#is that she showed her mistakes as a mother and was reckless and did not listen to her brother

[ducksinspaceadventure]

Regardless of her flaws, I love Della Duck.

#as a character certainly not in the literal sense #I wish she would appear more often #thank you ducktales for this #my opinion #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #della duck #della is the best #ducktales reboot #ducktales fandom #space #is that she showed her mistakes as a mother and was reckless and did not listen to her brother #yet she deserves special attention #I believe she is trying to improve

[whinlatter]

sirius and ginny: a meta (part 1)

“Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.’

are you a very brave, very reckless, very hot self-destructive rebel with a treacherous sibling and a flair for christmas decoration, harbouring complex feelings about your mother, close ties to crookshanks the cat and spend your days plagued by the memory of your worst mistakes and dark past? do you find yourself constantly being begged to stay in a state of protective confinement to save your life by a young man with a lightning scar, bad hair and crippling abandonment issues? if so, congratulations! you might be one of harry potter's chosen family members, sirius black and ginevra molly weasley! 

basically - i want to talk about sirius and ginny. these are two characters who don’t share a lot of scenes in canon but who, i think, have some clear (if overlooked) parallels: stubborn, fiercely protective of harry, self-sacrificing, admired, principled, haunted (in different ways) by traumatic pasts and betrayals, with complicated relationships with their families and entirely uncomplicated devoted relationships with someone else’s cat. their narrative arcs are successive, with ginny ascending in significance in the series during sirius’ period of decline and ultimate death. and ultimately, they’re also the two people who become, over the course of the canon series, family to a protagonist desperately seeking to build one. sirius and ginny are the two people harry in canon most worries about, wants to protect, and thinks of as someone who embodies the promise of family and home.

sirius and ginny aren’t mirror images of each other. ofc, ginny also has parallels with the only other family members harry claims in the series, lily and james (i mean, especially james - she’s literally a cocky funny flirtatious chaser with a years-long debilitating mega crush who can also catch a snitch like a champ. come on now). it’s also clear in canon that sirius means more to ginny as a hero/role model/ally against her mother than ginny ever means to sirius. nevertheless, the text puts in work to let the reader know we should think about these characters together as somehow aligned. from the beginning of ootp, there are clues and signals in the text that foreshadow ginny’s emergence as someone important to harry, and that subtly let the reader know that the baton of being harry’s ‘person’ is about to be passed from sirius to ginny, two kindred spirits, after sirius’ death. so that's what this meta is about! (consider this my 700th attempt to show that, as the popular fandom complaint/all of reddit still insist, ginny as a character, and especially the harry/ginny romance, did not ‘come out of nowhere’.)

the following meta is part one of two (and yet it's still too long! sorry about it). o in this part, i look at the period from the end of goblet of fire thru the start of half blood prince, exploring how the text sets up the sirius and ginny parallels as a way of foreshadowing ginny’s emergence as harry’s main love interest and place as a family substitute. the second part (tbc) will be what the memory of sirius does for harry’s view of his relationship with ginny, and the kind of positive - and negative - ways this shapes harry’s ideas about love and what family do for each other. i wrote this meta as a way of thinking through some characterisation choices for my current WIP, beasts. if you're following along with that fic, this meta can be seen as a companion piece especially to my thinking behind chapters ten and eleven, so hope proves helpful for some of my thinking behind the sirius and ginny friendship that appears in that project. it's also dedicated to @ashesandhackles, queen of metas, who has reminded me to post this meta precisely 9 million times because she is a long-suffering saint.

ok - sirius and ginny. let’s goooooo!

sirius and ginny before ootp

before OotP, ginny is absent from any plot connected to sirius. ginny doesn’t know the truth about sirius’ innocence, nor does she know that harry, her brother and her friend are in regular contact with sirius and that harry now as a surrogate father/big brother figure to confide in and seek comfort in.  in fact, in one of ginny’s few appearances in GoF, the narration is unusually insistent that the reader knows how little ginny knows about sirius:

“And have you heard from — ?” Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about Harry’s godfather as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence. “I think they’ve stopped arguing,” said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. “Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?” 

the only other tiny crumb of sirius and ginny we get is the news that the owl sirius bought in PoA and gifted to ron as a replacement pet for scabbers has been embraced and named by ginny. sirius gifting a tiny little spitfire of an owl that annoys ron? it's giving foreshadowing, your honour.

the reader, though, knows who sirius is to harry by GoF. throughout this book, for the first time in the series, harry has a person he can claim as something like a family: someone to worry about, someone who cares about him,who can advise, guide and mentor him, as well as offer him support and consolation in difficult times (‘someone like a parent…’) although sirius has not been able to offer harry a stable alternative home to the dursleys due to his status as a wanted man, he’s still filling a role that previously had been vacant in the series: he’s harry’s person, the surrogate parent chosen for him by james and lily. he’s close by, either by the floo or eventually living (at great personal cost) as padfoot in hogsmeade, and he’s present emotionally for harry in ways that prove incredibly meaningful to his young godson. in times of great of distress, sirius is there for harry to meet emotional needs that ron and hermione (understandably, no shade to them) can’t always meet. the floo scene early on in GoF, during harry’s row with ron, is a particularly good example of this:

“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously. “I’m —”  For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. …Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he’d talked in days — about how no one believed he hadn’t entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn’t walk down a corridor without being sneered at — and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron’s jealousy . . . Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern… He had let Harry talk himself into silence without interruption’.

harry derives enormous comfort from sirius’ presence in his life during GoF. he writes to sirius, he repeatedly turns to him for advice, he worries for him more than he does any other person. sirius fulfils harry’s desire to be kept abreast of important information about voldemort and death eaters, doesn’t sugarcoat news for harry, and makes him feel important, cared for and understood. (harry even shows off to sirius telling him about how much of a slay the first task was. ugh). by the time of the third task, sirius is sending harry daily owls, a constant flow of reassurance and concern (‘He reminded Harry in every letter that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not Harry’s responsibility, nor was it within his power to influence it. If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, he wrote, my priority is to ensure your safety.’) when harry returns from the graveyard at the novel’s end, it’s sirius who races to his side to advocate for him and offer him both words of comfort and physical affection as he processes the traumatic series of events that constitute the climax of the book’s plot. (my personal favourite part is where harry says ‘wormtail cut me with a knife’ and the text says sirius made a ‘vehement exclamation’, which i can only assume is children’s book speak for ‘fucking hell’.) harry goes to bed: sirius stays with him, a literal guard dog as he recuperates. after the most traumatic events of the series to date, the reader is at least consoled that harry potter has a person now, someone he loves for him to worry about and to worry for him, who catches him on the other side of traumatic events and makes them that bit much more bearable.

sirius and ginny during ootp

with sirius' role in harry's life established in GoF, OotP begins with harry, cooped up and restless at privet drive, angry with ron, hermione, sirius, and dumbledore for abandoning him at privet drive and keeping him in the dark. harry arrives at grimmauld place to find an anxious ron and hermione, with whom harry is angry and frustrated for having left him out of their summer hangs and having neglected him, by his assessment, in surrey. it’s the most conflict we’ve seen in the trio in terms of harry vs ron and hermione, and sets up one of the important themes of the book, which is harry no longer being solely emotionally fulfilled by the people he is closest to, including his two surrogate parents best mates but also his godfather. when he encounters sirius for the first time after the order meeting, he finds him surly, bitter, and depressed, furious that he is confined to his childhood home, and (understandably) much less able or willing to offer harry much in the way of comfort, apology or cheering words (‘Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius’s voice sounded.’) in this sense, the book opens with harry disappointed and/or more distant from all the people on whom he most depends and is usually closest to, and that there therefore is already an absence of a certain kind of emotional support in harry’s life that the plot demands be filled.

fresh off the back of harry’s row with ron and hermione is ginny’s reintroduction to the reader. after years of being so shy in harry’s presence she was often nearly mute, the reader finds that ginny is not only now speaking, but that her presence turns out to be remarkably refreshing. from her opening scene where ginny enters harry’s bedroom at grimmauld place, the reader discovers the new ginny is confident, up to no good, in cahoots with her most troublemaking brothers trying to intercept the order meeting, enterprising in her mischief (and very happy to lie to her mother’s face about it). she’s thoroughly unfazed by harry’s great display of rage that has just startled and upset ron and hermione. (side note: in both ootp and hbp, ginny’s opening scene is her entering harry’s bedroom, which is the kind of foreshadowing i personally find delicious). everyone else is behaving pretty much as they have been up to this point, but it’s ginny who is showcasing behaviours new to the reader, a signal that she might be about to play a different role in the series than she has done up to this point.

cut to the dinner scene. sirius and ginny are in the room together for the first time. sirius is moody: though he’s still able to laugh, enjoying displays of mischief and humour (the twins and the knife), he’s more bitter than harry and the reader have seen him since PoA. it’s an important scene for lots of reasons (not least the sirius v molly beef), but it’s also one where sirius and ginny are repeatedly drawn into mental association in the reader’s mind. it’s also a great scene because the behaviour of crookshanks the cat literally serves to foreshadow the behaviour of harry james potter in ways that are frankly extremely fun.

so! the sirius and ginny hints start small. from the start of the scene, ginny is amused by mundungus the crook (a man, we will learn, so disdained by her mother):

“Some’n say m’ name?” Mundungus mumbled sleepily. “I ’gree with Sirius. . . .” He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused. Ginny giggled. “The meeting’s over, Dung,” said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. “Harry’s arrived.” 

sirius and harry, sat at the end of the table, are both greeted by crookshanks, sirius’ old accomplice from PoA:

'​​Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione’s bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry’s legs, purring, then jumped onto Sirius’s lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absentmindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry…

when fred and george’s levitation goes awry, flinging a knife at sirius (now that’s how you foreshadow a death), crookshanks bolts: 

‘Harry and Sirius were both laughing… Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from whence his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness…’

during the meal, ginny’s with hermione, having a laugh with tonks, a character harry has just met but whom he has already decided to both admire and like. after the meal, when harry’s cheered up a bit and had his crumble (the man loves dessert), crookshanks finally emerges from his hiding place, having been coaxed out from his sulk by - you guessed it - one g. m. weasley:

‘…Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.’

a grouchy character, initially drawn to sirius, but prone to lashing out and locking himself away, only to be lured back out into comfort and safety by ginny weasley? wow………. radical

after dinner, the argument between sirius and molly kicks off. sirius is arguing hard for harry’s right to know, though he makes no attempt to advocate for any of the other weasleys or for hermione. ginny’s noticeably singled out in her reaction to this scene, the text highlighting that she is particularly struck by this conflict as if it is of particular personal resonance, including someone standing up to her famously overprotective mother for once:

‘Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George’s heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin’s eyes were fixed on Sirius.’

of course, molly loses the argument: harry gets to stay for juicy order deets (‘Sirius was right, he was not a child.’) after the row, ginny is the only person forbidden from hearing information about the order’s activities. suddenly, the roles are switched: it’s ginny who’s now furious and bitter to be kept out of the action:

‘“Fine!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “Fine! Ginny — BED!”  Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black’s earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke. “Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?”’ 

it’s not just the parallels of confinement between harry, sirius and ginny that are so revealing, it’s also the dual maternal conflicts. ginny loud raging at her own mother sets off the howling relic of sirius’, serving to underline two characters who continue to grapple with maternal relationships that are complex and full of conflict, though by no means solely negative (sirius i see you sleeping in your mother’s bedroom babe. don’t think i think your relationship with walburga is just one of straight hate ok). when ginny later gets knocked down the stairs by fred and george, there’s more direct mrs weasley/walburga parallels, with the two of them literally shouting over each other during the ordeal lol. as such, the readers see that the conflicts being set up for sirius’ character in this book - frustration at confinement, conflict with a mother figure, drawn to more reckless and arguably irresponsible characters (mundungus, the twins) and courses of action - are also conflicts subtly playing out with the new ginny we’re meeting, too.

as the rest of the summer at grimmauld wears on, there are more examples of sirius and ginny foreshadowing. the scenes where the two characters interact serve to place ginny and sirius firmly in the same camp of people harry admires and has fun with, the troublemakers and the rebels. over the prefects issue, ginny not only is sat chatting with the troublemaking adults harry likes most, but actively draws sirius into conversation on the issue, likely knowing the answer will comfort harry, but also showing a curiosity and interest in sirius that suggests she admires him:

“I was never a prefect myself,” said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato-red and waist length today; she looked like Ginny’s older sister. “My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.”  “Like what?” said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato. “Like the ability to behave myself,” said Tonks. Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.  “What about you, Sirius?” Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back. Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual barklike laugh…’

ginny’s choice to try and draw sirius into the conversation bears fruit: sirius confirms james was never a prefect, and harry’s sour mood is suddenly lifted. (‘All at once the party seemed much more enjoyable; he loaded up his plate, feeling unusually fond of everyone in the room.’) ginny is thus beginning to provide harry with subtle comfort and reassurance, especially as sirius, struggling with his own confinement,  is taking a less active role in trying to cheer harry up. what i also like is that we have evidence of how ginny views sirius - she’s curious about him and his past, she clearly thinks he and the other new rebellious adults are cool as shit, and she’s drawn increasingly away from her mother’s cautious overprotective approach towards these resistance fighters who prioritise the fight over safety. (it is noticeable to me that ginny does not become a prefect in HBP, suggesting sirius' example proved instructive).

we see more small parallels between sirius and ginny during the cleaning scenes. the battle against grimmauld place is an important symbol of one of the important themes of OotP as a book: a battle over past traumas and their persistent and unwieldy symptoms that are seemingly never-ending. while it’s harry’s experiences that, of course, take centre stage, sirius’, too, loom omnipresent throughout the text. it’s significant, then, that ginny’s own past gets brought up for the first time in three books here, albeit briefly: 

'They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry’s arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin; Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut…'

in this moment, we see sirius and ginny singled in the larger group as quick-thinking, shrewd characters, with a good instincts and common sense (if a bit of a tendency to get scrappy). their respective dark pasts are subtly alluded to. sirius whacks a spider trying to attack harry with a book that might as well be entitled my big book of family trauma. ginny, meanwhile, steps in when everybody present starts to be enchanted by a mysterious object luring them into danger by whacking it shut (gee i wonder why!) given this is the book that will see ginny mention the events of CoS for the first time in errrrr three years, it’s significant that the text is careful to draw ginny into this broader theme that unites sirius and harry, the constant reminders of traumatic pasts at every turn. we also see here the revelation that regulus black was a death eater. coming after news of percy weasley’s betrayal, sirius’ bitter dismissal of his younger brother deliberately mirrors ginny and the other weasleys’ attitude towards percy, this sense of pureblood families split over wizarding politics, often fatally. 

while harry fears his expulsion from hogwarts prior his hearing, he continues to fantasise about coming to live with sirius at grimmauld, and about being with a family member and finding an alternative home to hogwarts. sirius, as hermione astutely observes, tries to manage harry’s expectations and not to get his own hopes up: still, when harry is exonerated, sirius is visibly depressed, showing the beginnings of an emotional dependency on harry that harry feels great guilt over.when leaving grimmauld for the start of the school year, sirius, as padfoot, accompanies harry to king’s cross: unlike in GoF, though, he is spotted, and harry begins to worry much more actively about sirius’ vulnerability to capture, about his recklessness and about his judgement. concerned for sirius, and absent ron and hermione, who are in the prefects carriage, the person who stays with harry and offers him company is ginny. she sacrifices her own train journey (presumably with her own boyfriend) to find a carriage with harry and make sure he’s not lonely, bringing him to neville and luna and sorting him out after his embarassing cho run-in. it’s not a coincidence that once again we see ginny here taking care of harry crookshanks:

'“Where’s Crookshanks?” “Ginny’s got him,” said Harry. “There she is. . . .”  Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks. “Thanks,” said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. “Come on, let’s get a carriage together before they all fill up. . . '

once harry’s back at school, having left sirius behind to languish miserably in london, we see he's more isolated and alone than ever. he’s tormented by umbridge, endlessly (though often unfairly) frustrated with ron and hermione, ghosted by dumbledore, yet absent the more stable, reassuring sirius he came to know in GoF, unable to write candidly to him and faced with a much less well sirius in the opportunities they do have to speak face-to-face. as sirius’ mental health declines as he is shut up at grimmauld, his ability to support harry and comfort him starts to falter, and he becomes a much more uneven source of advice and support, particularly during his car crash floo appearance, where he’s much ruder than he has previously been (cutting off, ignoring their pleas for him to be more cautious, the infamous ‘the risk would have made it fun for james’ moment). this new sirius, clearly struggling, is much more happy to do up guilt trip to his godson than we have seen him to up this point (‘I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’ - you petty little shit, padfoot). all of this serves to increase harry’s anxiety about sirius’ wellbeing and reinforce harry’s sense of emotional isolation. even sirius’ encouragement on the DA is, as hermione points out, partly bound up in more selfish motivations (‘I think he’s really frustrated at how little he can do where he is… so I think he’s keen to kind of… egg us on.’)

ginny’s largely absent in this section of the novel. in the brief moments she does appear, it’s to inject humour (eg. her impressions at the DA meeting) and in little reminders that she now has a boyfriend, no longer harbours romantic feelings for harry, making sure the reader continues to hold her mentally apart from harry. harry, meanwhile, misguidedly tries to seek out a relationship with cho chang, who is showing clear signs of her own emotional distress and inability to meet harry’s emotional needs given her own grief. still, among this, there’s still room for some small subtle sirius/ginny parallels. once the DA plot picks up, we have another little sign that ginny weasley and sirius black think somewhat alike:

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” said Ginny. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?” 

