free, rupturing the invisible barriers between them and pouring from John’s eyes, iridescent and beautiful. Before he could as much as take a breath, John had let go of the bags, grabbed Sherlock’s face instead and pressed his lips to his in a desperate kiss. The world cracked at its hinges, tumbled over and spun around with twice its usual pace. Dizzying bliss flooded Sherlock’s system at this touch he had least expected and most longed for. His mind shut off, saturated by unadulterated happiness. He barely gained enough consciousness back to reciprocate the movement of John’s warm mouth against his and fling his arms around the man he had loved for longer than he dared to admit. When they finally broke the kiss, both gasping for air, Sherlock felt something wet creeping through his shoes and into his socks. He looked down to find a white puddle slowly spreading on the pavement. “I—I dropped the milk.” John gave him a smile so bright that it seemed to wash off all the hardship of the past months. “Forget about the milk.”

@itsalwaysyou-jw @benzedrine-calmstheitch @sarahthecoat @micahmatters @lsop712 @drunk-rambles @barbsiebabe @alexangelscuddles

[metalchick19-blog]

The Bowers Gang: How Patrick Would Feel About/Interact with an Extremely Shy Reader (Anonymous Request - Imagine)

* Request: The reader is super shy and only talks when talked to. She never says more than five words and hates being confronted and talking in public. I would love to see how Patrick would feel. Thank you so so much!! ♥️

* Any and all credit for this idea goes to the requestor.

For the past few weeks, you had been working on a school project with Patrick Hockstetter - you shared biology together, and, although you’d never spoken to him before, you’d always known him as the guy who was way too amped up on dissection days 

In fact, you’d literally seen him stuff a fetal pig into his backpack once, but you hadn’t dared to say anything to your teacher about it 

Because, really, who wants to mess with a guy who steals fetal pigs under any circumstance?

Regardless though (and regardless of the countless other things you’d heard about the guy), you two had been paired together to give a presentation on the plant of your choosing - what function it served in the ecosystem, and what internal mechanisms it used to stay alive

True to his normal character, Patrick had wanted to do your report on the venus fly trap since day one

And, even though you had wanted to do it on literally anything else, you went along with it, because you were never one to argue 

… Which Patrick would come to notice over the course of your time together 

From the moment he met you, Patrick knew you were shy (and loved it), but he didn’t realize just how shy until you officially started working together 

Every time he would focus on the project long enough to suggest an idea (which wasn’t often, seeing as he usually seemed to be focused on invading your personal space and giving you nightmare fuel), you gave him nothing in the way of resistance - just a nod of your head

Every time he would ask you a question, you would simply answer yes or no - anything to avoid coming out with a full sentence 

And, most noticeably, every time he’d meet your eyes and say something vulgar (“Cat got your tongue, princess? Maybe you could let me borrow it for a while once he’s done with it.” *Shudder-inducing Hockstetter smirk*), you’d do nothing but collapse into yourself, instantly a blushing mess

Essentially, Patrick came to realize that you were so shy, you’d let basically anything happen to you

You went along with everything he said, wouldn’t respond to sarcasm, insults, or come-ons (regardless of how strongly he came at you with them), and, in a lot of ways, seemed almost incapable of speaking 

… Which drove him insane with lust from the second he registered it 

Patrick had never met a girl so deeply ingrained in submission, and decided he wanted you from that point on

But, what he also realized… 

… was that he wasn’t entirely sure what your voice sounded like 

In all the time you two had been working together (which was approximately two weeks, at that point), you’d never said more than a few words to him at once - and Patrick decided that it was time to force you out of that comfort zone 

Partly for the sake of hearing you speak, but mostly for the sake of watching you panic

… And he decided this the day before your presentation was due

You walked into biology the next day, note-cards in hand, ready to present your half of the presentation - you were nervous, as always, but felt a little better than usual because you knew you’d have a partner… even if it was Patrick friggin’ Hockstetter

You sat down at your desk, looked around the room, and noticed one thing right away - Patrick wasn’t there

Which was fine, because he usually snuck in just before the final bell, but you had been hoping to go over the presentation together before class started (which never would’ve happened anyway, but it was optimistic of you nonetheless) 

You read over your note-cards, eyeing the clock as the minutes ticked down 

Class would be starting in 4 minutes - totally fine. Patrick would come

Class would be starting in 3 minutes - cool, cool. Patrick would make it

Class would be starting in 2 minutes - It was seriously fine. It was literally great. Patrick was on his way 

Class would be starting in 1 minute - OH MY GOD, NO. PLEASE NO. SERIOUSLY, OKAY, THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. DEATH IS IMMINENT, AND THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO TO STOP IT.

Finally (just as your freak-out was reaching its peak), Patrick ducked into the room, his arrival punctuated, as always, by the last bell

You’d truly never been so happy to see those piercing green eyes, and that long-legged stride coming towards you

… But, suddenly, the stride changed directions

Patrick’s eyes remained on yours, a spark of something like sick, amused intent flashing through them; the edges of his lips curled into a small smirk, and you finally registered that he was making his way over to your teacher 

Standing in front of Mr. Anderson, Patrick did what he always did - reverted to his “normal boy” act. He smiled politely, if not a little bit tiredly, and placed a note on Mr. Anderson’s desk

… At which point a knot began to form in your stomach

Mr. Anderson read the note briefly, nodded in understanding, and called you over to the table - not at all noticing Patrick’s seriously un-subtle giddiness 

Sighing, you walked over...

... and heard the worst news of your life:

“Hey, y/n. So, unfortunately Patrick here has step throat, so he won’t be able to help you present today - but he did bring his note-cards with him, so you can just read his half of the presentation from those. Okay?”

Right away, you could tell it was one of those questions that wasn’t a question; Mr. Anderson stared at you kindly, but expectantly. 

… So, you mustered a smile from the deepest depths of your soul, nodded, and took Patrick’s note-cards. 

Just as you turned to go back to your desk though, Patrick fixed you with one of the fakest (but, frighteningly enough, also one of the most believable) apologetic faces you’d ever seen - he knitted his eyebrows together in what, to you, was obviously feigned remorse, and looked down as if to say he was sorry for abandoning you

The look earned a “good boy” smile from Mr. Anderson, but you’d never wanted to choke someone so much in your life

You decided you’d hate that face forever - smirk, grin, or fake lip-pout. It was the terrible, awful face of a boy that was forcing you into public speaking. And that was fucking unforgivable 

For the next few minutes, as other people presented, you died inside over and over again

All you could think about was having to present information you hadn’t prepared for, and your hands trembled even as you sat 

Finally, it was time to be publicly executed - Mr. Anderson called “the venus fly trap group,” and you slid out of your seat, moving unsteadily to the front of the room

Venus fucking fly trap. You hadn’t even wanted to do the report on the damn thing, and that seemed all the more insulting now

You stood tall (or as tall as you could, given you were in a state of stage 3 panic), and faced the class, deciding to start out as strong as you could

… But one face made your voice catch in your throat 

Seated at the very back of the class, right in the middle of the room, so he could stare at you dead-on, was Patrick - grinning like a maniac, and already on the verge of laughter 

