#if you put them on the revenge?? well. we’d certainly get Something

[llewnanith]

do you guys ever think about basilica hands, 17 years old, getting shot in the knee by his captain by accident and not knowing because he claims he has to kill one of you every once in a while or you’ll forget who he is. just like that, a gunshot, and he leaves you behind to fend for yourself in a stupid place names Bath and goes off and gets himself killed, leaving you again. do you guys ever think about israel hands, famous for helping take the Republic, watching slowly as the man he poured his life into pick someone else as a successor. then, a spat, and he beats you out in the open, as if you were a stranger, shoots you in the face and permanently disfigures you, forbids anyone from ever taking you in again and leaves you behind on an island. do you guys ever think about izzy hands, Blackbeard’s loyal dog, watching the man he worships slip out of his fingers like water, lashing out and destroying everything, reaping the consequences with being fed his own toe. staying despite that, clinging to this figure like a pathetic husband to a failing marriage. i think about it a lot actually. what the fuck.

#ofmd #izzy hands #black sails #israel hands #dear christ. they cant win in any universe can they #if you put them all in a room together itd be disasterous #if you put them on the revenge?? well. we’d certainly get Something #i think itd fuck ed up a lot in particular #and shock izzy to his core. to see these alternate versions of himself #one who absolutely hates blackbeard. one who is in a constant state of grieving #ALL OF THEM MAIMED. #me when the historical shows actually relate back to history of the characters

[cazimagines]

could you please do Zemo realizing that Reader's ex-boyfriend was hitting and abusing her as Reader always braces herself for a possible hit when Zemo raises his hand to pet her or something like that, and how'd he react to that? thank you🥺🧡

Synopsis: See above

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: Sorry it took a bit to write this, I actually found it quite hard and I'm not too proud of it as I haven't done much editing, but I wanted to get it out sooner rather than later so I hope it's okay 💕 once again as it's a sensitive subject I won't be tagging anyone

Warnings: Mentions of previous abuse

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Sam and Bucky had left you in charge of watching over Zemo while they went out looking for resources. They didn’t want Zemo causing more of a problem like had already had, due to his habits of going off-plan and doing things his way. They also didn’t want to leave you alone with him, Sam strongly argued against it saying he would be okay watching over Zemo but you convinced them. You would be no help looking for resources, unlike Sam. Plus you were sure Zemo wouldn’t do anything. So far he had been considerably well behaved for a convict who had been broken out of prison.

It was strange, usually, you felt uncomfortable around men after what happened to you because of your last partner. Even Sam and Bucky knew to keep their distance from you, but Zemo… would it be strange to admit you felt like you could trust him? Trust him further than most men? You didn’t understand why. He was a criminal, he has killed people, broke up the avengers, manipulated Bucky. So many red flags that you should be feeling scared being in the same room as him. But in these times together he had shown you nothing but kindness. He had covered for you in a fight when you had got injured. Made sure your injury was treated correctly. Every time he saw you he asked how you were, he would actively try to keep up conversations with you. It made you feel comfortable around him but at the same time a confused mess.

You were sitting on the sofa when Zemo walked into the living room. He had slept in today, only coming down at ten for breakfast.

“Are Sam and Bucky out?” he asks as he observes you on your own

“Yes, they’ve gone out for resources”

“Ah,” he says as he looks around the cupboards for something to eat, realising what resources meant.

The conversation came to a halt there as you opened up your book, getting lost in your imagination as you read. You were lost to the world for a few minutes, completely engrossed within the story till you heard a voice near beside you.

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you”

Your head snaps around as you realised Zemo was now standing behind you, looking over your shoulder. He nods at the book then looks back to you smiling gently.

“Mr Darcy’s proposal from the book, Pride and Prejudice”

You look away realizing Zemo had been quoting the book you were reading. “Ah of course”

Zemo disappears from behind instead choosing to sit down on the sofa beside you as he holds an apple in his hand to eat.

“Most women believe it’s one of the most romantic proposals. And that Mr Darcy is the man of women’s dreams”

“He’s a guy who recognizes when he has done something wrong and actively tries to correct his behaviour and mistakes without expecting anything in return from Elizabeth, he did it purely out of love and admiration for her. Who wouldn’t want a guy like that?”

“Jane Austin certainly knew how to write a love interest. I’m sure because it was from the perspective of what a woman would want rather than what a misogynistic man writer thinks a woman would want” Zemo replies then bites into his apple

You chuckle slightly then focus back on reading the book, feeling the awkwardness of having Zemo so close to you.

As he finishes the apple he places it down and moves closer to you till you could feel his breath on your shoulder. Snekerly looking out of the corner of your eyes you could see he was focused on the book you were reading, deciding to read it with you.

You swallow feeling the anxiety creep up your skin by being so close. This might of been the closest you had been to someone since your last partner and that had not ended pretty. Still, you didn’t want to tell Zemo to back off so you just felt you had to suck it up.

For the next ten minutes, you two read contently, enjoying the comfortable silence between the both of you. Zemo however decides to make a brash move. Slowly he stretches his arm up in an attempt to do the cheesy move of wrapping his arm around your shoulder, as soon as you felt his hand brush up against your head however you flinched back, the feeling of his hand near you bringing back nasty memories.

Zemo quickly removed his hand his eyes widening as he saw your reaction.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?’ he asks his eyes grazing you up and down in worry.

“No no” you quickly replied, instantly not wanting him to feel bad about himself

“It’s just…” your words trail off, feeling your throat chock up at the thought of the past, your eyes already swarming with tears

It was as if Zemo could understand all you couldn’t say though. There was a recognition in his eyes as he looked at you. He could tell from how anxious you were around him, Sam and Bucky. How you always hid away when arguments happened, how you flinch when he comes near you.

He could feel anger swarm inside of him as he thought about it. How could anyone ever hurt someone as kind and beautiful as you? In his thoughts, ideas flashed through his mind of what he would do to the person who had hurt you, images of torture, the pain he could cause.

But as he looks back at you the anger subdues. At this moment you didn’t need his rage towards the person, with the promise of revenge. You needed comforting and reassurance and was willing to be that person for you.

Gently his hand reaches out to clasp yours. Feeling the contact you flinch slightly and his eyes gaze back to your, checking to make sure you were okay with it. As you don’t remove your hand from his grasp he gatherers that you were.

“We’d never hurt you y/n” he whispers as he stares intently into your eyes

“I know, I just, when certain things happen it, it brings me back to that time”

He nods his head in understanding, his eyes swarming with sympathy. “Then, perhaps you could tell us what things trigger you, so we can’t avoid it happening in the future”

“You-you’d do that for me?” you ask, your eyes widening in surprise

“I’d never want to upset you or make you uncomfortable if I can help it y/n”

His fingers interlock with yours as a gesture of comfort without it being too intimate and at that moment your heart swooned. It would take time for you to be able to get used to being open with someone again but seeing Zemo wanting to put in the effort for you. It gave you hope about a potential future for you. That’s all you could ever ask for.

#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x you #i love zemo #zemo fanfic #zemo imagine #tfatws

[seyaryminamoto]

As someone, who's favourite character is Zuko, let me just say that your analysis about the Southern Raiders is spot on. Something about that episode (especially the way Zuko acted) always felt a little... off to me. And I could never figure out what it was exactly and considering the fact that discussion about this episode centered around the Kataang vs Zutara, I thought I was the only one who felt that way. So, I guess thanks for putting my thoughts into words.

Oh, I really feel ya, anon. If you actually don't look at the episode from a shipping point of view, which seems to be the focus of most the fandom, a lot of unpleasant things really start sticking out. I'm personally neutral to the Kataang vs. Zutara debate, I see good points and drawbacks to both ships, and no one's going to convince me that this episode proved the superiority of either pairing, especially when the shipping interpretations have never been important to me when analyzing this episode. People can say Aang is right in the end, they can say Zuko understands Katara's plight better (which, considering Aang has lost even more people he loved than Zuko has, he certainly should have understood Katara's suffering quite well too), but focusing on whether Zuko or Aang are the angel or the devil on Katara's shoulders practically blinds everyone to the very glaring and mindboggling flaws in this episode's writing, imo.

In general, the concept of Zuko's life-changing field trips with the three Gaang members he'd wronged the most is fine and fun for most people, but from the first time I watched the show it felt like the production team knew they were pressed for time and needed some veeeery quick and effective solution for Zuko to gain acceptance in the Gaang ASAP despite all the bad blood there. I can imagine a lot of people love these episodes, but admittedly I wouldn't rank any of them among my favorites because, as interesting as some of their concepts could be, if executed right, my immersion certainly wasn't as strong as with the rest of the show due to the nagging feeling that this was all for the sake of redeeming Zuko in the eyes of each Gaang member... and not necessarily in the eyes of the audience.

They get away with it, of course, because by this point in time, the audience is 100% conditioned to love the Gaang and Zuko, and if you see them getting along, you should be rejoicing in their team-up... but if you put some emotional distance between yourself as a viewer and the events of these episodes, their writing leaves a lot to be desired, especially in the concept of giving Zuko a quick whitewashing in the eyes of Aang, Sokka and Katara, one after the other, so they can genuinely accept him as a teammate and friend. If we'd seen similar trips frequently or occasionally in the rest of the show, with two specific members of the team taking off on an adventure by themselves, it might not be so glaringly obvious (and even... artificial? I guess?) that they're trying to quick-redeem him for each of them here, but on top of it happening thrice, it's literally happening one after the other, too. There's no episodes in-between, it's just literally a four-parter arc of "let's help Zuko become friends with these three".

The plotlines to be dealt with in these episodes are basically catered to each Gaang member, tailor-made life-changing field trips based on whatever they'll value the most, all of it conveniently possible and doable in the span of time they have between Zuko's joining of their group and the show's finale. Aang needs to learn firebending, Sokka needs to save his dad, Katara is permanently grieving for her mother's death. And so, Zuko to the rescue! If he helps them with their personal character quests, he gets 50+ approval points! :'D Honestly, I'm absolutely not against the notion of Zuko befriending them, obviously not, but the methods through which they chose to make it happen simply might not be the finest...?

Zuko loses his ability to bend because he "lost his rage", but he's still angry pretty often, the show even spoofs its own writing by showing him losing his patience at Sokka... while at the same time trying to sell that Zuko "isn't angry" anymore? Zuko helps break out random prisoners from the Boiling Rock without taking a single moment to actually learn who they are, why they were locked up, and without pondering if they deserve to be helped or if perhaps they're genuinely dangerous? Zuko gives Katara every possible tool and information she needs to take revenge on Yon Rha, because, loosely quoting his own words, he "cares what she thinks of him"...?

How about if we'd seen Zuko trying to connect with Fire Nation people, to help his fellow Fire Nation citizens, especially the ones who were living in dreadful conditions, like the ones in the Jang Hui river village? How about if we'd seen Zuko saving lives rather than threatening to take them? How about if we'd seen Zuko actually reasoning with his anger, and either working his way out of it, or repurposing it consciously, or making legitimate, personal efforts to find a new source of strength for his firebending through self-reflection, above all else?

We didn't really need sudden one-on-one field trips to teach Aang, Katara and Sokka to trust Zuko: we needed Zuko to prove himself worthy of that trust, to show how much he has changed, to literally contrast his new behavior with the old, to actually see that the guy no longer jumps into violence-mode 24/7, that he's willing to listen to other people's opinions or wisdom, that he wants to learn better when he knows he's misguided or misunderstanding something or another. Would he have become BFFs with any of them in four episodes if this had happened? Well, it definitely would have happened with Aang, the other two would have been trickier, but they definitely would have been more willing to accept him if they actually got to SEE that the changes in Zuko weren't skin-deep. Katara can be as thick-headed and stubborn as she may want to be, but I have no doubts she wouldn't have been able to hate Zuko as much as she used to if she'd seen him helping people, much like she often wants their group to do. But instead, they don't get to see the actual changes and growth... they just get their biggest goals and wishes satisfied, and that's enough to decide Zuko's trustworthy, no matter whatever sketchy behavior he displays in later episodes.

I absolutely appreciate the worldbuilding context we gain for the raids on the Water Tribe through The Southern Raiders, but I don't think this was an organic way to tell the story of how Zuko became friends with the Gaang. If pressed, I'd even say that Zuko's overt desperation to be their friend is OOC, to a degree: if this guy actually knows how dangerous his father's plans are (and he's supposed to :'D), how isn't he focusing on that side of things, when he's always been such a go-getter? It's not like he grew out of this sort of ends-justify-the-means behavior, seeing as he's absolutely obsessed with stopping his father ASAP, by any means possible, in the finale, when there was no such urgency to be found ever since he joined the Gaang. How isn't he more worried about stopping Ozai than about becoming best friends with the Gaang? Immediately sharing everything he's learned about Ozai's intentions of destroying the whole world might not make them friends instantaneously, but it would certainly get someone like Sokka to take his information seriously and immediately begin strategizing how to counter Ozai's plans. Instead, Zuko spent all those weeks, over a month, even, teaching Aang firebending, going on field trips and hanging out with his new friends in Ember Island. Once you have all the cards on deck and you actually look at all of them at once, doesn't it feel like there were so many more ways to achieve what the show was going for, far more effective ways than through the "let's be friends with Zuko" arc?

Ultimately, there's very little display of growth, in my opinion, in this small arc, on Zuko's side, despite the most obvious and reasonable way to earn the trust of the Gaang would be by outright showing them how much he's grown. I won't deny I appreciate that the writers respected his personality and didn't just warp him into the perfect good softboi the way the fandom apparently interprets him, but even if Zuko was going to be cranky and speak one-liners like "I'm never happy", it wasn't impossible to write better situations for him to connect with the Gaang's members and gain their trust. Even if the writers were set on having these episodes happen exactly as they did, they absolutely could have been written in a much better way, to create an explicit and direct contrast between Zuko's early behavior and the new Zuko's behavior when it comes to things that matter (most the parallels I've seen the fandom drawing are things like "oh look he hated tea before but now he brews it for his friends! So much growth!"... would've been nice to see the growth when it came to a lot of other things, too, if the growth really was there? Am I rite...?).

I may just be influenced by other redemption arcs that focus mainly on characters having common goals and working together to achieve them, then becoming friends in the process... but I really don't see how Zuko's character benefited from these episodes. Yes, bridges were built... but they absolutely could have been built in a more organic way that didn't make people like myself (and a few others) question if Zuko had learned or grown at all, considering the way he behaves isn't all that distant from the Zuko we've seen and known throughout the rest of the show. And the fact that he really seems to have learned nothing in The Southern Raiders once you reach the show's finale... you're basically asked to take for granted Zuko did learn a lot of lessons because he says he did, to assume he's going to put them into practice sometime in the future despite he has chances to do it during the show itself but never does, simply because they drop the ball upon every opportunity to show how much he's changed.

I really don't blame his character at all, when it comes to these shortcomings... it's seriously, genuinely, a problem with the writing department. Take a look through the fandom and you'll see thousands of people who claim Zuko's character arc is the most touching, complex and beautiful writing they ever have seen... and why? Because we're in the face of tell-don't-show :'D most people's perception of Zuko's character are based not so much on HOW Zuko displays his growth, it's strongly based on him stating he made progress, even if there's too many instances where the growth simply seems to have fallen to the wayside or gone forgotten for the sake of a plotline or another. Zuko absolutely could have been written far better than this, he could absolutely have the redemption arc his fans are sure he does have, but for me... there's way too many gaps in logic, too many missed opportunities, to truly think his growth was as extraordinary as a lot of people are hung up on saying it was.

#anon #woops #I probably shouldn't have written this much here but what can I say #I've got beef with these storylines #and I unfortunately can't bbq it (?) #so instead I ramble and ramble and hope you guys forgive me for how long-winded I can be :'D

[e-of-west-glendia]

This is a very very very late birthday present for the amazing @moonscarsandstars. I love you so so much babe (except for that thing yesterday you little shit) and I hope you enjoy this thing I wrote!

“I’m not doing it.”

“But whyyy?”

“Because it’s creepy as hell, James. That’s why.”

Sirius shoulders open the door to James’ room and flops down onto his bed.

“It’s not creepy!” James protests, flinging his backpack into a corner.

“It’s just unconventional.”

“Read ‘creepy and stalker-ish’,” Sirius mutters.

James plops down on the bed next to Sirius. “You,” he says, poking his friend in the ribs. “Are no fun.”

Sirius snorts. “I’m plenty of fun. I just don’t write random people letters and put them in their mailbox.”

“At least not yet,” James teases.

“Not ever.”

James rolls his eyes, toeing his shoes off. “You’ll cave, eventually.”

“Unlikely,” Sirius says firmly, folding his legs up onto the bed. Only to be shoved roughly off not a moment later.

“Prongs!”

“No shoes on the bed!” James gestures to his own recently departed shoes. “This is the one rule that I have.”

Sirius picks himself up off the floor. “You sound like your mother.”

“Do not.”

Sirius kicks his shoes off but doesn’t return to the bed. Instead, he takes a seat at James’ desk. In favor of silently spinning in the swivel chair.

They’d been having the same back and forth debate for days now. Should Sirius send a letter to that boy who lived down the street? Or no.

James, of course, voted yes. As did many of Sirius’ friends. Sirius, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why.

His friends seemed to be under the impression that this was some sort of young adult novel. It wasn’t.

You couldn’t just send random people letters. What if they called the police? Then what? Not to mention the fact that Sirius didn’t even know his name. That certainly would complicate things.

That’s not to say they were complete strangers though, Sirius and the mystery boy. Quite the contrary, actually.

The two had met before, when Peter’s mother pointed out the fact that that house was the one she grew up in.

The current occupants of Mrs. Pettigrew’s childhood home had insisted on giving her a tour. A sort of them versus now type thing, Sirius supposed.

As it happened, James and Sirius were there the day of the tour. And that was when Sirius had first run into mystery kid.

They’d been briefly introduced, but Sirius was too busy considering how awkward it was to be walking through someone’s house to pay attention to his name.

Now, nearly seven months later, Sirius, James, and Peter had seen the boy again. And for some ridiculous reason, James was under the impression that sticking a letter with his number on it in that boys mailbox was the best idea ever.

Ok technically it was Sirius’ own fault that the idea even came to mind. But he was absolutely joking when he’d said, “what do you want me to do, stick a letter in his mailbox?”

In response to James’ telling him to go socialize. That didn’t mean he was serious (all jokes aside, of course.)

“Yo,” James says, and Sirius stops spinning.

“Mm?”

“Peters asking if we want to come over. His mom's baking cookies.”

Sirius halts his spinning and stands. “Really all you had to say was ‘cookies’ and I would’ve been on board.”

James laughs. “Fair enough.”

James scoops up his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder while Sirius pulls his shoes back on.

“What are you bringing that for,” Sirius asks, curiously.

James shrugs. “You never know.”

Sirius rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else about it, he just leads the way out of James’ room.

The two of them run into Euphemia at the foot of the stairs.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Peter invited us over,” James explains.

“His mom is making cookies,” Sirius adds.

Euphemia nods solemnly. “I don’t blame you, Peggy’s baking is amazing.”

“That it is!” James agrees, starting for the front door. Sirius follows him.

“Sirius,” Euphemia says, voice slightly sing-songy.

Sirius stops in his tracks.

“Those aren’t shoes are they?”

“Nope,” Sirius says. “They absolutely are not.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought,” she says with a laugh. “You boys have fun now.”

“We will,” James calls, opening the door and then shutting it firmly behind them.

“I told you you sound like your mother,” Sirius snickers.

“Oh, fuck off,” James says. “That was a joke and you know it.”

Sirius very much does know it, but he chooses to ignore it.

A little while into their walk, Sirius feels a buzz at his side, buoyed by the familiar Apple ringtone.

“Who is it?” James asks.

“Lemme get the phone out first,” Sirius responds. Then, “Marlene.”

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“I’m getting there.”

A moment later Marlene’s face pops onto the screen. Her blonde hair splayed across the pillows around her.

“What’s up?” Sirius asks.

“Did you do it?” She asks, and Sirius groans.

James plucks the phone out of his hand before he can respond.

“No, he absolutely did not. I’ve been trying for hours!”

“Give Sirius his phone back,” Marlene commands.

Sirius take his phone back, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Pussy,” Marlene says, and then eats what appears to be a handful of gummy worms.

Sirius throws his hands up, exasperated. “What is it with you all and your stupid letter!”

Marlene shrugs. “Dunno, just need some gay drama in our lives I suppose.”

Sirius glares at her. “Marlene,” he says slowly. “You. Are. A. Lesbian.”

“And you’re gay as a maypole,” Marlene retorts. “Go get the guy, Black.”

“It is not that easy,” Sirius sighs.

“Can you write?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a phone?”

“No, I’m calling from a toaster.”

“That would explain the poor video quality.”

“Bullshit.”

Marlene ignores this. “Seems to me like you’re perfectly capable of writing that letter.”

“Yes, but I’m not social,” Sirius says.

Both Marlene and James laugh at that.

“Sirius Black you are the most social person I know aside from myself and your haired idiot over there.”

“Hey!” James says, indignant.

“You can write that letter,” Marlene continues. “I know you can.”

“The problem isn’t I can’t do it,” Sirius says, handing the phone to Marlene so that he can tie up his hair, which has decided for whatever reason to fall in his eyes and be irritating. “I just don’t want to because it’s stupid,” Sirius finishes.

“I see,” Marlene says.

She’s silent for a bit. Which is slightly alarming to Sirius. Marlene is only this quiet on the phone when she’s thinking or playing Subway Surfers, her designated FaceTime Game.

“Well then,” She says, and Sirius releases a sigh of relief. “I guess I can’t make you.”

“Nope,” Sirius says cheerfully, a girl starting to spread across his face.

“Unless of course I dare you to,” Marlene says, and Sirius’ grin drops.

It’s Marlene’s turn to smile now. “Gotcha.”

“You’re the devil.”

It’s quite the well known fact that Sirius will take basically any dare, so long as it doesn’t hurt someone else. And as far as he can tell, this dare isn’t hurting anyone. Not even himself, save for some minor embarrassment.

“How did you know what my Halloween costume was,” Marlene asks, she’s still grinning at him.

“Well, you certainly aren’t an angel,” Sirius grumbles.

Marlene waves a gummy worm at him. “Ain’t that the truth. Well then, I dare you to write that random guy a letter.”

James whistles. “Gosh why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re afraid of being murdered, maybe?” Sirius suggests.

“And Marlene isn’t?”

“I’m the devil, remember? Already dead.”

“Right, of course, my bad,” James says.

Marlene turns her attention back towards Sirius. “You’re near Peter’s, right? You should send the letter now.”

“With what?” Sirius asks. “I’m short on paper if you can’t tell.”

Marlene gestures to James who is holding up his backpack triumphantly.

“Told you we’d need it!”