“Trained in combat?” repeated Harry incredulously. “What does he think we’re doing here, forming some sort of wizard army? “That’s exactly what he thinks you’re doing,” said Sirius, “or rather, that’s exactly what he’s afraid Dumbledore’s doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.” 

with harry's isolation and need for more emotional support established in this first term, christmas at grimmauld offers more opportunity to subtly develop the sirius and ginny parallels, as well as to highlight ginny’s ability to fill the gaps left by sirius’ decline. after the attack on arthur weasley, the group arrive back at grimmauld:

‘Sirius was hurrying toward them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him. “What’s going on?” he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured —” 

could this be sirius literally lifting ginny up into plot significance? why yes it could

ofc the weasleys then argue with sirius about their right to go see their father. despite his own frustrations at being trapped at grimmauld, sirius proves the voice of reason and rational decision making against both ginny and the twins’ hotheadedness (ginny asks to borrow cloaks to go to the hospital: sirius: ‘Hang on, you can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!’) crucially, though, when sirius points out that there are bigger things at stake - the work of the order and the resistance movement - it’s ginny who listens:

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” said Sirius angrily in his turn. “This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!”  “Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!”  The little colour remaining in Sirius’s face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm. “I know it’s hard, but we’ve all got to act as though we don’t know anything yet. We’ve got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?”  Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats on either side of Ginny.  “That’s right,” said Sirius encouragingly, “come on, let’s all . . . let’s all have a drink while we’re waiting…’

there’s a lot going on here: ginny’s willingness to follow sirius’ orders, but also her willingness to accept an argument based on some idea of the greater good before any of her brothers. she and sirius are aligned here, and it’s her decision to accept sirius’ reasoning that proves the catalyst for her brothers to follow. we see here how ginny has come to see sirius: someone she looks up to and admires, an adult whose judgement she trusts and whose worldview she subscribes to. (as a character prone to hero worship - see her view of her big brother bill - i think this is noteworthy, and is behind a lot of my characterisation choices for ginny towards sirius in beasts). but we also see that ginny agrees with sirius' worldview. there are some things worth dying for, and self-sacrifice is part of that.

when harry goes to sirius for reassurance about witnessing arthur’s attack, he finds sirius unable to properly console him and convince him that he was not to blame for arthur’s attack. the reader gets the impression of sirius withholding information from harry (‘He could only see a sliver of Sirius’s face; the rest was in darkness’), and the scene ends with sirius clapping harry on the shoulder and leaving him ‘standing alone in the dark’. while sirius throws himself into christmas preparations, obviously delighted to have company, harry shrinks from the cheer and isolates himself. in the end, ofc, the only person that manages to pull harry out of his dark, brooding thoughts is ginny. the text is careful to note she’s sitting beside him on the tube back from st mungo’s, when he looks very unwell. then, in the ‘lucky you’ scene, she showcases some of the same skills harry first came to appreciate in sirius in GoF. she tells it to him straight: she’s sympathetic, but not overly gushing, and she reminds him of her own intensely frightening experience which she endured alone, something harry can relate to, even if the experience of possession is not.  it’s an important scene for lots of reasons, but it’s also, crucially, the intervention that causes harry’s mood to lift, and he gets to enjoy a christmas with his godfather, the thing he had most wanted in the run-up to christmas, and which becomes the only holiday period harry and sirius ever spend together: 

‘I’m not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door toward Buckbeak’s room, singing “God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs” at the top of his voice.’

of course, once christmas is over, sirius slips back into a depressed, gloomy state. harry wants a better goodbye than he gives him, merely giving him a quick one armed hug (there’s a real theme throughout harry and sirius’ relationship of very sparing physical contact on sirius’ part, which is obviously a hole in harry's life ginny will fill in - er - a big way). back at school, harry returns to umbridge’s increasingly draconian rule, maks a disastrous attempt at forging a relationship with cho, and continues to feel lonely, paranoid, and angry. unable to speak to sirius properly via letter or floo - and unwilling to open the present sirius has given him to communicate directly with him, the two-way mirror - harry is increasingly sullen, a mood that only worsens after seeing snape's worst memory.

the easter egg scene is obviously important for hinny for lots of different reasons. but here i just want to highlight how the scene serves to show ginny as both the conduit to sirius for harry, and someone whose behaviour echoes that of sirius in GoF when harry first began to open up to and seek comfort in him. harry is distressed by his now complicated feelings both towards the father he previously revered and towards sirius, who seemed to encourage james’ bullying behaviour. ginny hands harry a chocolate easter egg covered in snitches: chocolate, a canonical source of comfort against dark thoughts, and an egg that reminds him of the love of parent. the act makes him suddenly emotional, though he at first denies he’s upset. ginny presses carefully and sensitively, asking the right questions to get him to confess the source of his worry, waiting for harry to take his time to speak - all behaviours that echo sirius’ own effective listening techniques. ginny’s acquaintance with sirius, and knowledge of how significant he is to harry, is important here, too, and a subtle sign to the reader that he trusts ginny with knowledge about sirius after a long time of having her in the dark about his godfather.  the reader leaves the scene having seen ginny breakthrough to harry emotionally in a way for the second time in the novel, in a way no other character has done (‘he felt a bit more hopeful…’) 

of course, the course of action ginny has set in motion is itself risky and reckless (‘anything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve’ is very marauders as a philosophy). the decision to go ahead with the plan the twins come up with is one harry sees as a decision on whether to be more like james and sirius - a risk taker - or to abandon the hero worship for the marauders he has lived with for so long. in the end, of course, it’s a win for the reckless troublemakers: he chooses to go ahead with the plan the twins have crafted and that ginny has set in motion, and to speak to sirius.

and yet. sirius is still alive - there is not need for ginny yet. for the remainder of the book, ginny has to beg to be included in the trio's plans and to be allowed to be a part of the plot to rescue sirius. she’s is often in conflict with harry, showing a lot of sirius’ bitterness at attempts at containment and to keep her out of the fighting. she grates against harry’s insistence that she is too young and inexperienced, and having to remind the trio that she, too, has come to care about sirius and wants to see him safe: 

“I’ve got a broom!” said Ginny.  “Yeah, but you’re not coming,” said Ron angrily.  “Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking. 

of course, it all ends in tragedy: sirius, desperate to go to harry’s aid and absolutely gunning for a fight after months of confinement, is killed, leaving harry alone. there a subtle clues that something has shifted in ginny’s relationship to harry and the trio in the scenes after sirius’ death, including ginny positioned as the mirror image to harry in the hospital: 

‘Harry was sitting on the end of Ron’s bed and they were both listening to Hermione read the front page of the Sunday Prophet. Ginny, whose ankle had     been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey, was curled up at the foot of Hermione’s bed…’

despite this, in the immediate aftermath of sirius’ death, harry is extremely alone. he is unable to work out what he needs (‘Whenever he was in company he wanted to get away, and whenever he was alone he wanted company.’) he tries to go to hagrid’s, but regrets it (‘He was starting to wish he was alone again’), leaving after hagrid reminds him of sirius’ core traits, an inability to stay out of the fight when he believes in the cause:

“But still, Harry . . . he was never one ter sit around at home an’ let other people do the fightin’. He couldn’ have lived with himself if he hadn’ gone ter help —” 

unlike at the end of GoF, harry is isolated by his grief and the revelation of the prophecy's contents by the end of this book. he goes alone to a secluded corner of the lakeshore, ‘sheltered from the gaze of passersby behind a tangle of shrubs’, and ‘[stares] out over the gleaming water’, and cries alone. there is no sirius or other person to catch him and console him in his grief. his person has died, and there’s a gap in his life again, just waiting to be filled: 

‘Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him. So much of what he had wanted before Sirius’s death felt that way these days. . . . The week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer: It stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without.’

ginny and sirius parallels in HBP and DH

after sirius’ death, the parallels between sirius and ginny become more important as ginny moves into the centre frame as a character. at the start of HBP, harry arrives at the burrow and discusses his grief over sirius’ death with dumbledore in the burrow broom shed, acknowledging how profoundly the loss of a family member who cares singularly about him is affecting him. ('He felt stupid for admitting it, but the fact that he had had someone outside Hogwarts who cared what happened to him, almost like a parent, had been one of the best things about discovering his godfather . . . and now the post owls would never bring him that comfort again. . . .' beasts readers: there's a reason harry clings to letters!) of course, having reminded the reader of the gap in harry’s life that now needs to be filled, harry goes to sleep, the active reflection on his grief for sirius put to one side so the novel's plot can get underway. he'll go to bed mourning sirius and wake up in a sunlit bedroom. of course, ginny will walk into this bedroom too, only now things will be different: harry potter is back to the search for a loved one, for a family, and he's about to realise ginny is the one he wants to fill it. thus the start of the plot of ginny stepping into the role vacated by sirius beginneth.

so much of who ginny is in HBP is reminiscent of sirius. she frequently leaps into battle as harry’s protector (‘You’re taking orders from something someone wrote in a book?’, ‘Give it a rest, Hermione’), she’s scrappy (RIP zacharias smith), she’s funny and laughs easily in a way that less recalls sirius in the time harry knew him than sirius as harry sees him as a young man, in photographs or memories. she's the one who commits to the insane christmas decorations, determined to cheer everyone up over the festive period as sirius did the year before. she even enjoys the widespread admiration and lust of her peers, a trait that directly recalls sirius being eyed up by his peers in snape's memory. by the novel’s end, after dumbledore’s death, it will be ginny who goes to harry’s side after the climax of the plot and catch him in his grief just as sirius did in GoF, this time over dumbledore’s death: 

‘He did not want to leave Dumbledore’s side, he did not want to move anywhere. Hagrid’s hand on his shoulder was trembling. Then another voice said, “Harry, come on.’ A much smaller and warmer hand had enclosed his and was pulling him upward. He obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it.’

their breakup has sirius all over it. taking place at the lakeshore, the place where harry wept alone over sirius a year prior, harry draws on the circumstances of sirius’ demise as a reason he must break up with ginny (‘Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to.’) the breakup does little to shift what ginny has become in harry’s mind, though, and he spends all of DH thinking of her as he once thought of sirius: the person whose safety he most craves, the person he misses, someone he claims as his, and whom he associates with (now banished) hopes of a home and a family:

“It’s not a problem,” said Harry, sickened by the pain in his head. “It’s your family, ’course you’re worried. I’d feel the same way.” He thought of Ginny. “I do feel the same way.”

of course, echoes of sirius will also come into play during open war. it’s now ginny, not sirius, who is the one left behind for her own protection: in the run-up to the battle, harry finds himself once again faced with the prospect of confining his loved one for their safety, despite their desperation to fight and do the right thing. but these are thoughts for part 2…….

#meta #sirius black #ginny weasley #it's not NOT an aged up sinevra ship agenda #hp meta #hp analysis #hinny #marauders #black family #beasts

[evilprincesss]

it would be really easy to claim that azula's fatal flaw is her inability to understand love, and the show definitely wants us to believe that given her breakdown, but i think it's a serious oversimplification of her relationship with love.

azula was not shown real, meaningful love as a child. i'm not saying no one loved her period; i very much believe ursa did love her, but she failed to make azula feel loved. my exact opinion on that is frankly quite complicated, but that failure means that azula has grown up not really knowing what it feels like to be loved. however, to say azula doesn't know what love looks like at all is a lie.

ursa was actually the one to show azula what love looked like through her love for zuko. this isn't something azula particularly understands since the only form of anything resembling love (conditional and twisted as it is) that she's ever experienced was from her father in exchange for her excellence, so zuko experiencing a much kinder love from their mother despite his failures is confusing to her. but despite the love conflicting with what azula has been taught in her personal experiences, she still knew that it was love. so to azula, love is not just what ursa felt for zuko, but what she did for him. that is to say, love is sacrifice.

ursa sacrificed herself for zuko. she saved his life at the cost of her own (even if we acknowledge the comics, ursa still gave up her life and memories as she knew them to save zuko). this is the ultimate act of love, and azula knows that. she resents it. mother liked zuko better. mother loved zuko and not her. that's how she sees it because that's how it looked.

but how does that prove that azula understands love? well, it doesn't!

still, azula does something similar to their mother in bringing zuko home with his honor restored. quickly, re the idea of her doing this with ulterior motives: not only is it insane and stupid to suggest that she somehow knew the avatar wasn't actually dead and zuko was aware of this; it also doesn't make sense for her to risk both her reputation/honor in the fire nation and her safety with her father (the man who taught her that fear was the only reliable way) by lying about something so serious when she could just take zuko home as a prisoner if she doesn't love her brother.

but what is azula sacrificing for zuko by bringing him home if it doesn't kill her? aside from the obvious thing she gives up to do this (her status as the heir apparent), azula is also sacrificing her status as their father's preferred child. this might not sound that huge a deal, but this is something zuko has spent his entire life chasing after and envying azula over, and given that their father is the only person who has ever shown azula anything resembling love and the person whose approval is the most important to her, this is massive. their father's approval is the thing azula has based her self-worth on. so much of her identity comes from her pursuit of it, and just like that, azula decides to not just share it with zuko but jeopardize his "love" for her entirely. even if ozai never finds out that zuko wasn't the one who killed the avatar, even if the avatar doesn't somehow come back, azula is directly disobeying his orders by bringing zuko home. he didn't want zuko home as his heir. he wanted zuko home in a prison cell. but azula loves her brother, so she did it anyway, and she goes out of her way to keep him there.

i don't think that azula misunderstands her own motivations in bringing zuko home. she includes him in her activities with her friends, she finds him to console him (to the best of her ability), she's worried that he's angry with her, she asks him to open up to her, she advises him not to do reckless things that could get him branded a traitor, she tries to get him to tell her if they need to be worried about the avatar, and she covers up his mistakes in front of their father. she's extremely rough around the edges, but she's trying. she wants him to keep being the crown prince. she wants him to become the fire lord when their father abdicates or dies. she wants him to be home. she knows that. she acts with that in mind.

so azula knows that even fear can fail. she knows that she herself is an example of someone who does something dangerous and irrational for the sake of someone she loves. she understands what it means to love someone.

here's the catch, though: azula understands love in the context of filial piety. she's rationalized her love for her brother making her behave irrationally because he is her older brother. she's supposed to love him. if you want to see my thoughts about this see this post, but azula expects people to act within the confines of the roles they are defined by within society. in her mind, these roles are those that compose the five cardinal relationships: ruler-subject, father-son, elder brother-younger brother, husband-wife, and friend-friend. while her love for her older brother makes her act in a way that directly conflicts with the first two roles expected of her (ruler and daughter), she justifies it to herself with the piety she owes her brother. she likely refuses to examine it any further than that because to admit that she's acted against filial piety would seriously conflict with everything she's been raised up to be.

so why does she overlook the friend-friend role with others? with mai and ty lee, specifically? it's not because she doesn't understand love at all; it's because she thinks that because zuko so brazenly opposed his role as subject, son, and elder brother that he has forfeited his right to any love or loyalty from any of them (though i highly doubt that she doesn't love him anymore at this point; love is not a switch to be flipped on or off after all), so for mai to betray azula, her friend and the crown princess, as well as their country is unfathomable to azula. and for ty lee to betray her for mai, who has just opposed filial piety the same way zuko did? it just doesn't make sense.

azula understands love, but she will only allow herself to understand it through the lens of duty.

#atla #azula #i won't even get into what this means for her relationship with her mom but it's painful

[sonicslushie]

When the Devil's Calling Pt. 1~P.P.

Summary: Y/n Stark is something of a nightcrawler, what happens when her antics become a little too much? 

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

A/N: we’re gonna say the reader and peter are both over the age of 18 in this for my sanity’s sake. slooooooow burn on this one and lots of angst, that’s just how Miley makes me feel lol. Based off of some songs off of Miley’s Plastic Hearts album.

part 2 is out now, also here’s a playlist to listen to as u read

TW: drinking and drug abuse, what reads like a suicide attempt but i promise it’s not (you'll see), peter doesn’t show up until the very end, probably some grammar mistakes

Word Count: 2.8k

“Did you hear about that Tony Stark’s kid? She was caught hooking up in a bathroom at some bar again. I swear she’s turning out just like her father.” 