Though his face overall was a picture of joy, Patrick’s eyes were filled with nothing but cruelty; it reminded you of a butcher, smiling heinously (and meaning that smile with all his heart) just before chopping the head off a piece of meat 

Needless to say, it threw you, and you started reading your note-cards already in the middle of a stutter 

From there on, things went nowhere but downhill

So downhill that it felt like you were falling from Mt. Everest 

After struggling to read through your own note-cards adequately (and failing miserably), you finally got to Patrick’s 

… Which had nothing on them (except the top one, which had a picture of a badly drawn smiley face) and required you to improvise the rest 

Which you did - visibly trembling, and with your voice shaking the entire time

By the end of the presentation, you were a sweaty mess 

You hadn’t even looked up more than twice, because every time you did, you met Patrick’s shit-eating smirk

Despite everything though, you managed to get a good grade (though you suspected Mr. Anderson only gave it to you out of pity)

At the end of class, as everyone made their way out of the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder just as Mr. Anderson walked into the hallway 

...You almost didn’t want to turn around. 

But you did, and you saw just what you expected to see: Patrick - his lips so curled as to look “Grinchy,” with a look of bemused approval on his face 

“I knew you had it in ya’, sweetheart.” 

You knew it.

You fucking knew it.

Strep-throat?

Yeah.

Bullshit.

You opened your mouth to protest, but no sound came out 

Grinning, his eyes fiery with excitement, Patrick leaned in close to you

His hand came up to move a strand of hair from your cheek, and he brought his leering face ever closer to yours. Your eyes shot down to the ground as he craned over you; his cold breath cascaded down your forehead and chin

“Don’t be mad, princess - I just had to know what that sweet little voice sounded like.”

There was no air between you. All there was, was Patrick’s voice - nasally, like a snarky teenager’s… but predatory, like an animal’s 

“And, you gotta’ know… you look so fucking delicious when you shake.”

The both of you stood for a moment - you drowning in the silence that filled the room, and Patrick basking in it. His nearness alone unsettled you, he knew, and you could swear you felt him lick his stretched, leathery lips before tucking your hair behind your ear

With that, the tension was gone. Patrick was suddenly across the room from you, just about to make his way out the door. You stood frozen in place by your desk, stunned by the recent turn of events. Did Patrick Hockstetter… like you? Was that what all this had been about?

Patrick turned to you a final time, still backing towards the door. You could tell he was picturing you naked, his mouth open, but his lips still turned up in a smirk. His eyes traced down your body excitedly, seeming to search every nook and cranny before settling once more on your face. 

He smiled a final smile; it was like he’d gathered all the mischief in the world into that one expression

“See you tomorrow, sweetie.” He winked. He licked his lips again

It was much more pronounced this time though, for your viewing pleasure 

“Y’know, you can try to be quiet all you want - one day you’re gonna scream my name until your fuckin’ throat’s raw.”

Finally, Patrick disappeared into the throng of kids outside the classroom door

You stood alone, collecting your thoughts.

Patrick Hockstetter had embarrassed you.

Patrick Hockstetter had fucking scared you.

… But… Patrick Hockstetter... liked you.

And, for some reason, you weren’t so sure you hated that

[faintblueivy]

Seasons we’ve seen together - yukimachi fanfiction

A/N: So after slaving over a week for this I've finally completed it! I'm so glad!

Before we start, let me scream - SPOILERS!

Summary - Finding eachother and falling in love was not something they thought was possible for them. But as the seasons passed by, it became easier. Yuki and Machi - and few moments of them being together. 

Ao3 link

Didn't think that I'll fall for another OTP, but guess what? I'm here with something new for these two idiots in love. This is my first time writing for Fruits Basket fandom and I desperately hope that I've done them justice. Hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count - 4k

Genre - Fluff, nothing else ;)

Seasons we've seen together

 Spring

The first time she meets him, spring is in full bloom.

It was her second day of high school and the beautiful and pink cherry blossoms were raining down. The gentle wift of sweetness lingering in the air was a reminder of the new season. And also for new beginnings like everyone said.

Walking down the unfamiliar hallways with a sheaf of papers in her arms, Machi feels oddly aware of every eye that follows her movement. The halls are bustling with seniors and she wonders why was it a good idea for the staff room to be built on the second year's floor. She didn't want to admit it but a part of her was wishing to catch a glimpse of her idiotic older brother. In a sea of nothing but strangers, Machi longs to find comfort of seeing someone familiar. She sighs inwardly. She had never imagined to see a day where she would want to see Kakeru voluntarily.

"Excuse me?"

 Name of the devil- wait, the voice was softer than her brother's upbeat screech.

She whirls around and comes face to face with 'the prince'. The rumoured senior who had been proclaimed as the most beautiful boy of the school. She had seen him first through the windows, surrounded by people smiling gently, as the girls around her talked about how perfect and charming he looked.

The prince with a lonely smile.

But now close up from here, she could see how mussed his hair was and the tie he wore looked crooked. Prince? Was she sure he was one?

"Yes?"

"Ah, I think you dropped this."

He extends a few papers in her direction which might have spiralled down to the floor when she was busy grappling with her thoughts.

She is able to mumble out a 'thank you' as he places the papers on the top. She waits for him to leave but he doesn't. Instead, he gives her that carefully calculated smile that she had seen a day ago directed at someone else and asks, "Do you need some help?"

"Could you please let me know the way to staff room?"

She replies him with another question of her own, her observant eyes noticing how he eyed the large bundle of papers in her arms.

"Sure. Just take right turn the next aisle you see. You'll see the plaque hanging right in front."

"Thank you."

She gives him a small bow, mindful of the stuff she was carrying. He gives her a nod and a genuine smile and weirdly enough, a part of her is relieved to see that he could smile like that. Before they could part appropriately, he is approached by a group of giggling and squealing girls who were gushing about how they were absolutely sure that he would ace the tests. Machi didn't know him that good but even still she could see how uncomfortably overwhelmed he looked at the moment. Giving him one last glance Machi went on her way, sure that he'd forget her in an hour or two. After all, why would the prince surrounded by people remember someone like her.

But she couldn't have been more wrong.

Summer

If he was honest, then Yuki didn't think he was enjoying being the student council president. Apart from the stress that the curse caused, he couldn't hold the energy that the student council exudated together. From Kakeru's unbound enthusiasm to Nao's complaining and Kimi's shallowness - everything would tire him out to the bones at the end of everyday. These people drove him mad with their eccentricness and unrestrained behaviour. Not that he should complain...but still.

Except for the newly appointed school treasurer who, at the moment, has been quietly following him around.

Kuragi Machi.

He tilts his head back slightly to steal a glance at the girl who had never once lifted her head from the papers she was invested in. Even accompanying him on the patrol today was Kimi's job. Not hers. But somehow Kimi had pushed the chore to the younger girl.

"Kuragi-san? Where do we go next?"

He questions, a pathetic attempt to start a conversation once again after countless failures.

"The sports club."