“I hate you both,” Sirius mutters, snatching a pen and paper from James.

“What the hell am I even supposed to write?”

“You number,” Marlene says unhelpfully.

“No shit Sherlock.”

Sirius decides not to ask anymore questions. He just scribbles out a quick note and folds the paper.

“What’d you say?” James asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius retorts.

They’re right in front of the house now, and Sirius is wondering if he should just back out of it.

“Don’t be shy,” Marlene says from her end of the phone. Sirius has the vague idea that she’d be shoving him forward if she were here right now.

As it happens he doesn’t need the shove. He walked up the drive himself, ignoring Marlene’s, “Wait flip the camera James. I wanna see him do it.”

He’s at the front porch now, and he thinks he can hear something in the kitchen. There’s the sound of rushing water, dishes maybe?

Without giving it much more thought, Sirius shoves the letter inside the mailbox, wincing at the slight creak it makes.

Then he jogs back down the drive and continues towards Peter’s house.

James runs after him.

“Don’t you feel liberated now?” Marlene asks.

“If by ‘liberated’ you mean like a fucking fairytale charcater then, yes. Sure.”

“I don’t know of any fairyta—“

“Goodbye Marlene,” Sirius says, he takes the phone from James and promptly hangs up on her.

“Rude,” James says jokingly.

“Oh, please, she’s done worse,” Sirius snorts.

“But don’t you feel excited?” James asks.

“I feel anxiety.”

“You’ll thank us later.”

Even thought Sirius rolls his eyes and shoves James into a nearby plant, he can’t help but wonder if James and Marlene are right. And if this’ll actually go somewhere.

Ah, well, that’s another problem for another day. At present moment he should probably be running right about now before James comes to exact his revenge. And that, is exactly what he does.

#Based On A True Story #those of you who understand that tag know exactly what you did #(yes I’m looking at you Archie) #BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE💙 #VERY LATER BIRTHDAY #ILYYY #wolfstar #harry potter #sirius black #marauders #marlene mckinnon #james potter #peter pettigrew #euphemia potter #Remus Lupin #Lily Evans #dorcas meadowes #Harry Potter fanfic #fanfiction #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar fanfic #my writing #writing stuff about moi

[captainsophiestark]

Yellow Paint

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requested: No

Summary: Y/N is dating Elijah, the brother of their best friend Klaus. Y/N is basically an honorary Mikaelson, which is how they ended up painting baby Hope's future bedroom with Elijah, while Klaus is nowhere in sight. Although, Elijah and Y/N aren't exactly complaining.

Word Count: 1,697

Category: Fluff? Humor?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"This room is hideous."

"And that's why we're redoing it. No baby Mikaelson is coming into the world like this." My boyfriend, Elijah Mikaelson, plopped down a few cans of paint in the middle of the room before turning to me. "Shall we get started?"

"Hey, you're the vampire with super strength. Clear the room, and I'll put down the tarp."

Elijah flashed a smile, then wooshed the nearest chair into the next room. Between his super strength and super speed, the room was cleared in less than three minutes.

"Nice work," I said, hands on my hips as I surveyed the room.

"Thank you. Now, how about that tarp?"

Elijah and I spread a plastic tarp out across the floor to protect it from any stray paint, then cracked open the first can of primer. All the walls were currently a dark red, and if we wanted to change them to our planned light bright yellow, we'd have to do it right.

"Why the hell isn't your brother here helping with this?" I asked, dipping my roller in the primer and making the first stripe against the red. "It's the room for his kid after all."

"I don't know. Why isn't your best friend?"

I scoffed. "Because he's lazy. And currently using the excuse of giving his best friend and his brother some space to be a couple to avoid having to spend the afternoon painting a room."

"Well, I can say this for my brother..." Elijah slowly crossed the room to stand in front of me. He leaned down and gave me a slow, sweet kiss. "He certainly knows when it's best to give us our space."

"Mmm... I don't know... I love Nik, but I really might stake him if he interrupts another one of our dates with some crazy witchy murderer plot or whatever."

Elijah chuckled as he picked up a roller and we both went back to painting the wall.

"If you really wanted to stake my brother, you would've done it already."

I sighed. "Yeah, probably. Still, maybe I'll leave a bunch of paint on his pillow or something as payback for being such a slacker."

"Now that I would love to see."

"Ooo, or here's an idea: let's paint his room next, and then we'll make him fix it. Then he has to paint a room as penance for not painting this one."

Elijah just smiled in amusement, shaking his head a little at my antics.

"You know, it's no wonder you and my brother became such fast friends. You're both very held up on your revenge plots. Yours are just a little less... murderous and aggressive than my brother's."

Now it was my turn to grin.

"Less murderous? Yes. Less aggressive? Hell no. I will aggressively paint everything that man owns."

Elijah laughed out loud, and my smile only grew. His genuine, happy laugh was one of my favorite things to hear, and sometimes it could be a pretty rare sound.

Elijah and I managed to get the primer on the walls fairly quickly, especially considering I didn't have super speed. We finally got to crack the yellow paint buckets open, and I watched as Elijah painted the first stripe on the wall.

I glanced down at the paint brush in my hand and I was suddenly struck by a brilliant idea.

I walked casually to the paint bucket and dipped it in the bright color. Elijah had his back to me, wearing his usual white button up but without the suit jacket. The top button was undone, and the sleeves were rolled up. This was one of my favorite looks of his; I almost couldn't bring myself to ruin it.

Almost.

"Hey, Elijah." My boyfriend turned around, and as soon as he did I lifted my paintbrush and dragged it down, leaving a yellow streak on his cheek and across his chest. I grinned as he looked down at his no-longer-clean white shirt.

When he looked back at me, he had a smirk and a dangerous glint in his eye. My heart started racing a little faster; I liked this side of my boyfriend.

I took a few steps back, and Elijah didn't take his eyes off me once. I shot him another mischievous look, then turned on my heel and ran. Elijah had vampire speed, but he didn't use it. He ran after me the human way, and he still caught me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and used his strength to pick me up and spin me around.

I giggled and he set me down, nuzzling into my neck. The wet paint on his face and clothes was getting all over me, which I'm sure was exactly his plan.

"You ruined my shirt," he said, hot breath fanning against my neck.

"That was the plan."

"Mmm..." Elijah hummed, lips against my throat, and I felt the vibrations through my whole body. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back to give Elijah better access, a blissful smile on my face.

Elijah raised his paint roller, and the smile on my face was suddenly coated in yellow paint.

Elijah dragged the roller over my shirt and jeans, and then he let me go. I turned around to face him, hands on my hips but the smile still on my face.

"That's something I have in common with you and my brother," said Elijah, twirling the paint roller casually in his hands. "I also like to get revenge."

"Hm. Fair enough. Although, I only ruined your shirt. You ruined my shirt and my pants." Elijah started to defend himself, but I kept going. "And my shirt was unique. You have, like, five million white button up shirts in your closet."

Elijah broke my gaze to look down at his shirt, a small smile on his face.

"I suppose that's a fair complaint." He looked up at me and took a few steps forward. "How can I make it up to you?"

I grinned. "I can think of a couple things."

Elijah kept walking towards me until he was close enough to wrap his arms around me and pull me to his chest. He still had paint on his face, and I did too, but neither of us cared. My smile was brighter than the paint color as I closed the distance between us for a kiss.

Elijah's grip on me tightened, and he deepened the kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair, then down to the buttons of his shirt. I'd just managed to get the second button undone when we were interrupted by a voice from the doorway.

"Well well. I'm starting to regret my change of heart to come help you two."

I sighed and buried my head in Elijah's chest. It rose and fell in the special, heavy sigh he reserved for his brother, and then I straightened and turned to face my best friend.

"You have some timing, Nik," I said.

"Me? You two were supposed to be painting my child's future bedroom, and instead you're making out in the middle of it. What kind of impression does that leave on my child's future space?"

I glared at Nik, but he just grinned at me and Elijah. He put his hands behind his back and started strolling around the room to admire our handiwork, looking satisfied. I made eye contact with Elijah, and he nodded.

"Well, brother? What do you think of the color?"

Elijah walked over to Nik, drawing his attention and getting him to turn his back on me. Slowly, silently, I crept over to the open bucket of paint and picked it up. Then, I rounded on my target.

Nik.

"It's a little sunny for my taste, but I didn't really expect anything different from Y/N," said Nik. I didn't even have to see his face to know he was wearing that stupid grin, but he wasn't going to be smiling for much longer.

Before Elijah or Nik could say anything else, I turned the bucket of paint over and dumped it all over Nik's head. He gasped and floundered, but he was so shocked he couldn't do much else at first. I grinned at Elijah over his shoulder.

"I thought you were going to go for the roller," Elijah said, absolutely beaming nonetheless.

"Nah. This is for interrupting us and for not helping us paint earlier today."

Right on cue, Nik whirled around to face me. The evil glint in his eye as he took his first step towards me was one I recognized, from plenty of times before this when I pranked him. Fortunately for me, he didn't get the chance to get his revenge or tackle me in a paint-soaked hug before my boyfriend came to the rescue, sweeping me off my feet and wooshing me out of the room.

When we stopped moving again and I actually caught my balance, I saw we were standing in the middle of Elijah's room at the Mikaelson mansion, as far as we could get from the compound without actually leaving the city.

"You know this isn't going to stop anything, right?" I said, smiling at Elijah, who still had his arms wrapped around me. "Nik's just gonna wait and get his revenge later. This is the beginning of another full-on prank war."

"I know. But we started something that I want to finish, without Niklaus getting the chance to interrupt us again."

I grinned. "I like the sound of that."

Elijah hummed, then pulled me closer and kissed me. I leaned into it, deepening the kiss and forgetting all about Nik and that look in his eye. A prank war was coming, and I'd need to do some serious planning if I wanted to win. But that could wait.

Right now, I was going to enjoy the night with my boyfriend.

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #the vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson imagine #the originals #elijah mikaelson one shot #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #tvd #tvd fanfiction #to fanfiction #tvd imagine #vampire #tvd one shot #humor #fluff #klaus mikaelson #the originals fanfiction #the originals imagine #the mikaelsons

[kaitoujokerscans]

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH8

<8> Battle Between Rivals

"Hmm, I don't get it..." In the Riviera HQ corridor, Joker tilted his head.

"Same here. Should we do a magic square or rock-paper-scissors like we did before?" Beside him, Hachi tossed out a random guess.

"The magic square and rock-paper-scissors... Ohh! I know!" Joker suddenly exclaimed.

"Joker-san, did you figure it out?"

"Yep, thanks to your hint. You have to combine the magic square and rock-paper-scissors for this puzzle. We just have to work out which one wins every time when going horizontally, vertically, and diagonally!"

"Really?" Hachi examined the numbers.

Joker took out a notepad from his pocket and copied down the 16 numbers. "First, going vertical. The leftmost column is {5, 0, 0, 0}, which works out to paper, rock, rock, rock. Paper wins. That means all the 0s lose," Joker said and crossed out the three 0s.

"Next is the second column. This is {2, 5, 2, 5}, making it scissors, paper, scissors, paper. Scissors wins here, so the 5s lose," said Joker, crossing out the two 5s. "Do the same for the third and fourth columns and X out the rest like this, see?" Joker crossed out the 2s in the third column and the 5s in the fourth column.

"I get it. So any of the numbers that lose here aren't the one we're looking for, right?"

"Yeah. Now go horizontally. Do the same rock-paper-scissors conversions we did with the columns, and..." He went across the rows crossing out one number after another, and in no time, there were only two numbers left out of the sixteen. The other fourteen were all crossed out. The remaining numbers were the 2 in the top row, rightmost column, and the 2 in the second column.

"Which of these two is stronger?" asked Hachi.

Joker puffed up as he answered. "There's still the diagonals, right? The line going from the top-right to the bottom-left is {2, 0, 2, 0}, rocks and scissors, so the scissors lose!" Joker crossed out the top-right 2 last of all.

"Which means..."

"Right. The 2 in the top row, second from the left, is the 'number that doesn't lose'!"

"I see now. That was incredible, Joker-san!"

"I got it because of your hint, you know. All right, time to push the button!"

"Okay! Right on!" Hachi jumped up and pushed the "2" button. There was a low beep, and then the clang of something unlocking. The door slowly opened, revealing the door of the safe holding the Riviera recipe behind it. It certainly looked like a sturdy door.

"Let's get to opening this thing up!" Joker pulled a giant electric saw out of hammerspace.

"Joker-san, what's that...?"

"Hm? This baby can crack open any door or safe. It's my custom Joker electric saw!"

"Then couldn't you just have used that from the start!?"

"Ha ha, now that wouldn't be any fun. A phantom thief uses his brain wherever possible when breaking in." Joker smiled from ear to ear, just before hitting the electric saw's power switch. After a LOT of noise and rattling, the safe was quite literally busted open.

Joker fished the recipe page out of the safe where it had been kept. But he didn't exactly look pleased. "Sheesh, what a letdown. And here I thought I'd finally get back at him for what happened with the Crimson Crystal."

What he said confused Hachi. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"This is where Noir works."

"Whaaat!? Really!?"

Joker picked up an empty popcorn bag off the ground and started to explain. "Yeah. After Noir quit being a spy, he ended up in charge of security at Riviera HQ. If you wanna protect an international secret, get yourself an international spy."

"That makes sense. So he got a job where he could put his spy skills to use... But then why is Noir not around? It's unsettling how there's nothing here."

"You've got that right. I thought sure he'd have a trap set..."

They looked around at the safe room again. It was stark empty, not even a desk or table in sight. Save for a small security camera in one corner, there didn't seem to be much of a security system at all.

"Well, whatever. Let's blow this joint."

Joker and Hachi were just about to leave, when...

The door that they had just come in through budged.

"It's gotta be Noir...!" Joker reflexively pulled out his cards. But the one who came in wasn't the person he had expected.

"Spade!"

"Spade-san!"

Right in front of their eyes were Spade and Dark Eye, who had opened the last door and entered the safe room. They looked surprised to see Joker and Hachi as well.

"Joker!?"

"Kyo kyo kyo!"

"Spade, what are you here for?""

"I could ask you the same thing? Wait, what about Noir...?" Spade asked, darting his eyes around. Apparently Spade had also learned about Noir's link to this place and had come to steal the treasure.

"He's not here. You were a step too late, besides. The 'Riviera Recipe' is mine!" Joker dangled the recipe page and waved it about.

"...Oh, so that's what you were after. Where's Noir? There's something I have to return to him," Spade said, taking an object out of his pocket.

When he saw what it was, Joker was shocked. "That's my Crimson Crystal!"

Spade held up the bright red gemstone and turned up the corners of his lips. "That's right. Noir left it with me because he wanted me to return it to you. But my pride won't let me do that."

"Pride? What exactly did Noir tell you?"

"Well..." Spade clammed up. Noir had said something that injured his pride, no doubt about it. Joker had some idea of what it was. Noir had stolen his treasure.

Then, realizing something, Spade inhaled sharply. "Now I get it. This is Noir's strategy."

"Strategy?"

"He damaged our psyche and provoked our anger, all so that we would come across each other like this."

"You mean he knew that we'd come here?"

"Yes, exactly. And we each have the treasure that the other wants..." Spade's gaze focused on the recipe in Joker's hand. He probably also wanted the recipe so he could put Noir to shame. And in Spade's hand was the Crimson Crystal which Joker had stolen from Kaneari. The two of them stared each other down.

"Joker, this is a great opportunity. How about whoever wins gets the other's treasure?" Spade shot an incendiary look at Joker. He recalled what Noir had said: "Go ahead and chase behind Joker forever..." I'll prove him wrong...!

Joker whipped out his cards and readied himself as well. "Fine by me. Let's do this, Spade!"

"Here I come, Joker!" Spade swiftly unholstered his Ice Shot and aimed it.

A low bellow droned through the dark sky. An enormous ship floated upon the endless night ocean. It was one of the world's most luxurious passenger crafts, Urban of the Sea. The ship, which was 3000 meters long, housed over 1000 guest rooms as well as all kinds of recreational facilities. With its own pool, restaurant, theater, multiple liquor lounges, an ice-skating rink, and even a rock-climbing wall, it was like an entire city stuffed onto a boat. It hosted over 3000 passengers per voyage and visited tourist destinations all over the world.

Tonight, this enormous ship was filled with silence.

The ship had been rented out to VIPs from the Kingdom of Lachla. These VIPs were staying in the best guest room there was, and it was in this room that the Lachla Crown was being kept under heavy security.

This guest room was near the fore of the ship. Spaced away from it, at the aft of the ship, was a huge structure. Though "huge" is an understatement — it was as tall as a five-story building. This cabin, with its obtuse angles, curved up to a circular floor at the top. It was meant as an observatory deck where one could survey the outside scenery. A man stood atop the observatory deck, his black cape fluttering. It was Noir. He was quietly awaiting Silver Heart. Soon, I can have my long-awaited revenge...

"So you're here..." murmured Noir, sensing a presence. A man had come up behind him. His white double-breasted suit was smartly buttoned, and his silver cape fluttered. His straight, upright bearing hardly suggested his age. This was the legendary phantom thief, Silver Heart!

"It's been a long time, Noir."

"Yes. I wanted to see you, Silver... or rather, you're Silver Heart now, aren't you?"

Strangely enough, Silver Heart didn't feel at all wistful as he observed Noir. He had certainly aged, but Noir's face hadn't lost the keenness from when he had known him as a spy. Silver Heart glared at Noir. "I heard, Noir. So you've become a phantom thief."

"Yes, I retired from being a spy. Because of you. Now I'm the head of security for a beverage manufacturer."

"Because of me?"

"You heard me. You ran away from me and kept being a thorn in my side..."

"You're right. I was probably running away from you... from my responsibilities as a spy. I couldn't put up with the ruthlessness of it anymore. I couldn't become as cold-blooded as you..."

"Heh heh heh, are you so sure that's the case?"

"What...?" Silver Heart continued to stare down Noir.

"We'll fight once more, with you as cold-blooded as you once were. Whoever wins the match can take the Lachla Crown," said Noir. He pulled the cloth off a table set up on the deck. Lying upon it was a crown studded with brilliant jewels. Noir had already stolen the Lachla Crown!

"I've already put the Lachlans to sleep. If you want this, you have to steal it from me."

"So that's what you're after..."

"This brings me back... you and I once infiltrated Lachla in order to destroy this. But it was your fault that the plan went awry. Now that I think about it, we've been at odds ever since..." Noir mused, his eyes focused on the crown.

But Silver Heart lowered his voice and spoke. "I will never again be like I was. There's not an ounce of spy left in me."

"Heh heh heh, humans don't ever really change. You're a cold-blooded spy. And if you aren't, you'll never be able to win against me..."

"That's not true. I'm going to fight against you as a phantom thief." Silver faced back to Noir and strengthened his grip on his rod. "Noir, our long-overdue reunion wasn't so emotional after all..."

"I expected as much. Here I come, Silver!" Not even a moment later, Noir kicked off the ground and lunged at Silver Heart.

The floor split open with a bang, and Joker and Spade plummeted down towards the floor below.

"Joker-san!"

"Kyo kyo, Spade-sama!"

Hachi and Dark Eye peeked down over the edge to see them lying on the ground, still squabbling with each other. The lower floor was a recreational sports center with a pool, exercise machines, a running track, and more. They let each other go, took their distance, and stood off against each other.

"Been a while since I fought you like this, Spade."

"Yes, but that's because you never take me seriously."

"Not true!" Joker took an advance notice card out of his pocket and quickly scribbled something on it. "Spade, I'm gonna take the treasure from you, no two ways about it!"

"Heh heh heh, now that's more like it. Then we'll face off in a minute-long match, like the one you lost to Noir in."

"Ghh..." Joker bit his lip bitterly. So Spade had known about Joker and Noir's match after all. "All right. I'll steal the treasure from you in one minute, no more than that!"

"And if you can't?"

"I can!" Joker pulled cards out of his breast pocket and threw them at Spade. "Emblem Fire!" The cards caught fire one by one and flew straight towards Spade.

"Ice Shot!" Spade used his Ice Shot to closely target and freeze the cards.

"Not bad! Emblem Fire!" Joker tossed more cards out. A flurry of cards scattered to every corner of the room, sticking into the walls and sinking into the pool. While Spade was shooting down the cards that were coming his way, Joker jumped to the side. He flipped around and leapt toward Spade. Once he was in front of him, he fanned out his cards. "Straight Flash!"

"Not good enough! Ice Shot Mirror!" Spade spun his Ice Shot around and made a small mirror of ice in midair. It reflected the light from the Straight Flash, blinding Joker.

"Gwah!"

"Ha ha ha! Your attacks are so repetitive!" Spade froze the pool with his Ice Shot, slid the blades out of his shoes, and skated onto the makeshift rink. "Catch me if you can!"

"Gah! Says the guy who only ever uses Ice Shot!"

Going after Spade, Joker stepped onto the makeshift rink. But he slipped and fell right onto his back with a magnificent thud. "Owwwww...."

"It's been almost a minute. There's no way I'm going to lose to you...!" Spade spun about on the ice and faced back to him. He was saying this not just about Joker, but about Noir as well.

"Say that again...?" Joker glared hard at Spade.

Spade was looking down at Joker with cold eyes. "Now that I'm standing before you like this, I feel a bit of pity. For myself. I hate how bothered I am by your existence."

"..." Joker listened quietly.

"Well, it's just about time. Fifteen seconds left... if you admit your loss here and now, I'll at least acknowledge you have the skills to be my rival." Spade silently pointed his Ice Shot.

But Joker shook his head with a derisive laugh. "No thanks. I'll decide my rivals on my own. And Spade, you're my rival in every respect."

"I'm what...?"

Just then, the ice under Spade's feet cracked loudly. "What!?" Spade involuntarily lost his balance. Joker immediately ran up to him and swiped the Crimson Crystal out of Spade's hand. At the same time, he pushed against the ice and jumped over to the poolside.

"Waaaugh!" The ice surrounding him split, and Spade splashed into the pool. Thoroughly soaked, Spade poked his head out of the water with a gasp and scowled at Joker. "W-What... did you do!?"

"It's simple. I set up my Emblem Fire inside the pool."

"You what...!?" Sure enough, when he looked at the ice, there were ashes from the burned cards. "...But the fire should have gone out when it was underwater!"

"Didn't you know? Gunpowder doesn't need external oxygen to burn, so it can stay aflame even underwater. There's a substance in fireworks that lets them keep burning even when they're immersed."

"You're kidding..."

"As soon as I saw the pool, I knew you'd freeze it over. That's why I shot Emblem Fire into it in advance. Then I just had to wait for the spot you were on to melt."

"You... predicted my attack..."

"Heh heh, you're pretty repetitive too," said Joker, spitting Spade's words right back at him. "Just as warned, I've stolen the Crimson Crystal in under a minute!"