“Junior Stark; arrested for public intoxication… What is this? The 4th or 5th time?” 

“I saw Y/n Stark down at the bar off 31st, and you will never guess what she was doing! Bumped a line then took a shot off of a stranger. I didn’t think the rumors were true.” 

“Stark’s kid is in the news again, knocked a guy out with one punch over a seat at the bar, she never fails to amaze, huh?” 

Rumors. That’s what it started with. Rumors that Tony Stark’s daughter was out almost every night of the week drinking or doing drugs, hooking up with strangers. Or at least, your father thought they were rumors, until he started seeing you headline the news or on the cover of scandal magazines looking like you weren’t even aware of your surroundings. Of course, you knew the so-called “rumors” were true. Honestly, the tabloids didn’t even know half of the truth. But to be frank- you didn’t care. 

You didn’t care that the media had this bad perception of you, if anything it aided you. To be one of the most well known billionaire and superhero’s daughters wasn’t exactly what you expected it to be. Everything you did from the time the world accidentally found out about you was scrutinized, giving your father all the credit for your accomplishments. If everything they were going to say was going to be bad, why not give them something to truly write about. 

That’s exactly what you did. 

It started around the age of 17, it was easy to come by a fake I.D. and a few extra dollars to slip any bouncer who might have known who you were. They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell buys booze and silence. The first time you went out was actually because your friends wanted to see this local band at a bar not too far from your place, so why the hell not? The music was what kept you going out, it thrummed through your veins, as did the alcohol, which might have had a positive effect for the mediocre band. Bodies moved together, nobody seemed to care who you were, or better yet, who your father was. Everyone was there for two reasons; to get drunk and dance. You lived for it. 

The feeling of drunken freedom took hold of you, filled every part of you that seemed to be lacking. No thoughts of living up to Tony Stark’s image, no thoughts of your late mother, nothing of the responsibilities you held in your everyday life. In those bars you were just you under a fake name, living through the music and kissing strangers and free to just exist. 

It was fun, so you kept doing it. Once every weekend turned into entire weekends, turned into every other day of the week, turned into every night. Sometimes you wouldn’t come home for days on in, night crawling turned into going home with a different stranger every night. You fed the media lies until they weren’t lies anymore. It was just the sorry truth that turned into your life. 

But the truth that was way deep down inside never surfaced when you were fucked up. So you kept doing it. 

That is, until one day your dad held an “intervention”. Really it was just him locking you in a room with him and scolding you for being so reckless. Lasted for hours. He even called Steve to lecture you- which if you’ve ever had a Steve lecture you know it’s the worst possible thing in the world. Every bit of old wise man slang was used, and had you not been high out of your mind, you probably would have crawled your own eardrums out just to stop the ridiculous mix of your dad and Steve scolding you about the only thing that made you feel better. 

Did it stop you though? 

Nope. 

Today was no different, you got ready in your nicest going out clothes, hair all done up and makeup on, even had a throwback playlist playing as you got ready. (Katy Perry and Taylor Swift are the best hype women out there.) Everything was normal, a few shots to pregame, then you were ready to see the night. 

That is, until you hit the first bar, one right around the corner from the Stark Tower, a locally owned gay bar that was one of your favorites. Now that you were 21, you didn’t even need your fake and most of the bouncers knew you from the various times they’ve seen you there. But this time, they didn’t let you in. 

“You’re banned,” one of your favorite bouncers, Jimmy, said to you as you were about to walk past him. You stopped dead in your tracks, they were playing one of your favorite songs and all you wanted to do was get a tequila sunrise and dance. 

“Huh?” Was all you could get out before another bounce- Brody- stepped in your way. 

“You’ve been banned. Sorry girl, but it’s from the higher ups.” Jimmy says, looking guilty. No this wasn’t going to stop you from having a good night, and honestly it’s not like it hasn’t happened to you before. If we’re going to be completely honest, you blacked out last time you were here, and when that happens it’s safe to say they probably had a good reason to ban you. 

So you sighed and walked away, no need to make a scene at the best bar in New York. 

You decided to go a little further, a few blocks away was another good bar. Not your fav, but it’ll definitely get the job done. You wait in line, and finally when it’s your turn to go in, you get stopped again. 

“Sorry ma’am, you’ve been banned.” The bouncer says, not even looking guilty this time. 

“I’m sorry, what?” You ask, this time your blood started to boil as the shots you took before you left started hitting. 

“You heard me.” He said, then started talking to the girls behind you, who recognized you and were starting to talk. Fucking great. 

But you tried to keep your cool as you ordered an Uber, this time you were going to go to Manhattan. You haven’t been there in a few months, there’s no way you’d be banned from any of those bars, right? 

Wrong. 

Bar after bar rejected you, and after the 11th one, you lost your cool. 

“You’re banned, get lost.” The bouncer said to you, the rudest out of all the ones you had spoken to that night. And after 11 attempts, you were beyond pissed. The mix of the shots starting to wear off, the bouncer telling you to get lost, and the music you aren’t able to dance to playing in the background just got to you. Before you could even process it, you punch the bouncer. Then you swipe his legs out from under him (a move Natasha taught you), then you kicked the man while he was down, shouting something about how you “just want to dance” and “you can’t do this to me” and “someone’s going to get their asshole ripped out of them and stuffed into their piehole”. 

In your rageful fit, the police were called and there in a split second, pulling you away from the bouncer who just got all of your wrath, and you were hauled away. 

Only you weren’t taken to jail, like many times before. You were dropped off at the Stark Tower, your father waiting on you right outside the doors. 

Oh. Oh. 

He had done this. He had gotten you banned from all the bars within a 30 minute drive, probably in all of New York. As the police unhandcuffed you and told you to thank your dad for not being taken to jail, all you saw was red. Completely sober you was not a nice you, and that’s where you were at now. And all of your anger was pointed at one person; your father. 

Once the police left, you stomped up to your father, “How dare you-” 

“We’ve already talked about this. Get inside.” He says, absolutely no emotion in his voice. Tony Stark was not an easy person to piss off, especially hard for his daughter to piss him off, but he was done. He had enough of you embarrassing him in the media, you were all his colleagues talked about while he was around. All you were doing was ruining your life when you had every opportunity to be successful and looked up to. This is what it had come to. 

“You’re not even going to listen to what I have to say?” You ask, following him inside the lobby. He shakes his head, “Honestly I don’t care what you have to say, Y/n. You’ve done enough. Tomorrow, you’re going to work with me and get your life together. This conversation is done.” 

“No it’s not- Tony!” You try to follow him onto the elevator but he closes it on you, saying something to FRIDAY about a meeting he has to attend and to not let you leave this building. You stand there, dumbfounded. He had never treated you like this, and all you could feel was rage. Somewhere deep down, sadness started to bubble up but you pushed it down. You had liquor in your room, that would do for the night. Maybe some kicking and punching a dummy in the training room would help too. 

You waited on the elevator, and finally it came back to take you up to your room. On the way up you try to plan your revenge but the only thing you could think of was the disappointment in your dad’s face when he saw you step out of the police car. Sure he had looked at you like that before, but never with so much sadness behind his eyes. You’ve never really seen sadness like that in your dad since your mom died, and it really just hurt. That sadness being because of you was never your intention, it hit a little too close to home. 

You stepped off the elevator, shaking the tears away from your eyes. Alcohol, that was the plan. You just needed to find your stash under your bed compartment and-

It was gone. It was all gone. 

At first you just stood there, once again dumbfounded. How many times in one night was this going to happen, I mean seriously? Of course he thought of everything he’s your dad, he knows you almost as well as you know yourself. And while you called it your “secret stash” it wasn’t so secret. For the daughter of a genius, hiding it under your bed compartment was not the best move. 

Before you could even move for the door, FRIDAY says over the intercom, “Mr. Stark has asked me to keep you in the Tower and away from any substance that will take away your sobriety. I have locked your door, it will unlock at 7 am. Have a goodnight, Ms. Stark.” 

“‘Have a goodnight, Ms. Stark,’” you mock the AI, spinning around and falling onto your bed. 

“I heard that and I did not appreciate it,” FRIDAY says,  you grab a pillow and scream into it. First your dad, now FRIDAY is disappointed in you. This was going to be the worst night of your life. 

You leave the pillow on your face, but throw your arms down like an angry toddler. The immediate escalation of your thoughts surprised you, the fact that FRIDAY seemed mad at you- if an AI can even get mad at a human- was a tipping point. You were used to everyone else being upset with you, but FRIDAY? She was always in your corner. It hurt that everyone in your life seemed to be disappointed in you, always had been in fact.

You moved the pillow, needing air as tears threatened to fall. Nobody cared to ask why you went out every night and got fucked up. Nobody cared to ask why you never attended “family” dinners, never made any attempt to be friendly with your dad’s friends and teammates, anything. If they cared enough to want you to stop, why didn’t they ask you how you felt? 

The fact of the matter was, you were never the same after your mother died. Your father was happier when she was alive, more attentive with you, made time. After, he fell into his work, leaving you- an 8 year old- to mourn your mother by yourself. He had Happy spend a lot of time with you, and you loved Happy, but he wasn’t your father. Your dad was the only one who truly knew how you felt, felt all the pain that you did, but he did nothing to help you. There would be days you wouldn’t see him, and little 8 year old you didn’t know how to get over the death of your mother. You ended up bottling it up because that’s what it looked like Tony was doing. It became hard to even talk about your mother, so you decided to pretend like it didn’t happen. It was like a flick of a switch, one day you were crying all day long, the next you were quiet, more reserved than you had ever been. You stayed like that until that fateful day you went to the bar with your friends. 

But it didn’t matter now. 

Everything that made you feel better was gone, everything made you forget and just live in the moment- done. Honestly it was worse than jail, you were locked in your own head with no way out. Everything just felt numb. 

You were moving towards your balcony without thinking, a tablet in your hands to turn off the cameras and FRIDAY’s access to your room. You stood on your balcony, looking at the city that laid in front of you. The lights were so pretty, the skyline dark and blissful. You wanted that bliss. 

Lord only knows how long you stood out there before you climbed up on the edge of your balcony, unrelenting tears streaming down your face. You stood, trying to keep your balance. Feeling the slight breeze on your body was nice until- 

You slip, a scream escaping your lips. 

Dear god, this was it, you were going to die. You didn’t actually plan on jumping off of the edge, you just wanted to feel something that wasn’t sadness or anger. A rush of something that might take your sober mind off of all the heartache. 

You screamed and screamed, you lived on one of the highest floors and in your terror the fall felt like forever. Of course even your death was going to take a long time, just your luck. 

Your screaming was cut off but something running into you, or rather catching you. Your eyes had squeezed shut, bracing for the impact of the hard concrete. You forced your eyes open as you felt your body going up, in the arms of someone. 

You were met with a masked man who you’ve seen in the media- Spiderman. He looked down at you, not saying a word as he swung you to a nearby roof. 

He lands, still holding you as if afraid that if he let go, you would go flying off this roof too. After a breathless second you say, “Thank you.” 

“I- you’re welcome, Y/n.” He says, saying your name like it was something sweet on his tongue. Of course he knew who you were, you were all over the media and your father employed him. You were just glad he didn’t say your name how everyone else said it, with disappointment or anger.

 He put you down gently, still holding onto as you wobble and shake from the anxiety of almost falling to your death.

“Look, I know what it looked like, but I promise I wasn’t trying to… You know.” You say quietly, looking down at his gloved hands still holding your arms gently. It wasn’t something you were used to; gentle. The strangers you took home were always so aggressive and full of lust, but you didn’t get that feeling from the masked hero. He did it out of the goodness of his heart. He was kind. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just glad you're okay.” He says, his thumb rubbing your arm in a comforting manner. When was the last time you’ve been held like this? God it must have been years ago. It was a foreign feeling, but somewhat nice. 

“Well, thank you again…” You say, silently asking for his name. You know that he has a secret identity, but seeing as your father employs the guy, you figure it’s only a matter of time before you find out anyway. 

He takes his mask off to reveal a dude around your age, eyes locking with yours.

“Peter. Peter Parker. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

~

Part 2

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x stark!reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x you #spiderman fanfic #peter parker fanfic

[wreckmetoji]

Angel Eyes, Cold Heart

A fic in which your local priest face the music after sleeping with your local priest

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/M!Reader

content warning. amab reader, profanity, so much religion, religious guilt, alcoholism(mild), smoking, blood, angst, mentions of sex

This is a purely self-indulgent fic. Please note that even though this is a reader insert, this isn’t my usual vague reader insert. This reader is heavily based off of me and my own experiences. If the idea of any of these content warnings make you uncomfortable or are off putting, I suggest checking out a different fic. Smut will be in Pt. 2

minors DNI

A continuation of Reach Out and Touch Faith. Part 1/2

6.5k words

"Jesus Appears to Two Disciples at Emmaus. Now that same day two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had occurred."

Hands clasped together, fingers interlocked and balled hands held in front of your mouth, you stared with furrowed brows as the priest stood at his pulpit, reading from his bible in a low, calm tone. Really, you should have been more conscientious of your outwardly uncomfortable demeanor, but you were far too tied up in the movement of his lips, the sway of his hand, the peek of his canines when he smiled a particular way, to care about your outward appearance. Taking a deep breath, you leaned forwards, elbows resting on your knees as you hung your head in a more than conspicuous manner, interlaced fists pressed firmly to the line of your mouth.

"And what is more, this is the third day since all of this took place.Some women from our group have now given us astounding news. They went to the tomb early this morning,but they failed to find his body. When they returned, they told us that they had seen a vision of angels who reported that he was alive."

It had been two and a half weeks since your... tryst, with Priest Nicholas D. Wolfwood, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't avoiding him after the fact. Much to your surprise, he'd been quite tender after your romp, leading you to believe there might potentially be something more in store for you. The following Sunday proved you wrong, he was no more or less friendly, but upon trying to talk to him privately, he simply removed your hand from his shoulder and gave you that disingenuous smile, stating he needed to tend to other matters. It was a hard pill to swallow, but you tried to let it roll off your back, he's a priest, what did you expect?

Having to face the repercussions of your reckless actions wasn't exactly your style, much preferring to turn tail and run than look your mistakes in the face. And what a glorious fucking blunder this one was, truly taking the cake for poor decisions you had consciously made in your many years of living. You felt a hand on your upper back, no doubt belonging to your more than clueless mother. You hoped she couldn't feel how damp your skin was underneath your button-down due to nerves. Surely she just thought you were so moved by the specific citations priest Wolfwood had chosen the past two Sundays. She didn't seem to question your inability to make it to your regularly scheduled after-work confessions, using the guise of picking up extra hours to help out your coworkers. Realistically, that time was spent at the local dive with your face in one hand, drinks carelessly nursed in the other. You couldn't tell her that though, she might beat you for it.

"They set out immediately and returned to Jerusalem, where they found gathered together the Eleven and their companions who were saying, 'The Lord has truly been raised, and he has appeared to Simon!'Then the two described what had happened on their journey and how he had made himself known to them in the breaking of the bread."

 Turning your wrist, the face of your watch lit up, showing you the time. Relief washed over you, hands shaking as your mother muttered something about you being too eager to leave so suddenly. Taking another deep breath, you whispered a disingenuous apology, eyes glancing up through your lashes to the priest stepping away from his pulpit. Much to your dismay, he seemed to already have been watching you, catching your gaze only briefly. Eyes shooting back down to your feet, you felt your ears heat up, wondering how many sins you must have committed in your previous life to be subjected to this fate. 

 "Luke 24 is one of the most beloved accounts of the resurrection of Jesus," His voice was getting a louder, low chatter being had through the rows of pews, "It also relates the broken bread in communion to the way God works in our lives."

 Gaze staying fixated on the floor, you clenched your hands over your knees, knuckles turning a lighter shade of white with every clack of shoes against the floor getting closer and closer. The words he was speaking didn't even register to you anymore, not with every nerve on end, not with how much of a visceral effort it was to not vomit right there and then. Your stomach churned when you saw the peek of poorly polished, scuffed shoes in the corner of your vision, followed by hushed silence in the room. You didn't want to look up to see Wolfwood, you didn't want to look up to see every eye on you, you didn't want to face the music and realize you had to act like you were fine being the center of attention in a room full of people. Daring a glance up, you saw his furrowed brows, eyes looking into you just a little too deeply for your liking. Your fight or flight kicked in, pushing yourself up from your seat and past the man blocking the exit of your row.

 Your mom reached out for you, whispering out a very clearly concerned, "Honey-" 

 "Gonna puke," Is all you said, perhaps a bit too loud, as you rushed down the aisle and pushed through the massive double doors. 