She replies monotonously, eyes never once leaving the list. He nods in acknowledgement, inwardly grimacing at another defeat.

It didn't matter, he had the entire list memorized but he couldn't help but notice how different this girl behaved. She had perfect grades, good records, perfect attendance and was highly efficient in her work. But despite how much rowdy the student council office got, she would still finish her work on time and even have enough energy to make up for the slack of others. Yuki cannot explain it in words but her behaviour unnerved him for some reason. The scene of their first meeting is still fresh in his mind. He still didn't know what had caused her to be on her knees back then, with files, papers and the entire room torn all around her. What was that Kakeru knew but he didn't.

And if he has to admit, he wants to know her better. Something about her empty eyes spoke volumes to him. He wonders why nobody else could see what he did in her. It causes a sense of discomfort in him knowing that this person was hiding her true self behind that perfect doll like persona.

"President, we're here." Her voice stops his train of thoughts, startling him for a second.

"Ah, yes. Of course."

He gives her an apologetic smile realising that he had been so occupied with his thoughts that he might have missed the gate to the outside had she not pointed it out.

The sports club building was situated near the playgrounds and fields, at a distance from the main campus. They had to walk around the football field to reach on the other side.

Yuki inhales a breath of fresh air, the sun shining strongly above their heads. It decides that it feels good. He gives a smile to his companion but she returns the look with a blank face and Yuki inwardly laughs.

It was no surprise that class 1 C was having their sports period at the moment. He had the entire time table in his head. He knew that. What shocked him was the way he was hounded on by the junior girls the second he stepped on the field.

"Yuki Senpai!"

"Senpai!"

"Sohma senpai!"

He jumps away from the girls, careful at dodging any physical affection they fling on him. His anxiousness rises as they push their way through each other, fighting, arguing and calling each other's names.

"Watch out!"

Somebody yells and Yuki feels his senses go on high alert. The first thing he notices is a football hurtling straight at them. Without thinking much, he immediately steps forward, swinging his leg out with enough force to deflect the ball on the other side. Thankfully, everyone is safe and unharmed.

"Yuki Senpai! You're a hero!"

The girls start screaming even before he is sure he had saved them all. The second he puts his foot down, he realises he had sprained it. Badly. He instantly bites his lip to not wince in pain.

"Yuki Senpai, you're really such a good hearted prince!" Someone sings from the crowd, and those words make something twist in his gut.

"I'm not..." Yuki blurts out, softly enough that the girls do not hear.

He watches the chaos for a few more minutes, trying to pacify them but with no luck. The pain in his foot growing much worse with the ticking of the clock.

"Excuse me, President. We must leave. Sports club council is waiting for us."

A familiar voice from his side delivers and he thanks Kuragi-san a million times for saving him inside his head. Apologising and leaving as soon as he could, he feels as if he could finally take a breath again after escaping the gaggle of girls. He is careful to hide his limp, deciding to deal with it only after he had reached home.

They were seated in the sports club council room to talk about the investments and renovation that the club required. But even before they could begin the meeting with the sport council's president, someone rushed in a flurry to report something immediate to the guy.

"Ah, apologies! President! Looks like I'll have to deal with the mess these idiots have made again! Will it be okay if I return back in five minutes?" He asks with a grimacing smile.

"Absolutely. Don't worry about it Nakamura-san. Please go ahead." Yuki returns it with an sympathizing one and giving a nod.

The boy is about to walk out of the room when she, who rarely ever speaks, calls out loudly.

"Nakamura-san. If you don't mind, may I use the first aid kit here?" She gestures to the kit that was kept above one of the cabinets.

"Definitely. Feel free to use it." He nods in agreement before running out of the room. The boy is barely out of the room when she speaks again, this time directed at him.

"President. Please remove your shoes."

Yuki sits their gobsmacked as she is busy rummaging through to kit, pulling out pain relieving spray and creams.

He was so sure that he had hidden his pain well. Nobody else had noticed. Then how did she? Was he that easy to read? But then again, people see him as a perfect prince. Should a perfect prince be injured and feel pain? He was sure that the answer would definitely be a 'No'. He is startled again when she kneels in front of him with the medical supplies.

What she told him next was something nobody had ever said. Something he had desperately needed to told. But he never thought that it would be from her. The person he wanted to help and to save. But nonetheless, it made him feel warm inside. And it was something he could never forget.

"You are not a Prince. You are in pain and you could have said something sooner. President, please remember that."

 Rains

The stack of papers seems never ending. His pen glides over the paper fluently, extra care being taken to make sure that no mistakes occur. The door to the room is open, wind wafting in softly, carrying the scent of petrichor with it.

The sound of rain hitting the window panes was overpowering the silence of the room. Yuki is not worried, because most of the noise causing elements of the student council were currently absent.

Kimi was out on a date with one of her new boyfriends. Nao had left earlier to prepare for an upcoming test. And Kakeru, worried about the incoming weather and torrential rains had left to pick up his girlfriend from her school, obviously entrusting his precious sister's well being in Yun-Yun's hands. Though he did not forget to warn Yuki to not do anything perverted to his sister which had unsurprisingly earned him a harsh bonk on the head.

His gaze darts toward the only other occupant of the room. Machi is busy scribbling on a notepad, working with numbers, her diligence for her work being reflected by her immense concentration. Yuki feels a little guilty though. She might have left earlier had he not asked her to calculate and summarise the expenses of the sports club for the last three months. But she never complained. The thing is she never did.

Unable to tear his gaze away from her, he admits how much he adores the way she subtly bites her lip when something doesn't add up. He likes how her brows shoot up when she finds the error in her calculations. He has no idea how long he's been sitting there simply taking her features in. And if he was honest, he is thankful to Kakeru for arranging their seats in a way that allowed him to stare at her without much suspicion.

A part of him feels wrong... watching her like this, when his heart thrums the way it does. She's...so unaware of him and his growing fondness for her but so incredibly conscious of the mess he is and his demons. He had always wondered if there was someone who could see past his lonely smile. And now, the person of his dreams was sitting right in front of him, barely a few feet away.

The sound of the rain becomes louder as the lights flicker off, startling her. The room falls into a colour of grey and darkness as she looks around with slightly visible panic on her face, only for her dark brown eyes to meet his grey ones. He is definitely amused when, even in the dim light, he can see a hint of redness of her cheeks. And she might have noticed it too, he knows when she turns her head to a side, willing her long bangs to hide it. Even though her cuteness is too much for him, her stubborn behaviour is something he has surpassed. So, in the premise of opening the window of the room, on her right, he stalks near her desk, loving how the red of her cheeks grows even brighter. His hands mechanically open the latch of the window, his attention is still directed at her. Of course, that is his fault when a violent spray of water rushes in and makes him sputter like an idiot.

"President?"

He notes how she sounds alarmed and his form tenses when she appears beside him, closer than they normally are. But Machi has never been the one to invade people's personal space and she probably had none of Tohru's natural clumsiness. He swipes the water on his lashes by the sleeve of his shirt when a white handkerchief enters his field of vision.

Machi extends the small article in his direction with wide worried eyes.

"Are you all right?"