"Ghh...!" Spade bit his lip and balled up his fists.

"Spade, you can challenge me any time," grinned Joker.

Just then, they heard a scream from outside the window. "KYAAAAAAAA!"

Looking out, they saw a blob of pink in the night sky approaching them at high speed. It was Queen, holding onto Balloon Gum.

"Queen!?"

Carried by powerful gusts of wind, Queen was hurtling their way.

She's going to crash into the window glass...! Joker used his Emblem Fire and Spade used his Ice Shot to break the glass, and Queen was forcefully swept into the building.

"T-Thanks."

"Queen, what's up?"

"Trouble. Noir sent out an advance notice. He's going to steal the treasure that Grandpa is after!"

"He's what!?" Joker and Spade exclaimed in unison.

Then there was a series of loud rumbles as reinforced shutters rolled over each wall and the ceiling.

"Oh shoot...!"

The three of them were trapped on this floor.

#kaitou joker #light novel

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always Part 6: Honor Among Thieves

Are Charles Vane and Margaret Teach learning to talk to each other about their shared past?

Word Count: 3193

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity; discussion of miscarriage

The Adventure floats free of drydock and all is right in Charles Vane’s world. The morning is brilliantly cold, and he’s aboard a fast eight-gun sloop with Margaret at the helm, barking instructions at the crews towing her to a proper slip.

Back ashore, Margaret disembarks first. Vane is about to walk down the gangway after her when a familiar foppish figure stops in front of Margaret. He feels his fists clench at the sound of Ballard’s voice, pompous and a touch too posh. 

“Mrs. Sullivan, I’ve asked around about you.”

Margaret is noncommittal. “That can’t have been very interesting.”

“I learned that you married your father’s quartermaster. And that you used to be, ah, close with Charles Vane, but you and he had a rather public falling out.” Ballard smiles conspiratorially. “I’m sure you’ve heard that there’s a price on his head.”

“I’m aware.”

“Repairing that ship of yours will take some capital. I’m sure that even half that reward would be of use to you.” Ballard’s smile turns downright unctuous, a word Vane learned from Jack.

“You think I’d be willing to hunt Vane down and turn him in for the reward?” Margaret sounds mildly amused.

“Would you not?”

“No.” Margaret starts to take her leave, but turns back at Ballard’s next words.

“Seems to me he must have had some assistance making his escape.” Ballard’s voice is pointed. “And one thing I heard about you is that you’re an excellent shot.”

“Why the fuck would I assist someone with whom I had a public falling-out?” Margaret sounds incredulous. 

“I also noticed that your ship took the kind of damage one would expect from cannon fire. And there are reports that a similar sloop was spotted in the vicinity of Nassau around the time Vane got away, sailing with ships known to be involved in high seas piracy.”

“Then, Mr. Ballard, you’ll also be aware that my father and his crew all took the King’s pardon several years back and retired from the account. And so there is nothing you can hold over my head, or my husband’s.”

“Ah yes, your husband. At first I thought he was your hired help, but he seemed rather too devoted to you for that. Tell me, Mrs. Sullivan, why has he been prize-fighting using the name Thatch if indeed he has nothing to hide?”

“The top black marketeer in New York, talking about things to hide. Surely the irony is not lost on you, Mr. Ballard.”

Ballard attempts to stare her down, but he’s the first to look away. “Are there any little Sullivans?”

Had he not known her so well, Vane wouldn’t have noticed the tightening around her eyes, the way she clenched her jaw ever so slightly: Ballard hit a nerve.

“No, Mr. Ballard. There are no little Sullivans.”

Vane makes his way down the gangplank to loom at Ballard over Margaret’s shoulder. Ballard’s eyes widen in alarm. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Sullivan. Good day, Mrs. Sullivan.” Ballard finally hurries off.

“So much for honor among thieves, then,” Margaret deadpans to Vane with a wry tilt to her mouth. He puts his hand on her arm, and feels his chest loosen when she doesn’t flinch.

She’s been standoffish since they reunited, and he can hardly blame her. But when he’d gone to comfort her while she wept last night, when he put his arms around her, she rested her head on his shoulder, and for a brief moment, he felt all the tension go out of her strong back. She still fits there perfectly, as though the years and miles never elapsed. The soft crush of her breasts against the muscles of his chest, the way her ribs expanded and contracted as she gulped big lungfuls of air, the bolt of desire that shot through him...she extricated herself from his embrace before he was in a position to either hide that or make it known. He feels safe with her. He’s always felt safe with her. He never felt safe with Eleanor. In the beginning he thought it was exciting, but eventually, Eleanor abused his trust too much, kept him on edge, made him feel caged. He should have told Margaret how he felt, he thinks for the thousandth time. He never should have let her get in that boat and leave, not before he said his peace to her. She can rot in a hole, Charles. I just hope you don’t end up rotting with her. Margaret with her dark hair and her flashing eyes and her fiery temper and her kind heart. She’d knife a man quick as you please, then feel sorry for a seagull with a broken wing. All throughout the intervening years, the comparison would spring unbidden to his mind. 

“Why did you get Captain Teach to take me with you?”

“You needed to be free.” As simple as that. Leaving him there, injured and enslaved, never crossed her mind. He can pinpoint it: that was the moment he started to love her, before desire ever figured into it at all. Though in time, of course, it did. 

The Revenge crew had just come ashore with a prize and were looking to celebrate. The men were heading into Nassau town, pockets bulging with coin. Sully, newly elected quartermaster after Teach shot Hands, turned back at the brothel door.

“Aren't you coming in with us, Sully?”

“Nah,” said one of the newer crewmen whose name Vane can’t recall, Simon or something similar, “he and Vane are having a race to see which one of them gets to be the first to taste Margaret’s tight little cunt. He probably thinks tonight’s his chance.”

The rest of the men fell silent; Sully and Vane were the only among them who’d ever been capable of fighting Teach to a draw. Too full of rum to see this as a warning, Simon continued. “Shame, really, that Teach keeps her on such a short chain. Imagine being the first to stick your cock inside of her.”

Sully shoved his way through the crowd toward him, all of his usual good nature gone from his face, but Vane reached him first. “What the fuck,” he snarled as he lifted the man off his feet by his throat, “did you just say?”

More interested in saving face than saving himself, Simon went for his belt knife, but Sully grabbed his arm and in one swift motion, broke Simon's wrist. Simon tried to kick. This time it was Vane’s turn. He dropped the man to the ground, lashing out with his boot heel and taking satisfaction as Simon’s jaw crunched beneath his foot. 

Having fetched some supplies for the ship, they reboard. The salon of the Adventure is as he remembers it, spartan but cozy. A chart table that doubles as a desk, a bench under the window, the bunk that had been Margaret and Sully’s marriage bed. A cradle, intricately carved, currently being used to store firewood for the galley; he’d recognize Sully’s whittling anywhere. 

Margaret’s eyes flicker from Vane’s face to the cradle and back. “Thought I already burned that.”

“Margaret. Margaret, I didn’t know.”

She sits on the bench and draws her knees to her chest. “You’ve no reason to. I never became a mum.” She looks far away. “It’s just as well. I’d be shit at it.” 

The truth, he sees, is far more complicated, so he sits beside her. “You wouldn’t be shit at it.”

“The first time I was with child, I thought I was seasick. I’d never been seasick a day in my life. And we were so careful. Then Sully asked me when was the last time I bled and I realized I was late.” She frowns. Sully’s own mother was a midwife and she’d sent him into the world with a wealth of information which he shared with his shipmates. “I know it makes no fucking sense — I didn’t want to be a mother, didn’t want a domestic life, but when I found out, I wanted our baby, his and mine, because it was ours. He swore we’d make it work. Swore if it was a girl, he’d never make her feel like she was lesser.” Vane hears her unspoken words loud and clear: unlike how her father treated her. She swallows hard, and continues. “I didn’t go over the side, didn’t drink, and then a few weeks later, I started bleeding anyway.” She shrugs. “Tried a few more times, but it never stuck.”

It should hurt, hearing her talking about the life she built with another man, the family she tried to start, and it does, but mostly Vane finds himself hurting for her, hurting because she hurt.

He covers one of her hands with his. “Sully was a good man. The best I’ve ever known.”

She nods, her face carefully blank. “He was.”

He braces himself as if preparing to hit the water. “I knew he’d be good to you. So I tried to find my way to being happy for you both.” This time, will she understand what he’s telling her? It was excruciating when she chose Sully over him. Why hadn’t he been enough for her? That bastard Ballard was right: he’s devoted to Margaret. Only fell into Eleanor’s schemes because he didn’t want to be alone, he was flattered that she pursued him so hard while Margaret was spending more and more time with Sully. Perhaps this time, Margaret will recognize his devotion. Perhaps this time, it will be enough.

Margaret’s laughter carried on the breeze from where she was sitting by the campfire. Sully was combing out her hair; with her arm in a sling, she couldn’t have easily plaited it herself. Even so, it was such an intimate act, and they both looked so full of joy in each other’s company, that he might as well have discovered them fucking. Margaret noticed him and waved him over with her good arm, but he turned away from her smile and strode away, ignored her calling after him, off the beach and into Nassau Town, his stomach in knots and his heart clenched tight. He’d taken floggings at the hands of the overseer that were easier to bear. And so when that rich little blond girl made a beeline for him, he put up no resistance. For someone who had no skill at physically fighting, Eleanor certainly had a talent for ambushing him at his most vulnerable.

Margaret blinks and looks stricken. “If there was any chance Eleanor would have been good to you, I’d have tried to be happy for you, too.” 

Is she saying what he thinks she is? She goes on. “When Sully asked me to marry him, he said he wanted to face the future with me.” Her big eyes meet his, a challenge in them. “You didn’t marry her.”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Oh, I heard the rumors, tales of your exploits, talk of how Charles Vane is not the marrying kind, but I wondered if she wouldn’t have you because that would have meant she couldn’t keep tossing you out then reeling you back in.” Yes, Deadeye Magpie hit the mark. As usual.

He scowls from beneath his brow. “I never asked her.” Minutes pass. He relents with a sigh. “I always knew there wasn’t a future to face with Eleanor.” There, he admitted it to her. She doesn’t gloat, she doesn’t say she told him so; it’s not even written on her features. She looks...she looks pensive. Pensive and a little sad. He realizes his hand is still on hers. Ever since he first fell out with Blackbeard and then with Margaret, he felt as though he was living on borrowed time. He never considered the future beyond hunting down the next prize, maintaining his captaincy. He couldn’t consider more of a future than that -- there was something painful there, and he was loath to poke at it to see how deep that wound was. When he hit the wharves of New York, all he could think of was how to scrape by, make his way. And then Margaret came to his aid once more, and though he tells himself that it’s foolish, that it’s a mistake, that she deserves better than anything he can currently offer her, he can’t ignore the small spark of hope she ignited, that’s been growing since they reunited.

The clock in Trinity Church chimes the hour, and Vane realizes the shadows are growing long out on the docks. He’s almost due at work at Mr. Fraunces’s tavern; that’s where he’d learned of his recent opportunity for highway robbery.

“You don’t have to, Charles. We’ll be back at sea soon enough.”

“I won’t be kept by you, Margaret.”

The melancholy returns to her eyes before she hides it with a flash of anger. He cuts her off before she can lash out with her words. “I’ll contribute my fair share. I won’t be a burden to you.” He needs her to understand this. Does she?

As fast as her anger arrived, it left. “Charles. You’re not a burden.” Together they leave the Adventure and head down the quayside, to the corner where they part ways. Vane finds himself reluctant, though it’s only for a few hours. They stand there, facing each other, uncertain, neither wanting to leave. And there’s that gentle smile, the one she used to reserve for him alone, well, him and Sully, anyway.

“I missed that look, Maggie-Pie.”

“If you call me Maggie-Pie, I’m going to call you Charlie-Boy.” Has she edged incrementally closer?

Vane smirks, raises the eyebrow she scarred when they were still children. “If you call me Charlie-boy,” he purrs, “I’m going to answer to it.”

“Charlie-boy!” she calls after him. He turns. “Just checking,” she tells him with a wicked little grin. Then she walks back toward the garret, that straight-backed, hip-swinging stride that he can’t take his eyes off until she goes out of sight.

                              ~*~

The sea is rolling this evening, but she sits on the bed, hands steady as she combs Sully’s hair. A habit they fell into well before they wedded, combing and plaiting one another’s hair. It’s comforting, this small ritual of tenderness in a life that is so often anything but.

Why are the long, honey-colored strands sticky? 

“You made a promise, Margaret.” Some of the most serious conversations in their relationship took place during these quiet moments.

“What…”

“You promised you’d find a way to be happy again, Margaret. You promised me.” His tone is accusatory. Sully turns his head to look over his shoulder at her, and Margaret sees the bullet hole in his temple, the gore coating his face, his neck, his hair. His skin is pale beneath its tan, as pale as it was when he was buried at sea, slipping loose from his hammock just as he hit the water, face waxen and brown eyes staring at nothing. Some of the men held her back just then, fearing she was going to throw herself into the sea after him…

Suddenly they’re on deck together, beside each other. Margaret hears the pistol shot, feels the wet warmth of Sully’s blood splatter the side of her face, sees the startled look cross his fine-boned features as he drops.

“No,” she hears herself pleading. “Don’t go.”

Sully’s voice drifts across the waves, even as he slips beneath them.“You made a promise, Margaret.”

“Wait, don’t go!” She hears the ragged desperation in her voice.

“Margaret. Margaret!” Vane’s raspy voice. His hands on her shoulders, shaking her. “Margaret, love, you’re having a nightmare.” 

She squints up at him, disoriented. Where did he come from? She pushes herself into a seated position, and then Vane is steadying her, holding her as though he’s trying to put himself bodily between her and all the world’s pain. 

“Is this going to be a routine?” she grumbles into his broad chest. What must he think of what she’s become, a weepy woman with nightmares.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs in assent, the rumble of it causing her to burrow herself into him a little bit closer. “And would that be so bad?” 

“What, me making a habit of crying on you and having nightmares?”

Vane grunts in frustration and Margaret feels his pulse speed beneath her palm, but his voice, when he finally speaks, is as soft as she’s ever heard it. “You were the first person to show me any kindness, Magpie. One of the few who ever has.” She lifts her head and risks a look at his face, and as she does so, one of his big hands comes to rest at her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone. 

“I promised my father I’d try to keep you alive.” She wants to open up to him, she does. The garret is freezing and Vane’s body is so warm against hers. Why can’t she open up to him?

“And you’ve more than kept that promise.” Vane’s blue eyes are gentle as a calm sea, his gruff voice going nearly inaudible in the small distance between them. “You’re free of me, if you wish to be.”

“I wish no such thing,” she snaps. Damnation, how hard-headed is this man? Did he just...did he just sag slightly in relief that she doesn’t want to be rid of him? 

His arm tightens ‘round her shoulders, holding her even closer, and she works an arm around his waist in return, to steady herself. “Crew should be arriving in the next few days. We can get the hell out of here before winter fully sets in and we end up icebound ‘til Spring.”

Vane looks bemused. He thinks she’s dodging him, and she is, a bit, she knows this. 

“You’re telling me this now, Magpie, because?”

“Because that was too near a miss today with Ballard. I thought he might have guessed who you are, and I’m not sure I fully convinced him you’re not Charles Vane.”

“You don’t want to cash in the price on my head?” He’s joking, but she jerks back anyway.

“Never!” The adamance in her voice startles even her. Vane is peering at her by the light of the lantern he’d brought in -- he must have been having one of his late nights of brooding -- and he nods slightly to himself, as if he’s decided something. Those thin, chapped lips press against her forehead and she bites back a gasp. Yes, she’s been lonely since Sully died, and what of it? She feels herself starting to melt, the realization causing her to stiffen. Vane retracts his body from hers, slowly, as though forcing himself to give her space.

“Get some rest, Maggie-Pie. You don’t sleep enough.”

He stands, walks to the door to the main room. 

“You’re one to talk, Charlie-Boy.” He looks over his shoulder at her, his face softening into one of his all-too-rare boyish smiles.

She hears him sit heavily on his cot. As she gradually drifts back to sleep, she vaguely thinks she might be able to keep her promise to Sully after all.

Taglist: @whenimaunicorn @n3rdybird

#sometimes always fic #charles vane x oc #charles vane fic #charles vane #black sails fic #charles vane x margaret teach #charles vane x ofc

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Time - Good Omens Fic

Goal was to write three fics for this weeks @bingokisses prompts. Well, I got two! The first is “Time” a Night At Crowley’s Flat/Pre-Body-Swap/Wing Grooming fic. It’s for the prompt “Wrist kisses” which I had twice on my card, the first paired with “Wing Grooming.” I’m going to do edits before I move this to AO3, so let me know if anything sounds off!

“So that’s it.” Crowley lounged against the wall, arms crossed. Not looking at Aziraphale. Not looking at anything.

“Yes. I pretend to be you, you pretend to be me. Hellfire. Holy water. We survive.”

It wasn’t easy, keeping his voice steady. Aziraphale mostly managed it by not looking at Crowley, not thinking to hard about it, acting as though the entire problem were simply some clever logic problem. Most certainly by not imagining what would happen if they failed.

“Don’t like it.”

“Come now,” he tried to smile. “Let’s not start over again. We’ve considered every angle. The plan works, and it’s our – our best chance.”

Crowley grunted as if regretting his promise already. “Not going to argue. Just. Don’t like it.” He’d been belligerent since the moment Aziraphale had suggested the swap, inspired by his own recent experience with discorporation. He’d expected Crowley to dislike the idea, but the demon had fought against it, tooth and nail, every step of the planning process.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t have his own doubts. He’d struggled to keep them at bay since stepping off the bus. Now he pressed his hands together, ordering them not to tremble, as the fear started to grow in his gut, building, pushing out into his limbs and his heart.

Choose your faces wisely – that was clear enough. But playing with Fyre could mean many things, only one of which Crowley was immune to. What if he’d missed something? What if there was more to it?

What if the prophecy wasn’t intended to save both of them?

He imagined Michael’s sword, blade aflame, swinging towards Crowley while he was bound to a chair—

It wasn’t a noise, just a sharp intake of breath as he pulled himself back to reality, but it was as loud as a scream in the silent room. Crowley’s head snapped around, eyes pinning the angel through his dark glasses. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Oh, his voice didn’t sound certain at all, his eyes still burned in the imagined light of Heavenly swords. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again, but no words at all came out this time, just a strained squeak.

Heaven would see this coming, surely. They would suspect as soon as Crowley stepped into the flames. He needed to outsmart them, needed to think of the next step, and the next, a hundred moves ahead, but he didn’t have time…

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was sharp, a whip crack cutting through the silent room, and Aziraphale cringed, huddling into himself instinctively. “Bless it, Aziraphale, if you’re having doubts too, we need to rethink this. There’s still time, we can – can take off, be out past the Oort Cloud before either side notices. I know plenty of stars they’d never think to look.”

“Crowley, no. We’ve been over this already.” His voice didn’t sound calm but at least it wasn’t breaking anymore. “We can’t hide forever, they’ll – they’ll find us eventually.”

“I’d rather they chase us across the galaxy than – than stand around waiting for them to grab us. At least we’d have a chance. At least we’d have time.”

Aziraphale wanted that. Time. More than anything, he wanted time to think, to plan, to prepare. To stand beside Crowley and not be afraid.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no future if they ran, no earth, no them, just this one terrifying moment, stretched on and on for eternity, poised forever at the last moment before the attack. Always waiting. Always afraid. He couldn’t take a life of this, he couldn’t even take one night of this.

He was so lost in his own thoughts – torn between wanting time and wanting it to be over – that he didn’t even notice Crowley’s approach until the hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t rough – it was the gentlest touch, barely felt through his jacket – but the suddenness of it startled Aziraphale, making him stumble away.

“Crowley! There’s no need – I’m – please—”

“You aren’t fine, don’t try to tell me you’re fine,” he spat. Then, in a lower voice, “Talk to me.”

It was too much. Already he’d nearly given in to the fear, but this – this moment of concern – it tugged at him, threatening to break his last thread of dignity, of control, and that was the only thing keeping him going right now.

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” He tugged at his waistcoat, trying to school his expression. “And if – if you’re just going to argue, I’d rather you left me in peace.”

“Aziraphale…” A warning.

“I mean it, Crowley.” He interrupted, fighting to keep his mind from shattering. “That’s enough. Go!”

Crowley spun away, with a noise halfway between a snort and a snarl, and stalked through the enormous revolving door, disappearing into the next room.

Leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts.

--

Crowley glared at his trembling plants, burying his fingers in leaves, tugging at them for any sign of weakness, of spots or yellowing, any imperfections. But he didn’t really see them.

His mind kept shifting, jumping between a bookshop in flames, a voice in a bar, and the sudden appearance of Aziraphale at the airbase. A hurricane of worry and relief and fear and longing with nothing remotely like calm at its center.

He wanted to run to Aziraphale. Override all his objections, drag him away. Haul him off this world, to the stars, to Andromeda, to the farthest corner of the universe, far from the beings that wanted to hurt them, had hurt them again and again for thousands of years.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d wanted to at the airbase, run up, grab Aziraphale by the lapels. Make sure he was unharmed, shout at him to stop taking foolish risks. The same at the church in 1941, the Bastille in 1793, again and again, across centuries of companionship –

Wanted to reach out, pull him close, promise that everything would work out.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Never could. Maybe never would.

He’d always blamed it on their sides, needing to stay apart to stay safe. But he didn’t have that excuse anymore, did he? And that’s all it was. An excuse.

It was Crowley’s nature to be cold and distant. Aloof. Project coolness and confidence so that no one could see what lay underneath, the shattered worthless wreck of demon. Keep them all at arm’s length, even the being he least wanted to push away, and where did that leave him?

Alone in his solarium, shredding the weakest leaves off a fig tree, on what could be the last night of his personal eternity.

Had he always been this way?

Crowley didn’t think so. There had been a time when he’d been open, inquisitive, carefree. Long ago, before the Fall, before six thousand years in Hell and on Earth, before he learned…everything.

He could never go back to that. You couldn’t unlearn the truth of the world, once you’d learned it.

One glance over his shoulder, back at the door. He could go back. Apologize. Open himself up to the one being he knew would never hurt him. Say the words that had sat on his tongue for countless centuries.

He could, but he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He needed time. Time to get his head on straight, to learn to be honest with himself, to know what it was he even wanted.

And time was the one thing he didn’t have.

--

Aziraphale rested his hand on the door frame, wishing he had the courage to step through.

It was his own fault, of course. He’d pushed Crowley away. As he always did. It was easier.

He didn’t belong here, among humans, beside a demon. Simple fact: he was an angel, and he belonged in Heaven. There was no place else an angel could exist and feel whole and happy.

That, he’d always told himself, was why he had this aching emptiness inside – because he was far from his home, corrupted by earthly influences. A degraded angel.