 After you managed to scurry down the church steps, not without tripping over yourself once or twice on the way, you walked across the parking lot, running your hands through your hair nervously, exhaling a deep sigh. Patting down your pant pockets, you pulled out a nearly empty carton of cigarettes, shaking one loose and placing it between your lips. You fumbled with the lighter, sparking it once, twice, three times, before losing your composure and letting out a frustrated shout, overhanding the piece of colorful plastic across the gravel park with all your frustrated might.

 "Fuck!" You shouted again, snatching the cigarette from your mouth and turning on your heel to make your way to the car, nearly bumping into the broad figure that once again blocked your path. 

 "Didn't know you smoked," Wolfwood remarked, lips formed into a firm line. Clearly he wasn't amused. "Need a light?"

 "I don't." A bold faced lie, considering he had caught you in the act. "And no, I'm fine, Father. Thanks."

 Once again pushing to get around him, this time a hand on your exposed forearm held you in place. Glancing back when he called your name, you couldn't hide the distress on your face, refusing to look up at his eyes. He said something, something that you didn't hear, something you're sure was impertinent to your current stressors and life problems, so instead of listening you yanked your arm away, running your hands through your hair again to smooth it out. 

 "I'll see you next Sunday, Father." 

 Not giving him another chance, you walked off, deciding that waiting out the rest of church in a café for your mom to finish or cabbing home would be better than being near him for another second. You were scared about what he was going to say, what he was going to do, sure it would ruin both of your reputations, but you'd be damned if you stuck around to see what would come of it. Sure, he had run you a shower, sure, he had cooked dinner- shockingly well, but that's besides the point-, and sure, he had treated you with more respect and aftercare than most of your regrettable flings, but he was a priest and obviously that lead to some kind of guilt, or regret, or something. That completely negates any and all feelings that might have bloomed in the pit of your stomach thinking about what could potentially come out of that relationship, because there was no relationship. He was probably just doing it all to shut you up so you didn't blab, or maybe he had worse ulterior motives. He seemed sleazy, maybe he was just trying to get dirt so he could blackmail you.

 But if that were the case, wouldn't have your confessions been enough ammo for him?

 Sulking over your cup of coffee you had absentmindedly ordered, and admittedly didn't even want, you leaned back in the café chair, glancing out the window and across the street at the church doors, awaiting the emergence of your fellow Sunday goers. Part of you felt bad, maybe even a little guilty, putting your mom in a situation where she most likely had to apologize on your behalf, but you knew you'd get an earful for it the second you spoke with her again. You weren't sure if steeling yourself for that talk would prevent you from getting audibly frustrated though, so to avoid an immediate fight, you cabbed home, ignoring the barrage of texts and calls from your mom, dad, and close relatives. God knows this wouldn't be the first time you've disappeared on your family, and it probably won't be the last. 

 Since this wasn't your first rodeo, you ended up leaving an hour early for work every day to avoid unexpected morning guests, coming back at ungodly hours to avoid the beater coupe you knew was inevitably to be waiting for you in the drive if you got home any time before eleven at night. What else to do but spend your time at the local dive bar, specifically the dive bar because there was no chance in Hell any of your family, or their church-happy friends would set foot in there. Sometimes you came with coworkers, sometimes with friends, sometimes by yourself. It was all the same for you anyways, a distraction, something to occupy yourself with instead of coming face to face with the glaring issue that you were a coward unable to handle the conflicts and positions you put yourself in. 

 "Really, it's not that funny!" Your friend boasted, laughter erupting from the few bodies around the table, shaking you out of your thoughts. You let out a small, forced chuckle, cheeks heating at the fact you had completely missed the topic of conversation by being far too stuck in your head and feeling bad for yourself. Maybe the exhaustion of the past week had finally caught up with you. 

 "Be right back," You announced to no one in particular, not that anyone noticed anyways, pushing back from the table and making your way out the side door. Normally you would announce a smoke break, expecting the gaggle of people to join in for nothing if not the social aspect, but you had a feeling it would suffocate you right now. 

 A ding in your pocket got your attention as you sparked up a cigarette, pulling your phone out and staring at the unregistered number in your phone. It was hard to read, blinking a couple times to focus your doubling vision. 

 [unknown]: You didn't come to church today. You okay?

 Scrunching your nose, you glance up at the bold clock on your front screen, the small "Sun" sitting underneath making you groan. Fuck, it was Sunday. And you missed church. And you haven't spoken to your mother in a week, because you had blocked her number. She was going to fucking kill you once she managed to get her hands on you. But that begged the question, who was trying to talk to you about going to church? You were more than certain no one that actually went to church was savvy enough with technology to know how to text, and the kids were too young to have phones in the first place. 

 [you]: Sorry yeah, who's this?

 Thank God for auto correct, you muttered around your cigarette, clearly too tipsy to write out a legible sentence without help. You watched the message immediately come up as read, humming as you leaned back against the brick building, waiting for their response. Those three dots bounced, and bounced some more, before they disappeared. Furrowing your brows, you went to type out another text, before a call screen popped up. It was the same number, and considering they were trying to hound you about not attending your regular Sunday Service you were apprehensive to answer. Clearly, your alcohol riddled brain was much too curious to be put off by the potential of getting into a screaming match over the phone with whatever relative decided to contact the Family Disappointment. 

 "Hello? Who is this?" You muttered, pinching your half burned cigarette between your index and middle finger, removing it from your mouth so you could speak properly.

 "Where are you? Are you okay?" The deep voice behind the receiver sounded vaguely familiar, but your brain was lagging too far behind to recall where you remembered hearing it. 

 "That's not how you play twenty-one questions," You mused, taking a drag from your cigarette, scrunching your nose and looking up when a droplet of water hit your nose, "I asked first."

 "I'm not playing a game here, your mom has been worried sick-"

 "Jesus fucking Christ, who is this? I can promise you, she isn't worried-"

 "She has been in this church every fuckin' day, praying for you and cryin' her damn eyes out, and you don't think she's worried?" The growl into the receiver had your breath catching in your throat, the slow patter of rain increasing in intensity.

 "Nicholas?" You whispered, standing up straight and wobbling on your feet. "How the fuck did you get my number?"

 "I didn't- look, she gave it to me hoping I could talk some sense into you-"

 Throwing your burnt out cigarette to the ground, you felt anger bubble up from the deepest pit of your gut. "Right. Got it. Well I hate to tell you this, but you're gonna have to tell her mission failed," You scoffed, opening up the side door to step inside. Immediately upon doing so, the blaring music from the jukebox in the corner assaulted your eardrums. "Sorry you don't get to be the big hero today, Mister Preacher Man."

 Vaguely registering the call of your name before you thumbed the hang up button, swiping your phone screen to clear off the stray raindrops and block contact, you entered the bar again. Your hair was damp, the shoulders on your button-down a darker hue than the rest of your shirt. Muttering out a quiet fucking Christ, you shook your head, shoving your phone back in your pocket as you approached your table. Rounding the corner, you paused mid-step, staring at the empty chairs and stray empty glasses. Fucking assholes. Whatever, it wasn't like this was your first time drinking alone in this place. With how regularly you were coming by you were sure the recently posted AA Meeting poster up by the bathrooms must have been targeted at you, or at the very least a subtle jab. 

 Taking a seat at the bar, you settled your previous tab, resting your elbow on the counter and rubbing your hand over your face, then combing it back through your hair, messing up the damp tresses to stick out and point in every direction. The music paused as the jukebox plucked out a record, allowing you a moment of peace to sit and listen to the patter of rain on the window behind the bar. Once the next record began to play, you steeled yourself, patting your hands against the bar in a small beat and ordering your next drink. You wouldn't let your mother, or that fucking priest, get to you. It was about time you put your foot down and stopped bending over backwards to partake in that stupid culty shit anyways. Your thoughts were interrupted by the slide of a glass in your direction, which you accepted with a small nod of appreciation, nursing it between your hands for a quick moment before tipping it back.

 It was a Sunday, it was a work night, you were a responsible adult with a responsible adult job and responsible adult obligations. Which is why you were groaning into your hands as the room spun, having had maybe one or... six too many drinks. Really, you had lost count, the only record of how much you drank would be the negative numbers in your bank account screaming at you when you checked in the morning. Another problem you would simply put off for the time being, not wanting to look at the glaringly obvious issues you were causing yourself. It was fine, everything would be fine. Tilting your wrist to look at the time on your watch, you muttered a quiet fuck, not seeming to realize you'd gotten to the point you couldn't even read a digital clock. You let out a pathetic, inquisitive sound when another glass was slid in your direction- when did you even order this? Regardless, you shrugged to yourself, moving to wrap a hand around the drink, before it was snatched up from in front of you. An offended noise left your lips, in the middle of making an accusatory remark as you glanced at the person beside you stealing your drink.

 Maybe it was the fact you were heavily intoxicated, or maybe it was the fact you had never seen him in semi-casual clothes that didn't resemble post-sex pajamas, but you found yourself having to blink dumbly for a beat or two before scrunching your face in irritation at the scornful look you were receiving. Admittedly he looked good, the top three buttons of his grey shirt undone, his black jacket hanging heavy and wet on his shoulders. His hair was just as soaked, more wet than you thought should be appropriate, considering the walk from the parking lot to the front door was a matter of seconds if you were in a rush to get out of the rain.

 "The fuck are you doing here?" You slurred, running your hand over your face for the umpteenth time that evening, hoping it would help sober you up enough to engage in this conversation.

 "How much have you had to drink?" Wolfwood asked, nodding at the bartender and tossing some cash on the counter. All you did was scoff and roll your eyes.

 "You're really bad at this game," You stated matter-of-factly, earning a questioning raise of his brow. After letting him sit on it for a moment, you rolled your eyes, tapping a hand against the wooden counter. "Twenty-one questions," You elaborated, earning a sigh from the taller man that made you grin. 

 He didn't say anything, tipping back the drink and finishing it in one go. It was probably because you were drunk, but watching him tilt his head back, exposing the column of his throat had you biting at the inside of your cheek. "Alright, let's go," He slammed the glass back on the counter, placing an arm around you, hand settling on your waist as he heaved you off your barstool. You protested, or at least tried to, until you were tumbling into his side, and suddenly the idea of getting yourself home seemed like an impossible feat. "You're a hot mess, kid. Is this what you've been doing all week?" 

 "Mmm, more or less," You didn't have the energy to fight with him about the infantilizing term of endearment, or his jab, simply leaning your head on his arm as the room spun around you, offering you respite for only seconds before everything began to move again. As if to make matters worse, the second you walked through the front doors with him, a heavy onslaught of rain immediately dampened your hair and clothes again, thick droplets soaking you to the core and running down your face as Wolfwood helped you walk your way to the parking lot around the building. Every time you tripped, you laughed, the less than amused grumble your dark-haired savior emitted making you laugh even harder. What should have been a thirty second walk turned into a five minute struggle, eventually resulting in you being leaned up against a bright red four-door. You stuck your lip out, snickering as he fiddled with the keys and opened the door for you.

 "Red doesn't seem like your color," You teased, resting your head on the car with a dull thud. Wolfwood pried the door open, holding it with his knee as he reached for you, guiding you into the passenger seat. His palms were warm, scorching your skin through your freezing cold, wet clothes. A shiver ran up your spine as you plunked down in your seat, throwing your head back and gazing up at him dumbly.

 "Ain't my car," He stated, reaching over your body and buckling you in. He smelled like sandalwood and cigarettes, the scent alone reminding you of your rendezvous in the confessional. You groaned, more to yourself than anything, as he pulled back and slammed the door shut behind him. You slumped in the seat, hands coming up to your soaked shirt and peeling it away from your body slightly, only to have it stick right back when you let go. The car jiggled as Wolfwood climbed in the drivers site, making you sway with the motion. He buckled himself in, sticking the key in the ignition, turning the engine over. You glanced over at him, lazily eyeing him up and down, making note of the tight clench of the muscles in his jaw and the white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. When he turned to shoulder check, he met your eyes, caught in your half lidded stare. Too out of your mind to even try salvaging what little of your dignity you had left, or make an excuse, all you did was grin, fingers plucking away the wet shirt from your body once again. 

 "What's your address?" Wolfwood spoke evenly, calm, but there was an irritated lilt at the end that made you drunkenly snicker at him.

 "Ohhh, why do you want my address you weirdo? Gonna sneak in while I'm sleeping and f-"

 "It's so I can bring you home," Wolfwood interrupted, turning his gaze away as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Don't be an idiot."

 "Jussayin', you seem the type," You quipped, leaning your head up against the glass window, watching the rain trails scatter and jump as the car sped up. "Not like I would mind."

 "You- Christ, give me your damn address."

 "Oh, you're going to Hell now! Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain! Bad priest," You tutted, wagging your finger at him in jest as you slid in your seat around a turn, your head bobbing and body swaying with every small movement. 

 "Fine," Wolfwood grumbled, turning his grip on the wheel and speeding the car up, "Have it your way." 

 An indignant noise meant to mock him left your throat, forgetting why you were even bickering in the first place. The drive was short, much shorter than you anticipated it would be, but you chalked it up to possibly not remembering half the ride. Squinting your eyes as he put the car in park, you glanced around at the surrounding street lights, not finding your immediate area as familiar as you should. God, how fucked up were you? Wolfwood shut off the car, hopping out and slamming his door shut behind him. Trying your best to track him with your eyes in the rear view mirror, you watched him loop the car, coming around to your side and yanking the door open. You'd like to say the act itself gave off that he was irritated, but really you couldn't tell, or care. For just a moment, he stood holding the door open, staring down at you as you lolled your head back, grinning defiantly at him. He was soaked, hair dripping and button-down clinging to his torso.

 "Fuckin' ridiculous," He muttered, leaning down and over you, unbuckling your seatbelt.

 It was probably because you were drunk, or at least that's the excuse you would use if you were interrogated about it, but the smell of him paired with the proximity was making you lightheaded and nauseous. You were agitated, agitated by him showing up unannounced, agitated by him stealing your drink, and agitated that he seemed to so easily let go of him fucking you stupid on his living room couch. You were annoyed, so annoyed that you couldn't help but curl a fist into the collar of his shirt, couldn't help but tug him down to your level and clash your lips into his with nettled irritation that definitely didn't translate properly into your actions, if the warm hand on your waist was to speak any truths. To your surprise, he met your fervor, quickly turning your boldness around on you as he pushed into you, the back of your skull hitting the headrest as your mouth was pried open with his tongue. Just as quickly as the kiss had started, it ended, him being the first to jolt back and peer down at you with a conflicted gaze. 

 "Jesus Christ," Wolfwood shook his head, wrapping a hand around your bicep and helping you out of the car. You wish you weren't vividly aware of the disappointment practically dripping off of him.

 Before you could quip some smartass comment about The Lord, he was throwing his jacket over your head and slamming the car door behind you. The arm around your shoulders holding you against him kept you steady despite the uneven gravel ground, the urgency in which he rushed you across the park and up a set of concrete stairs probably more for his own sake than yours, considering you were (mostly) shielded from the onslaught of unforgiving weather conditions. A hand came up, grasping the collar of the jacket thrown over your head and pulling up so you could watch where he was taking you to, presumably, dump your body. Upon seeing the massive wooden doors and stained glass windows only moderately illuminated by a faint orange flickering light inside, you dug your heels into the ground, trying and obviously failing to redirect the route in which Wolfwood was dragging you. Instead, you toppled over, tripping over yourself and colliding face-first into the hardwood door in front of you. You weren't able to register the frantic curse that came from the man beside you, too busy slapping a hand over your nose and mouth as you slid down to your knees, only removing your hand briefly to see the blood pooling into your palm.

 "What the f- shit, are you okay? What was that?" Wolfwood scrambled, crouching next to you, a hand hovering over your back, the other hesitating beside the forearm belonging to the hand firmly clasped over your face. All you could do was stare at the ground as your surroundings spun, watching rivulets of red drop and disperse, diluting on the wet ground below. "Hey, kid-"

 "Don't," You said firmly into your palm, taking your hand away and swaying back, his black jacket falling off your shoulders and onto the ground as you looked up, pinching the bridge of your aching nose to stop the bleeding. 

 "I can't," You confessed after a moment or two, eyes scrunching closed, "I can't go back in there, Nick." The name felt distant, given that you hadn't called him anything but Father in nearly a month.

 "The hell are you talking about?"

 "You and I both know you're not that stupid," You tilted your head, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, blood leaking down your chin and dripping into your mouth as you spoke. The copper taste was bitter, but did a fantastic job at sobering you up some. Or, maybe it was the throbbing pain in your face and ache in your chest, it was hard to tell at this point. "I think it's better for both of us if you stopped pretending to care so much when no one is watching."