He takes the offered cloth with a thankful smile and wipes his face. He's unexpectedly thrown off guard when her scent hits his senses. It was soft, so unlike Kimi's perfume which was strong enough to make them all cringe at it's fruity flavour. He could not put a finger at what this smell feels like though. And he was sure that trying to inhale it with a breath would definitely...freak Machi out. And he wants to believe that he is not a pervert.

"Thank you, Machi." 

He expresses his gratitude, eyes brimming with something he can hardly hold. She nods and comes to stand beside him on the window, not minding the stray water droplets that hit her. Yuki notices how her eyes soften.

"Does Machi like rain?" 

He questions, his gaze travelling to the cloudy sky above, watching the descent of the drizzle.

She hums in agreement and whispers, "Rain - messes up everything. Causes disorder and troubles in our mundane routine. But yet, it breathes life into everything around us. We can't survive without it, can we? And I think it's beautiful."

The faint smile that graces her lips is something that Yuki might have missed had he not been paying as much attention to her as he did. Machi is the only girl beside Tohru, whose simple upward quirk of lips could make his heart swell with immense affection. Maybe it was how rare this smile seemed that Yuki desperately wished to etch this moment in the back of his mind, to preserve and hold it close forever like a precious gem.

He had known that she was special for a while now, but now, he accepted that he yearned to see that smile for as long as possible.

 Autumn

The red leaves dance around her as she trudges through the roads to her apartment. The sun is about to set, the sky painted in hues of red, gold and pink. She jumps when a wildly whirling leaf smacks her right in the face, her fingers immediately latching on it.

The leaf looked...pretty. Red, with more yellow splotches on the left side than the right and a few brown spots of decay. It reminds her of the leaf she still had in her bag, tucked safely in one of her notebooks. Suddenly, a strong wind blows and the leaf escapes her fingers in the direction of the path she had just walked away from. And probably due to her stupid fascination with red coloured maple leaves, she instinctively runs to follow it when a hand snatches it out of air in one swift motion.

She is left dumbfounded. The president of her school is standing right in front of her, her leaf pinched carefully between his long fingers.

"Were you looking for this?"

He steps closer to her, offering the leaf as if he was offering a rose, smiling softly. She grasps the stalk of the leaf and holds it close to her chest.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why? Is there a rule that I am not allowed in this part of the city?" He teases her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Before she can retort, he smiles and says, "Please come with me."

Moving past her he heads for a certain destination and a part of her feels indignant that he's sure she'll follow him. Funnily enough, another part of her conscience chides her, reminding that he wouldn't come all the way just to annoy her. He is not like that. Then again, she shouldn't underestimate him.

He leads them to a nearby park and gestures for her to sit down on a bench, beside him. Machi flushes slightly but settles beside him anyway.

"Actually," he speaks rummaging through his backpack, "I came here to return this back to you." Pulling out a file, he hands it over to her. And she immediately notes it to be her assignment file.

"I thought I dropped it in my bag." She mumbles, quite astonished that she had carelessly left it behind.

Yuki's chuckle pulls her out of her thoughts.

"It wasn't you!" He laughs. "It was Kakeru! That idiot pulled your bag apart when you were out with Kimi for a pencil he couldn't find. And then forgot to rearrange it and put this file back. And I noticed it only after you had left."

"That idiot…" Machi hisses, but then looks at Yuki. "President, why did you-"

"Don't worry about it! I'm glad that I caught up to you."

He gives her such a smile that it knocks the breath out of her lungs. He looks almost a figment of her imagination, smiling like that, with red leaves falling over them. So beautiful. So impossible. But yet, here he was, sitting beside her as if she was someone who should be cherished.

"Has Machi eaten the dango of that shop here?"

His words startle her, she jerks her gaze away from him to the shop across the street he was pointing at.

"No." She answers timidly.

"Come on then! Let's have some!" He stands up, excited, offering her his hand and Machi feels her heart thudding in her ears. The red creeps on her face and she scolds herself for letting him overwhelm her with his exuberance every single time.

A few minutes later, they are on the bench again, biting onto the soft and delicious dango and Machi has to admit that it tastes good. She steals a glance at her companion who is already chewing on his third stick, eyes focused on the scenery around them.

"President?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't have to come all the way here to deliver that assignment."

He looks at her, a questioning expression on his face as he chews on the last bite.

"Actually, that assignment was already graded."

What continues her statement is a long stretch of silence as Yuki sits there with his mouth hung open.

"You mean-"

"Yes, the assignment was already graded. You...wasted your time by coming here." She says, softly, averting her gaze.

"Machi." He calls out, chiding her gently.

She stares at her shoes unable to meet his eyes because she did occupy his time unnecessarily. She wonders if he was minding it now. She wants to run away and hide in some hole when he leans closer to her, his lips a few inches away from her ear.

"Machi, I did not waste my time. I was here because I wanted to be. In Fact, I'm glad I got to share and eat dango with you."

His genuine but firm words, his fond smile and the transparent look in his eyes was too staggering for her. It was so incredibly hard to accept that he was here out of his own free will. Not because he was forced to. Not because he felt obligated too. But because he wanted to be here. Because he didn't mind spending time with her. A strange warmth pooled inside her chest, spreading through her bones, making her tingle all over.

He simply chuckles and bids her farewell, loving how her face was the brightest red he had ever seen.

Winter

When the morning sun rays penetrate the minute gap between the curtains of his room, Yuki wakes up. He blinks, eyes full of golden light and dark brown hair over his nose and lips. Even his sleep deprived senses are honed enough to detect her presence beside him and it leaves him with a comforting warmth.

He gently swipes her hair off his face, grey eyes coming to rest on soft sleeping face. Her head is resting in the crook of his arm and her arm was draped over his torso. Her leg is over his, bare and soft. She is dressed in a pair of small pajamas and his red shirt. He knows he was leaner in comparison to a lot of other men, but still his clothes were too big for her. Though he loves seeing her in them. The shirt is quite large for her small frame, sliding off on from one shoulder, exposing her soft and pale skin to him.

A sudden cold sensation of chill makes him shiver and he immediately drags the blankets up to cover both of them. His arms slide over her waist, pulling her close to him and nuzzling her neck and side of cheek. Sometimes, having her beside him feels like a dream that he's terrified of waking up from. Both of them have had struggled against their own demons, found love and support in each other and the few kind people around them. As time passes by, things change and people do too.

Like how he loves mornings now.

For as long as he can remember, he has never been a morning person. But having Machi nestled against him, watching the sun rays fall on her eyelashes, illuminating her in a golden ethereal glow filled him with a sense of contentment that nothing else did. That moment of satisfaction, that feeling of his heart beating in his chest in synchrony to hers was something he craved so deeply that any morning he got to witness it made him feel blessed.

But he knows he's not the only one to have started loving something he never had before because of Machi. She had confessed to him as well, how winters - which she dreaded before became something she held close to her heart thanks to the promise he had made years back.

Yuki leans over and gently brushes his lips on her forehead and a small moan escapes her mouth.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

He calls her affectionately, knowing that he was going to receive a smack for that later. She blinks, frowning at him and then burying her face into his chest again.