Heaven talked a great deal about love. Angels love Creation, they love the humans, they love God most of all; they love each other, and they love him. In spite of all his flaws, he was constantly reminded, they loved him.

And he believed it. For a long time, he believed, because not believing was dangerous, and painful, and terrifyingly. And because, well…because that’s what he believed love was. How was he supposed to think otherwise? It was the only thing he ever knew.

But six thousand years on Earth slowly eroded his ignorance. He saw humans develop friendships, saw them fall in love, saw them care for their children, their parents. Saw some become cruel, or manipulative, or negligent; saw others be loyal, and warm, and welcoming even to strangers.

He learned all the ways that love could be expressed. All the things that masqueraded as it. What it could look like. What it should look like.

And even then, he could keep pretending that he found that in the cold, distant praise of Heaven, but only so long as he could pretend he didn’t find it anywhere else. That he didn’t have a being in his life who always supported him, always stood by him, never made him feel flawed or broken, never abandoned him.

Even now, when it might mean destruction for both of them, still at his side.

In the face of that, how could he ever believe that Heaven loved him?

He pushed the thought away, back into the dark recesses of his mind, where he’d carefully hidden it from himself for longer than the lifetime of civilizations. It was still a dangerous thought, a dangerous word. A distraction.

It wasn’t the time for such things.

He had to put their survival before everything else. It meant staying here and facing their former sides head-on, not running away and waiting to be caught. It meant deceiving Heaven and Hell, not angering them from some foolish desire to fight or take revenge. And it meant facing the challenge with cool logical minds not clouded by any newly acknowledged emotions. It made sense.

The best thing he could do for himself, for Crowley, was to keep his distance tonight.

--

I need a new plant mister.

For ten minutes, Crowley had managed to keep himself focused on pruning the trees, silently clearing out some leaves or stems to make room for new growth. The emotions raged somewhere deep inside, but the surface was as calm as ever. But then he noticed the echeveria was a little dry, went to give it a bit of water, and realized the bottle was gone.

Hastur had destroyed his plant mister, and he needed a new one.

He could simply manifest one, he supposed, as easily as he’d created the pruning shears. But the ones at the corner shop were so cheap, it was easier to just grab one on the way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and take a few moments to see what new sprouts had arrived, then stop over at the bakery for some coffee and one of those crispy pastries.

Except.

Except there wasn’t a bookshop anymore, was there?

Which meant he wouldn’t be heading over tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again.

No more surprise breakfasts before the first customers of the day. No more late nights sharing a dozen bottles of wine and arguing about philosophy. No more perusing the poetry section when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, or thumbing through the latest illustrated guides to botany or astronomy that always found their way onto the shelf beside his sofa.

No more secretive walks in the park to share secrets and feed ducks. No more shoddy pretenses for a weekend drive. No more weaving the Bentley through four lanes of traffic.

The world had ended, but only for him and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t fair.

After everything they’d done, everything they’d suffered to save the world, they still lost everything and it wasn’t fair!

The knot of emotions he’d been holding back broke free in a flash, flooding him faster than he could control it. With a shout he hurled the little plant at the wall, cracking the pot, spilling soil everywhere. Then he grabbed the aloe vera, the orchids, the antherium. One after the other, thrown against the wall, the floor, the window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screamed, pulling over the umbrella tree, shredding all its leaves. “All of you! You worthless pieces of shit!” He kicked over a dragon tree. “You had your fucking chance! No more excuses, no more second chances.” A glass bowl full of air plants; he snatched it up and smashed it hard against the table, shards spinning off in every direction. “Make your fucking peace with the soil, because every one of you is—”

“Crowley!”

He spun around to find Aziraphale watching, wide-eyed, from the doorway.

Fuck.

Well. That’s the end of that, he supposed. After that sort of display, Aziraphale wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

He clenched his fist, turning away, but that sent a sharp pain through his hand. Hissing, Crowley looked down to find a shard of glass, stuck in the side of his hand. Of course. Exactly what this day needed.

“Are you hurt?”

He shot a glare at the angel, suddenly beside him.

“Just a scratch. Leave me alone.”

Aziraphale’s hand landed lightly on his wrist, pulling the hand over for closer inspection. “You need to be more careful, Crowley.” He ran his thumb lightly up the side of Crowley’s palm and the little triangle of glass fell free.

“I’m not going to – to die from a little cut, Aziraphale.”

He’d meant it as a joke, of a sort, but Aziraphale’s hand tightened around his. “Don’t.” The angel’s thumb brushed across the cut, making it disappear in a small burst of healing. “You need to be more careful.”

“It’s a bit late for careful.”  He tried to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale ignored it, bending over as if to inspect his palm for damage. “Look, Angel…”

“What a mess!” Aziraphale tutted. “An absolute disgrace.” But he hadn’t so much as glanced at the graveyard of ruined plants all over the floor. Instead, he was inspecting Crowley’s nails. “And you expect me to go out wearing these tomorrow?”

“You’re one to talk. I saw the state of your wings earlier. Have you groomed them this millennium?”

“Even if I hadn’t, it still wouldn’t compare to this – this—” He held up Crowley’s hand, nails caked with dirt, cracked, uneven. “I thought you took pride in your appearance.”

“I’ve been a bit busy.” Crowley snatched his hand back and tried to walk away.

“I don’t want an argument tonight.”

“Then stop trying to start one!” He took a deep breath. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll go take a shower. You wait in the kitchen, or wherever you want.” He glanced around at the mess he’d made. “Don’t bother cleaning. No point, is there?”

“Crowley, stop!”

“It was ‘go’ before, now you want me to stop? Make up your blasted mind.” But Crowley stood still, glaring at him. “What is it? What do you want?”

“I want to take care of those nails.”

“You what?” But Aziraphale’s face was dead serious, set in his most stubborn frown. “Look, you fussy bastard, this isn’t – we don’t have time for this!”

“You have somewhere else to be tonight?” But when his hands reached for Aziraphale’s again, the touch was strangely gentle. “Let me take care of these. Please.”

The demon groaned, but what was he supposed to do? Not say yes? “Fine. If you insist.”

--

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Between them was a bowl of warm water, an array of tiny torture implements, and a towel, which Aziraphalehad used to briskly brush the dirt from Crowley’s fingers. Now he held the demon’s right hand, turning it this way and that to inspect each nail in the light of his halo.

“That’s a little better,” Aziraphale murmured, picking up the clippers and starting to trim.

“You know, I can do this myself.”

“Can you? Really?” It was strange, having his hand held this way. Entirely in Aziraphale’s power, unable to move, yet it was only the lightest pressure, really. Firm, but gentle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you chewed them.”

“Only when they break.”

“That isn’t funny. Look at this.” He lowered Crowley’s right hand and picked up the left, pinching the thumb between his fingers. “Just look!”

“Looks like a thumb.”

Another tsk, and Aziraphale set to clipping again, not trimming each nail as low as he could (as Crowley usually did), but instead quickly removing the sharp edges or cracked portions, leaving a few millimeters on each. When he was satisfied, he picked up an emery board. Crowley expected him to start scrubbing roughly, sandpapering his nails smooth. Instead, with a few quick delicate motions, he reshaped each nail into a perfect oval. Now and then, he paused to scrape underneath with the point of a nail file.

“What is this, anyway?” He held up the tip of the file, covered in hard flakes of black residue. “I thought it was soil, but it isn’t the right consistency.”

Crowley gulped. He remembered charging into a burning shop. Driving for almost an hour in a flaming car. Falling to the ground at the airbase more than once—

“Dunno,” he said weakly. “Could be – lots of things…”

Aziraphale’s hands hesitated over Crowley’s smallest finger, and he could see how the emery board trembled. Yeah, you’re cleaning the last of your bookshop out of my nails. How does that feel? Crowley wished he had something comforting to say, but he just felt hollow. The day had left him without anything to offer.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale steadied his grip and got back to work.

“Why?” Cowley found himself saying, as the angel moved back to his right hand. “Why are you wasting your time on this?” On me?

“Don’t be foolish. Time spent with you is never wasted.” Blue eyes flickered up again to catch his gaze before focusing on the nails once more. “Although I do wish you’d put a little effort into basic maintenance without my needing to nag you.”

“But—” He bit his words off, not knowing what to say. “Why?”

“Why? Why? You spend an hour every day on that ridiculous hair, not to mention weeks spent putting together your – your ‘new look’ every few years. I would think you’d agree that personal grooming is its own reward.”

“No, I…” He watched the long, thin board move back and forth. His fingers were curved slightly in Aziraphale’s grip, pinned in place by his thumb. “I just thought you’d want to be alone.”

Silence for the length of two fingers. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

His stomach was hard as a rock, twisting with emotions he couldn’t name. “I…I’ve been awful,” Crowley confessed. “All night long, since we got back, I argued, I snapped at you. Threw a tantrum. The other day, I shoved you against a wall. And…and this morning I called you stupid…I’d think you’d want to be as far from me as possible.”

“As I recall, you were the one who wanted to abandon me for the stars.”

“No…” But he had said that, hadn’t he? “I didn’t…I wouldn’t really…”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale frowned and moved to the last nail. “I’ve known you for six thousand years, Crowley, I’m well aware you have a temper. I have never held against you the things you said, or did, when you were angry.”

I have plenty of other people to ‘fraternize’ with. I don’t need you.

“Never?”

“Never.” Aziraphale put down the file and pressed Crowley’s hands between both of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

He lowered Crowley’s hands into the bowl of warm water. Aziraphale had added some sort of soap, and it clung thickly to his fingers in a pleasant way.

“Still…I don’t like you to…to see me like that…”

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Do you think less of me?”

His worst? Crowley couldn’t even imagine what that would mean. The embarrassing smile as he showed off his latest magic act or shouted encouragement at the actors in a play? The possessive gleam when he saw a priceless first edition, whether one of his own or one he was about to acquire? His incorruptible desire to see the good in absolutely everyone, even Gabriel, even Crowley?

“No,” he whispered as his heart surged anew. “No, I never have.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching Crowley’s hands as they soaked in the water. “It’s good, you know, to-to have a simple ritual in a time of stress. Something you can walk through, step by step. Unhindered by, ah, by emotions. Very calming.”

“I do feel a little better,” Crowley admitted.

“I expect you do. But…I meant for myself.” He lifted Crowley’s hands free of the water and gently patted them with the towel. “I’m…I’m…well, I’m rather convinced I’m going to let you down tomorrow. Not play my part well, or…or lose my nerve…or overlook some vital clue…”

Crowley felt the tremors in Aziraphale’s hands before he suddenly pulled away, fingers twisting in the towel, pressing it against his mouth. But he couldn’t hide the wave of emotion that overtook him before Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel!” Crowley grabbed his shoulders, newly manicured fingers feeling more sensitive against the fabric of his shirt. “Aziraphale look at me.” Slowly, the blue eyes came back into focus. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We do. Crowley, it’s the only way.” The towel crumpled further as he crushed it in his grip. “I – I – I won’t – I’ll find a way, I just need to – to buck up…”

“Are you scared?”

“What? No, I – I—”

“Because I am.” Crowley let go with one hand to pull his glasses free, toss them aside, then reached up to brush the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Have been for…longer than I can remember, but then I lost you. Last night, and this morning, and then…the fire…” He swallowed. “And you know what? Each time it felt more real and more painful than before, and I don’t…I can’t…”

His gut heaved. The hollowness he’d felt after the fire opened again, threatening to devour him, permanently this time. “Aziraphale. I am more terrified right now than I’ve ever been in my life, and I don’t know how to stop it. So. If you’re scared…that’s fine.”

The towel fell, and Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in both of his again, but this time clinging to it, clutching it, pressing Crowley’s fingers against his lips where the towel had been a moment before. Crowley reached with his free hand and…what? Touch his face? His hair? What was he supposed to do?

Before he could decide, Aziraphale seemed to blink his eyes clear and look again at Crowley’s nails. “Just a few hangnails to trim, and then we’re done.”

“Nh. Yeah.” He settled more comfortably. “Whatever you want.”

--

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand, carefully massaging moisturizer across his palm, between his fingers, and into his nail beds. Memorizing the shape of them, the knobby knuckles, the veins on the back of his hands.

He’d wanted to do this once before, when the thoughts that needed to be hidden, even from himself, had threatened to overwhelm him. 1941. He’d longed to sit Crowley down and wash his feet, check them for burns and injury after his walk across hallowed ground. Let the activity distract his mind from the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t afford to acknowledge, and just be there, in the moment, caring for Crowley. Appreciating him. Holding him.

It was just as well he hadn’t attempted it back then; evidence tonight suggested it didn’t work.

He ran his thumbs across Crowley’s palm one last time, smoothing in the moisturizer, feeling the skin plump up, taking note of the calluses here and there just below the fingers. He didn’t want to let go.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, when his fingers had lingered perhaps a bit too long. He looked up to meet the demon’s golden eyes. They were soft tonight, and vulnerable, and filled with pain that tugged at his heart. But that pain seemed to be fading, replaced by…by one of the things Aziraphale was not supposed to be naming. What with the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the blood in his ears, Aziraphale almost missed Crowley’s next words: “Thank you.”

Very suddenly, his heart went absolutely still.

“You…you’ve never…said thank you.”

“Grave oversight.” Crowley turned his hands over, running his thumb across his newly manicured nails. “This is…yeah, this is nice.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale waved a hand, neatly teleporting his supplies into a different room. It was his usual method of cleaning up – eventually, things would wind up where they were supposed to be – but he realized alarmingly late that this now meant he and Crowley were simply sitting on a bed together. “I…I suppose I should thank you. For, ah, for indulging me—”

“Should I…return the favor?”

“Ah!” He snatched his hands against his chest, as if afraid Crowley would steal them entirely. Well. That wasn’t quite what he was afraid of. “Return? How – how would you – Crowley, my nails are – are already in tip-top shape, and you wouldn’t—”

“Your wings. Like I said,” Crowley went on, familiar sharp edge slipping into his tone, “absolute mess. You’re one to talk about grooming, carrying around two disasters like that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was about to snap something else, but his eyes accidentally met the demon’s, and there was nothing mocking about them at all. Anxious, shy, almost waiting to be hurt. Did he always hide that expression behind his glasses?

“I, ah…I’ve never…how do we do this?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Ngk. Unh. I mean. Sit there or…or maybe…lay down? On your stomach?”

“Ah, yes, I wouldn’t want to – to get tired, holding them up.” Aziraphale stretched out across the top of the duvet, resting his cheek on one of the pitch-black pillows, and extended his wings.

He could have sworn he heard a heavy breath – maybe a gasp, maybe a sigh. “Just as I thought. Look at this utter disgrace. When was the last time you preened?”

“Well, as I never walk around with them out—” Aziraphale was cut off by an impossibly gentle touch, two fingers brushing lightly across the leading edge of his wing. It felt…good, an electric shiver that ran down his wing and up his spine.

“Oh! S-sorry.” Crowley sounded embarrassed, which was something Aziraphale had never heard before. “I shouldn’t have…is this alright?”

“Yes. It’s…it’s very much alright.” He wrapped his arms around the pillow, feeling the need to brace himself, and stretched his left wing slightly. “Please, continue.”

The touch of Crowley’s palms against his wings was electrifying, yes, but also gentle, soothing. He carefully explored down the length of them, not stirring any feathers yet, just learning the ways they lay against each other, where they grew thick, where the flight feathers emerged. Aziraphale could feel the feathers that were out of place now – they snagged and tugged against Crowley’s hands, bunching in the wrong spots. Uncomfortable, the way sitting in a chair too long could be uncomfortable without even noticing.

“You’re lucky you didn’t need to fly,” Crowley remarked, scolding, as if it was an everyday risk, instead of something that hadn’t come up in five thousand years. His fingers now flicked around the shortest patch of Aziraphale’s coverts, just shy of the leading edge, finding one of the culprits. Manicured fingertips burrowed deep into white feathers, hot against the skin and muscle beneath, and with a few quick but gentle scratches twitched it back into position. “Does this hurt?”

“No…That feels…” Crowley traced the feather from base to tip, pushing the barbs back into the correct alignment. A few more strokes ensured it lay, flat and neat, alongside the rest.

“One down, dozens more to go. And that’s just this side. Hope you’re comfortable.”

He was, though. Aziraphale closed his eyes, sinking into the gentle rhythm as Crowley moved – feather by feather – across his wing, setting each to rights. He felt as though a burden were being lifted, the worry in his stomach slowly unknotting, bit by imperceptible bit, as if the world were fading away, leaving nothing but that touch.

By the time Crowley reached Aziraphale’s alula feathers, the pain in his gut was gone. As he worked his way back across the primary coverts towards the scapulars, Aziraphale began to forget what he’d been worried about. Then the warm fingers ran down the first of his flight feathers, and time stopped entirely.

--

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale’s feathers could feel so different from his own, but they did, so soft and delicate he would have believed they were pieces of clouds if not for the warmth that emanated through them.

Was it because angel feathers were somehow more pure? Or was it simply a matter of familiarity – that his fingers had stopped even noticing the texture of his own wings?

He was nearly finished. Really, he was done already, but his hands still glided across coverts and primaries, feeling for anything out of place, any excuse to delay longer.

“Right there, please.” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted. “Just…just a little itch. Could you…?”

“Got it.” Crowley let his fingers sink in again, scratching gently at the base of a feather. “Here?”

Aziraphale just murmured in relief, a little sigh. Crowley had knelt beside him to better reach the wing, but now Aziraphale shifted, pressing their hips together. “This feels simply marvelous.”

“Y-yeah,” Crowley said, clearing his throat. “S’why you’re supposed to do it regularly.”

“I should have asked you to, years ago.”

Crowley smoothed the feathers back into place. He was finished. It was time. Time to switch and part ways, possibly forever.

He didn’t lift his fingers from the edge of Aziraphale’s wing.

“Would you have?” Crowley wondered, surprising himself to hear the words out loud. “Would you have let me, if I’d asked?”

Stirring, Aziraphale tucked his wings away, all that glorious heat vanishing to another plane. He rolled over and considered Crowley, but didn’t sit up yet. “I’m not sure. I…I would have wanted to. But…well…”

“And if I’d – I’d asked for other things?”

“I don’t know. Would you have asked? If I’d indicated my interest?”

Somewhere, the sun was rising. Somewhere, the day was starting. Time, never any time.

“I don’t know,” Crowley confessed, the words ripped from his soul. And then, not letting himself think, he fell forward, onto the pillows.

Aziraphale caught him, pulled him into an embrace. “I want to find out, Crowley. What we are. What we can be. I wish…I wish…”

Long fingers reached up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know, Angel. I know. We’ll get our chance.”

Aziraphale nodded, though the tears in his eyes said he didn’t believe it. A brush of fingers on the back of Crowley’s hand, and Aziraphale turned to kiss his palm, his wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasted our time. And now…”

“No, you didn’t waste anything.” He pulled Aziraphale roughly against his chest. “You hear me? Nothing. I’m…I’m glad for every moment we had.”

The angel didn’t respond, just sobbed, once, face pressed into Crowley’s shirt.

“Shhh. We’ll survive this. I swear it. And then we’ll have eternity to figure this out. Alright? You and me. And…and things will be different this time. I’ll be different.”

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale said, his arms locking behind Crowley, strong enough to break his spine. “Don’t you change a thing, Crowley. I don’t want anything to be different.”

“Really? You’re happy with how things were?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale pushed back, just enough to meet Crowley’s gaze, eyes wide and wet and earnest. “So…so very happy, when we were together.”

“Well, then.” Crowley bent forward, resting his lips on the top of Aziraphale’s head. “That’s what we’ll do, yeah? Be together. Forever.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #Wings #crowley's flat #aziraphale and crowley #angst #good omens angst #emotional h/c #pre-body swap #night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #manicure #tumblr fic #my writing

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

Part 23 of Jimercury Kid series

‘Freddie?’ Phoebe quietly called out as he poked a cautious head around the singer’s bedroom door. ‘Mary’s here to see you.’

There was no response from the frontman. His face remained buried in his pillow, his weeping silent but obvious by the gentle trembling of his shoulders. Jim was by his side, one hand gently rubbing up and down the Persian’s bare back as he silently comforted him.

‘My baby…’ Freddie whispered, the only words he had been able to say since Khaleel was literally ripped from his arms.

‘Shh, love.’ Jim murmured, stroking his husband’s hair, and shooting Phoebe a hopeless look. ‘I think she should come back later.’

‘That’s what I said.’ Replied Phoebe, shoulders sagging in defeat. ‘But she’s unusually insistent today.’

Another sob from Freddie. The hand that was desperately clutching Khaleel’s old, battered triceratops toy tightened severely.

‘I’ll go.’ Jim said finally, leaning down and gently kissing the back of Freddie’s neck. Before he could rise from the mattress, he felt Freddie grab his hand and turned to see two dark eyes staring at him fearfully, still red-rimmed from all his crying. Losing Khaleel served only to intensify Freddie’s already severe abandonment issues; Jim couldn’t so much as use the toilet without the singer panicking, convinced he’d never see him again.

‘I’m coming back, sweetheart.’ Jim leaned down, brushing a kiss against Freddie’s lips. ‘I promise. I’m not leaving you, not ever. Phoebe will stay here with you until I get back, okay?’

Freddie didn’t look like he believed him, but he released his hand regardless and threw his head back onto the pillow to continue mourning his child. Fighting back his own tears, Jim sent a thankful nod to Phoebe before leaving the bedroom and descending the staircase.

He found Mary in the lounge, sitting anxiously in one of the armchairs with her coat still on and her purse clasped in her hands. When Jim walked into the room, the disappointment on her face was evident; she had clearly been seeking to speak with Freddie and Freddie alone.

‘He’s in no state to talk.’ Jim said gently but firmly, before the woman could say anything. ‘I’m sorry, but you should really come back some other time.’

He expected her to argue with him – Mary wasn’t one for being confrontational but when it came to Freddie she made an exception – but she remained calm, her mouth pressed in a thin line as she fiddled with the purse on her lap.

‘If I can’t speak to Freddie, can I please speak to you? I just need to speak to someone.’

Jim knew he should have rebuffed her, told her to leave immediately so he could get back to consoling his distraught husband. But the expression on her face was so downcast, he didn’t have the heart to turn her away. He nodded tiredly, last night’s lack of sleep finally catching up with him as he mumbled something about putting the kettle on and shuffled towards the kitchen to start preparing them both tea.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he took a moment to lean against the counter, staring determinedly up at the ceiling, blinking away tears of grief and exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could cope with all of this. Khaleel’s absence had left a massive hole in the lives of everyone at Garden Lodge and the aftereffects were damning. He barely recognised Freddie anymore. For seven days, his husband had barely said a word to him, barely eaten or left his bedroom. For seven days, their lives had been a living hell.