 All he did was stare, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line for a beat or two, before his hands were grabbing under your arms and scooping you up from the ground. You let him, any fight you could've put up long gone once tears began to sting your eyes, from the physical or emotional aspect you weren't quite certain. Once he got you standing, he snatched up his sopping jacket, throwing it over his shoulder and wrapping an arm firmly around your waist, pushing open one of the double doors and ushering you through. The arm around your waist, his rushed steps, the twists and turns down the halls you had only seen once before gave you deja vu, a wall of nausea hitting you like a ton of bricks as he helped you through the door to his living quarters. You followed wordlessly after he closed the door behind him, dragging you in the direction of his bathroom, before he was unceremoniously dropping you down to sit on the edge of the tub.

 The silence was deafening, your ears ringing after every small noise as he rummaged about in the wall mounted mirror cabinet. Snatching out a couple packages and a roll of medical tape, Wolfwood turned to you, crouching before you as he dropped the supplies he'd gathered on the toilet lid beside him. You watched with your eyes, body unmoving, offering him a quick glance.

 "'S not very sanitary," You teased, but it was devoid of any wit or good-natured ridicule your tone usually held when taking jabs at him. He noticed this, continuing to say nothing as he gripped your jaw in the palm of his hand, turning your head to one side, then the other, as he examined your nose. This gave you ample time to gauge his expression, and even with your alcohol riddled mind, you could see the tension in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, could see the slight downturn of his lips as he ripped open a paper package, lining the thin cotton material up at the bridge of your nose, ripping a piece of medical tape from the roll with his teeth to set the gauze in place. 

 "Isn't broken, you're lucky," Wolfwood finally spoke up, balling up a thick wad of cotton and dousing it with saline, wiping up the blood from your nose, lips, and chin. His hands were surprisingly gentle, only making you wince when he secured the gauze with a second piece of tape to ensure it wasn't going anywhere. "Might be an ugly bruise though."

 Tossing the used materials in the tiny garbage, he heaved a sigh, resting the palms of his hands on his thighs as he leaned side to side, inspecting his handiwork for a moment. You sat in uncomfortable silence, the chill of your soaking wet clothes making goosebumps erupt on your skin as you suppressed a shiver. Wolfwood stood, stepping out of the room and leaving you to sit with your own thoughts which was never a good thing, your eyes falling to the floor as you brought a hand up, wiping the heel of your palm down the side of your face. The quiet slap of your hand hitting your sopping wet pant leg echoed through the tiled room, not a second later your equally- if not more- drenched companion was emerging from the hall, the same pants and shirt that he had let you borrow last time in hand. Under different circumstances, you would have laughed at the fact he kept them in the opaque white plastic bag you returned them in, "donation" scribbled in crude sharpie on the side.

 He dropped the bag onto the toilet lid, turning and leaving the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. You waited, fingers gripping the edge of the tub like your life depended on it when he paused just before the door shut. 

 "You got it backwards," Wolfwood spoke low, hand twisting the door knob in his grip, "I don't pretend to care when people aren't around. I pretend I don't care when people are around."

 You were certain nothing good would come out of you mulling over that thought for too long, so you distracted yourself with getting changed, putting your disgustingly wet clothes in the plastic bag you previously brought his clothes in. Snatching up one of the towels hanging beside the shower, you toweled off your hair, tousling it a bit before smoothing it out with your fingers. At least now it was only damp instead of completely saturated. Scooping your phone up from the counter and being met with nothing but a black screen, you grumbled lowly, carelessly letting it clatter back into it's previous position and pulling open the door. Surprised to see a freshly changed Wolfwood on the other side, arms crossed and leaned back against the wall, cigarette hanging from his lips, you blinked up at him. Much as he had done before, he nudged his head to point down the hall, before setting off, leading you just a few doors down to a bedroom, his bedroom, you presumed. 

 Not surprisingly, the space more reflected the life of a bachelor more so than a priest, clothes strewn about beside a basket as if he couldn't be bothered to properly place them inside, a couple empty scotch glasses on the nightstand. If it wasn't for the massive intricate stained glass window directly behind the bed you would have thought it was just an average older house, the white walls with the occasional wood panel running up the wall giving no particular out of the ordinary or holy aura. You tried and failed to not pay attention to the more dubious items on the opposite nightstand, consisting of a half-empty bottle of lube and scrunched up tissues, quickly averting your eyes as he cleared his throat and nudged past you to tidy up a bit. Unsure what to do with yourself, you shoved your hands in your pockets, shifting your weight from side to side and staring up at the ceiling until he was giving you a verbal cue that you could welcome yourself into the space.

 "Don't have a guest room," Wolfwood tossed the bit of garbage he had collected into a small plastic waste bin, words muffled around his cigarette, "Got plenty of rooms, just not another bed. You can take mine tonight."

 Swallowing at the implication, you dared a glance in his direction as you spoke, watching him pluck up some clothes from the floor. "I can take the couch. I have to wake up early anyways, so..." The thought in itself gave you a headache, getting up stupid early so you could cab home and get changed and get yourself to work when it was already an ungodly hour and you were still tipsy. "Honestly I should probably go home-"

 "Stay."

 You blinked, watching him stand to his full height again, glancing over his shoulder at you. The way his gaze seemed to harden upon making eye contact made you nervous, like somehow he was managing to look right through you and your excuses, giving no room to weasel your way out of your present position. Throwing his clothes in the hamper, Wolfwood stood in place, mimicking your position and crossing his arms, the cherry on his cigarette burning dangerously low to the filter, ash falling off and onto the hardwood below. "You'll stay for the night, I'll get you to work in the morning. Got it?" His tone was firm, and all you could do was stare and nod, earning a similar response in return. "Alright, good."

 After holding eye contact for maybe a couple moments too long, he looked away from you, not meeting your eye again even as he walked past you. Watching his hand raise, hover above your shoulder, before falling back to his side, eyes tailing him as he walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving you to yourself and your thoughts again.

 Unsure what to do with your mind or body, you took a deep breath, crossing your arms over your chest and tucking your hands into your underarms, staring at the floor in front of you. Finally gathering the courage, you shuffled forwards, climbing onto the bed and laying your head down on what was possibly the least comfortable pillow you'd ever had the pleasure of sleeping on. Discomfort was quickly set aside when all you could smell was him, and suddenly you were chastising yourself for being foolish enough to think you could have willed yourself into having any other reaction that wasn't reddened, ruddy cheeks and a half-hard cock jumping in your borrowed sweats. Not when you were surrounded by him, not when you closed your eyes all you could see was the way he fucked into your throat, or how he bit into your neck, or how he gripped your hips so hard he left round shaped bruises that perfectly matched the pads of his fingers. It was like you could still feel the hand gripping your jaw, the fingers pushing into your mouth, and the warm press of his chest against your arched back.

 Throwing a hand over your eyes, you grit your teeth, palming over the growing tent in your pants and emitting a low, quiet whine, and instantly you knew what you could do wouldn't be nearly enough, not when your alcohol addled mind was showing you nothing but lewd imagery of the man just a room or two over, memories playing relentlessly like a movie behind your eyelids. Heaving a sigh, you slapped your arm down onto the bed, pushing yourself up and onto your feet, and carrying yourself out of the room. You didn't care that you flung the door open so hard it banged against the wall, the loud noise echoing off the tacky ornate cross-ridden walls and bouncing off ridiculously high ceilings, didn't care that as you came down the hall it looked like Wolfwood was already comfy and getting ready to sleep, didn't care that as you approached he asked you what you were doing. All you cared about was the flex of his forearms as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, throwing your leg over his lap to straddle him, and crushing your lips into his in a desperate, messy kiss. All you cared about was the hand weaving through your hair, settling on the back of your head, and the tongue pushing into your lips begging for more.

 Religion was a mess, people justifying discourse and hate as the word of God. But, you were just as messy, so maybe God, and Wolfwood, could eventually forgive you for fucking up your life just a little bit more.

#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader smut #wolfwood x reader #trigun x reader smut #trigun x reader

[oneforthemunny]

hi! I was re reading ur rockstarsddie n nepo baby fics cuz the way ur write is 👩‍🍳💋 but I kinda wondering y they both have so many girls 😭 (not that I mind-I'm obsessed) n what made u chose to give them girls and not boys and also what type of dynamic they have as sisters sometimes that's all hope u have a good day/night

ok i had him be a girl dad to six because... karma lol. plain and simple. not that eddie was ever necessarily mean to women, but he was a whore. and he was kinda raunchy and sick and like that (with consent ofc) and kinda used them like accessories in the tabloids to get talked about. not the greatest back in the day but also never mean if that makes sense? this is his karma bc now, he is terrified twenty four seven. of a lot of things. six girls are very hormonal and dramatic, which scares him bc whatever flare he thought he had has NOTHING on them lol. and the thought of them doing stuff he used to do or the things that those girls did with him back in the day??? he's sick. sick at the thought that someone might have them do that his heart will give out rn.

truthfully, they had six bc it was kinda like a "try for a boy" is the excuse they used when trying for the twins and zahra (vega was a complete mistake) but really, nb likes being a mother. she liked being pregnant and having kids and just being a mom. maybe it healed her inner child in a way, maybe it's because she just likes that motherhood changed her. made her calmer and more confident, but she likes being a mom. and eddie likes being a dad. and they like to have sex a lot and he doesn't like to pull out lol.

as far as the girls. persephone is typical older sister. gets alone with sienna the best, but she's very level headed and "high achiever", built in caretaker of her sisters typical older sister vibes.

kensington is very sensitive. very reactionary and dramatic and sweet. she gets along with zahra the best bc zar is chill and kinda levels her out. vega lives to make kensie cry bc she thinks it's hilarious which is something she learned from sicily.

sicily is very much so eddie's true karma. always kinda daring and wild but in a sneakier way than vega. she is reckless, very very reckless, and it gets her in a lot of trouble and in bad shit when she gets older. she gets along with vega the best. vega was like her little mini me that she crafted and trained to be a terror, but she was always sneaky about it.

sienna is similar to sicily, but she'll get kinda scared to do all the things sicily does. more fearless in a way of taking exciting fun risks, but is definitely the more level headed of the two. less stubborn too. that's why she gets along with persephone so well.

zahra is the most chill human being on the planet. just very go with the flow, zen, calm- a complete sore thumb in the munson household. never in trouble, just kinda vibes and enjoys herself. likes kensie bc kensie feels very bigly and zahra does too, she just doesn't show it. very compassionate which is why they get along.

vega is insane. typical whoopsie "oh fuck we got pregnant" baby. a lot younger than her sisters, eddie's other form of karma bc unlike sicily, she'll just do it to his face with no care. a terror on social media but in an iconic way that has her raking in a lot of followers, kinda revamps corroded coffin in a way. really, she's sweet, just has a big, loud, energetic personality. she is truly fearless and loves attention, which is why sicily molded her into who she was lol.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #rockstar!eddie munson

[the-hidden-empire]

Thrawn and his daughter planning on finding wife/mother jedi reader (who thought her family died on the Chimera) :

• You thought you’re child and husband died on board the Chimaera during the purrgil attack.

• You had left the ship for a mission during the attack.

• You had given up hope that they were alive, but you still felt them in the force somehow.

• You had returned to you’re Jedi roots, on a mission to better yourself after their “deaths”, you would not allow hate to win.

• You had no attachments anymore, this was the only way you could feel somewhat whole. You had lost you’re role as mother and wife, so you had nothing but the force left.

• Unbeknownst to you, Thrawn was formulating his plan to return to you.

• Both father and daughter had a burning desire to track you down.

• You’re daughter reminded him of you every time she looked his way. She had you’re features but her fathers Chiss genetics/looks.

• She was only a small girl when they became stranded. Now she was in her preteens.

• He did not let situation slow down her learning growth.

• He taught her anything and everything he knew.

• Despite her lack of schooling, she was a walking prodigy. She was unbelievably smart and talented like her father.

• She clearly was strong with the force, he helped her as much as he could control these abilities. But she needed her mother to teach her the ways of the force. Of the Jedi of old.

• She did not carry his calm demeanour, she was hot headed like her mother. Impatient as he would call it.

• Her impatience and restless had grown as she aged and as they waited for their departure from the waste lands of what they had been calling “home”.

• He would soothe her nerves are reassure her that her mother would be with them soon enough.

• He didn’t show his emotions to anyone, let alone his daughter who thought him to be the most stable and unbreakable man. He did not want to show her weaknesses, but he mourned for you every waking moment of his day.

• Thrawn’s hidden anger and resentment slowly began bubble, he couldn’t allow himself to become reckless though.

• He had time, but time was moving to slow. He never rushed anything before, but he was becoming desperate to return you to you’re proper place by his side, as his wife, and mother of his only child.

• His will was felt by you in the force, you kept mistaking it for false hope. You knew there was no coming back from being a widow, you’d never be a mother again.

• Everyone involved in his grand plans knew that he had one main goal, and that goal was you.

• God help whoever was brave enough to get in you’re husbands way.

• His daughter would have her mother back, if it meant he’d have to gamble away the fate of the galaxy for you.

#star wars #star wars rebels #x reader #star wars x reader #star wars x you #ashoka series #grand admiral thrawn x reader #starwars #star wars ashoka #grand admiral thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x you #admiral thrawn #chimaera #thrawn #thrawn trilogy #sw thrawn #thrawn imagine #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x #heir to the empire #grand admiral #star wars imagines #star wars headcanons #star wars imagine #star wars x y/n #lars mikkelsen #thrawn series #thrawn headcanon #star wars thrawn

[another-heroine]

Thinking about Tishka

I suppose it's nothing new that I love birds of prey. They are one of my fav animals, side by side with wolves and felines. My father and my baby brother call me 'little owl' (what's very cute hahaha), my friends and hubby associate me with crows (what is cute too). Anyway, just babbling.

But. Let's talk about Tishka.

CW: Long Post, Animal's Death, Personal Sidequests, Empyreal Lord apparition, Hook for Witch!Ekaterina, I got carried away again

When I was creating Ekaterina, I thought about giving her an animal companion. I love this part of her class. But the more I read about the druids in Pathfinder, the more I noticed that it wouldn't be her cup of tea. Blight Druids don't bond with animals necessarily, but with the ill land, and it fits perfectly for WOTR's context.

She was a lonely child and one day found an owl's nest in the underground. Katya get quickly attached to the Mama Owl and her owlets. Especially to the odd one: the smallest of the flock. While his siblings grew up and changed feathers, he looked like was always a step back. And yet he strived.

The elders recalled restlessly about how important was to let the Nature follows its course and they should never step on. Ekaterina did that, but not without cheering for her friend to survive because she felt him. When the others owlets were learning how to fly, she made company to him.

The name 'Tishka' came to her in a dream. Actually, it was Tisemir, but Ekaterina got used to call him by the nickname. She only calls him Tisemir when she is infuriated (what's very rare).

When she left Irrisen, he found her midway to Mendev. By that time, Ekaterina had already noticed that he wasn’t an ordinary owl; Tishka could fly long ways in short time, show in her dreams, and could send and bring messages for/from her family. She thought the latter was only possible because Annya and she were druids and were able to understand animals, but barely she knew it wasn’t all.

When her biological mother struck, kidnapping Annya, Ekaterina (and the KC, in the CompanionAU!) confronts a hard moment:

"Are you willing to save your dearest mother or your stupid owl?"

Both beloved ones before her eyes, with their fates on her hands. Annya tied like a lamb, with a blade between her ribs, Tishka locked in a cold iron cage, in the aim of a deadly spell. Regardless Ekaterina's choice, she can hear his last words:

"Trust me... I'm sorry."

A suddenly darkness gouples the room, giving enough time for Annya to free herself and get barely injured, but they can't say the same for the horned owl; a sparkle and a painful shriek are enough to make the aasimar's eyes glow bewildered.

Tishka was dead. And that filth hag would pay for it.

After seizing the witch, Ekaterina mourns for her feathered best friend. When she touches his body, she is transported for another dimension and sees herself surrounded by celestial owlbears and ghostly owls. Among them, a giant, bluish horned owl with glowing eyes is staring at her.

"And we finally met," he says. "Forgive me for not contacting you in a better moment, emberchild."

"Who are you?" Ekaterina frowns with clenched fists.

"... And he told me about you. Tishka, I mean. Since then, I couldn’t take off my eyes of your deeds, emberchild. Since your foreparent is a reckless being and never came in your aid."

"Me? I am Tanagaar, the Aurulent Eye, an Empyreal Lord. I am a watcher, protector of whoelse wanders in the dark to protect their kin from evil."

The druid sttagered.

"Do you know my foreparent?"

"Yes, but trust me, it’s better you two never meet. For your good."

Ekaterina pleadges, "Please, bring him back. It was a mistake."

"Mistake you say? Emberchild, he knew what he was doing. After all, it was me who lend a sparkle of my power for Tishka saves your mother. And what's gone can’t be returned. You should know it very well."

Ekaterina drops her gaze, embarrassed. She sounded like a spoiled child, didn’t she?

"But..."

She looked at the deity again, hopeful.

"It doesn’t mean he can’t keep following you."