"Machi. Wake up." He pokes his nose on her cheek and she immediately swatts him away. He chuckles and slowly slides away from her, out of the bed. The air is so cold and crisp that he resists the urge to crawl back into the blankets and into Machi's arms again with everything he had. Sauntering over to the window, he pulls the curtains apart and gasps dramatically.

"It's snowing! Machi, wake up!"

He runs to the bed, disheveling the blankets and adoring the angry noises his wife was making. Finally pulling the last blanket off her, he makes a few more attempts to get her out of the bed with no success. He sighs and takes a moment to appreciate her small form and his eyes coming to rest on the milky stretch of white skin of her exposed shoulder, and a devilish idea lights up his brain. He quickly leans over and playfully nips her bare shoulder.

"Yuki!"

Machi squeals, thrashing her arm out to strike him but he's agile enough to dodge it efficiently.

"Try harder Machi. You won't have me like that." He smirks, making sure that she notices the way he's all over her.

 Okay, fine. He is a pervert. But only when it comes to her.

The next few minutes are nothing but a scarlet faced Machi chasing him around the house in nothing but pajamas in freezing winters.

Yuki knows, if someone ever asks him to define love, all he would ever say that it's the feeling you get when you witness all the seasons passing, but falling in love and finding something precious to appreciate in each of them because you have that person - the love of your life - by your side.

That is what love is.

A/N: Yuki and Machi through the different seasons. I really wanted to write something special for them. And I'm glad I did!  Gooooshhhh I can't wait to see Machi and Kakeru in the new anime! We're slowly edging towards their appearance! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! Btw, please do tell me your thoughts for this story! Thank you for reading!

[ingek73]

Perhaps Ghislaine Maxwell can fill in some blanks for Epstein's ‘bewildered’ friends

Marina Hyde

It’s strange that Prince Andrew never felt it was odd that his middle-aged pal was always surrounded by teenage girls

Published: 15:37 Friday, 03 July 2020

Spare a thought for Prince Andrew – and, indeed, a brain cell. As his landmark Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis showed, the Queen’s second son really is sensationally thick, even by the standards of a family internationally famed for their dimbulbery, certainly since the time of George I. If the Falklands war hadn’t robbed Andrew of the ability to sweat, now would definitely be the moment to break out a bead or two.

Instead, I see the Duke of York is once again “bewildered”, following the US arrest of his close friend Ghislaine Maxwell, charged with the sex trafficking of underage girls. HRH is “bewildered” that this dramatic event has led to yet another podium shout-out from US prosecutors, who insist again that they want to interview him about his close friend Jeffrey Epstein and the latter’s crimes (don’t call it a “lifestyle”). “We would like to have the benefit of his statement,” one US attorney said pointedly on Thursday. The previous occupant of her post had claimed Andrew was refusing to help – and yet, according to Andrew’s lawyers, he has been in touch with US authorities twice in the past month, and their failure to respond has apparently led to the latest bout of bewilderment.

Which version is the most strictly accurate? US attorneys have a reputation for publicity-seeking, so it really could be either party being economic with their interpretation of the truth. There would be a certain poetic justice if it were Prince Andrew who is now being used for something or other. Oh dear. One finds oneself karma’s bitch.

If it helps the duke get his head around that potential scenario: he is being used because he has come to be perceived as weak and powerless. He is viewed as a somewhat worthless figure who would nonetheless be quite the adornment to events. He is being toyed with, gaslit and goaded, and this really is a no-win situation for him. People’s default position on the things he says is disbelief. His desperate assertions are dismissed as lies, the fact that he would make them branded a joke. He is an object of ridicule, scorn and social disdain. Even his mother clearly believed he should go away quietly.

On the plus side, the duke isn’t feeling one thousandth of what it felt like to be one of the many teenage girls and young women who would also feel all those things, as they were drawn into Epstein’s web of rape and abuse, then spat out and threatened into miserable, permanently damaged silence. On the other hand, Andrew is certainly feeling SOMETHING that is never going to go away.

He may yet feel something more concrete than that, given that Ghislaine Maxwell will now be strongly encouraged toward total candour. Cast your mind back to Andrew’s impolitic reflections on his longtime friend in the Newsnight interview. Asked about Maxwell, he said: “If there are questions that Ghislaine has to answer, that is her problem, I’m afraid.” (Very brave, sire. Was there even a single line in the entire 592-car pile-up in which he didn’t make a number of situations worse for himself? The deep vulnerabilities the interview opened up are still revealing themselves to us like a slowly unfurling lotus blossom.)

Still, if only the prince’s bewilderment – and that of many others – had kicked in rather earlier. Part of me wonders whether something like the Vietnam war had robbed HRH of the ability to feel bewildered during his friendship with Epstein. Otherwise he might have felt bewildered as to why his middle-aged friend was so often surrounded by teenage girls. He might have felt it bewildering to go to Ghislaine Maxwell’s house, reportedly after a visit to Tramp nightclub, and pass the rest of the evening with two other people in their 40s and a 17-year-old girl. Unless he knew exactly what was going on, that situation should have bewildered the shit out of him. (I should mention that Prince Andrew is bewildered by anyone who fails to accept he wasn’t there that night, but at Pizza Express in Woking.)

This, alas, is why it’s so hard to believe all the frightful bollocks about “not knowing” being spouted by so many rich and powerful former friends of Epstein. One of the most telling admissions in Filthy Rich, the Epstein documentary currently showing on Netflix, comes from the former telephone engineer on Epstein’s private island. “You tell yourself that you didn’t know for sure and you never really saw anything, but that’s all just rationalisation. Jeffrey Epstein, he was a guy who concealed his deviance very well – but he didn’t conceal it that well.”

Well, quite. There are many cases of huge and systematic abuse where we still pander to the people who turned a blind eye to it, by saying that it was “a sophisticated operation”. Epstein’s operation was certainly expensive. But was it sophisticated? How sophisticated is it really when your private Caribbean property is known locally as “Paedophile Island”?

It was much the same with Michael Jackson, whose child abuse operation is again always described as “sophisticated”. And yet, was it? The guy installed a massive fairground outside his creepy house, told people he slept with kids in his bed, and was dogged for decades by lawsuits from children – always boys, always around the same age, always alleging the same patterns of behaviour. Expensive, yes, but not sophisticated. Didn’t need to be.

One of Jackson’s former advisers once claimed to have said to him: “Michael, you’re going to wind up in a lot of trouble. Why don’t you stop all this stuff with the young boys?” Jackson’s deathless reply was: “I don’t want to.” For me, that is the absolute definitive Michael Jackson line. “I don’t want to.” You can hear it now, in that unmistakeable singsong voice, suffused with an absolute indifference to anything other than personal gratification, and the absolute conviction that one way or another you’re going to get away with it. Which proved to be the case. Why don’t you stop sexually abusing children? “I don’t want to.”