The woman from social services hadn’t beaten around the bush. She made it clear that there was no guarantee that Khaleel would be returned to them. The worst part was the satisfied glint in her eye as she said it.

‘Everyone thinks I did it.’ A soft voice said from behind him, and Jim turned to see Mary standing in the doorway, her purse still clutched in her hands. Her face was pale, completely devoid of any colour and her entire body was shaking as she attempted to compose herself.

‘What do you mean?’ Jim asked, though he already knew.

‘They all think I called them.’ Mary’s voice wavered, her eyes looking everywhere but Jim’s own. For one horrible moment, the Irishman thought she might actually be sick. ‘I didn’t, Jim, I swear on my life. You have to believe me, I didn’t call-’

‘Mary, sit down.’ Jim took her hand and guided her over to the kitchen table, drawing out a chair and taking her purse from her hands. Once he was certain that she wasn’t going to collapse, he returned to the counter to finish making the tea and placed a steaming mug in front of the woman’s quivering form. ‘Just take it easy. No one’s accusing you of anything.’

Mary’s twitching hands curled around the hot cup, and she took a deep breath, a pink flush crossing her cheeks from the heat, making her look a bit less ghostly. Once she had appeared to calm down, she carefully took a sip of her drink.

‘I know you all think it was me.’ She finally met Jim’s gaze, silently begging for reassurance. ‘I can see it in your eyes, even Freddie’s. Surely he knows I’d never do that to him?’ She reached over and clasped Jim’s hand in her own, her grip almost painful. ‘I’d never do that to you. Please tell me you believe me.’

Jim wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. He would be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind that Mary might have been involved. Out of all their friends, she was the one with the motive. Maybe this was a last-ditch attempt to drive he and Freddie apart, some sort of twisted revenge for Freddie leaving her.

But he quickly dismissed the idea; as far as he was concerned, that was all in the past and they had moved on from it. He and Mary had had their differences, but she’d never do this.

She was his friend now. He trusted her.

‘I believe you, Mary.’ He replied softly, gently squeezing her hand back until she relaxed. ‘I know you wouldn’t do this, and Freddie does too. Everyone’s just so fucking stressed at the moment and they’re looking for someone to blame.’ He used his free hand to lift his own mug and take a long swig. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.’

‘Don’t say that, Jim.’

‘I shouldn’t have let things get out of hand. We were arguing over wine, for fuck’s sake. I should have just walked away.’

‘We’d all had a lot to drink, Jim. It was a stupid mistake made in the heat of the moment. Besides, it wasn’t as if Khaleel was there to see it. He was in bed, asleep.’

Jim shook his head, eyes threatening to spill tears. He felt he was solely to blame. He usually prided himself in his ability to walk away from such quarrels but that night, fuelled by both alcohol and his own stubbornness, he was fed up with being walked all over and fought back.

His refusal to back down could very well have cost them their darling boy.

‘Jim?’

Mary’s voice tore him away from his thoughts. She suddenly took both his hands, her touch feather light as she held onto them, thumbs extending out in a comforting stroke across each of his knuckles. ‘I’ve never seen Freddie as happy as he has been since he met you. He can finally be himself, live his true life. I admit, I was sceptical at the start; I’ve seen him hurt so many times and I was convinced you were no different from the others. But after seeing what you both went through, how you stuck by him through his illness, I realised how wrong I was. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, as well as Khaleel. That little boy is so lucky to have you two as parents, and if social services can’t see that then, as Freddie would say, fuck them.’

Jim snorted, though he looked like he was about to burst into tears. He held onto Mary’s hands as if they were a lifeline.

‘You’ll get him back.’ She said it so tenderly, Jim almost believed her. ‘I know you will. Khaleel will come home.’

Jim envied the faith she had in her own words. He had already resigned himself to the fact that society would never be on their side; that he and Freddie would forever be looked upon as “perverted homosexuals,” incapable of raising a child. Social services would do whatever they could to make sure Khaleel stayed with a “normal” family, regardless of the boy’s own happiness. As much as it killed him to think about it, he knew the reality was that it was more than likely that they would never see their precious bijou again.

‘Thank you, Mary.’ Jim whispered, lifting her hand and softly kissing it.

Yeah okay so Mary is apparently not a *bad* person in this universe, or at least not anymore. Looks like we were wrong, anon. Lol.

Firstly, Freddie and Jim crying in bed for their baby broke my heart😭😭 They deserve to have their baby with them, cuddle with him and raise him together. Fuck the homophobia that's doing this to them.

Secondly, I wasn't expecting Mary here, and certainly not being so open. But I like how you have acknowledged her shitty behaviour in the past, and the fact that whilst things are civil between her and Jim (maybe slightly more than civil), the shadow of past incidences still linger on. I mean, I usually do not read canon-ish fics that completely erase what an arsehole Mary Austin is, especially if she features prominently. But I am loving the almost real approach you're taking to etch your characters, and as I've said before, showing how they may have grown in such a situation. I still have doubts about Ms Austin redeeming herself had Freddie lived, but in the context of this story, I really like the arc you've given her.

Also, I am LOVING the angst lmao. Even though it's breaking my heart, my angst loving self is really enjoying this hahaha.

And now, most importantly, I hope you're doing better, my dear. There were a lot of messages of support for you, and I just hope that you realise how loved and cherished you are in this community💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #freddie and jim and their baby #anon writing

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (26)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

When you're a journalist, you have to know a lot of things. The most important thing in this business is neutrality of course. Even if the temptation to give his opinion is strong, a journalist must remain neutral in all circumstances. He must then have good source and good contact. A good source is even essential to get a good scoop. And having good contact in the field makes it easier. But if there is one thing a journalist must have... It's cold-blooded.

And luckily for Wilhelm, Danny has A LOT of composure. Oh, how many times did he dream of sticking anything in his skull? how many times did he dream of burning, drowning, skinning, dismembering him and what else do I know? Far too much to remember. and every time he dreamed of it; Danny took an indescribable pleasure in it. he would have liked to spend his day with you, not to move from the bed, your little body so fragile in his arms ... Unfortunately, you both work, and if the prospect of going to the police station does not enchant him basically, seeing Wilhelm's face early in the morning, did not help either. And as if that wasn't enough, Wilhelm was in a bad mood. Has he been in a good mood at least once in his life? There's a good chance he won't.

Luckily, Mattew and Melina were there. They're the only ones, with you of course, that Danny will never kill. It's rare to be off the Ghostface hunting board. You can thank God for your luck. But that doesn't mean he won't get revenge in bed. And that you will not escape, you can be sure. Wilhelm was chatting "calmly" with his officers while our trio of journalists sat down working a little further away.

“That's bullshit! There must be a connection between this story and McKellan's murder! They are accused of fraud on a national scale and coincidentally one of the suspects dies! And as luck would have it, Horace Hoggins threatens him three f***ing days before the murder!” said Wilhelm shouting and striking the table.  

“Yes, but the modus operandi is too similar to Ghostface's. What if it was really him that he killed him? Or he hired him. But I can't see the "Ghost of Roseville" playing mercenaries.” Said one of the officers.  

“Hoggins has money. He could hire any mentally ill person to do the job. After all, we don't know who we actually see in this city. Sometimes the most honest citizen can be the greatest criminal.” replied another one.  

“And then reproduce the modus operandi of Ghostface is not very complicated if you have all the necessary equipment to leave no trace. And that, Hoggins can provide.” said the third one.  

Danny bit his lips inwardly about it. Copying his modus operandi? not complicated? No criminal even thinks about going that far! Even the bloodiest, or the craziest, would have made a mistake! Danny is the mixture of the two, and yet you never suspect him because he never left any trace, you idiots! But he has to hold back... it was his plan to get Hoggins charged. He must stick to it, and remain calm.,

“Well, he needs to relax a little, inspector... He's going to end up having a heart attack. But hey I can understand, he wants to bring justice to Roseville.” said Melina.  

“Yes, but in the meantime, the boss, he's very nice but he's not the one who has to face Wilhelm's nerve attacks... Why did it have to fall on us?” said Mattew, lying on the table.

“Simply because we published this article. Now we can't go back.” responds Danny by putting his glasses back on properly, while looking at his laptop. It was the one the boss gave him so he could store his work. He had a personal one but I do not draw you on what it contains ... You're smart enough to know that.

He looked at all the pictures he had taken in his job as a journalist and a big smile was on his face when he found something to incriminate Hoggins. It is true that he had spied on him at his home that day. And it's like a day or two before Hoggins threatened McKellan. It's perfect.

“Wilhelm. You should come and see this. Maybe I have something for you.” Said Danny.  

“If it's to waste my time Olsen I swear I'll put you in jail in the second that comes. Then it's better for you that your find advances the investigation.” respond Wilhelm annoyed before advancing towards Danny.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll like what I have in front of me. When the "scandal" broke out, my boss asked me to take pictures of Hoggins. Spy on him if you prefer. And I remember that a few days before he threatened McKellan... Mr. Hoggins was with someone at his house.”  

“... I should arrest you for violation of a private property Olsen... But these photos are important evidence. I would be curious to know what this man who was chatting with Hoggins that day will tell us... and given his face, this man is not a saint. it pisses me off to tell you that but... good job Olsen. Print me these photos so that we can add them to the evidence board.” Replied Wilhelm looking at the photo seriously before leaving the room to get some coffee.  

Danny smiled inwardly in front of Wilhelm's face. it's so good to see this bastard feel compelled to thank Danny for helping him. Even if, in truth, Danny was directing him on a false trail. But in the end, everyone will win, Danny even more. Once again, he will escape all suspicion. And his pleasure will be even greater, when he announces to Wilhelm that Hoggins had nothing to do with the story in the end. It's going to ruin his career and that's all he deserves. And then... he will begin his descent into hell. Which will end sooner or later on Ghostface’s knife. Danny does not yet know what he will do to Wilhelm, but he is sure of one thing; He'll love to slaughter him. It doesn't matter how.

Wilhelm returned a few minutes later with his coffee and the photos Danny had printed in the meantime. He put down his coffee to hang the pictures on the board. Then took his cup back to sip coffee.

“Ok. Thanks to Olsen, I'm pissed off to say it, we know Hoggins was talking to this man a day or two before the threats. Which means that long before he threatened him, he was carrying out his plan. We have to find this man and question him! search our entire police registry. His head tells me something.” said Wilhelm.  

“Yes Sir!” responds the three officers before leaving. Wilhelm, Danny, Mattew et Melina were now alone in the room.

“You still here? You don't have to do anything else?” replied Wilhelm, looking at the trio.  

“Always so kind, we just gave you a boost in your investigation, I point out, you could be nicer at least.” said Mattew.

“You may have helped me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to sympathize with snoops. Olsen is already lucky that I don't arrest him to be entering on private property because he took the right pictures. So now you can go and do your snoops somewhere else! I'll call you when I have news. Get out of the way!”

“Ok, ok, we leave. See ya later, inspector.” said Melina before leaving the police station with Danny and Mattew. Once outside, she couldn't help but grumble. " What a dirty jerk. We help him move forward in the investigation and he treats us like that? Frankly next time, he's going to get fucked.”

“Forget it. We did our part, now it's up to them to do theirs. Anyway, he has to work with us until the end, so we're going to have to be patient. He will be happy to have solved this murder, and we will be free to avoid him... until Ghostface's next murder.” respond Danny calmly, even if in his mind, he wanted to slice Wilhelm's jugular.

“Yes, you're right. So, what do we do? Are we investigating on our side? Or are we going back to the paper?”

“Wilhelm doesn't have us at the right side, if we start snooping around a little too much in his investigation, you can be sure he's going to put us in the most disgusting cells in the prison.” Said Mattew worried.  

“Mattew's right, we'd better not pissed off the inspector. Even if I feel like he doesn't need much at the base to piss him off. He said he'll let us know when he gets information, let's trust him, for once. I'm going home for my part. I need to work quietly right now.” Said Danny.  

“Say instead, you want to see your sleeping beauty. How's she doing? It’s said that she recruits employees.” ask Melina.  

“Yeah. I don't know what it turned out for; I don't think she's made up her mind yet. And then with Ghostface hanging around... she feels a little insecure. We plan to live together in the same apartment. Well, I'm on my way. Say hello to the boss for me! See you later!”

Danny got into his van and greeted his colleagues one last time. Once far enough away, a crooked smile appeared on his face. What a beautiful bunch of fools they all make. It's so easy to fool them... It becomes comical by force. They don't need much to believe anything. But as long as it served his interests... it doesn't mind him more than that.  

He went home to work calmly as he had said. He still has articles to write. It's hard to be a journalist and a murderer at the same time, it's a very busy schedule, on both sides. He put down his glasses and rubbed his eyes to wake up a little. He then went to his office to admire his hunting board. A big smile was on his face, watching all those people who fell under his blade... And it wasn't over. He did not forget those he had killed in all the other cities... he wondered if he was still wanted there. And he was already thinking about his future victims. The ones he'll kill when he lives in another city. With you.

What to do tonight? go see you for the umpteenth time? certainly. He is tempted to go to see Wilhelm, to finally confront for the first time, Ghostface and the inspector who is stalking him. That would be great! That would be a huge provocation from him! but... you have to be clear-headed. Throwing yourself into the wolf's mouth after all this work... would be a pity to be captured or killed, so foolishly in addition.

“Don't worry Wilhelm... soon we will meet you and me... Ghostface and you should I say. I can't wait to see that day come, just to see your reaction. I'm sure it will be memorable. For now... I'm going to focus on my plan, to make you go crazy. And also... focus on my beautiful angel.” Danny said looking at your picture.  

He knew how to play on both charts. Scare you and reassure you about himself at once... He didn't want a coward, but he still had to keep control of you, and if he has to scare you from time to time to remind you who's in charge... then he will. That won't change the fact that Jed will have to disappear. After all... it's just a name. A ridiculous character he invented to disguise himself in people's eyes. Danny Johnson is real compared to Jed. And you will have to accept it, one way or another.

He moved to his computer to work on his articles, which he was to return soon. He couldn't help but think about your idea of recruiting employees for your coffee. He didn't really like the idea, especially if there's a man among your future employees. He might be tempted to seduce you without worrying about the consequences. Let him try once... and he'll lose his hand. Or the leg. Or the head. It depends on Ghostface's level of anger.

He's going to have to watch your employees very closely. At least when you choose them. At the moment that’s not the case. Danny got up for coffee and went back to the office, taking a sip to keep writing. Occasionally he paused, to stretch a little and move, eat and take a shower to have a clear mind. When he writes, nothing can stop him. If he doesn't take a break himself to feed himself or whatever, he'd spend the whole day at his computer, typing his articles. He could have been an author, but he did not have the faith to write books that, over time, would lose meaning and logic, because of the stress and pressure that would set in and grow.

The last glimmers of the sun disappeared on the horizon, leaving the dark but starry sky of the night. Danny typed the last words of his article, before backing it up and getting up to stretch. Once again, he had done a good job. If Carla were still here... he was sure that she would have scolded him for having worked so much without resting. She used to do it when they were together in high school...  she would have done so even today. And you would have done the same if you'd been there.

Danny reread the message you sent him during the day, so adorable that it made him smile, a sweet and sincere smile. He grabbed his Ghostface outfit before putting it on, looked in the mirror and smiled, before putting on the mask and leaving out by the window, like he does every night. You were brushing your teeth when Danny came into your house. He walked discreetly to the bathroom and looked at you from the door. You're so adorable in these pyjamas.

“You're brushing your teeth with a child toothpaste? How cute. Just like this outfit for that matter. Do you want me to make you a pretty braid like little girls?” He said, laughing when he saw you spit out the water you had in your mouth by surprise.

“Hahaha... I didn't know you had such a great sense of humor. Given what happened last time it's hard to guess...” You said ironically, pushing him away to get out of the bathroom.  

“Oh, but I'm a very funny person when I want to. Hawn, are you still mad at me for that? But in what sense? Because I almost did it without your consent... Or because you wanted to and I held back?” he replied, smiling when he saw your angry face. “You don't have to give me that face, sweetheart. I'm not here to do it again, I told you: I'm going to make you languish. If I'm here, it's because I heard you were recruiting employees... I'm disappointed, I'd think you'd call on me.”

“Like I'm going to ask a lunatic like you. I want to keep my coffee shop open, not shut it up for murder. I guess you're proud of yourself right now, everyone's talking about your achievement on McKellan. You must have enjoyed slaughtering him like that.”

“Obviously! You should have seen that; he was screaming like a chicken and no one could hear him because this fool puts the music to an almost inhuman volume... It was perfect. I confess that to make deer antlers with his legs and arms, it took me a lot of patience and concentration but... The result is only magnificent. the inspector had to vomit his guts...”

“You're making me sick. Unfortunately for you, I don't plan on being alone for very long.” you replied with a smirk.

“Oh! Are you going to live with your little nerd? How cute. I feel sorry for you, he's just working, working and still working. While I... Well, I'd be more available.” Said Danny with a smirk.

“I fully respect his life choice. And I understand that. I would do anything to make sure he could work while taking care of himself. After what he's been through... he deserves to be looked after.”  

“Everyone's been through something tragic, sweetheart. I'm one of them. And I'm going to make everyone pay for it. Until my last breath. And if someone hurts you... So there... I can't guarantee I'll leave him in one piece. I know that one day... You'll call on me for that. Everyone has a dark side to the bottom of their heart; it only takes one click to bring it out. Even the most beautiful angel can't escape it. I'm going to let you sleep... You've had a rough day. As for me, I still have work to do. Goodbye, sweetheart. Have a beautiful dream.

Danny sent you a kiss before disappearing out by the window like every night. He knows that one day you will ask him to kill someone who will hurt you. Or at least you'll make him understand. And on that day, he will be like a knight obeying his queen. Patience and composure are necessary.  

It’s only a matter of time.

***

(This little stay at my friend's home made me feel good! I was able to clear my mind a little and now I'm on the attack for the next chapters to come! Don't hesitate to ask me questions or other, I'll be there to answer you! In the meantime, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #Ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

[twilightprince101]

Mafia!Wiggle AU

So yeah, I came up with the idea of Wiggle being a mob boss a few days ago and I succumbed to the brain rot. Wrote an entire fic for this idea, introducing her and what she's like.

I got flustered myself writing the tall crime lady. Enjoy!

Mafia Boss Wiggle

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF’A ME YOU MEATHEADS!!” A lanky, roughed up grumpus struggles in the beefy arms of two well-dressed goons. They grip his arms tight with their paws, dragging his body along behind it like an afterthought. “You have any idea what my family will do when-?!”

“Shut your trap already,” the purple goon groaned. They adjust their ornate mask, brushing the sunset and emerald colored feathers out of their eyes. “Honestly, you’re lucky we caught you before openin’ hours, else we’d have to knock your teeth in to keep you from disturbin’ the patrons.”

“Don’t act like yer better than me!” The red grump kicks over a velvet chair from a nearby table as they pass. It clatters against the polished wood floor, echoing through the well-lit nightclub. A bartender--wearing a similar feathered and jeweled mask to the goons--gets up from polishing glasses to set it right. “Don’t you know who I am?! I’m from the Turnpipe family!! My boys’ll storm this place once they hear what you’se done to me! They’ll roast you all over open flames until every last strand of your fur is singed to the flesh!! You’ll be nothing but a naked mole rat for the rest of your lives!!!”

“Heya Cold-Brew, how was your kid’s party last night?” The blue goon holding Turnpipe’s other paw waves to the bartender as he sets the chair upright.

“Went okay. Park got rained out midway through the picnic, so we went to Slaker’s for ‘shakes.”

“Ah, shame. Need any help after I’m done here?” He gestures to their victim as if it were a sack of potatos. The red grump wiggles and yells while scuffing the floor they’re dragged across.

“Nah, should be good here, thanks ‘Stein. Fifteen until the doors open.” Cold-Brew waves back to the goons as he returns to his station, both wave back and smile.

“I SAID LET ME GO YOU INVERTEBRATES!!!!”

“Ugh, honestly why can’t you all say anything original?” The purple grump shakes their head. “Always just ‘let me go,’ ‘I’m with this family,’ ‘You’ll pay for this,’ if you’re gonna keep yappin’ at least say something interesting.”

“I’LL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!!!”

“Hehey, he tells jokes!”

The nightclub’s attendants laugh together under the neon spotlights as the intruder’s yells fall on uncaring ears. Past the bar lined with high class alcohol and the grand stage lined with spotlights and the band pit, the three grumps make their way to a door labeled “BACKSTAGE: EMPLOYEE’S ONLY.” With a quick knock and faint response from the other side, the two gently push open the door and leave the main area behind.

“Heya boss,” the purple goon speaks, his voice much more formal. “Found this one tryin’ to bash the front lock open with a brick. Got him before any major damage was done, don’t worry.”

Both grumps lift the intruder up by the shoulders, leaving his legs kicking in the air. It takes the Turnpipe a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting and he coughs from the lingering cigarette smoke in the air.

“Thank ya’ darlings,” a sultry voice speaks, facing away from the three. The grump thinks that the boss is some shade of pink, but poking above the large mass of pink fluff a sort of golden orange pokes out. Despite being held in the air, the orange grumpus sitting at the table in front of them reaches just below the Turnpipe’s height. “Wouldn’t want him making a mess before our loyal customers come in.”

“Are you these goons’ boss?!” The Turnpipe screams, pointing at the grumpus. “You fucked up now! When the Turnpipes hear of this-”

“They’ll tear us limb from limb, yes hun I know.” The boss speaks calmly, comfortably while applying purple eyeliner via pocket mirror.  “I could hear you all the way backstage, making me consider sound proofing.”

The red grumpus blinks. Despite the goons disregarding his threats earlier, for some reason his mind expected her to take him seriously. He takes a moment to look around the employee’s area, finding various other grumps of size and stature. Some more fancily-dressed grumps put on makeup and practice vocal exercises in large vanity mirrors, while toned tux-wearing grumps check their suits before walking out to the main club area. All of them are wearing the same mask and haven’t given him so much as a glance.

“Now tell me darling,” the boss angles the pocket mirror to address her intruder. Her ice blue iris gives off a sharp, cold gaze that clashes with the warm and comforting atmosphere before. “Why were you trying to break into our lovely establishment? Just couldn’t wait to have some fun, wanted to steal some of our booze perhaps?”

“Wh-no I’m, I don’t care about your stupid club!!” The Turnpipe yells, finding his fury again. “One’a your meatheads shook down my brother! They were on my family’s turf, and I don’t take these insults lyin’ down!”

“I can see that. So you’d rather take it in the air instead?”

Some of the other staff members chuckle as they check themselves for the third time over.

“Du-buh?!” Did you even hear what I said?!” The turnpipe explodes, his enemy’s eyes narrowing in the mirror. “YOUR goons-”

“I heard you clearly.”