Among the ghostly court, an owl flies right way to the druid. She would recognize him in any life or after it. His feathers, now changing their colors between gray and brown, like it used to do when they left Irrisen and arrived at places where the sun was allowed to touch the earth, are dearly familiar.

"You feathered brain," she mocks with cracked voice. "I'm glad to see you again."

Tanagaar states, "The brighter the light, the darker the shadows. Use it in your favor, emberchild."

"What’s the catch? You wouldn’t simply let him wandering with me for free, would you?"

"Why would I not?" The Empyreal sounded concerned. "You are fighting against demons and bringing light to the darkest depths of the Abyss. When your halo falters, you can call for me and my flock. The only thing I ask for is an alliance. But you don't need to answer now. Your people needs you."

Before she could say anything, Ekaterina was back at the witch's den, with curious and worried eyes over her. Tishka's body had disapeared in thin air, yet she could feel him nearby.

All that time, the piercy eyes of an Empyreal Lord were watching her, silent, motionless. And she didn’t know how to react.

#not sure if she would become a witch (at least not in my playthrough) #but the idea of catching an empyreal's attention was interesting to work on #in-game it would give her an ability or two #or just a charmed amulet #thanks for coming to my ted talk #i need to gather all pieces yet #ekaterina grushankaya #pwotr pals

[speedgeek]

Sheev Palpatine wasn’t an idiot. He’d known Padmé Amidala as a teenager and the Organa girl was her spitting image. Except for the smirk, that was pure Skywalker. He had never had cause to interact with the girl before her entrance into the Senate. Bail Organa had been intelligent enough to keep the girl from his and Vader’s sight until publicly unveiling her.

So, yes, Palpatine knew from her first moments in the Senate exactly who Leia Organa was.

He’d entertained thoughts of enticing her into his web, certain she’d be as powerful as Vader had been as a youth. Treats, a sympathetic ear, stories of her true parents and the power she was entitled to. The difference in politics was little matter- he was sure he could coax her to his side. He’d been able to manipulate both of her parents easy enough. She was young and reckless, inexperienced in political machinations, but her speeches had shown she had her mother’s keen mind.

A worthy apprentice after the disappointment of Anakin Skywalker.

It was customary for a new Senator to wait to be presented to the Emperor. She was no exception. Unfortunately, her scheduled appointment came on the heels of another public atrocity committed by Vader. Palpatine cared little about the violence his apprentice used, only about the public nature of the debacle. His people were working overtime to ensure the news did not spread further and spin what was public in the Empire’s favor. Vader was en route to answer for his mistakes.

The meeting started out well enough. He’d dismissed the guards and her aides. Tea and Nubian pastries he knew to be Amidala’s favorite were served, they made trivial small talk. She was intelligent, bright, and well-trained. Her words were guarded, deliberate, giving away little. While her words were very much influenced by Bail Organa and reminiscent of Padmé Amidala, the girl had fire in her soul, he was sure.

He would enjoy breaking her.

That was the moment, before Palpatine could even begin to tempt the girl, Vader decided to storm into the throne room and vent his displeasure.

On a normal day, Vader’s casual dismissal of Senators was an annoyance. On this day, it was a catastrophe.

Palpatine was actually impressed with how quickly the situation deteriorated.

Organa pointed out his lack of manners. Vader pointed out the uselessness of the Senate.

Organa pointed out his lack of official position within the Empire, implying he was little more than an errand boy. Vader pointed out her lack of biological parents.

(Get a clue, Anakin.)

Organa pointed out his violent tendencies, also implying she knew far more about the previous day’s events than Palpatine was comfortable with. Vader pointed out she associated with criminals, specifically Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Palpatine just put his head in his hands. Every time he thought he broke his apprentice’s obsession with his former master, Vader would start saying the dreaded name again.

(Was it too late to return him?)

When he looked up, the girl had her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side, mirroring Vader. It was remarkable how much she resembled teenaged Anakin Skywalker in that moment. The sass coming from her mouth was all Anakin too.

His apprentice was too dense to notice.

His apprentice was also too dense to not to take the bait and stop arguing with a teenager.

“Silence.”

They continued to argue as if he wasn’t in the room. The gall of both of them. He pushed down the urge to unleash force lightning on them both. Appearances must still be maintained, after all.

“Silence!” he roared.

Both startled. The similarity between them would have been comical if he hadn’t been so enraged.

Organa showed the good sense to at least look guilty. She’d had diplomatic training, she surely knew the faux pax she’d just committed. Vader, on the other hand, he didn’t need the force to know Vader was still seething. He’d hardly bothered to use his diplomatic training when he was a Jedi, much less now.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t deal with two of them at once.

He refused to spend his time playing referee between father and daughter. Refused.

Maybe if Vader finally got his wish and died, Palpatine would try again. But as it stood, he no longer had any desire to try and break Anakin 2.0 while the original was still around and causing him so many headaches.

“Senator Organa, I apologize for ending our meeting so early, but I must speak to Lord Vader quite urgently.”

The girl glanced at Vader and smirked. “Of course, I understand, your Majesty.”

“Please give my regards to the Queen and the Viceroy.”

“Of course. Good day, your Majesty.” She smirked at Vader as she turned towards the door. “Lord Vader.”

Palpatine waited until the door closed behind her to finally release his anger on his apprentice.

#fic #star wars #palpatine #leia organa #darth vader #anakin skywalker #i wrote this instead of going to sleep #or crocheting #it doesn't have a title #because it ended up a lot longer than i was expecting #it was supposed to just be an idea #i'll post it to ao3 when i think of a title

[deconstructthesoup]

Was just thinking (again) about how in season 1 and season 2 of The Owl House, there are clear parallels in the premiere, quarter-season, mid-season, three-quarter-season, and finale episodes, so I thought I'd break them down

Premieres: A Lying Witch And A Warden/Separate Tides:

The "do not underestimate me/now eat this, sucka" speech is said at the very beginning, followed by an immediate tone shift (ALWAAW has the scene from the Good Witch Azura that leads into it being Luz doing her book report, ST has Luz facing off against Garlog before it being revealed that he's just a tiny gremlin)

Luz and King go on a dangerous mission together (ALWAAW has them sneak in and steal the crown, ST has them chase after the Selkiedomous)

"Us weirdos have to stick together" is said (you guys know the context)

We meet and fight a member of the Emperor's Coven, who kinda deviate from our expectations (Warden Wrath turns out to have a thing for Eda and is later revealed to be kinda sad, The Golden Guard is shown to have a cocky side and is later revealed to be... well, Hunter)

Quarter-Seasons: Covention/Through The Looking Glass Ruins

Cool lore details are revealed about the academic side of the Isles (Covention shows the Hexside kids working to join covens, TTLGR shows how cutthroat Glandus students are)

The clear flaws in the coven system and how magic is viewed are addressed (Covention shows how high-status the EC is, how the covens seal away your magic, and how Amity's need to succeed is wearing down on her, TTLGR shows the stigma around illusionists and how physical magic is valued over others)

The "show don't tell" rule is applied with a character who's been called strong showing off just how powerful they are (Eda and Lilith show off an incredible amount of skill in Covention, Gus goes full horror movie in TTLGR)

Lumity milestone (Luz and Amity reach an understanding in Covention and see a different side of each other, TTLGR has the cheek kiss)

Mid-Season (Escape of the Palisman/Yesterday's Lie)

Luz has to reckon with a mistake that she made and faces the consequences (EOFP sees her recklessness cause Owlbert to get hurt and she has to jump through hurdles to make it up to him, YL sees her finally tell her mother the truth and see how her leaving really did have consequences)

Very sad lore about a seemingly scary demon is revealed (The Bat Queen is shown to protect the lost Palismen due to having forgotten and lost her last owner, Vee shows a different side of the basilisks and tells Luz how they were made and experimented on)

Three-Quarter-Season (Understanding Willow/Hollow Mind)

A mishap leads to Luz and another character venturing into another character's mind (UW has Luz and Amity go into Willow's so they can fix the fire damage, HM has Luz and Hunter go into Belos's mind by mistake after the CAT plan fails)

The person's Inner Self initially manifests as something else (Willow's Inner Self is a fire monster at first before being revealed to just be overtaken by anger, Belos's inner self pretends to be a lost child before... yeah)

HUGE character-specific lore is revealed that completely changes the game (Amity shows us just how bad her home life is and how her parents pressured her into ditching Willow, Hunter finds out that he's a Grimwalker and Luz finds out that Belos is Philip and he's working with The Collector)

Finales (Young Blood, Old Souls/King's Tide)

The "with this spell declared" motif comes back (Lilith splits the curse in YBOS, Eda uses it to tell her she'll be all right in KT)

Eda nearly dies and loses a part of herself (petrification and loss of magic in YBOS, draining spell and loss of arm in KT)

Luz and Belos fight and Luz not only gets a hit in but thinks her way out of a situation (YBOS has Luz hitting Belos in the eye and cracking his mask, as well as double-crossing him with the portal, KT has her insult his fashion sense and brand him with the seal)

The portal is destroyed (you know how that shakes down)

#the owl house #the owl house analysis

[moonhuit]

something something mother superion in 2x06

there is a specific brainrot that 2x06 of warrior nun has been keeping me in since my eyes have perceived it.

the brainrot is in the form of how that episode starts with a mother superion flashback AND ends with a mother superion moment. it's so rare to have an episode like that framed around one of its supporting characters and like three episodes away from season finale. but it was also vital to showcase the consistency of the sacrifice she makes for these women. to show the backbone of her dialogue towards vincent in season 1, and the words mary said to her then too to get her to wake up from the prison she built out of shame and guilt from a mistake made years ago.

the fact the flashback was brought to us because suzanne chooses to tell it as a cautionary tale for ava. she is learning to unveil herself from the shame and guilt by choosing to tell ava this extremely personal experience. and ava does not take it lightly, the conversation they had since then was her driving force during the pursuit of the mission. mother superion had told her that if she trusted her sisters-- things would go better. suzanne had given her hope to hold onto despite how heartbreaking her tale with the halo was--and ava trusted that.

her wisdom and role as morale support does not end with ava--in fact, she sees the rest of the team off, individually. she approaches camila discreetly in the episode to bid her goodluck--the subordinate she's been in hiding with for the past months. it also becomes a sort of parallel during her scene with shannon in the flashback- particularly in the way she uses intimacy with her motives. she affects towards shannon to be able to get close to her and use the halo to incapacitate her, so she wouldn't be able to go endanger herself in a room full of armed men. and in the case of camila, she uses it once again (possibly not as intently as she did with shannon) to make camila go with the rest of the team and not stay behind with her. i would like to say that it was growth, but really it wasn't, because suzanne is not a woman who apologizes for how she is. she'll never change from always putting her sisters, her girls' safety first before her own well-being. and that's one of the things that stunned me into silence during the episode because as soon as she said those words to camila, i saw the death flag for her already.

(if anyone asked me, i absolutely think suzanne was right for being the only one in that room due to the manifestation of the halo with her. she would've never been in real danger unless the halo started going low battery please charge. )

id love to discuss how camila would've reacted to all that but i'll skip it but not before making a point about her having that exchange only with camila-- i thought it was endearing and endlessly thoughtful of camila to ask her if she was sure that she's the only one staying behind … like mother superion did not just live through a crazed massacre of wraith-possessed room of cardinals and ministers-- a literal few days before.

anyway, going back--we see the martyr archetype once again. now, this wasn't an arrogant and reckless halo-bearer suzanne whose powers manifested in a shield of light, this was cane-bearing and not even in sister warrior gear suzanne. this was another case of possibly 10 hostiles and one suzanne. the flashback established that it is absolutely within the realm of her character's capabilities to take down hostiles with efficiency--now to leave us with no doubt that she does not need the halo to establish her badassery, they give us this incredible sneak attack from the boss bitch herself.

in parallel to the flashback scene, she's the one patiently waiting for them to arrive instead and made efficient choices of how to turn the numbers to her favor. in her defense, she's quite an overachiever in a way she only misses william who takes cover as all his men face the mercy of mother superion. if i timed it right, she got rid of most of them in like a swift 15 seconds. one ammo per fbc grunt, she's so efficient. it was also funny of her to heave a sigh in after having done all that work in that speed. yeah badass you did all that and so much more!

and to tie the neat bow in this present of an episode--it makes a very strong point that whatever bravery and courage (in the form of her arrogance and cockiness, which she could totally back up with her skill set) suzanne had when she bore the halo, it was still very much present, however this time around, she doesn't get to heal. personally, i don't even need to pull teeth with the foreshadowing in this show because you're meant to see it first thing and you're meant to get your heart a little broken when you notice it.

flashback suzanne being picked up by shannon who is concerned she's hurt, and she says she'll heal. well this time around, she can't do that--she fails in her mission to be the one to detonate the arc because by some twisted reason, this man whose whole eyesocket she shot, is still alive and does her in. not only she doesn't get to heal, and she's alone on that other side--unlike when her mother superion had went. and it saddens me to say that she probably thought she'd deserved it. (which is weewoo 207 opening im glad jillian found a way to get back the power and help ease her pain with whatever she could do!! and that she wasnt entirely alone!!!!!! )

this is a woman who knows her capabilities enough she's the one to stay back--in learning to trust her girls--she still finds herself making the same choices of putting herself in danger's way. only the nature of her intent changes--and its bittersweet to see it all transpire. from the way she starts opening herself up and trusting them, only to be the one to end up LOST to them. which is another fun call back that in the duration of her being mother superion, she is actually one of those we know that have lost the halo--and the current halo-bearer of her time, who was also kind of her number 1 when it had been hers. it's very wibbly wobbly timey wimey to me but if there is anyone who will understand the gravitas of the choices ava was going to make, it was suzanne who would understand fully-- and ive never been more happier they kept her around for that because the loss of her would have seated heavily in the atmosphere, we might have ended up with a different ending altogether.

the point of this babbling is that mother superion does care too much for her girls, her sisters. and there is no doubt she'll make the same choices if necessary. and i love, love, this ode of an episode for her character, only because i know in the next episode they bring her back. like--that's what only comforts me. if i'd written this NOT knowing if she would live, this would have a different tone.

#mother superion #warrior nun #warrior nun meta #okay im napping #i have more THOUGHTS but i need to rest

[thekatebridgerton]

What do you like about Phillip and Eloise?

I guess because despite their very short relationship timeline there is something so real to me about them as a couple. And I guess, I like them so much because they are so flawed and yet so perfect together.

Phillip made a mistake with Marina when he was recently married and he spent the rest of his marriage regretting it. Sort of hoping that one day he could get a chance to be better

And I personally relate to Eloise crisis at the beginning of the book. It may not make sense for a lot of people, but seeing your best friend get married and realizing that everyone is moving on with their love lives while you remain stuck with the same plan you had when you were 18 is very relatable

When Eloise decides in a true Bridgerton fashion to make this very reckless decision because the man she’s been corresponding with sounds like a good person. She’s so unapologetically honest about it.  Eloise didn’t have a plan beyond showing up, seeing the man in person, and making up her mind.

Meanwhile Phillip meets her and it’s so iconic really. Sure he needs a wife and a mother for his kids, but his first thought when he meets Eloise is basically 

He could drown in those eyes.

And Phillip did not, as one might imagine, even think the word drown lightly.

They don’t know anything about each other in real life, But when Eloise comes into his life this guy becomes a simp. And Eloise takes it all for granted like it’s her due because of course it is. She just traveled a long way, he should be in awe of her. 

Eloise just barges in to his world looks around, makes herself comfortable, starts acting like she owns the place and Phillip? Phillip is in awe! he offers no protest, no token What the hell, nope, she’s here she owns him okay, he’s good, how can he convince her to make this permanent. 

Phillip doesn’t even think about saying no, he was ready to be her boy toy the minute she walked in to his house. Despite the very clear indication that Eloise was trouble in a handbasket. He’s 100% in the plan with whatever she wants to do

And then there’s the plot with Oliver and Amanda. Who just need their father to love him and Phillip doesn’t know how, but Eloise does because she actually grew up with people who showed affection in a healthy way. And she teaches him that. 

I love how Eloise starts out as the cool adult, who plays pranks on the children and doesn’t let them get the better of her, because she’s fun and creative,  and then she gradually changes into a responsible parent as she starts teaching Phillip how to be an involved parent himself. Because the minute those kids first tried to play a prank on her, Eloise was ride or die. 

I love that she falls inlove with Oliver and Amanda (naugtiest kids ever) even before falling inlove with Phillip. Who is already halfway into selling her his soul.

And I love how Eloise just has so much agency in all the book, things have to be done her way or not at all, and they do get done her way. It’s so refreshing to see that her love interest isn’t telling her she can’t do things because he thinks he knows better. But rather Phillip assumes she’s in charge

And then, it’s just so poignant, when Eloise to realizes that him letting her be is not enough!. that part is so beautiful. It’s not enough for him to do everything she wants. He needs to tell her about his needs too, be involved as husband, be a partner instead of a subordinate, he needs to set boundaries with the kids, he needs to tell her about his desires and his fears!