In the case of Jackson and Epstein’s servants, the silence about the “lifestyle issues” of their employer is unforgivable, yet easily explained. They depended on the men for their income. But in the case of the many, many rich people who turned a blind eye to Epstein’s grotesque predilections, there really is not even the slightest scintilla of a warped excuse. They knew enough to know. Donald Trump, of course, was the only one stupid enough to say it out loud, laughing in an interview that his friend Epstein’s girls were “on the younger side”. But please don’t suggest Bill Clinton, an extremely clever man, was too stupid to make basic assumptions, or that even Prince Andrew couldn’t have glommed on once Epstein had been convicted of procuring an underage girl for prostitution. Those are just the presidents and the prince; there are countless others besides. Perhaps Ghislaine Maxwell will fill in some of the blanks behind their blankness.

For now, you might think the truly bewildering thing is that so many people didn’t say anything. You might think it’s absolutely bewildering that these intelligent, privileged, financially cosseted individuals never confronted Epstein about something even they must have felt iffy calling a “lifestyle”. And yet, it isn’t bewildering. There is, of course, a perfectly simple reason why they never did the right thing. They didn’t want to.

• Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist

[jbuffyangel]

U talk about Oliver’s habit of lying to Felicity & u say that it’s something that will never change about him &Felicity just has to learn to accept that but that really doesn’t seem healthy imo. If my husband kept lying to me and keeping secrets from me over and over again, I wouldn’t just shrug and say “oh well that’s just who he is”. That is absolutely a behavior he can change. It doesn’t have to be either/or. Oliver can be a hero without sacrificing his relationship with Felicity & vice versa

I would also like to add that I’ve been in relationships where my boyfriend lied to me about things repeatedly and I think that he truly believed he was justified, but in my opinion, there really is no “good” reason for lying to someone you’re supposed to love. So when I see people (not you specifically, but just people in general) try to justify Oliver’s lies, it makes me really uncomfortable and, as much as it would break my heart, it kinda makes me want Felicity to leave Oliver because she shouldn’t just have to “accept it”. Sorry about the rant, but I feel like I’m the only one that takes issue with Oliver’s constant lying. I think I’m mostly just mad at the writers. :/ 

I’m sorry your ex boyfriend(s) lied to you. That’s awful. Nobody deserves to be lied to. I think most people can relate to this experience because we’ve all been lied to at some point or another. If you haven’t been lied to then count yourself lucky. I can understand why you are upset anytime Oliver lies. We all bring our life experience to how we feel about stories. Certain storylines can trigger a deeper, more emotional response. We can even relive a painful memory or trauma from our own life. Lying is your trigger storyline. Mine are miscarriages, abortion and cheating. Everyone has them, so I hope you can take comfort in the fact you are not alone.

However, I disagree with how you’ve interpreted my response to these storylines. There can be a very large divide between what I write and how someone interprets it. It’s just one of the pitfalls of blogging I guess. Sometimes I understand because my writing has been unclear or I phrased something poorly and it requires additional explanation. But in this instance I gotta be honest, I have no idea where you are getting this from:

“U talk about Oliver’s habit of lying to Felicity & u say that it’s something that will never change about him & Felicity just has to learn to accept that.”

Not only have I never written or said this, I don’t understand how you can interpret that I did. But nonetheless here we are, so allow me the opportunity to be very clear. 

Your interpretation of how I look at Oliver’s lying is just flat out wrong. I have never said or written Felicity needs to accept Oliver’s lying. I have never said or written this is something Oliver can not change. Anytime Oliver lies I say it is wrong because it is wrong. Anytime Oliver lies to Felicity I strongly disagree with his choice and voice my disagreement for many, many pages-  including the post I believe you are referring to. Anytime Oliver lies to Felicity I am angry, disappointed and frustrated with him. So, it makes absolutely no sense to me why you think I believe this is behavior Felicity must accept.

What I wrote was this:  

There are simply aspects of Oliver Queen that are never going to change. He will always be the put-it-all-on-the-line-fall-on-the-sword-sacrifice-everything-for-everyone guy. And as maddening as this may be, Oliver is not always going to ask Felicity’s permission before he does it.

The behavior I said will never change is Oliver’s heroic selflessness. Oliver will always sacrifice himself or his happiness for the good of other people. This is the behavior I said Felicity needs to accept because this is who Oliver is. And Felicity has accepted this. It’s one of the reasons she loves Oliver. In fact I believe this is what she loves most about him. She has said as much on multiple occasions. 

I’ve also said in multiple posts, including the one you are referencing, that Oliver’s selfless heroism is not a free pass to lie to Felicity about his actions or not consult her. He should have told her about William (although I don’t categorize this particular lie as selfless heroism). He should have discussed going to prison with her. Oliver should tell Felicity about the deal he made with the Monitor immediately. Anytime Oliver has failed to do these things I am emphatic about my disagreement. 

As much as Oliver says Felicity and William are his top priority, they are not. What comes first in Oliver’s life is the Green Arrow. He puts the welfare of the city and world above his own. Sometimes Felicity and William are the people Oliver is protecting, but more often than not they are what Oliver is sacrificing. That’s the definition of a hero. Heroism requires sacrifice and therefore what is being sacrificed is Oliver’s happiness - his relationship with his wife and child. We’ve seen this time and again on Arrow because this is a story about a superhero and that’s what superheroes do. 

This is why you don’t marry Batman.

I believe intent is important. Oliver wanted to tell Felicity about William, but he was hamstrung with a ridiculous ultimatum. I think he absolutely did not want to go to prison and was confident Felicity would talk him out of it. I think he was in SPACE negotiating with the Monitor and couldn’t make a phone call to the wife to get her approval to sacrifice whatever he agreed to. The circumstances surrounding these lies do matter to me. 

None of these good intentions excuse Oliver’s lies, but they are evidence of his good heart. Oliver often does the wrong thing while fervently trying to do the right thing.  As I’ve said many times, he is an imperfect heart trying to love perfectly.  Once again - Felicity’s speech in 6x11 is an acknowledgement of all of this.

Sometimes good people make mistakes. Sometimes they make the same mistakes several times before they finally get it right. Me recognizing Oliver’s fallibility and offering forgiveness like his wife has done is not the same as saying his lies are okay. Nor is it saying the lies are something Felicity has to accept.

I don’t know what your boyfriend(s) lied to you about, but I agree we can rationalize pretty much everything and there are seldom good reasons for lying. I don’t put up with lying in my marriage. Trust is vitally important, easily broken, and difficult to repair. 

However, this is why I said in the post I am not applying real world scenarios to Oliver and Felicity all the time.  They live in a fantasy world where they fight aliens and go to prison without a trial. I don’t know about your boyfriend, but my husband isn’t lying about sacrificing his life for the world. My husband and I aren’t a crime fighting duo trying to save a city. At this point in our lives, our biggest problem is trying to figure out what to watch on Netflix.

I’m sorry, but I’m not going to crucify Oliver for lying to Felicity while he’s saving his loved ones from prison, the lives of other heroes and/or the world. I am going to give the guy some points for that. I’ve also accepted Oliver isn’t always going to ask Felicity’s permission to do what he believes needs to be done . Sometimes he physically and logistically can’t (re: space) and other times it’s because it’s actually easier on Oliver if he doesn’t discuss it with Felicity. 