The CLICK of the pocket mirror cuts through the smoky air. She places it on the table alongside the bills, fan letters and knives and begins spinning her chair around. It swivels as she sweeps her long legs along with the momentum, poking out of her dark emerald dress. The dark emerald dress’s frills flutter from the sudden movement, draping the boss from her knees to the straps on her shoulders, hidden under her flowing pink mane. With a CLACK of her deep purple heels on stone she sets her crossed legs down and stops the chair in place. Her previous playful gaze is now replaced with one of annoyance, both her icy and greyed eyes narrowed in contempt.

With her clean scar sweeping across her right eye, the boss of the Gilded Dahlias, Wiggle Wigglebottom, sits up fully and rests a paw on her chin while gazing down at her prey.

“I’m just curious as to how you thought you could barge in here and get revenge against my boys, my gang, even me, all by yourself. You certainly don’t have the physique or firepower to do the job, so my first guess is that you’re either full of yourself, or just plain dumb.”

The performers all “ooooooooh~” between them, like a class of 8th graders hearing their fellow classmate called up to the principal’s office.

“I mean-well, I…” The red grumpus searches the floor for the right words, then balls his fists and puffs out his chest. “I’d assume YOU would pay us with respect! Us Turnpipe’s been around longer than you newbies have, so we outrank you!”

“It’s stupidity folks!!” Wiggle cheers and flicks up a paw to announce the results. A few goons groan and dig into their jacket pockets, handing their smiling associates a fat wad of bills. Turnpipe’s hot air dissipates and he deflates once more.

“Damn, third in a row… I’ll treat you to a drink later Wiggle.” A brown-furred performer in a glittery red dress crosses her arms.

“Maybe a milkshake,” The boss peeks over her shoulder, “I overheard Brew talking about Slakers and my sweet tooth’s been acting up lately! Them icy sweets are ‘Callin my naaaame~’.” She sings in a wide vocal range with complete ease, giving her paw a flourish and leaning back as she hums.

“You… You know, just because you’re new it doesn’t mean you’re better than us! Don’t act like you’re a hotshot just because you did a few successful heists!”

“A few? Oohohoho!!” Wiggle peers back, sitting up straight once again. “Goodness darlin’, you are not helping your case right now. Tell me, how many bank heists has your little family done in the past year?”

“Uh… twenty five?”

A tuxed grumpus snorts as he walks out.

“Oh darling…” Wiggle places a palm against her cheek with a pitiful smile. “That’s not even cute, it’s just... sad.”

“Yeah?! Well, I’d like to see you-”

“Fifty three.” Wiggle interrupts. “In the past three months.”

“...wha-”

“Around… how much was it Abra?” Wiggle calls behind her.

“Passed the million mark just last week!” A green grumpus, wearing more casual clothing, peeks out from around a corner leading to an employee hallway.

“Got so much excess profits that even after giving everyone a bonus, I got to turn the rest to my own personal bed!” She waves a paw in the air. “Certainly wasn’t the comfiest experience, but I at least got to check it off my bucket list!”

“I… I don’t…” The Turnpipe’s words do their best to try and search for any rage or anger to grasp onto, but any attempt to feel above her hasn’t worked, not helped by the fact he’s still being held up by the shoulders like a small child. After around ten seconds of stammering, Wiggle sighs and shakes her head.

“You don’t gotta try and act tough anymore darlin’, I think I get what you’re about now…” The sunset grumpus uncrosses her legs and lets her other heel clack on the floor. The Turnpipe’s gaze goes from eye level to slowly upwards, and upwards, and upwards; the boss’s body obscuring the light from one of the vanities. She wraps one of her paws around the grip of a knife lodged into the table and yanks it out. Her prey freezes up in the arms of her trap.

“You didn’t come here so you could avenge your brother or any sappy nonsense like that.” Wiggle circles around the Turnpipe, her heels echoing their clicks with each step while fiddling with the knife in her paws. “You came here so you could try and make yourself feel big and stwong, flaunting your family name as if it were a gun in of itself.”

“I…” Clack. Clack. Clack. It becomes hard to think as each step feels like a hammer and chisel against his brain. Wiggle looks the red grump up and down, drawing invisible lines up and down his torso.

“Since you came in you’ve been talking about your little gang as if you ran it. ‘My boys,’ ‘My gang,’ ‘My my my my my.’ But all that time, being caught up in your own head? It just made your skull more dense. All you are is just some lowly lackey that probably joined, say…” She plants an elbow on the Turnpipe’s head, checking her makeup one last time in the reflection of her knife. “A month ago? Maybe less?”

The frog in her armrest’s throat nearly leaps out of his mouth. His head shrinking down is the only confirmation Wiggle needs.

“You’ve been so caught up in that little bubble of yours, thinking you’re the hottest grump on the block, just because you’re part of a gang. Think just because you have a name to flaunt around and access to guns it makes you powerful. But I’m gonna let you in on a secret little man.” The Turnpipe’s body clenches as Wiggle stands back up and Clacks her way back to his front, eyeing the knife she paws in her hands as intensely as possible.

“Having a name to flaunt around doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.

“Having guns and knives to hold against people’s throats doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.

“Having enough money to buy out all of Grump Vegas doesn’t bring you power.”

Clack.’

“But you know what does?”

Wiggle towers above the Turnpipe, patting her razor-sharp knife in her paw. All different rays of light are obscured by her roaring mane, leaving the grump to cower in the arms of her two goons. She Clacks forward, and her goons take a step back. Not out of fear or trepidation though; a quick glance to both of their faces shows the same devilish smile that their boss wears. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Every single step is like a jolt of ice to his heart, dragging every last little step for an eternity as his entire being trembles in the arms of the two goons. Just the slight bump of the wall on his back knocks out every bit of air in his lungs and he fights to just inhale as his natural predator CLACKS just inches away from him, casting a toothy, ecstatic smile. Her single, silver iris seems to glow in the limited light.

Wiggle grips the knife in a reverse grip in her left hand and begins to raise it. The grumpus tries to close his eyes and look away but she grabs his chin with her other paw and forces his gaze back to her. His attempts to shake his head in a desperate plea are pointless, her paw digging into his fur and keeping him from moving even a centimeter out of place. The glinted metal shines as it finally reaches the zenith of its arc, hungry to tear through red grumpus fur. With nothing left to do all the Turnpipe can do is let tears stream down his face.

With the speed of a bullet and barely giving the Turnpipe a moment to flinch, Wiggle swings down the dagger. Her victim closes his eyes and blurts out a whimper and-

THUNK!!!

…

He’s not dead. His eyes are still fuzed shut but he’s still not dead, he can hear the sounds of the backstage area around him. The Turnpipe forces an eye open to peek at the knife and his skeleton nearly leaps out and books it at the sight. The knife is only a hair’s length away from his cheek embedded into the wood beam he’s pressed against. A sting in his cheek and the running of a warm liquid helps him fill in the gap of what happened. But just a little bit away, the Turnpipe finds something else that makes his body completely shut down

It’s Wigglebottom’s face, just as close to his as the knife.

Her icy and greyed eyes peer into the Turnpipe’s irises, flickering around while high on adrenaline and terror. Her gaze looks past his false-bravado exterior and reaches further, deeper inside him into a dark pit he had tried so desperately to hide. A black, slimy, jittering piece of disgust comes out. Letting the grip on his chin go she traces his chin and speaks in a tone fitting of her now-sultry gaze. Wiggle leans in close, so close that the Turnpipe can smell her rich floral perfume, and whispers into his ear.

“Fear~”

“...”

The Turnpipe’s mind has gone blank. Despite the pounding jackhammer in his chest, the final whisper and breath of hot air from the Gilded Dahlia boss erases his mind, leaving him a whimpering and stuttering mess. A few of the remaining employees from backstage snicker and point at her latest victim, though he isn’t able to process the fact that he’s being mocked. Seeing that the usual routine has worked yet again, Wiggle leaves the knife implanted in the wall and pulls back with a satisfied smile.

“Boys,” she snaps a finger in the air, her tone returning to the playful nature it was before, “drop our newest employee. He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, should be good to leave him back here for the day.”

Both goons do as they’re told without question, letting the grumpus slump to the floor, his knees having completely given out. He continues to stare at the ground and shake his head, crying as he trembles from the terror just inflicted.

“So what’re you gonna make this one boss?” The purple grumpus asks with a playful smile. “Waiter? Bartender?”

“Nah.” She shrugs with little effort. “He doesn’t really have the looks for either of those. Probably’ll make him our new janitor, been needing a new one after our last one squealed. Feel free to give him the old guy’s uniform, I feel it should fit pretty well.”

The purple goon nods and takes out a sketchpad, writing “Find old janitor’s uniform” at the bottom of the list as they walk past and out towards the main area.

“Alright everyone, hopefully this little show of mine was able to help you get fired up! We got five minutes ‘till the doors open, get those finishing touches done!” The boss claps her hands in the air to her employees, resuming business as usual. “If we’re able to double our profits today I’ll treat everyone to Slakers at the end of our shift tonight! Let’s make tonight a good one darlin’s!”

The warm and familiar chatter of the backstage area continues once more. As every last well-dressed employee strolls out to prepare for the afternoon they pass by their new coworker, neither giving the other a glance. As the front door opens and the excited clamoring of a new audience begins to fill the club, Wiggle peers down at her latest victim, slumped up the hole-ridden wood post on his back. She smirks and gives a content sigh.

“Maybe one day you’ll all surprise me… but until then, I suppose this is just as fun~”

Wiggle ruffles the head of the former Turnpipe like an affectionate puppy, and then walks back to her main office, her heels Clacking and echoing throughout backstage and the red grumpus’s empty mind.

#Bugsnax #wiggle wigglebottom #bugsnax wiggle #young horses #bugsnax AU #my writing #my writings #twi talks #Mafia!Wiggle #Mafia!Wiggle AU #((I... have a thing for tall and intimidating crime lady's #So yeah #*voice crack* eNJoY!!!))

[silentexplorer18]

Ice Water: A Fred Weasley Short

Pairing: Fred Weasley / Reader*

*(This shouldn’t have any gender defining attributes to the reader so hopefully everyone can read it comfortably!  Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: Pranks run cold and tempers run hot over the summer, it seems.  Through it all, you and Fred manage to make amends.

Warnings: A little bit of arguing, but not much.

Word Count: 2,200+

Note: This was written for @kalimagik​‘s A Very Harry Potter Summer!  I can’t even begin to thank @kalimagik enough for letting me take part in such a wonderful event!  I’m so excited to read all the other amazing fics that @hufflefluff-writer​​ is compiling onto the event’s masterlist!  To any of my followers in search of more HP content, I highly recommend checking out the writers on that masterlist! :)  As for my fic, my prompt was ice cubes (for August 8th), and hopefully I’ve written something that’ll satisfy everyone’s Fred Weasley desires!  I hope you enjoy!  Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

Read it Here on AO3

Your forehead was sticky with sweat, beads slowly dribbling down your temples.  The heat was suffocating, but you were far from giving up on the task at hand.

Another weed.  Another hole.  Snipping back another branch of Molly’s unruly rose bush.  Nudge another worm into the freshly dug dirt, away from the mountain of weeds yet to be pulled.

It was the least you could do, really, straighten up Molly’s unruly garden as thanks for letting you stay with the twins over the summer.  Although you were a relatively good influence on the boys – infinitely kind to their mother, at least – and a sweet person to have around, your affinity for pranks and adventures married with the twins’ frighteningly well and ended in more than a few explosions and messes.

So making it up to Molly really was the least you could do.  And before she came home from afternoon tea, you were determined to finish reviving the neglected portions of her garden.  While her herbs and front walkway looked divine, her back garden had been abandoned over the years as both the Weasley family and subsequent parental demands had grown; hopefully now with all her children in school, she’d have a little more time to enjoy the full breadth of her yard’s offerings.  Hopefully your efforts would kick start that process a little.

However, it was hot.  Miserably so.  And each movement made a fresh layer of sweat prickle across your skin and dampen your shirt.  That was why, you suspected, the twins had opted to stay inside and work on their miniature lion fireworks (a new Gryffindor staple) over helping you pull weeds.

Well, that was probably part of the reason.

The other part Fred just so happened to be pondering a few meters away inside the house.  Maybe he’d started it, but you’d certainly retaliated with fervor, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it now.

~

A week earlier.

It had been hot.  The sweltering kind of hot that makes the head heavy and the skin slick.  To Freddie, it was the perfect time for a prank to raise the spirits.  However, he’d made you the unwitting target of his prank; a mistake.

You were outside with Ginny playing quidditch on a break from firework formulating when Fred had spotted you outside the window.  Panting from the heat, you’d spiraled back toward the ground, fanning yourself in the hopes of finding a little relief from the hot, stagnant air.

Seeing you standing there unassuming with your back to the door lit an excitement in Fred’s belly.  It had been ages since he’d pranked you; tensions had been running high as of late with the multiple failed attempts he and George had experienced with their fireworks.  But a prank!  That would certainly brighten his day with a bit of fun!

Filling a glass with water and some ice, he snuck out the door, creeping behind the bushes, through the overgrowth in your direction.  Light on his feet and you too hot to be on guard, it was easy for him to sneak up behind you, an excited grin curling the corners of his lips.  Ginny was zipping laps around the garden, and your eyes lazily followed her.  You’d never suspect someone was creeping up behind you.

With only a bush between you, he crouched, waiting for Ginny to move a little farther, turn the other way.  One loop… two… and… gotcha!

Jumping from his hiding spot, he splashed the ice water down your neck, watching with an evil smile as the cubes slipped down the collar of your shirt and soaked the fabric across your back.

“Fred!” you gasped, glaring as you shook the ice out from under your clothes.  Although your glare was stern, it was mostly from annoyance.  You weren’t angry at him, and he knew that.  He knew that you wouldn’t truly be angry at him even before he’d left the kitchen.  You always forgave him for the silly pranks.

However, one thing he forgot is that when you feel bored, you don’t forgive.  Not really.  Instead you get revenge.

And as nice as it would’ve been for that revenge to just be the playful grin that erupted from your face as you chased him around the yard for an innocent – not at all wet – hug, that certainly wasn’t the level of revenge you were planning on getting.

~

While he watched you from inside the kitchen, skirting behind the window curtain, your mind lingered on the revenge and the aftermath of said revenge that occurred a few days later.  Great minds think alike, but can occasionally have terrible timing.

~

Half a week earlier.

You hadn’t been particularly cross with Freddie following the events that transpired.  However, you were keeping a careful eye out for a moment to enact revenge.  That moment presented itself a few days later.

Taking an afternoon nap hadn’t been part of your plan, but the melody trickling from Ginny’s radio lulled you to sleep with ease.  When you woke, the sun was low in the afternoon sky and the house was relatively empty.  Wandering down to the kitchen, you found the twins outside.

Though you couldn’t tell at the time, they were kneeling before a few fireworks containers, and what you’d missed was the bickering that had started between the brothers when the first two formula attempts were lit and, unfortunately, failed.  They’d intended to create small roaring lions that would captivate the audience, but instead the first firework resulted in a blob of sparks and the second attempt had misfired completely.  But you couldn’t possibly have guessed they were having such a terrible day when you noticed them hunched in the garden, two fiery mops of red hair glowing in the afternoon sun.  They looked warm, and you realized it was the perfect opportunity to help Freddie cool off in the same gracious manner he’d helped you.

Procuring a tall glass of ice water, you snuck out the back door and quietly maneuvered through the unruly shrubbery.  They were several meters away, and you crept through the garden out of earshot, approaching slowly and steadily.

“Bloody hell, George,” Fred mumbled, adjusting the last firework in front of him.  “I thought we’d nailed the schematics on the first one.”

George sighed.  “Let’s just try the last one.  If it doesn’t work better than the first one, we’ll start with those designs and try to fix it.”

He nodded, reaching out to adjust the small tube again.

From your angle, you couldn’t see their faces or what they were doing; however, based on the dreadful color of their shirts, you could figure out who was who.  Fred was kneeling in front of you, and you were ready to pounce.

Taking a steadying breath, you leapt out from behind the bush, dumping the water on Fred’s neck.  George yelped in surprise, scrambling away from you, though the splash zone was primarily concentrated on his counterpart already.

The water splattered up into Fred’s hair and the ice followed the remaining water’s path trickling over his shoulders, down the front of his shirt.  He was soaked, and you giggled as he shook his hair and attempted to brush the ice from his neck.  From where you were standing, George was grinning, too, remembering the prank his brother had mentioned earlier in the week.

But Fred wasn’t laughing.

“Dammit!”   He turned, fixing you with a glare.  Unlike your reaction to his prank, he looked like he meant it.  “That was our last prototype to test!” 

Your gaze fell to the object in his hand, a tube of most likely ruined potion ingredients completely soaked with water.  “Fred, I’m sorry,” you said, reaching out to take the firework.  “We can fix it.  I promise I’ll help.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he bit, yanking the hand with the firework away from you.  “We’re out of potion ingredients and it took us weeks to make the ones we had.”

George took a step toward him.  “It’ll be fine, mate.  We know what we did wrong this time.”

“No we don’t,” he growled, sending you another glare.  “We have no idea if this solution works or not.”

“Fred, I’m sorry,” you said, reaching out again to try to take the tube.  Maybe there was a way you could fix it.

“Just leave me alone.”  He whirled away, walking around the side of the house, clenched fists and defeated shoulders keeping you from following.

You were mad at Fred for yelling at you, but also understood why he was so frustrated.  The firework building hadn’t been going very well - apparently things were much more difficult in miniature - and progress seemed to be lurking far beyond the horizon.  You hadn’t meant to ruin one of their chances for success (and Fred knew that!), but you couldn’t shake the guilt in your chest that you hadn’t been helping them much with construction.

Over the next several days, Fred stayed stiff with you, more due to his own pride and frustrations than anything else.  However, you tried to put that aside and help with the project at hand.  Excelling in potions, you helped them develop a much better concoction to put in the fireworks; something easier to charm and provide the rich hues of red and gold they were looking for.

Sliding the filled tube in front of him, you gently kissed his cheek.  “It’s all yours, Freddie.  I hope it works better this time.”  And without another word, you disappeared to Ginny’s room to get a good night’s sleep before the gargantuan task of cleaning out Molly’s back garden began the following morning.

~

From inside the house, he stood watching you, guilt eating away at his insides for getting cross with you in the first place.  He loved you.  The last thing he wanted was to hurt you; he hoped you knew that.

Sighing, he nibbled on the edge of his thumb, scratching his fingers along the faint stubble along his jaw.  No matter what, you were always tackling something, persevering even if it meant doing so by yourself.  You deserved better, and he had to find a way to make it up to you.  But first he needed to make amends.

You rubbed your hand over your forehead again, attempting to wipe away a bit of the sweat before it trickled into your eyes.  What a heatwave.  What a summer.  The dirt caked into your fingernails and the weeds stuck to your skin, but you were running out of time before Molly came home and you were determined to finish your task.  With the hot sun beating down on your shoulders, though, you were quickly growing too hot and tired to keep going.

There was a rustle behind you, footsteps, and you shifted to find the source of the sound.  You were met with a sheepish looking mop of red hair.  Fred.  Holding a cup.

He stopped beside you, nudging a pile of dirt with the toe of his shoe.  “I’m sorry.”  Your brow arched in surprise, and he chuckled at your face.  “I was a git.  A terrible one.  I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me the other day.  I was really disappointed about the fireworks, but that’s not an excuse.  I shouldn’t have yelled at you.  I’m sorry.”  Thrusting the cup forward jerkily, he glanced down at it.  “I bought a peace offering.  You looked hot.”

You smiled a welcoming smile, the one that reminded him that no matter what, you’d always care.  He let go of his breath, shoulders visibly relaxing knowing you weren’t upset with them.  Then your smile morphed into something more mischievous, eyes growing bright as you stood, and worry lurched into his throat.  “I looked hot, huh?”  You reached into the glass of ice and popped one into your mouth, grabbing another to rub along the bare expanse of your wrist.

He gulped, blushing as he watched you.  “Um, yeah.  It’s warm out.”

“Yeah, it is.”  You popped another cube in your mouth, grabbing two more to rub along your neck.  The cool water dribbled against your skin, dripping against the collar of your tank top and running down your chest, disappearing under your shirt.

Was it getting even hotter out here or was it just him?  His face felt as red as his hair.  Merlin, you looked incredible.  He still couldn’t believe he’d met you that day on the train to Hogwarts.

As the final bit of your ice cube melted over your neck, Fred reached into the glass and grabbed the last ice cube, popping it into his mouth.

“Hey!” you pouted, giving him a little push.  “That was meant to be mine!”

“You want it?” he asked, speech slurring around the cube.  He flashed the ice between his teeth, grinning.  “Come and get it.”

You barely hesitated to jump forward, pressing your lips against his own.  He stumbled, surprised and caught off balance by the sheer force of your kisses.  His hands grasped around your sides, pulling you closer and steadying himself.

He nearly choked on the ice, more focused on you – your hands, your lips, your body, kissing you back – than anything else, but at the rate you were kissing him, it didn’t take very long for the ice to melt.

A/N: Thanks for reading!  I hope you enjoyed! :)

#averyharrypottersummer #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #silent writes

[noodlecupcakeswritings]

An Unbreakable Bond - Chapter 9 (Kylo RenxOC)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren now has everything he could possibly dream of, except for someone to rule by his side. And he’ll do anything to get Cora back.

The final fic in my Kylo/Cora Star Wars canon series. This is most definitely a TROS fix it fic because fuck that movie and shitty writing.

Please leave likes, comments and reblogs if you like it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Warnings: No Kylo in this chapter (again, sorry guys), Hux being a dick, Language, Plot twists/reveals

Chapter 9

Cora

Over dinner, Kylo and I had talked things through. He’d even apologized for his previous behaviour, which was not like him at all. Maybe he really thought he had lost me. For a time he had, but it seemed seeing him again had reawakened feelings I had pushed aside for a few months as I focused on my training, as I focused on healing. Even when the conversation had turned argumentative, he had stayed mostly calm, as if accepting my annoyance and anger. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps there was still a piece of Ben alive within him. Perhaps bringing me back here had reawakened that piece of him.

Perhaps I still could save him. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe I was still a fool for giving into my feelings for him, maybe I was still pathetically weak when it came to him. After dinner we’d had sex again, less rushed, and rough this time. Both of us were starved of the other and took our times, savouring each other’s touch and pleasure. That night we’d slept in each other’s arms, almost like everything had been forgiven. It had been hard to let him go that morning and he made it clear how much he didn’t want to leave, how much he would rather spend the day in bed with me.

After breakfast and a shower, I looked around his quarters for something that could occupy me whilst he was gone. Whilst things were okay between us, I knew leaving his quarters would be a step too far. There was the tell tell sound of the door opening and I wondered if he’d managed to spare five minutes to see me. Going out to the living room to greet him, I was instead met with Hux. Considering he had once tried to kill me, I remained on high alert, knowing better than to trust him. “These aren’t your quarters and I don’t think Kylo will be pleased to know you let yourself in,” I threatened.