And they grow together, and it’s not just about Eloise, it’s about Phillip becoming the man he didn’t think he could be. 

I love Phillip and Eloise so much because out of all the Bridgerton couples, it’s the relationship that’s the most like something that usually happens in real life. Two people who don’t know if they will work out as a couple, deciding to give it a try. 

I love my Bridgerton men, Anthony, Colin, Benedict, are arguably attractive because they’re fictional. But Phillip is the sort of man I want to marry in real life. Because he’s written like a man I could meet any day. In fact I do know a lot of men like Phillip. They are happily married and have partners who appreciate them. Their relationships are very healthy. 

He’s such a normal man, in awe of his wife because he thinks she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he’s still a man with baggage, who really wants to do things better in a relationship after making mistakes in that past that he’s not proud of and what makes him an amazing hero is that he doesn’t treat Eloise the way everyone else treats her. He just lets her be herself because he loves everything about who she is. Why should she have to change?. With Phillip Eloise can be whatever she wants and he supports her. When she does change, it’s an evolution of who she already was when they met

And Book Eloise. My hero. Really her absolute honesty always does it for me. Not because she’s got the guts to put her convoluted plans into action. Anybody can do that. But rather, Eloise is always honest to the people she loves. With Phillip, with her brothers, with the kids. She never swallows her words or let things work out on their own, she talks to people, she’s honest about what she feels and about asking others especially the men in her life, to man up and talk to her. She knows she can be a bit domineering, but she’s also very good at communicating  she’s so honest that when people don’t use their words, she gets upset

you know I really like To Sir Phillip with love. 

And no, it’s not because Phillip is the hottest DILF in the Bridgerton series or the fact that Eloise knows her husband canonically has the biggest *cough* plowing equipment out of all the male heroes Julia wrote  .... although I’d be lying if I said that’s got nothing to do with my absolute love for this book. 

It’s the fact that as a couple, the progression of the Eloise Phillip relationship is so cute, (despite getting married in less than a week after meeting) that it always amazes me how underrated the book is. 

And that’s the tea

#philoise #Eloise X Phillip #eloise bridgerton #sir phillip crane #phillip crane #to sir phillip with love

[dizzybojack]

on penny and bojack

Recently replied to a reddit post about penny and bojack that was basically trying to pin most (if not all) of the blame on Penny for what happened after her prom. This was basically my reply (edited for tumblr). Also if you find my reddit, no you didn't!

Spoilers below.

The first time I watched this episode, I also thought that Penny was being stupid during this part and was partially to blame for what happened. She definitely needs a little lesson on taking a "no" and consent, but I came to realize that Bojack was also, once again, being selfish and wrong during this storyline. Remember, Penny is JUST over the line for sex with a major to not be considered statutory rape. Bojack at the time is in his 50's. That's pretty disgusting. I concede, Penny definitely shouldn't have kept pushing and accepted Bojack's no. Her behaviour isn't excusable either and shouldn't be simply written off, but we have to keep in mind that Penny is only 17. She isn't aware of the implications of this sexual encounter. She clearly needs to relearn a bit about consent and accepting rejection, but she is a TEENAGER and the fact is that she shouldn't be in this position in the first place.

Bojack isn't stupid. When he dances with her on the top of the water tower and tells her she looks like her mom, he knows he still has feelings for Charlotte. He knows his history of sleeping with younger girls that he is a father figure to (ie: Sarah Lynn) and making terrible shitty decisions. [OP said] it was common sense for Penny to know where this would go, because Bojack has a crush on her mom, but Penny didn't know that at the time. In fact, I would flip it around and say that it's common sense for BOJACK to know where this is going to go. Bojack knows that he still wants Charlotte, he knows that Penny is young and vulnerable and willing. And very similar to her mother, as he says on the water tower. He knows his history, his feelings, his recklessness better than anyone.

I also don't believe Penny was ever "playing the victim" or trying to ruin Bojack's life. We see when Bojack goes on the bender with Sarah Lynn that Penny almost has a panic attack when she sees Bojack. One of her first questions is, "Did you come to find me?" It's heavily implied that Bojack literally gave her a panic disorder. And this is all without even being able to see how Bojack has affected her relationships and ability to trust people! Bojack was a father figure or at least an older man that Penny looked up to and trusted. I'm sure him wanting to have sex with her has affected her future relationships and caused her to be deeply mistrustful of anyone who shows interest in her.

Although he refused the first two times, that's just proof that he knows how fucked up it is when he eventually accepts. He knows he shouldn't and he knows exactly how wrong it is, and yet he does it anyways. There is no excuse for this. If Bojack weren't so self-centred he would have gone straight to Charlotte to tell her what Penny had done immediately to make sure it doesn't happen again. But he doesn't, because he's selfish and a coward. He wants to stay here longer, please, just a bit longer, away from LA and from the mistakes he's made and the people he's hurt and the consequences of his actions.

If anyone disagrees or wants to discuss anything I said, please do. I've lately come to realize more that Bojack is actually just a really shit person as a whole (not to say he can't be redeemed or he isn't deserving of love) so this post is more Bojack-negative. Will tag Bojack neg with #bojack neg so anyone can mute if they don't want to see it.

#bojack neg #bojack horseman #bjhm #penny carson #bjhm spoilers #<- ish i guess.

[irishk0rn]

Modern/School AU Brainrot - ship kids go to school

A modern AU where Arator and Shandris are teachers’ aids together and take care of popular WoW ships kids. Arator/Shandris is implied because it just kinda happened when writing this.

They/Them used for Shandris

Ships:

Sylvanas/Jaina

Wrathion/Anduin

Flynn/Shaw

Kalecgos/Khadgar

Vanessa/Tess/Taelia

Illidan/Kael’thas

Arator/Shandris (implied/sort of)

//

Arator was a very quiet and very sweet soul. Not one who wanted to disappoint and one who wanted to keep everybody and everything happy. That was one of his reasons for applying at Light’s Hope University for a degree in paladinship after all. Maybe in hopes he could wow some of his professors and show people that he could protect and serve, just like his father…

Shandris had their struggles, and sometimes struggled with their sense of worth and identity. Sometimes they felt like they didn’t contribute anything to anything, and felt hopeless as they went over hundreds of degree possibilities. They didn’t know what they wanted to do or who they wanted to be — they actually applied for this internship by mistake, but they were glad they did. They took after their adoptive father, Malfurion, in a role of teaching and molding future inhabitants of Azeroth. They figured they’d give it the best shot they could, and they were glad they did. They even met a sweet boy named Arator.

They didn’t feel as alone in their struggles, now.

It was near the end of the year and it was the last week of spring. Arator and Shandris decided that to reward them for working hard this year, they should have an end of the year party today, and do fun activities for the rest of the week until summer.

The kids arrived in the same order everyday. First, it was Lyra and Ari’landris. Mathias Shaw and Flynn Fairwind were their parents and Mathias was quite punctual. The children were always there fifteen minutes before the doors actually opened, but Shandris was always there at least half an hour early. They liked to let the children in so they wouldn’t be stuck outside should it be very hot or cold.

Second, Varok, Blacksage and Briarwood Nyx. The children that belonged to Wrathion and Anduin. Anduin was also punctual, but it was very simple to get the children to school on time. Especially when you have a dragon boyfriend. Anduin was hesitant at first about Varok and Briar having to ride on Wrathion’s back, but Blacksage was also a dragon and could keep the other two safe. Not that Wrathion was reckless when he had his children with him, though.

Third, the Windrunner and Stormrage children arrived together. Kath’adar held her little brother’s hand inside, something she had done since they first started going to school. Just to reassure Elówynn that school wasn’t scary and it would be fine. Ar’leece liked to take a toy bow in her backpack and pretend to be like her mom, while Derek always found a really big stick outside the school to act as a staff to be like his other mama. Kath’adar, though her name means fire, actually has druid magic, like her uncle. Elówynn, despite his name suggesting forest, is the firebug. But he also likes actual bugs.

Fourth, the children of Vanessa Vancleef, Tess Greymane, and Taelia Fordragon arrived. Three boys. Cyrus, Edwin and Alec. The confusing part wasn’t that they all looked similar due to some features of their mothers being similar, but that they had all three last names of their mothers. Their mothers all kept their last names when they married, so the children were all stuck with Greymane, Vancleef and Fordragon. Thankfully, on their papers, they put G.V.F. for short.

And lastly, six children that Archimage Khadgar and his dragon husband adopted. Shandris, Arator, nor any other teachers or students ever actually saw those six walk through the doors. They always seemed to just appear whenever attendance was being called. Arator supposed that was a perk of having two mage fathers. You didn’t have to compensate for the time of getting to the school, you just had to be ready by the time attendance was called, which was 9:15am. Then you could just be portaled there. The children were all of different races and magicks. There was a worgen, a tauren, a night elf, a half elf, a human and a troll. It went Lórdain, Bala’dar, Elyce, Anar’alah, Kal’dor and Vol’rien.

For now, Arator and Shandris had both arrived around an hour early to help set up the party and sit in the teachers lounge and chat. Arator was quite thoughtful, and had a cup of coffee sitting at Shandris’s usual spot with a few varieties of sugar packets and creamers next to the cup. He made himself his own coffee and sat across from them.

They let out a sigh of relief. “Arator, thank you,” they said, rubbing their eyes and moving their fingers to their temples to rub. They sat across from the half-elf and let out another sigh.

“Really, I appreciate it. I was so tired and rushed this morning and I just… gah.”

Arator lifted the hand that wasn’t occupied by his coffee cup to give them a wave of polite dismissal. He took a sip and returned the cup to its place and smiled. “Don’t mention it,” he said. He allowed himself a yawn and covered it. He was quite tired as well.

“And thanks for the help with the party…”

Arator went slightly red in the cheeks and gently shook his head. “There’s no need for thanks, really. It’s not necessary,” the half-elf insisted. Shandris nodded and didn’t press further, fixing their coffee the way they wanted and taking a sip. “Okay, so, the Fairshaws will be here in about ten minutes—”

Arator cracked an amused smile at them. “Fairshaw kids? Mathias and Flynn’s? I love that. I am stealing that.”

Shandris giggled. “Yes, okay, the Fairshaws will be here in ten minutes. Then the Wranduins—”

Arator smiled more. “Do you have nicknames for all of the childrens’ parents’ relationships?”

“They’re called ships. I call them ships.”

“Oh my Gods.”

Shandris held a finger up to metaphorically silence Arator. “Shh! No interruptions! Now. The Wranduins will be here exactly when the first bell rings. Then, the Sylvaina children and my uncle’s gremlins will arrive. After that, the Taelivantessa agents of chaos will make their entrance. Lastly, don’t worry about making sure the crazy wizard kids make it through the door, they are just going to appear. You never really get used to it, it just happens.”

Arator blinked furiously. “That is a lot of information. Do you have this written down somewh—”

The paladin was silenced by a heartsy and glittery mini notebook thrown at his head, with a pen the colors of the nonbinary flag. The eraser was the pansexual flag. He fumbled with it for a moment before he secured both items in his hands. “Thank you,” he said, the words coming out in a chuckle.

Shandris checked their phone. “The Fairshaws should be here right about now. I’m going to let them in.”

Arator sucked down the rest of his coffee and stood up. “No, no, I’ve got it. Stay here for a while and relax — especially since you had to wake up so early.” Shandris smiled at him as he left the lounge and let out another deep sigh. They were glad they met him — he was so sweet and helpful, they didn't know what they’d do without him on the job nowadays. He was experienced, having transferred from another school for convenience. They closed their eyes and took a long sip from their coffee and it helped the tension leave their shoulders. They finished after about two more minutes and stood. They placed their cup in the sink after rinsing it out and then left the lounge, where Arator was talking to Lyra and Ari’landris.

Lyra turned her head and saw Shandris, running over to them and hugging their leg. “Shandris! Hi!” she squealed. The night elf chuckled and patted her head. “Now, now. We have a surprise for you! Just stay out here in the commons and wait for everyone,” they said, ushering her back to her brother. They put their hands on their hips and smiled gently. When the first bell rang, Shandris and Arator felt the familiar rumble of a dragon landing outside their school walls. Three children hopped off the black mass in the distance and went through the doors, all each with their little black scale backpacks.

Briarwood Nyx was riding on her sibling’s back inside and Varok was running in beside them. Blacksage let Nyx down and as soon as the three saw Arator, they tackled him with love.

“Oomf!”

“Uncle Arator!” they all yelled in unison, giggling wildly and crawling all over him. Arator laughed along with them and hugged them. “Hi, there, little ones… can you get off your uncle, please?” he asked them sweetly, paired with the sweetest smile known to man. Blacksage pressed their nose to his forehead and acquainted him with a dragon nuzzle before they allowed him to get up and so did their siblings. Arator got up shakily, having hit his back wrong. He brushed himself off and waited for the Wranduin children to join the Fairshaws in the commons before awaiting the Sylvaina kids and Shandris’s uncle’s ‘gremlins’.

Arator could see Jaina Proudmoore carrying her two children. She set them down outside the steps of the school and put them in their little coats, before kissing each of their cheeks goodbye. He tilted his head as Derek began to wander to the side, and then out of his sight. He panicked, then. He raced outside only to see Derek just barely out of sight and Jaina had already left. Derek was retrieving a stick from the outside of the school. Arator gently walked over to him and knelt down to his level.

“Sticks are dirty, little one. Put it down, please,”

Derek frowned and looked up at Shandris, who came up behind Arator. They chuckled. “Arator, let him have it. It’s clean, I swear. I let him have a stick every day so he can be like his mama.”

Arator’s face flushed red and he nodded, giving the stick back to Derek. Derek smiled and thanked him, giving him a big hug around his shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. Elfy!”

“Yes, yes. I am sorry, little one…” Arator looked down at the ground, finding it much more interesting than the situation. Shandris helped him up again and giggled. “It’s okay, Arator, you were just doing your job and trying to help. It’s cute!”

The half-elf let out a whine and ran his hand through his hair before crossing his arms. He turned to the night elf. “Didn’t you say that Kath’adar and Elówynn come around during this time? Where—”

Just then, two elf children ran into the area, surrounded by green fireballs. Arator panicked yet again and got into a fighting stance. “Demons!” he yelled out. Shandris started laughing and caught one of the children, separating them. The one they caught was Elówynn, who had the fireballs surrounding him. He was giggling and Shandris hugged him. “Arator! It’s just my baby cousins. Have you met Kath’adar and Elówynn?” They held up the small more blood elf looking one, who was giggling and playing with green little fires around him.

Arator sighed. “These children gave me a heart attack…” he muttered. He smiled sweetly and patted Elówynn’s head. “Hello, small one. My name is Arator.”

Elówynn palmed his cheek and smiled back at him. He then turned back to Shandris and hugged them tight. “Hi, cousin!”

“Hello, there. Who took you today?”

“Mama!”

Shandris nodded and kissed his head before putting him down. “Now where is your sister—”

Shandris was interrupted by the sister in question crashing into her from the air. They blinked and caught her. “Kath! I always forget you can fly…” they mumbled their last sentence before they booped her and put her down next to her brother. “Inside, now, all of you. Go on now. The other teachers should be here by now, sweeties.”

Derek, Ar’leece, Elówynn and Kath’adar made their ways inside as Arator let out a long, more audible sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be connecting with the children…”

Shandris put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. “No, no, Arator. You went from dealing with high schoolers to fifth graders. I get it. I think the little ones like you! Just give it time, Tor.”

Arator rubbed his temples. “I really, really hope so…”

Arator took a deep breath and went into the classroom with Shandris, where they had set out cookies and cupcakes and chips. Shandris brought the drinks, which were Capri Suns, Roaring Waters, Milk and Water. There were also options for any of them who were allergic to flour or wheat or were lactose intolerant. The kids all ran in, which now consisted of three more boys. Alec, Edwin and Cyrus Greymane Fordragon Vancleef.

He retrieved his clipboard from his desk and began to call out the names, knowing he was probably going to mispronounce some of the names. He looked at the children sitting in a little blob formation before looking at his clipboard again. “N-now, everyone, I may mispronounce some of your names… for that, I apologize… ready?

“Okay. Ari’landris?”

A cute here from a child shouted from the crowd, and it made Arator smile. He continued down the names of the clipboard and was actually proud of himself for not mispronouncing any names.

“You forgot us!”

Arator yelped and whipped around nearly dropping his clipboard in the process. “O-oh! You guys! Are you… um…” he checked the second paper of names to find theirs. “Lórdain, Bala’dar, Elyce, Anar’alah, Kal’dor and Vol’rien?”

A little tauren child pushed his way to the front and nodded. “Yes! Me! I’m Bala’dar!”