I will explain the “easier on Oliver” reason hopefully before people start throwing things at me. 

Nope. Too late. 

As I’ve said countless times before, when would Felicity ever be okay with Oliver sacrificing his freedom and/or life for her or anyone else? She wouldn’t. I don’t know any spouse who would be okay with that. 

Ultimately, I am asking for Oliver and Felicity to have the same discussion again and again. 

I already know what Felicity is going to say.

So does Oliver. 

She’s said it all before in previous seasons. 

They’ve had this fight many times.

The circumstances might be different  

and what is said may change,

but it’s always the please-don’t-go-we-will-find-another-way

song and dance. 

This is exactly what Oliver tells Felicity in 3x20. 

Sometimes he just doesn’t have the emotional energy to have the same fight. Sometimes it hurts too much to have it. Sometimes Oliver is afraid Felicity is going to convince him otherwise and then he won’t do what needs to be done. Again, not a free pass to lie, but I can understand why the biggest oak tree to ever live makes the choices he does sometimes.

The flip is Oliver doesn’t get to be pissed with how Felicity’s deals with all his sacrifices. He doesn’t get to come back and Monday morning quarterback all her decisions. 

There are also going to be times when Felicity is going to hero in ways Oliver disagrees with. She’s going to put her life on the line, make moral judgments, and cross lines just like him. If Oliver has the freedom to operate this way then so should Felicity. May I also add that when Felicity behaves this way I cheer her on. But when Oliver behaves this way I am supposed to reprimand him? That feels like a double standard to me.

Their discussions in 7x08 & 7x09 are meant to show that Oliver and Felicity understand the world they live in and the choices they are required to make. Instead of judging and being pissed at each other about all the heroic sacrificing they do, Oliver and Felicity decided to recognize they are both pretty spectacular individuals and they love each other more than life itself. I’m okay with that.

Is it possible to find another way? Sure. It’s always possible for Oliver to do something else, but this is Arrow we are talking about. It doesn’t always make sense and it has plot holes the size of the Grand Canyon. We aren’t watching Breaking Bad y’all. Oliver is constantly boxed into corners with ridiculous plot lines. As audience members we can say, “He should do this or that,” to avoid the situation, but those loop holes and easy exits are never available to Oliver in the show. Why? Because the writers are forcing the character down a certain road.

Rather than beat my head against the wall arguing about all the contrivances, ridiculousness and A, B, and C options that will help Oliver easily avoid the sacrifice, I accept the scenario as is. It’s a fruitless endeavor to do otherwise. I accept Arrow for what is is and what it is not. Nor am I going to penalize the character or the relationship because of the writing choices. I’m not blaming Oliver and Olicity for the stupid shit the Arrow writers do.

I absolutely wish the writers would stop with all the lying. It’s unnecessary and truly doesn’t add a lot to the plot, but they’ve decided this is a great way to drum up drama for Oliver and Felicity without breaking them up. I think we can move on from this plot point because the writers have done it to death. 

However, this may be like me wishing for Elena to be more than a tennis ball The Vampire Diaries writers bounce back and forth between Damon and Stefan. 

I’m not sure. Time will tell. 

I feel like I am in between a rock and a hard place. If I am not reassuring everyone that Oliver will tell Felicity the truth about the Monitor deal then I am accepting of his lies. If I say Oliver will tell Felicity right away and I’m wrong then I’m getting everyone’s hopes up. The reason I am saying I don’t know if Oliver will tell the truth is because I don’t know. That’s not a moral judgement on the behavior though.

This may be a hugely unpopular statement, but I do not believe lying to Felicity is the worst thing Oliver has ever done. I got on board with this character when he was murdering people regularly. Sure, they were all bad people, but how is that any less a rationalization for morally questionable behavior? It’s not. We’ve been morally rationalizing this character’s actions from the pilot. Oliver Queen is a character in constant moral flux. That’s the show.

We are moving slowly, but surely along a a spectrum. Oliver has lied since day one to every single person to ever come in contact with him. While he has yet to fully grasp the necessity for complete transparency, his reasons for lying are becoming less selfish - not that they were all that selfish to begin with. Also, his sacrifices are rapidly approaching Jesus level. 

Can we honestly say Oliver doesn’t pay for his mistakes? Anytime Oliver lies he’s either tortured, loses a loved one, is sent away to a maximum security prison, etc. The list goes on and on. The man gets more than his fair share of comeuppance. 

So, no I’m not going to advocate for Felicity leave Oliver. I don’t think the lies Oliver has told are cause for divorce. It’s fine if you do, but that’s not where I’m at. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t divorce my husband for lying about/failing to discuss going to prison for me or offering his life to save others. It takes a pretty amazing person to do those things. So, maybe it does make it easier to forgive him for his wildly disrespectful, hurtful, and dishonest choice of not cluing me in on the plan. 

But first, I would cry and tell him I need him more than the world does.

And then I’d be pissed as hell at him. 

I’d read him the riot act about how it’s my life too and he should’ve talked to me. 

I’d scream and yell about how he abandoned me. 

I’d tell him where to shove his apologies.

Nor would I put up with any judgement over how I behaved in his absence. 

But I would still love him. 

I would still want to be with him.

But this is why I didn’t marry a superhero. Felicity Smoak did. You best believe she knows exactly who she married. Oliver Queen is her choice and that includes all his imperfections, repeated mistakes, and hurtful behavior. That’s marriage. 

Oliver doesn’t have to become a fully realized superhero to learn he shouldn’t lie to his wife. But the writers may very well decide the end point to Oliver’s lying is when he is a fully realized superhero. I don’t know. I don’t control the story.I was extremely patient with the murdering, so I figure I can be patient with the lying.  More importantly, I’m not to going penalize Oliver Queen for being the Green Arrow in a show called Arrow. You may see these situations as very black and white Anon, and that’s fine, but I do not. I don’t think Felicity does either. 

[aisuho]

7′sCarlet #1 (Hino, Isora)

I have no idea how to say this game’s name. Is it 7′s carlet? 7′s Scarlet? 7′ scarlet? No idea.

I have been playing it for the last few days, and been following  NerdyBirdyx’s guide. I was looking forward to it since I’ve finished Steam Prison (replayed Adage’s route, as I said I would) and have been lacking for something else to do. I went into it without knowing much or what to expect. The only thing I knew is that it had a mystery, which fitted me nicely since I had liked Steam Prison and Amnesia a lot. So, you can expect such heavy/tense vibe, although it didn’t look like as violent as Steam Prison.

As it says in the guide, the characters’ order was...

Hino -> Isora -> Toa -> Sosuke -> Yuzuki -> True Ending -> Secret Character

Next I will talk about my journey through the first two routes (Hino and Isora), as well as my thoughts on them and its characters. Oh, I apologize for any stupid mistake in grammar, specially when writing something’s name (places’ and people’s), I’m not sure why but I’m having trouble getting it right.

Spoilers to follow. You’ve been warned.