Hux seemed indifferent by threat and proceeded to make himself at home, sitting down. “I’m not here to kill you. Sit. There are things we need to discuss,” Hux replied. Hesitantly I approached, sitting opposite him so that there was plenty of distance. “Its nice to see you and Ren have gotten reacquainted with each other so quickly,” Hux smirked, his gaze on my neck. A little embarrassed, I pulled my collar up to try to hide the marks. “Whatever you want to discuss with me, I suggest you get on with it before I throw you out,” I warned.

“Whilst it bothers me to come to you for help, you are the only option I have left.” Raising my brow, I looked at Hux in disbelief. This had to be some kind of weird dream. “Considering how things were left between you and Ren, I figured you would still want some kind of revenge. Help me get rid of him, restore the First Order with me as Supreme Leader and I will let you go,” Hux explained. Silence fell between us before I could no longer contain my laughter. Hux did not look impressed. But what was I supposed to think? This had to be some kind of joke, or he was really that stupid or desperate.

“You can’t be serious,” I said between soft giggles. “Unfortunately, I am. Your beloved Ren isn’t exactly Supreme Leader material, its only a matter of time before he runs this place into the ground and ruins years of hard work. And demoting me has certainly not helped things.” “And you think I care about all this? You think I care about The First Order? You think I care about an organization that murders people and wipes out entire planets? Are you high on spice?” “If he continues to lead us on a downward spiral, it won’t be long before there is a revolt. Before his life is threatened. Or even your life. Is that what you want?”

Okay, now he had a point. But he was a still a fool in thinking I wanted to help better The First Order. He just didn’t need to know my true intentions. “I just want Ben back. If that happens, you won’t have to worry about Kylo Ren anymore. And we will both leave in peace,” I bargained. Hux rolled his eyes at my sentimental streak, “I had a feeling you would say something like that. If that happens, will that convince General Organa to stop sticking her nose in our business?” “Maybe.” “And when this is all over, I have your word that you won’t kill me?” “Luckily for you, Jedi don’t kill.”

“So you’ll arrest me?” “That depends. If you try to doublecross me then yes, I will make sure your punished for your crimes and that the resistance doesn’t stop until everyone one of your men are brought to justice.” “I’d rather go out in a blaze of glory, a better way to be remembered.” That could be arranged. If it meant keeping the galaxy safe. After all, neither of us could fully trust the other. If I got Ben back, I would make sure that The First Order died with Kylo Ren. The galaxy would be safe once more and everyone would be happy. I’m sure Hux was already scheming to have Ben, and I killed if I succeeded. That way there would be nobody to challenge him for the role of Supreme Leader. It was just a case of who betrayed who first.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime after lunch, I felt a familiar presence through the force. But not familiar enough for me to determine who it was instantly. Meaning it wasn’t Kylo, nor did I expect it to be with how busy he was as Supreme Leader. Closing my eyes, I opened myself up further to the force. “Cora…can you hear me?” Came Varidun’s voice faintly. Whilst it felt good to hear him again, I knew he was likely going to attempt a solo rescue mission. “Yes,” I replied. “Cora, where are you? Have they hurt you?”

“I’m okay, I’m safe…mostly,” I paused. Deep down, regardless of me wanting to keep Varidun safe, I knew no matter how much I protested he was likely already out searching for me and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’m on The Supremacy. Near a planet called Exegol, I think,” I continued. “Hmm, it’s not one I know of. But it shouldn’t be too hard to find you, given both you and Ren are on that ship.” “Varidun, don’t risk your safety and freedom for me. Please. I had to leave to keep you safe.” “You forfeited that when you came to me in the first place. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

Sighing softly, I knew he was right. It was something that had not worked for me previously, I just needed to learn to accept help more often. “Coming from a man who thinks he can take on an entire star destroyer on his own?” I countered. “It wasn’t my plan to, I’m old, not stupid, Cora, The Resistance didn’t want to help.” Whilst I was surprised Varidun had gone to them, I couldn’t help but feel a little deflated at their lack of help. Only Luke and Leia knew who he was, and it was doubtful he’d been allowed close enough to talk to them. “You went to them?” “If you have anyone else in mind, then I’m open to ideas.” “You spoke to Leia? And she refused to help?” I questioned, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice.

“I never even got the chance to see her. The Resistance seems more stuck up than the Empire ever was,” Varidun replied. “A part of the reason I left. But my point is, I don’t want you to be captured and tortured again. I’m working on a plan to put a stop to this.” “Such as?” “Kylo seems...off. As if something’s not right. I can’t do anything until he completely trusts me, but I might be able to talk him down from a few things.” “Are you sure you can actually do that this time?”

Holding back my annoyance at his question, I knew I had a much better chance now. “I can now that he isn’t under Snokes influence any longer. Without Snoke feeding him lies now he’s more likely to listen,” I answered. “It’s still risky, Cora. Theres something there with you, I sense you and Ren, but there’s...something else.” Frowning, I closed my eyes, seeing if I could sense it. But there was nothing. “I can’t feel anything else, well not on the ship at least. But Exegol doesn’t feel right,” I spoke.

“It’s possible what I sense is on Exegol, but it unsettles me. Whatever you’re planning needs to happen soon, I fear we don’t have much time.” “Okay. When he gets back, I’ll talk to him. How far are you?” “I don’t think I’m that far, but if you can leave sooner take it.” And with that, Varidun’s presence was gone. Glancing out the window at Exegol in the distance, I tried once more to search for a presence, but I was likely too far away and too untrained in the force. Making myself comfortable, I took the time to try and think of how to convince Kylo to leave with me, leave everything he’s worked so hard on behind. There was a sinking feeling chest, I knew I had to prepare to leave him behind once more or at least protect Varidun from getting captured.

After a few hours, Varidun’s presence returned, stronger this time. “Cora! You have to get off that ship, I know who the third presence is!” There was obvious fear in his voice, something I’d never heard from him before. If Varidun was afraid, then I was petrified. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for the worst. “Who?” I reluctantly asked. “Darth Sidious.” My blood ran cold at the mention of that name, “but that’s impossible. He’s dead.” “The dark lord spent most of his life looking for immortality. I didn’t think he ever succeeded, but there is no mistaking this feeling.”

“Then you have to go back to The Resistance, and you have to talk to Leia no matter what. Regardless of our feelings towards Luke, I know he’ll believe you if the rest don’t,” I urged. “I’ll make them believe. I’ll be back for you,” he promised. Once again, Varidun was gone. As I began to recover from the news, I put two and two together. Kylo had known about this all along, but he had kept it from me so that things would stay good between us. He’d freed himself from Snoke, I couldn’t let him become Palpatine’s puppet. He was due back any minute. And the sooner the better, so I could give him a piece of my mind.

Taglist: @dinlustrous​​​​​​​​​, @sweetsec-93​​​​​​​​, @cltex84​​​​​​​​​, @jana-banana-fana​​​​​​​​​, @neeharlow​

#kylo ren angst #kylo ren #kylo ren fic #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fluff #kylo renxoc #ben solo angst #ben solo #ben solo fanfic #ben solo fic #ben solo smut #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fluff #ben solo feels #ben soloxoc #star wars #Star Wars fanfic #Star Wars Fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars feels #star wars fluff #star wars smut #star wars angst

[ameliarating]

Since you brought the topic of Untamed/Hogwats houses I have to ask: do you have opinions about how other Untamed characters would be sorted into the Hogwarts Houses? (because I love how you put XXC into Ravenclaw and SL into Hufflepuff and I want others too)

Absolutely! Here comes a nearly-but-not-quite comprehensive list!

So we have Xiao Xingchen, the Ravenclaw who acts like a Gryffindor. Xiao Xingchen is primarily driven by a need to understand things and find a higher truth. It's why he left the mountain to begin with. He was sure he was missing something, something wasn't right in that philosophy, because truth is found among people. It's why he travels. It's why he attaches himself to people. 

But that manifests in very Gryffindor way, because he assumes (I'd like to think correctly) that the way to understand the world and universe is through compassion and helping people, which is why he found fault with staying on the mountain. How could that be the right thing to do, how could that be the truth, when it meant leaving people to suffer? 

And then when he encounters people who lie, who are hypocritical, who serve themselves when claiming to serve others, he’s deeply frustrated. Since his view of the truth is that it is found in compassion,  he has no patience for the structures that lie and keep people down (cough cough JGS). So he wants to change the world and make it better for everyone which makes him look like a Gryffindor, but at its base it comes from very Ravenclaw values. 

He’s also the least nerdy Ravenclaw ever, is not at all into texts, and believes that truth, like the Dao, can never be really put into words, but only acted. Though he’d say that there is no truth apart from the Dao, and that to distinguish things, to separate them, is missing the point completely.

Then we have Song Lan, the Hufflepuff who acts like a Gryffindor. Unlike Xiao Xingchen, he's not driven by any grand goals. He's not interested in uncovering some new truth or in changing the world in any big way. He just sees people suffering around him and knows that's wrong and believes that the right thing to do is alleviate suffering in all the small ways he can.

Except that as a powerful cultivator, it's often actually not that small. He doesn't think he can change the world, he certainly doesn't think he has any major effect. (He actually agrees with Xue Yang that it nobody really can), and he was taught since childhood that it was better to follow a more passive path than to try to shape the world into a new image.

But he does believe it's his duty to help the people around him, to make little things more fair, to save lives, to lay suffering ghosts, all of that, because it will effect individuals and individuals matter. He wants to start a new sect with Xiao Xingchen not because he is disgusted with the politics of the sect world (he just doesn't care about it, he's not Xiao Xingchen who is ready to argue with full on sect leaders), but because it will help more people in the surrounding area and it sounds like the right thing to do

But because he's a powerful wandering cultivator, and because he's attached himself to Xiao Xingchen who does have more vision, he comes off as a Gryffindor. - just because the way he operates as a Hufflepuff ends up looking very Gryffindor.

He’s also a very nerdy Hufflepuff who is very much into studying the texts he’s been memorized since his childhood at the temple.

To continue on the Yi City theme, we have Xue Yang, another Ravenclaw. He’s just straight up curious about everything, and since he has no ambition, no desire to change the world, and no loyalty to others, his only real motivation (outside that sweet, sweet revenge) comes from that curiosity.

He wants to know how things work. He’ll spend years studying Yiling Laozu’s notes because they’re fascinating. He’ll teach himself cultivation. He’ll torture someone into revealing themself. He’ll mess with people to learn what their nightmares are and he’ll then he’ll make their nightmares come true, just to see what happens.

He’ll spend three years with his enemy just to learn who he is and what makes him tick. (At least that’s what he’s telling himself... stupid feelings got in their way a bit there.)

If there’s nothing more to learn, he’ll get bored. He needs stimulation. He’s creative. And beyond that, he doesn’t really care. 

It’s actually interesting that, like Xiao Xingchen, he is fascinated by so much in the world and wants to learn and learn and learn. And that, like Song Lan, he doesn’t actually think anyone has the power to make a big difference in it.

Rounding off Yi City, we have A-Qing, a Slytherin. She’s goal oriented and protective of the people she decides are worth protecting, and pretty dismissive of everyone else. When we first meet her, her only goal is to get ahead herself. Then she adopts her daozhang (it goes both ways) and she would do anything to get them both ahead.

It’s just that Xiao Xingchen doesn’t really care about getting ahead, or having money, or running away from Xue Yang when he’s going to kill them, which is an issue because he’s become her goal and she won’t abandon him. 

I think that if we’d gotten to know her longer, we would have found her to be a pretty ambitious person, but it’s possible that she might have turned out to be a Gryffindor instead. She was just a kid and ghosts don’t really change or evolve. Even in the showverse, where she’s not a ghost but someone living with a sort of slow acting corpse poisoning (??? it’s not clear), she remains frozen as who she was when we last saw her in Yi City. 

Wei Wuxian - the Gryffindoriest Gryffindor ever, but if he’d lived in more peaceful times, he would have been, like Hermione, someone with very Ravenclaw tendencies, who uses curiosity and scholarship to change the world for the better. Honestly, not much more to say about him beyond that. He’s just. So Gryffindor.

Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang are both pure Slytherins. Jin Guangyao classically so. He’s ambitious, he wants power, he wants to protect what’s his, he’s cunning, and he’ll do just about anything to reach his goals. His eye is on the prize, and that prize is the sort of power that means he can live without shame, except that the more power he gets, the bigger the potential for shame gets too. Poor thing never rests.

Nie Huaisang is less classically a Slytherin, in that he’s not actually all that ambitious, but oh man, is he goal oriented. What he wants, he’ll get, even if that means people have to suffer, either if they’re in the way, or if their suffering is part of his plan itself.

Lan Xichen is a Hufflepuff. Like Song Lan, he is primarily motivated by helping people around them and alleviating their suffering. Even if a part of him wishes he could make drastic changes to the world and how it’s run, he doesn’t believe he has the means to do so, and if he tried, he’d only hurt his own ability to do anything at all, as well as others under his protection. 

So instead of fighting the world, he moves within it, being quietly but unusually kind to others, using his position of power to lift people up and protect them, and doing what he can to make the lives of individuals that much better and easier. Sometimes it even works. 

He’s trying. The world is set against him. He just doesn’t have the freedom to set himself against the world. 

He’s hardworking and he’s loyal and he believes in giving people the benefit of the doubt when no one else will. He has a very clear sense of honor, and it’s all based on what is the right way to relate to others. Like Helga Hufflepuff, he opens his sect up to people others would reject.

Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing are both Slytherins, for similar reasons, but it comes out in different ways. They both believe that their primary loyalties must be to their own blood (Jiang Cheng more expansively to the entire Jiang sect, Wen Qing to her branch of the Wen Clan) and that as leaders, they have to do whatever they can to protect it, even if it means letting others fall by the side. 

They don’t think of themselves of heroes. Jiang Cheng is bitter about that and Wen Qing accepts it more easily. They have their own protect and that’s all.

Jiang Cheng is more obviously a Slytherin in that he’s very ambitious (he’s been taught to be, by his mother, it’s unclear to me if he would have been so otherwise), he wants to be on top and be an incredible sect leader, though he won’t use all means at his disposal to get ahead. Like Jin Guangyao, he feels inadequate in second place. Unfortunately for Jiang Cheng, he’s never going to get higher than second place - and often not even that. Wen Qing is not so ambitious herself, and in more peaceful times, might have been more of a Hufflepuff. 

Jiang Yanli is a Hufflepuff. She also wants to help the people around her without dreams of changing the world. She’ll alleviate the suffering of others one bowl of soup at a time. Whatever grand dreams she may have had, she’s set them aside for her to nurture Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng which is upsetting, but also, and I mean this very seriously, the people (often women) who spent history quietly feeding the heroes we read about should have made history. 

It’s actually enough to be kind.

Nie Mingjue is a Gryffindor, I think? He has a very strong view of right and wrong, and it’s less driven by individuals and more about what the world should look like, even if it’s not what it looks like now. But that’s very hard for me to reconcile with his super-strong views against the Wens, but then again, I don’t want to be all “no-true-Gryffindor fallacy” and claim that real Gryffindors can’t be bloodthirsty to wipe out entire sects.

He, like Lan Xichen, has a very stark view of what it means to be honorable, but for him, honor has less to do with relating to the people around him and more to do with what sort of actions are ever appropriate to take. 

Mianmian is either a Hufflepuff or what happens when a Gryffindor is so disempowered as to just give up. She cares very strongly about doing the right thing by others and by setting a good example in the world. She looses her patience with the hypocrisy of the sects but rather than try to tear them down or change things, she leaves and finds her own place to be honorable. 

So my question is, is she driven by the needs of the individuals around her (a Hufflepuff), or is she more idealistic and thinks the world should and can be drastically different (a Gryffindor)? Gryffindors work best when they are given the means to change things. Mianmian never really had those.

Jin Zixuan is that kid who sits under the hat and the hat is all, hmmmm, I’m not sure, and he’s all put me where my family is, and the hat is like, really? you sure? not sure you’ll thrive there, and Jin Zixuan says, I’m positive, and then ends up in Slytherin and his father is proud of him, so what could go wrong?

(Jin Zixuan is Regulus Black)

Jin Guangshan is a Slytherin. I mean. Obviously.

Wen Ning is a Hufflepuff. I mean. Obviously.

Su She doesn’t make it to Hogwarts because he’s a Squib, and the evil he ends up enabling says as much about the ills of the magical world as it does about him.

Jin Zixun is a Dursley. I’m taking comments and criticisms on everything else on this post but this.

Lan Wangji ... ???

Like, I dunno! Sometimes I want to say Gryffindor. His early dream was to make the world a better place, at least in the show, I don’t remember in the novel. To protect the innocent and have a clean conscience. He goes where the chaos is. He protects people others overlook. He’s Huangang-jun. 

But I suspect he, like Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, is someone who acts like a Gryffindor but isn’t necessarily, and part of that is because his primary motivation is surrounding one person. Protect Wei Wuxian. From himself, from others, from the world. That’s not a very Gryffindory motivation. Gryffindors tend to have more expansive drives. They want to make more of an impact. 

Is he a Slytherin? He’s willing to do just about anything in service of his goals. (His goals are Wei Wuxian.) And he has a narrow group of people that he has claimed as his own and wants to put ahead. (His people are Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen.)

Is he a Hufflepuff? He is desperate to do right by people and be kind to them and figure out how to alleviate their suffering. (People are Wei Wuxian.)

I’m pretty sure he’s not a Ravenclaw, because while he’s scholarly and does want to learn and open his mind, I don’t think he’s driven by curiosity or a need to attain truth. But even with Ravenclaw, I’d be open to it. So. Yeah.

Soooo, that’s not everybody, obviously, and if people want my sorting thoughts on other characters, feel free to send them my way! But that’s a taste of what goes through my head.

#xiao xingchen #song lan #xue yang #a qing #wei wuxian #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wen qing #jiang yanli #nie mingjue #mianmian #jin zixuan #jin guangshan #wen ning #su she #jin zixun #lan wangji #the untamed #cql #mdzs #hoo boy #this was a lot #sorry for clogging up eighty tags #Anonymous #ask #my posts

[freddiesaysalright]

Journey to the Past - Chapter 1

Joe!Dimitri x Anastasia!Reader

Summary: The royal family is overthrown in a violent revolution. However, rumor grows that one daughter survived. Could the last of the line be found? Will a con man and a princess put a twist on what it means to live a fairy tale? 

Word Count: 3.4K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Thanks for keeping up, everyone! Hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Warning(s): None

Moodboard

Prologue

Chapter 1 here we go!!!

That same face swam before you. The kind looking little boy, just a year or two older than you, with soft brown eyes and auburn hair. His face stuck out, but there were glimpses of other things around you. A parade. Dancers. And then chaos. He was always in a crowd. At least until the last hazy memory. The clearest sight of him as you focused on his features instead of the searing pain in your shoulder and abdomen. 

You sat up, pushing the image to the back of your mind. He had to be a dream. You had never been to a ball or a parade, anyway. At least, not as far as you could remember. And you couldn’t remember much before the day you came here, to the orphanage. 

Now that you were an adult, you worked there, but you’d been a resident from the time you were eight or so. Having no memory of who you were before then meant you had no idea when your exact birthday was. A doctor examined you and diagnosed you with amnesia due to a traumatic head injury, and guessed your age based on your development. The women at the orphanage had chosen the day you arrived to be your birthday - not that it meant any celebrations, but so that they had something for the record. 

You tried to remember your past. Especially as a child. You were visited by doctors and specialists, but no one could trigger anything that brought something significant back. All you knew was that you had been wounded, a kind boy brought you to the hospital, and from there you went to the orphanage. You couldn’t even remember what your parents looked like. 

There was only one clue as to who you were that was found among your belongings. A necklace. It was a fine, gold chain, at the end of which was a pendant, with jewels creating the shape of a flower. On the back was an inscription that read “Together in Ramimont.” 

You found out that Ramimont was the capital city of a country to the south. Why you would have family there was beyond you. But someone had given it to you, and whoever that person was must have loved you. Who else would give such a sentimental trinket?

With a sigh, you stretched and got out of bed. You padded over to the chair in the corner of your room and stepped into the dress you wore every day. There was an almost exact copy of it hanging in the wardrobe next to your coat. The choices at the orphanage were limited - so you’d taken whatever fabric you could to make your dresses. Old curtains mostly. And while they weren’t fashionable, they certainly kept you warm. 

Stuffing your feet into your boots, you left your room and headed downstairs. Sophie, the headmistress of the orphanage was waiting for you. Your brow furrowed. That was unusual. 

“Is everything alright, Sophie?” you asked her, coming to a stop. 

She wrung her hands and looked desperately at you. 

“Come with me, Y/N,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Heart rate quickening, you followed her into her office on the main floor. Upstairs, you heard the children beginning to rise and dress. You hoped whatever this was wouldn’t hurt them too much. 

Sophie closed the door behind you and gestured to the old dining chair that faced her desk. You took a seat right on the edge. She moved the newspaper out of the way and you caught a glimpse of the headline: RUMORS OF THE PRINCESS… but you couldn’t see the second half. It didn’t concern you anyway. This country had no royalty. Not since the Revolution.

“Y/N, I’m terribly sorry about this, but we’re going to have to let you go,” she said. 

Your stomach dropped. You were...sacked?

“I…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No, dear. It’s just that the city has cut funds for this place, and now I can only afford to pay myself and George.”

George was in charge of the boys at the orphanage. He answered to Sophie at the end of the day, though. 

You took in a shaky breath. Fear made your blood feel cold as ice. 

“W-what am I going to do?” you wondered. 

It was half to yourself, half to her. This place was the only life you had ever known. 

“I’ve arranged for you to get a job as a street sweeper for one of the hotels nearby,” she said. “I’m afraid they can’t pay you as much as we did, but you’ll have a roof over your head.”

You swallowed even though your mouth felt dry. You barely made enough to live with your current salary. How could you survive on less?

“There is something else you could do,” she said, lowering her voice. 

You scooted closer to hear, eager. “What?”

“Go to Ramimont,” she whispered. 

The government was very strict about travel, so you understood her secretive actions. To discuss leaving could be considered treason, so not even George could overhear. 

“What?” you gasped softly. “You really think I should?”

“It’s up to you,” she replied. “But if you’ve got some money saved, I think it would be the perfect opportunity.”

“But I don’t even know who I’m looking for,” you said. “How can I -”

“Whoever gave you that necklace is probably missing you just as much as you’re longing for them,” she said. “But going is your only chance of finding them.”

You sat back, considering the idea. You had always wanted to go. And you did have a bit of money saved. Only, you had no idea what was required of you. If you had to get some sort of papers, what could you provide? You had no evidence of your identity. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you said aloud. 