Hino Kagutsuchi

Hino is the classic childhood friend who has feelings towards the heroine. He is an overall nice guy who likes sports but has to deal with his own feelings of inadequacy. 

I must say I liked him from the start, and at first glance, he was the one who talked more to me... I also have a weak spot for childhood friends’ romance, so, yeah...

Hino’s route is full of sweet moments, but still without losing focus of the plot of trying to find your brother. It had a nice balance between these two moments: the tension of Okunezato, and the sweet and fluffy romance, which can be a hard thing to achieve. I liked to see his hesitation of crossing the line of friendship and confessing his feelings towards the heroine. I also liked seeing his weakness as he often fears he is not good enough. 

One thing, though, that bothered me is how often he talks about replacing MC’s brother, which made it sound... just weird. 

We never have the chance to see MC’s brother or how was their dynamic. The only hints you’re given of the former was Hino’s speech, and by that, I don’t have a good impression of the brother or how he related with MC or even Hino. The flashback of the haunted house too, gave me a bad feeling. 

Other than those things, I liked the romance’s development. It was fast-paced, but not in a way that felt rushed. The CGs were pretty, and their interaction was sweet and concise.

I can’t say I’m annoyed at MC, too. She wasn’t too dense. It was understandable how she was a little confused about her own feelings at times, or even hesitant, given that her brother’s disappearance was taking most of her thoughts. But, one thing that bothered ma about the Happy Ending was how they kind of force the “love at first sight” thing, specially when it comes to MC’s feelings. It would’ve been believable when talking about Hino, but the MC... it just didn’t feel right.

However, I must say... all the case of Okunezato and it’s mystery left me confused a lot of times. At that point I had some theories, but I was more lost than anything; at first, I didn’t understand if the mystery was a supernatural thing or it had some sort of logical/scientific explanation. The game strongly suggests the former.

Karasuma was kind of a mysterious character too, I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but still didn’t believe he was a bad guy. The manager was confusing, it felt like the game wanted me to distrust or suspect him, but I couldn’t do it when it didn’t give me any proof or reason whatsoever. It was heavily hinted that he was involved with MC’s brother’s disappearance, somehow. To be honest, I thought Yasu was the most suspicious one... all that “stupid” attitude seemed forceful -- a facade -- and it looked like he had some kind of connection to Yuzuki’s family. More than them just being childhood friends.

It was unclear if the cat man was one of the characters we knew, or someone else entirely. No questions about the Okunezato’s mysteries or even MC’s brother’s disappearance were answered, which was disappointing.

Nonetheless, the romance was nice and the route was still fun. I was at the edge of my seat many times, just wondering when any of them was going to be attacked. Every time they went to investigate the disappearance, I got tense.

Isora Amari

I was writing this one as I played his route (different to how I did Hino’s), so my comments and views come as I move forward, this is not a view of someone who had already finished the route. The reason for that is that as I finished writing Hino’s part, I felt that I left out lots of thing that might’ve been important, so, writing as I played made it more my thoughts more clear and dynamic. However, it made the text way longer, so I apologize from the start.

From the beginning I must say something didn’t ring right to me about Inora, I’m not saying he was exactly a suspicious character, but just his personality just bothers me a little bit. He is not a bad character per se, but the way he talks, all that joyful and carefree is not my cup of tea. 

Inora constantly hints about having met the heroine before, which makes you wonder about MC’s memories (or lack, thereof).

I was a little hesitant as I started his route, because... well, you came to Okunezato with Hino, you were going to investigate with Hino, so I was curious and somewhat afraid of how they would handle him in Inora’s route. The first few scenes/days he just vanishes, kind of... he doesn’t even speak with MC in the festival (nor meet her), which would be understandable given how she didn’t show up after his invite. Throughout the next day, as you go to town with Inora, he also is left to the side until the night, when you meet him and everyone in the Cafe.

During the Cafe meeting (to which Sosuke doesn’t show up), Yuki suggests disbanding the Club due to the countless dead bodies showing up... which sounded weird, because so far there have been only two deaths. I know, it is concerning, specially given the city’s size and all, but as the first one was approached as an accident, and not murder, it felt overly exaggerating. Not to mention, it was not like the Club was going around town and its forbidden places to investigate anything whatsoever. Less than that, the Club had done nothing at all except a little party and barbecue, so...? It felt like pointless drama.

Damn, that Inora’s snap the next day when the heroine and Hino go to the cafe was just... ridiculous. It made me like the character even less, specially when he came with the jealous type and wanted to force the MC to eat the strawberry tarts. Big red flags here.

Well, the cat that Hino gave the tart to turns up dead, so...

At that point I started suspecting everyone. We never learned why Yua was down the day of the festival, and during Hino’s route there was a day when you came to the cafe with him and everyone was acting weird... so I guess everyone had their own secrets going backstage.

Things then start to escalate quickly... Yuki is kidnapped, you’re attacked... Isora supposedly saves you and takes you to an underground warehouse, where he keeps you (Touma vibes, anyone?) for who knows how many days. He snaps when the heroine suggests leaving to wash her clothes. Their relationship becomes very abusive and concerning.

In the end, the man in the mask appears and try to kill the MC, but is saved by Isora. It turns out that Isora and the heroine had known each other for a long time, as she had spent a summer in Okunezato as a child. Also, the masked man says he is the one who poisoned the tarts and attacked the MC, so there was that.

Honestly, it was relieving to hear that Isora wasn’t at fault for those things, but he still confined the heroine in the warehouse, which is just as bad. He isn’t a good character, in my opinion, as he tends to snap a lot and his relationship with heroine isn’t a healthy one.

Another thing was that Yuki came back safe and sound, supposedly the Murakumo family had abducted him to scold him... like, what? Who does that

I didn’t enjoy his route. What made me mad was that his actions were overlooked in the end, just because he saved the heroine’s life. The Murakumo’s decision to abduct Yuki was also ignored, which just doesn’t ring right. Inora did recognize his fault in the end, BUT he never said anything about wanting to change, nor trying to. Worse than that, he says he might do it again! What!?

It was a sacrilege to go through his route, specially trying to get the happy ending. You have to be complacent to all he does, not talking back or else. My mind was screaming for me to run everytime, but I was forced to play along, which made it tiring. He is a big no-no for me.

Leaving all that to the side, the only thing you learned from this route was the fact that the MC has lived in Okunezato, which means that her brother also did (probably?), so... they probably have more unexplored or uncovered ties around the town. Not to mention, it gave a place for her brother to stay in while he came back, a year ago. 

Oh, another thing is that the masked man was unmasked when he attacked the MC, and she says he was a guy, although she couldn’t see his face. I don’t doubt that he might turn out to be her brother.

One last thing, as I was going for the low affection ending and refused to ride the boat, Isora talks about his father’s passing. He said one day (after passing away), his father reappeared, called his name and a black figure appeared behind him. He later says it must’ve been a dream, but it left me wondering... maybe his father was resuscitated by the flower, and the black figure was the cat-masked man. So, maybe the reason that the cat-masked man is after the MC is because she is dead, and was brought back to life with the flower.

Next time I’ll follow on my journey through the game.