“I don’t really know, either,” Sophie admitted. “But the knowledge is not behind the walls of this building. You’ll have to move on first.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”

Her eyes were equally watery. “Oh, dear. I’m going to miss you too.”

You jumped to your feet, crossed around her desk, and hugged her. She sniffled and patted your back. And before you knew it, it was time to pack your bags. 

***

Joe read over the words again. RUMORS OF THE PRINCESS ANASTASIA ALIVE. Beneath the headline was a photo of the princess - the rest of her family cropped out so it was just her proud face. He could never forget that girl. And the horror he witnessed that day. There was no way she was alive. 

He re-focused and started to read the article. It mentioned that there was a reward offered by the girl’s grandmother, the Dowager Empress Marie Malek Lee. His eyes widened at the number. That much money meant the kind of freedom he had longed for all his life!

The wheels in his head began turning. If anyone had a chance at that money it was him. He had worked in the kitchen, he had met the family. And then there was the music box. He had more proof than any other person could hope to provide. Plus, he had Roman. 

As if summoned by the mere thought of him, Roman came through the door. He shook some snow off his jacket and hung it on the rack. Joe looked up and smiled. 

“Morning,” he said. “How was town?”

“Ugh,” Roman groaned. “Everyone’s all aflutter about this rumor regarding the princess. It’s clearly a distraction!”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “A distraction? From what?”

“They closed another border today,” Roman said gravely. “They’re shutting us in, Joe. We need to get out if we’re going to do it.”

Joe paused. Another border closure was definitely concerning. And it meant difficulty in their plan. But Joe’s new plan meant getting out with the addition of money. He would have no qualms splitting any earnings with Roman, who had become his closest friend. 

Roman was only about ten years old than Joe, but with a whole different experience. Being the scandalous love child of an earl, most would have thought his life difficult. It was in some respects, but astonishingly, Roman’s father welcomed his son with open arms, and tried to make him part of society. The mother being a prostitute made some members of the nobility scoff, but when King Nicholas himself accepted Roman, the rest of that class had to suck it up. 

That is, until the Revolution came. The earl packed up his family, and had to pay for each of their exit visas. In their rush, Roman was left behind. He was the forgotten son, after all. 

Roman got his revenge. He went to his father’s mansion and completely ransacked it. He took all the valuables left behind - jewels, furs, antiques, etc. - and sold them. He kept one thing, a diamond ring that belonged to his father’s wife, and he gave it to his mother. She didn’t live much longer, but Roman still had it. 

“I was thinking about this whole Princess Anastasia thing,” Joe said. 

Roman rolled his eyes. “Not you too! I thought you had some sense!”

“Hear me out,” Joe insisted. “Between the two of us, we could train any girl to be that princess. We just gotta find someone who looks enough like her.”

“Are you serious?” Roman returned. “You want to con the Dowager Empress?”

“What’s she ever done for either of us?” Joe pointed out. “Why shouldn’t we get something out of our knowledge?”

Roman paused, mulling it over. 

“What woman would agree to this?” he said. “We’d have to split the reward money three ways.”

“Believe me, the amount is more than enough to split three ways,” Joe said. 

He tossed the paper to Roman, who began reading it over. Concern crossed his handsome, angular features as he read. 

“Let’s say we do this,” he said. “How will we find the girl? We can’t exactly put out an ad for people to audition. We’d be shot where we stand.”

“I know some people, I’ll get the word out,” Joe insisted. “Come on, Ro, this is our chance.”

“I think we should just consider ourselves lucky to be able to get out of the country,” Roman replied warily. “Is money really worth all this risk?”

“Money is the most important thing in the world, Roman,” Joe said seriously. “And I don’t intend on being without it anymore.”

“Money has never been the most important thing in the world,” Roman said. “The Lee family had more money they knew what to do with, and they still ended up dead.”

Joe didn’t answer that. He was all too familiar with that story, though he’d never shared it with his friend. 

“Ro, I’m doing this,” he said. “Whether you’re with me or not.”

A beat passed as Roman eyed him, a bit worried. Then he smirked. “You couldn’t pull it off without me anyway.”

Joe beamed. “So you’re in?”

“I’m in,” Roman said. 

They shook on it. 

“Who knows? Maybe we will find her,” he continued. “If the Dowager is offering a reward, there must be some substance to the rumor.”

A fleeting image passed in the front of Joe’s mind. Bloody snow, a weak girl in his arms, her eyes falling shut as he called to her. He shook his head to clear it away.

“I doubt it,” he said. 

With that, he took to the streets, telling his most trusted contacts that he was looking for the lost princess. 

***

The snow crunched under your boots as you trudged up to the hotel. You didn’t imagine there were many tourists in the country. What was there to see? The capital was only government workers and poor people. There was the old palace, but it was boarded up. As far as anything else, you had no idea what might draw people here. You noticed that most of the people coming to the hotel were in uniforms of some sort. They must be visitors from around the country. Or even other countries. 

You set your bag down and stood across the street from the hotel that was to be your new home. If you took the job. There was also Sophie’s suggestion to consider. The latter was definitely the more frightening option, but if the reward was finding your true family, then it should be worth it...right? 

You glanced down at the necklace, thinking it over some more. If you went into that hotel now, you may never get another opportunity to leave. You picked up your bag, determined, and walked away toward the train station. You had to take your chance. 

The train station was toward the edge of the city, near the old palace. You could see the towers looming over the land around it. The area was rather deserted, which you found surprising. As you looked at the abandoned fortress, you felt a sort of pull from it. Like you had been there before. 

You ignored this feeling and pressed on to the station. You couldn’t be worried about some crumbling castle. You had to get out as soon as possible. 

The line for tickets was excruciatingly long. You waited for nearly two hours before you were face to face with the attendant at the booth. He looked impatiently at you. 

“Where to?” he asked gruffly. 

“One ticket to Ramimont, please,” you said. 

“Exit visa and passport?”

“I - uh - well -” you stammered. “I have some money.”

“You can’t purchase a ticket without an exit visa and a passport,” he explained, rolling his eyes. “You may get those documents at the parliament building downtown.”

“How long does that take?” you asked. 

“Depends on how much money you have,” he said. “And who you know. But until you have those, get out of my line.”

You started at the harshness of his address, but did as you were told. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to face it. It was a woman. She was not really dressed for the cold weather, with her chest that exposed and skirt just under her knee. She also had a heavy rogue on her cheeks. 

“If you’re looking to go to Ramimont, you should see Joe Mazzello,” she said quietly.

You stepped closer to her. “Who?”

“Joe Mazzello,” she repeated. “He’s at the old palace. I hear he’s got a ticket, but there is a catch.”

“What’s the catch?” you wondered. 

She shrugged. “Dunno. Heard it from a friend. But you might have a better shot with him than with the government.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, Miss…”

“You don’t need to know my name,” she said. “You didn’t hear this from me.”

You nodded. After thanking her again, you left the train station. This time, heading for the one place you were avoiding earlier. Perhaps it was fate calling you in. Hopefully, you were meant to meet this Joe person and he would deliver you to your family. 

You stopped yourself. You didn’t want to get carried away in a hope. 

The castle was a sorry sight. With wooden planks in the windows where glass used to be, dustings of snow being blown in by the wind, and a fully collapsed tower, it looked a bit haunted. And of course, the lack of people added to the eerie feeling. You peered in between the boards and into the darkness. You couldn’t see anything, really. 

You picked this window because it was far enough away from the main entrance that you might be able to sneak in without startling anyone. You tested the plank in front of your chest. It was fairly loose - whoever had done this did it quickly and carelessly. You supposed the New Order didn’t want anyone to see the symbol of the old ways as up for grabs. 

You tugged on the board. It groaned beneath the force until finally you pried it enough and it came clean off. You stumbled back as the pressure released, but collected yourself and tossed it away. There was enough room for you to get in. You stepped through first and then reached back for your bags. You set them down against the wall, and then looked up and gaped at the high, grand ceilings and plush carpet. Everything was so...regal. And even stranger, it felt familiar to you. 

Across the corridor from the window, you saw a dusty, faded painting. It was enormous, and a portrait of a man and his family. He was tall, with soft brown hair and bright blue eyes. Unlike the portraits of men before him, he was smiling. The lady beside him looked equally happy with a wide grin. A silly detail you noticed on her was that the artist had depicted her shoes to be made of glass. 

She had a baby on her lap, and three other children surrounded their feet. A gold plate on the frame appeared to have some information etched into it, so you stepped closer to read it. It said, “King Gwilym, his wife, and children.” 

You were struck with a pang of sadness. You looked up at King Gwilym’s smiling face and felt such pity that his line was ended. That his descendants had met a tragic end and his legacy was disappearing into time. You had no idea why it broke your heart like this. You didn’t know the man or his relations, and yet, you felt this hurt for him. The only comfort was that wherever they were, they were all together now. 

To the left, were more paintings. You guessed, more generations of royals. You walked on and observed them, heartstrings still pulling at their fate. Three paintings over from Gwilym was the final royal family. King Nicholas greatly resembled his great-grandfather Gwilym. He had a wider face, and a thick beard which added to it, but the eyes were exactly the same. Round, blue, and kind.

His wife, Alexandra, was stunning. She wasn’t as warm as her husband, but she had the grace and elegance of a queen, for sure. Similar to King Gwilym’s queen, she had the youngest child in her lap for the portrait. The only boy. On the floor, four girls sat together, holding hands and smiling. 

You blinked and a tear slid down your cheek. Hastily, you wiped it away. Why on Earth were you crying? Sure, you knew the royal family’s story was unfortunate, but why was this feeling so personal?

You shook your head and continued on, re-focusing. You needed to find this Joe person, and quickly. This place was overwhelming. 

Every part of the palace felt like something you had dreamed and were trying to recall after waking up. It felt fuzzy, but certain things were coming through with perfect clarity. Then you came upon a ballroom. 

For a fleeting moment, it was dazzling with light and glittering jewels. Important people waltzed around it, and you spotted King Nicholas amongst the crowd. He spun his daughter around, lifting her high in the air, and you giggled along with her. 

As quickly as the vision came, it went. Once again, the room was dull, faded, covered in cobwebs and other debris. You stepped and a plume of dust formed around your boot. You scanned the ballroom and spotted a long table against the wall with serving platters and the like spread out. The silver was tarnished and pieces were missing. Even so, you picked up a tray. You examined it, and wiped the dust away. When it was clear, you looked at your reflection. What you saw startled you.

It was you, but as a little girl, looking remarkably like the youngest of the four in the painting, in a pink silk gown and a tiara sparkling on the crown of your head. You gasped at the sight and dropped the platter. It clanged to the floor and you winced. 

“Hey!” cried a voice from the other side of the ballroom. 

You whirled around to face him. It was a young man, probably about your age, with auburn hair. His face was familiar to you the same way this palace was, and it frightened you. 

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s going on?” another man questioned as he jogged to join the first. You felt as if you’d met him before too. 

You didn’t answer either of them. Instead, you took off running back the way you came. 

“Hey, wait!” the redhead called, and he pursued you.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello x you #John Deacon #John deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon x you #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap boys #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x you #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x you #anastasia #anastasia au #journey to the past series

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Movies I watched in September

I skipped a month again. But not to worry. This is a wrap-up of all the movies I watched in the month of September (2021). I think I maintained a steady ratio throughout but perhaps there’s not as much on the list this time because I wanted to get on with other things, be that work-wise or just trying to get out to the beach as much as possible and make the most of the last dregs of summertime. I went swimming in the sea a lot! But I also got to catch the new James Wan movie, Malignant (twice!) as well as the new James Bond, No Time To Die. Not to mention a couple of classics! My hope again with this list is to introduce people to new movies that they may otherwise not have seen or perhaps have never have heard of. These short reviews are my own subjective opinions on each individual movie. I’m thinking maybe a more informal approach to movie criticism can help include others who are just passing through. So here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of September.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) - 8/10

Coming from Ingmar Bergman, I was surprised to see just how warm this was. I’m a big fan of the Swedish director and while this isn’t my favourite from him (perhaps due to it needing a second watch, or the fact I watched it in three chunks because it’s about three hours long and I overestimated how much time I had in the day) it’s still an interesting departure from what I’ve come to expect from him. Fanny and Alexander is a dreamy Christmassy movie that presents an overarching theme of love, spending a large portion of its runtime just hanging out with this big family on Christmas and showing how close they are. I would love to watch this again at some point in December and see how my opinion shifts but for now, while it could meandre in places, I can’t deny how unique a movie it is.

Another Round (2021) - 10/10

I had seen Thomas Vinterberg’s latest film before this point but this was the first time I got to see it in a cinema. Luckily for me my local independent cinema was showing it one night and while they had a few technical hiccups with setting everything up, the movie itself was still fantastic. Following a handful of school teachers who experiment with whether they can maintain a certain level of blood alcohol throughout the day, Another Round demonstrates a sense of unease and sadness throughout an otherwise comedic tone. These emotions are balanced perfectly, boosting an already intriguing concept that examines our relationship with alcohol from every angle.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021) - 4/10

Straight after Another Round, I made my way to the chain cinema to meet up with friends to see the new Marvel movie. At this point, having had my second dose of the Covid vaccine that morning, I was starting to feel the effects and I was not doing well. But I watched the movie anyway, all the while wanting to be in bed. Shang-Chi was massively underwhelming and I’d go as far as to say it was even incompetent. Truth be told,  I like the Marvel Cinematic Universe but from the get-go I already wasn’t hyped for this movie and I was expecting it to be about mediocre but what I got was something a lot worse. I won’t rehash what I’ve already said on this film so if you want to hear me rant about it a bit then I would recommend checking out episode 47 of my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon.

Your Name. (2016) - 6/10

Ultimately this was a fun little romance movie but I can’t say I understand why people adore it, nor do I understand why it needed to be animated. For what it’s worth, I found it cute and entertaining but nothing much jumped out to me.

Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang (2021) - 7/10

I’m always stumped on what to say about stand-up shows. It was good! I enjoyed Phil Wang talking about different things in a funny way and it got some laughs out of me. Admittedly I’m writing this a couple of weeks after watching it but it’s certainly a decent way to spend an hour if you’re looking for something light and fun.

The Lego Batman Movie (2017) - 6/10

I remember seeing this in the cinema with two of my friends and the theatre wasn’t exactly packed but those that were there were either children or parents. But I like The Lego Batman Movie! Clearly this was made by fans of the character as it’s packed with a lot of details and references from old comic runs but as someone who has never read the comics or seen those older movies, it still managed to be entertaining and while I won’t say it’s quite as good as The Lego Movie, the animation is still top notch and the voice actors are certainly giving it their all, especially Will Arnett as the titular character. It’s just a bit of fun!

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) - 10/10

A friend of mine told me to go to the screening of Terminator 2 at my local because they themselves weren’t able to attend. The first Terminator movie is a real gem and one of the most 80’s-type movies I’ve ever seen. I was excited to watch T2, remembering next to nothing about what I watched of it when I was a child. So it was just me in this screening, with one person in a row in front of me, and one other person behind me. If I had it my way, I would have been the only person there because this is honestly one of the best movies I’ve ever seen and it was very hard not to yell out every time something incredible happened, especially when it’s so action-packed and basically goes all out at every opportunity to deliver some of the most jaw-dropping effects or choreography. Truly there is never a dull moment and I was grinning like a lunatic the entire time. This film rocks!

Mirror (1975) - 7/10

Andrei Tarkovsky is one of my favourite directors and the new Criterion release of his film, Mirror, had been on my shelf for a while. My friend and fellow podcast co-host, Chris, was also interested in watching this movie so we decided we’d give it a watch and review it on the podcast. But this is such a weirdly structured film that the entire way through, neither of us knew what on earth was happening. What we got from the experience is reflected in the episode we made and I would love to watch this again at some point, hopefully with more context and a better understanding of what I’m in for. But in the meantime, you can hear the discussion on episode 46 of the podcast.

The Night House (2021) - 6/10

The Night House is David Bruckner’s follow-up to his previous movie, The Ritual and while I’ll say I prefer The Ritual, this is still a decent watch, just don’t go in expecting horror. More of my thoughts can be found in episode 46 of the podcast.

The Ritual (2017) - 7/10

After watching The Night House, I decided to go back to the director’s previous film, The Ritual and I got a lot more out of it this time around. Themes of guilt and grief permeate the movie and the result is this weird and unnerving film about a group of guys who go hiking in Sweden after the death of one of their friends and encounter dark forces beyond their comprehension. It can be drawn out at times and probably could have been boosted with a better script but there are so many interesting and strange ideas presented that culminate in a haunting third act that it’s worth watching just to see what on earth they’re being hunted by.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) - 10/10

Straight after recording an episode about our favourite movies on the podcast, I returned to one of my all-time favourites. Holy Grail is such a fantastically funny movie with so many memorable lines and moments that it’s become a staple in the comedy genre. Setting it in Arthurian England is a surefire way to make sure it stands the test of time, making use of the budget in a way that heightens the comedy, for example: not being able to get horses and so resorting to having a man banging two coconut halves together as they skip through the grassy terrain. It’s the writing that really takes centre stage here; the guys from Monty Python were/are geniuses. A couple more points were made on my podcast so please do listen to that to hear more: Episode 46 of The Sunday Movie Marathon

Malignant (2021) - 7/10

The new James Wan movie was bonkers! I saw this one twice in quick succession without hesitation. To find out why I love it so much, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10

We got a marathon of the first three Nightmare on Elm Street movies on the podcast so we watched them in quick succession within a day. This first movie is a true masterpiece of its time. For more insight, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) - 2/10

Quite an embarrassing departure from the genius and fun of the original. Elm Street 2 is not only technically unfulfilling but a wholly unentertaining movie to boot. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) - 3/10

While only a few hairs better than its predecessor, Elm Street 3 is still a mere shadow of the original. All in all, these second and third instalments in the franchise have put me off watching any of the others. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

Her (2013) - 10/10

Her is at once a beautiful love story between a man and an AI, and a scarily accurate look at how technology is expanding and moving forward. It uses warm colours and smooth camera work to create something that feels homely and safe, juxtaposing the often cold and dark feeling of science-fiction films to tell an intrinsically human story. What would it be like to go through this and what are the hurdles that need to be overcome? Her is a masterpiece of filmmaking and it left me emotionally exhausted in all the right ways.

Alien (1979) - 10/10

First time I’ve seen Alien in the cinema (as I was too busy not being born yet to see it on an initial release) and it was amazing! This is cosmic horror at its best. With all the eerie sound design, slow and deliberate camera movement, and outstanding effects, there’s no wonder as to why this is considered one of the greats and seeing it on the big screen was enthralling.

Aliens (1986) - 8/10

I had never seen Aliens before so the opportunity to see it for the first time in a cinema was one I could not pass up, especially since I was able to see it straight after the first. This is more of an action movie than the first one and as that, it was really something to see. While I don’t think it quite measures up to the original, James Cameron does bring a style to it that makes it something completely different while still feeling in line with its predecessor. A problem I’ve found as time goes on is that I don’t find myself thinking much about Aliens whatsoever and that’s probably down to its characters who generally I found quite weak. I’m already not big on standard action flicks and this is a clear cut above those but it does still fall victim to the trappings. That being said, I would in no way call this bad or even mediocre because it was a lot fun and being able to see it in the cinema is an experience I’m very grateful for.

Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) - 6/10

Gunpowder Milkshake is trying very hard to be John Wick and although it never really manages it, there is still fun to be had with its action (because really that’s all this movie has to offer). There’s a very creative scene in which Karen Gillan has to fight some goons in a hospital with a gun taped to one hand and a scalpel taped to the other, with the caveat being that her arms don’t work. Despite that and a good enough performance from Gillan, the rest is very goofy, with a villain about as intriguing as an advert for life insurance and a story that to say the least, leaves much to be desired.

I Lost My Body (2019) - 10/10

Another one for the podcast, I Lost My Body is a glorious cerebral animated piece that hits every nerve in my body. Listen to episode 48 for more.

Alice In Wonderland (1951) - 10/10

Perhaps the best early Disney movie in my humble opinion. Alice In Wonderland is complete insanity, doing things simply for the sake of it in a beguiling dreamlike take on Lewis Carroll’s classic book. Listen to episode 48 of The Sunday Movie Marathon for more.

WALL-E (2008) - 9/10

WALL-E is one of Pixar’s best. It is a cautionary tale of where the world is headed wrapped in a sweet story about going to the ends of the solar system in order to help those you love. I do however have one big problem with this movie and you can find out more in episode 48 of the podcast.

Killing Them Softly (2012) - 6/10

A lot about America’s economy at the time, Killing Them Softly goes about showing the lengths people will go to for money and yes it is generally solid with a fantastic speech by Brad Pitt to cap it off, but it cannot avoid meandering scenes of listless dialogue that neither engage me nor make me care about the characters it presents.

The Dirties (2013) - 6/10

Funny! The Dirties is a mockumentary about two guys making a movie about bullies in their school. While often it was generally chugging along and making me laugh, it tended to err on the side of plain as regards its presentation. A lot of scenes happen for the sake of it and in a movie that’s around an hour and twenty, it’s amazing I still managed to dip out in the latter half. More thoughts in episode 49 of the podcast.

Telstar: The Joe Meek Story (2009) - 3/10

Ah, I really hated this. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. Just listen to episode 49 of the podcast to hear what I had to say.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - 10/10

This is my favourite movie! I got to talk about it on my podcast! Listen to episode 49 of The Sunday Movie Marathon to hear what I have to say!

No Time To Die (2021) - 8/10

Best Bond movie? Perhaps. I’ve not seen every Bond movie but of the ones I have seen (which does include all of Daniel Craig’s run), this is as good as it gets. Despite a near three hour runtime, No Time To Die felt as though it wasted very little. I’ve always complained that I could never follow the plot to these movies because often I simply didn’t care about it; for me it’s more about the action and seeing Daniel Craig be James Bond. No Time To Die does not escape some of the general tropes that often don’t leave me thinking I’ve watched something masterful but what I will say in its favour is that it’s fucking fun! Don’t expect to love it if you already dislike these movies because generally it stays in the same vein as the others before it, but for Bond fans it’s something totally enjoyable. Captivating cinematography, biting fight choreography and action set-pieces, a core struggle for James who actually goes through relatable hardships his time round, coping with being part of a family and trying to keep them safe.

I was happy to see a bit more attention paid to female characters this go round; in a franchise that often glamorizes Bond’s sexual promiscuity and ability to woo any woman he likes, it was much more refreshing to see that he often did need help from a lot of badass, well written female characters.

No Time To Die has been waiting to be released for a long time now and now it’s actually out, I’m pleased it’s not hot garbage. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The final swan song for Craig’s fifteen-year tenure as one of cinema’s most recognisable heroes outdoes all that came before it. Bravo.

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