Arator sighed and smiled. “Shandris wasn’t kidding. You all really do sneak up on us…”

—

The event was ready, all the parents needed to do was show up. The other teachers were all set up in their rooms and when Arator finally finished getting everything together, he just wanted to lay down and fall apart. He relaxed slightly when he felt Shandris’s embrace from the side and he gave them a gentle smile.

Arator had another class during the afternoon, and Gods were the parents even worse than the children they raised. When he saw them arrive he felt a little bit of his will leave his body. He gathered the papers for his afternoon class and approached the parents he believed would be easiest.

That conversation didn’t go bad. The tauren woman was disappointed in her son’s grades but she patted him on the head and thanked Arator for being so gentle and personalized with her son. She was a very sweet woman — actually, Arator can’t recall ever meeting a tauren that wasn’t a kind and gentle soul.

As he spoke to more parents, his mood quickly got worse. Now he was being yelled at by a father of a little human girl and she looked like she wanted to disappear out of embarrassment. Arator was averting the gaze of the man and he had his arms folded over himself.

“Yes— y-yes, sir, I understand you’re frustrated…”

His attempts at calming this man were futile and Arator just sunk further into himself. As the yelling continued he just eventually interrupted his sentence. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll nullify the grade. I-I’m… sorry for the inconvenience…”

The human man crossed his arms and nodded. “Good! Thank you!” He then took his daughter’s hand and left as quickly as he stormed into the room.

When the man left, the paladin looked as if he were nearly in tears. Shandris didn’t notice for a few moments until they looked over at him, and quickly made their way to him. “Tor? What’s wrong? What happened?”

Arator hugged himself. “Nothing, I… just made a mistake with something, like I always do. A man just corrected me, that’s all…” a very sheer tear ran down his cheek and he quickly wiped it, shaking his head gently. He smiled weakly. “I-I’m fine. Who all is here?”

Shandris frowned, and sighed, knowing they would maybe ask him later. For now it wasn’t the time.

//

“There you are, my little firebug!” Kael’thas smiled and picked up Elówynn, who giggled and hugged him. “Mama!” he squealed. He buried into Kael’s neck and yawned.

The blonde looked over at Illidan, who seemed to be waiting for something, listening intently for his surroundings. A small, faint wingbeat was heard before something darted by at a ludicrous speed, but Illidan grabbed and caught it. “Got you,” he mumbled, pulling his daughter close to him. She whined and pouted at being caught by her father.

Kael’thas giggled and leaned up to plant a kiss on her head and one on Illidan’s cheek. “She’s getting faster. She might give you a run for your money, old man.”

“Hardy har-har.”

//

Sylvanas was busy speaking with Derek and Ar’leece’s other teacher while Jaina was sitting with them in the commons. She acted like she was just wanting to be with the kids, but really she was having just as much fun with the sea-themed coloring books as her kids. Derek colored a sea lion, Ar’leece, a seagull, and Jaina colored an octopus.

Jaina then tore the pages out of the book and sent them away to their home with her magic. “These will be hung right on the fridge. These are amazing, my little sharkies,” she said.

Sylvanas looked over at her wife and children and smiled. “Are you all ready to go, my sparrows?”

Derek jumped at Sylvanas. “Mommy!”

Jaina chuckled and stood, Ar’leece in her arms. “Yes, my love. We colored. We should get them coloring books.”

“Does my dear Mrs. Mage like coloring, too?”

Jaina stuck out her tongue before nuzzling Sylvanas. “Maybe.”

//

“Hup!” Tess grunted and lifted up her sons, throwing two over her shoulder and holding one with her arm. “C’mon now, little laddies. Let’s get you home before your grandpa has a cow about how late it is…”

Vanessa took Alec from Tess’s left shoulder and held him as if he were the most fragile thing in the world. “Tess! They’re our sons, not sacks of potatoes!”

Taelia took Cyrus from the other shoulder, and then held him like a baby. “No. He’s more like an aggressive lil’ fishie!” she smiled and started to tickle Cyrus’s tummy. “Who’s mommy’s little fishie? Who’s mommy’s little fishie?”

Cyrus giggled and laughed. “Me! Me! Me!”

Vanessa rolled her eyes and kissed Alec’s head. “Come on. Let’s get these little fellas to bed.”

//

Flynn was dancing to the music playing in the commons, dancing with both Lyra and Ari.

“Oh my Tidemother, Mattie, come dance with us. I haven’t heard this song in years.”

The song Flynn was referring to was “Cool Kids” and he and Ari were having a blast dancing to it while Lyra was on his shoulders and giggling along. Mathias had been the only parent who actually bothered to sign out so he was doing that. He was thanked and went over to his husband and children and smiled contently.

He picked up Ari’landris and booped him. “Are you ready to go, Flynn?”

Flynn was a bit too distracted dancing and pulled Mathias close to him, warning a high pitched yelp from his husband. Mathias huffed and gave him a kiss on the cheek before pulling away. “We can pick this up when the kids are in bed. Let’s go.”

Flynn let out a playful whine, but complied.

//

It was Anduin’s turn to pick up the children today, as Wrathion was out mending Azeroth’s wounds. But Anduin brought his phone with Wrathion on call so the kids could talk to him before bed.

Varok, Briar and Blacksage all ran and nearly knocked him over with the ferocity of their hugs. He giggled and hugged them all, kissing each of their heads. “Hello, my babies,” he said. He looked up at Arator and smiled, walking over to him and giving him a hug.

“How was your first day? I hope mine weren’t overwhelming.”

Arator gave a smile and shook his head. “They were wonderful. Thank you for asking. How are you and the family?”

Anduin sighed. “I miss Wrathion often, but we manage. It’ll be over soon and I will have my fiance back. He’s on call with Bumblebee right now. I have to get back with Tess. We’re having a sleepover with the kids tonight.”

Arator nodded. “I hope you have fun.”

Anduin smiled and nodded.

//

Khadgar and Kalecgos made a rather quiet entrance to the school and each held three children in their arms as they spoke to teachers and other parents. Their children liked to show off their magic.

Kalecgos and Anar’alah ended up ‘dueling’ and Kalec dramatically fell to the ground in his defeat at the hands of his eight year old son, with the wrist of his hand on his forehead and his eyes closed.

“You silly, silly dragon, you,” Khadgar said as he sat next to Kalec’s head and leaned his head down to face him. Kalec pulled him in and gave him a kiss.

“Eww!” Lórdain exclaimed. “Daaad! My friends are here!”

“Ew, kisses,” Elyse said.

Vol’rien frowned. “I like kisses…”

Khadgar sat up and kissed her forehead. “I know you do, sweetie. Everyone likes kisses. Do all of you have your things? We are only portaling once!”

#arator the redeemer #world of warcraft #wrathion #wow #anduin wrynn #irishkorn fics #taelia fordragon #vanessa vancleef #tess greymane #illidan stormrage #kael'thas sunstrider #flynn fairwind #mathias shaw #shandris feathermoon #modern au #kaellidan #wranduin #fairshaw #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #sylvaina

[1016anon]

Title: A Man of Action Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma Summary: When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.

A/N -- Unhappy, and not in an angsty or a dark way. More like miserable, cuts too close to reality way: Anthony is as ugly as he is handsome. That is canon. Bridgerton will always promise a sweet and happy ending. I won't.

A/N 2 -- It has come to my attention, and this is a failure on my part as a writer for not having made it clearer-- Kate is an unreliable narrator here. If you'd like to read more explanations, please visit AO3's comments.

A/N 3 -- It also been brought to my attention, and this is once again a major error on my part, that some of the content within may be triggering. The fact that Kate is an unreliable narrator plays a huge role in this fic. Again, please see the version on AO3 for the specific nature of the triggers.

I would also like to apologize to everyone who was triggered by the material. It is never my intent, and I am thankful for those who brought it to my attention.

She should have known.

They all told her, they warned her, and she'd seen it with her own eyes-- all the warning signs were there.

His explosive temper. His cutting words. His pride, his arrogance, the way his eyes measured a person according to his arbitrary standards-- ones he did not hold himself to-- and immediately passed judgment on their worth. His duplicity, the way he changed depending on whose company he was in. His inconstancy, his mercurial nature, his anger and propensity to shout in order to beat a person into submission.

His impulsive decisions, the way he went through a person's life completely destroying it, laying waste to it, then apologized and meant it sincerely, but did not prevent him from taking whatever course of action he thought necessary, no matter how reckless, foolish, thoughtless, stupid. He apologized and meant it and still never stopped to think.

Never made the same mistake twice, but made all of them. He destroyed himself and everyone around him. Would not heed warnings. Did not take advice. Believed he always knew best. Could not tread carefully. Would not tread carefully, because he'd always come through it with everyone alive, if not whole, and so had no reason not to believe the next time would be any different.

His obsession with duty and the way he heeled whenever his mother pulled his leash. His resentment of his role and his inability to divorce himself from his title. His unwillingness to change course. The sheer inertia of his father's death, the way his bitterness defined him. The way he did not have any convictions, absolutely no moral compass as to what was right and wrong because he'd never been held to account for anything.

His possessiveness, his jealousy, his sheer hypocrisy.

They were all there before she married him. She knew what she had been getting into. She saw him with clear eyes. She should have known better.

But apparently, she had not.

She thought she'd found a kindred spirit because they'd understood what it was like to live for their families. But that was where the similarities ended.

It had been mere passion, just as she'd said.

Love would have no place in their marriage-- he'd always said from the beginning. He had warned her from the first. Lady Whistledown had written of his reputation at great length.

As they say: a leopard cannot change its spots.

Yet she thought he'd loved her enough, that she'd loved him enough, to make their lives better and happier, embark on a new chapter together. It had been that way for the first two years. They'd tried. They failed so many times, but they kept trying.

She doesn't know where it all fell apart.

After their firstborn.

After their firstborn, he stopped trying, having discharged his all-important duty of siring an heir and continuing the Bridgerton line. Having completed his life's purpose, he stopped. And that was when it fell apart.

He'd said to Edwina: he would often be away on business while his wife and children were at home. Sometimes for an extended period of time. Everyone told her: don't expect fidelity. Men kept mistresses, it's simply how things were done. He'd told her: he could not imagine his life without her; he would humble himself before her; he loved her.

What she should have remembered was: he kept his promises so long as it suited him. As long as he wanted to. Of course she'd learned about Siena Rosso-- people could not help but drop snide remarks and pointed hints meant to skewer about all the women he'd kept in the past. The great love match, they sneered. We'll see how long that lasts. He'd made his last mistress leave. Without warning, without a place to go, expecting her to make her own way somehow.

He was capable of turning a gun on his best friend because society expected it of him; whatever fraternal affection they'd shared meant nothing in the face of the concept of honor.

Honor. Call it what it was: saving face.

All the signs had been there. All the words. The history, the cruelty, the meanness: she'd seen all of it, had been on the receiving end far too many times during their mangled courtship. She'd thought there were more pieces left of him than there actually were, despite all the warnings.

He was not devoted to his family. That is what she hadn't understood. He was devoted to the Bridgerton name; devoted to carrying on the Bridgerton name. That was what outweighed everything else. The Bridgerton name was not blood. It was legacy. He was devoted to duty. It was not the same thing as being devoted to family.

Kate should know: family is not in a name. Or so Mary had told her. Even though she'd told Kate to go anywhere. Even when she'd reconciled with Edwina-- the knowledge they were half-sister always burning in her. Family should not be in a name.

When she'd had their firstborn, Benedict had later smiled crookedly and said she'd relieved him of his familial duties. She hadn't understood. Benedict shrugged and told her that Anthony had never tried to hand off the management of the estate, or finances, or Parliament, or any of it, to Benedict. He had always, always tried to hand off the siring of an heir. The continuation of the family line.

That was the duty. And now free of it, now that he had his children of impeccable quality: pleasant face, acceptable wit, genteel enough manners befitting a Viscountess. Genteel manners, she learned over time, did not mean submissiveness. Not to him. Like everything, genteel meant whatever the hell he wanted it to mean because he had the power, he was used to holding the power of changing the meanings of words.

She was Viscountess and performed her duties admirably, beyond expectation, elevated the Bridgerton name. Therefore: she was genteel.

Now here she was. Unable to take her own lovers because they made him rage with jealousy. He did not love her, but she was his, his wife, the mother of his children, and apparently this meant her life was his to dictate.

A fire cannot burn forever. A marriage cannot be made of sparks. The flame needs to be transmuted; needs to be made into something, its heat and power transferred to creating and sustaining, not merely burning.

It was all there, from the beginning. All the signs. His character, all his flaws. She'd done her due diligence, she'd taken the risk, she thought for some reason he would change. Instead, he changed her to match his grotesque form: bitter, angry, resentful, capricious.

They could have brought out the best in each other and before the child was born, they did. And then they brought out the worst in each other, duty no longer a thread which could unite them. She never thought she'd see the day when he would neglect his youngest siblings who thought of him like a father, but they were not the Bridgerton name.

They were not the heir, they were not the future.

His obsession with his father and his worship for a ghost had rendered everything empty, stale, until the only things he had left was time and a name. Time: to fulfill his duties. A name: to pass those duties on to the next, so he could be rid of them.

There must have been real love at some point; real love for his siblings. But it had been burned out of him-- either they had burned it out, or he had burned it out; in the end, it didn't matter.

Just as there had been real love for her.

He died the day their son was born.

He had done everything asked of him. He had fulfilled his purpose. That all-important goal which was the only thing that mattered to the name. With his purpose in life complete, he died in spirit and did not have enough to build anything and so the husk which remained was this:

The same man she had married.

Mere passion.

She had no one to blame for this predicament but herself. And she did blame herself. Because it had all been there, everything, from the beginning, all of it.

She'd had true love. The souls meeting and hearts dancing or whatever it was she'd said to Edwina. And she'd been warned about that also, hadn't she? In the death of her father; in the death of his father.

It was foolish, to think there was only one kind of death which could visit a human being.

He was as he had always been.

She was the fool who'd believed his unproven words when he was as he had said: a man of action. Every single action; every single flaw, defect, vice, everything. There in his reputation, written in gossip sheets, revealed in its ugliest light while he'd courted Edwina.

There was no pity for her predicament: what did she expect.

She chose him.

Of her own free will.

Knowing he had a temper, did not keep his promises, used words to cut, changed according to fashion, was duplicitous, hypocritical, practiced in self deceit and practiced in destruction. Devoted to duty; it was futile-- or rather, less than worthless-- to make the paltry, threadbare, weak excuse that: she hadn't understood.

She hadn't understood that what he considered duty and what she'd considered duty were not the same, and she had not discovered it until their son was born. Their son was born: he died and became the man she'd met.

They told her. She'd known from the beginning. She bought the house knowing full well there was a crack in the foundation; a gash, a gaping maw, which everyone told her the cracks would spread, the foundation would turn to dust, she hadn't listened-- but they'd warned her. What did she expect.

She'd known, she could never claim she never knew. She knew better than anyone.

Bought the broken goods because she'd been in love and had made her bed.

So lie in it.

#bridgerton #kathony #fanfiction

[newfngs]

      It was easier to leave than Michael thought. When he first picked up his coat and keys, he thought there’d be disapproval, refusal, a demand that Michael was to stay inside at night where his family could keep their eyes on him. Less a prisoner, more a safely-kept liability. His mother hadn’t been angry at him, not like he thought she’d be. She saw him not as a perpetrator, but a victim of the crime. Michael theorized she connected her own problems with him, falling in love with a man just to have him show off his teeth. Michael would say she empathized too much, what he and the Lost Boys had was nowhere near her and Max. He was just a teenager, freshly hitting the legal age of ‘adult’, getting his first taste of freedom. He fell in love with the night, fell in love with the reckless and wild, fell in love with what he couldn’t have. Lucy just wanted a happy life, wanted a man that could care for her like she wanted, like she deserved. Michael didn’t deserve that. He just needed to grow up, remember who and what he was, and accept the blood that stained his hands.

It was an hour after sundown, an hour after Lucy had her sons head to bed for the night (a basic attempt to regain some sense of normalcy in their lives and an attempt to make sure her sons were safe from creatures that laid in wait during the night) that Michael couldn’t take rolling around in his bed anymore. The mattress felt horrible, it felt stiff, the blankets too hot and suffocating. The room felt that way too, the whole upstairs, the whole house felt too small. Too hot, too quiet, it felt like too much and not enough at the same time and he couldn’t take the way his skin itched and his brain felt like harsh static. He kicked everything off him and went around his room like he was an anxious animal, pacing around as he pulled on jeans and snatched his jacket off a nearby chair. He needed to get out, to just get out of the house that still reeked of death and blood. He didn’t care that his footsteps thudded against the floor, creaked on the stairs, not until his feet first fit the ground floor and a figure off to the side caught his attention. He startled, frozen in place, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and guilt-heavy eyes met his own.

Michael wished he had an excuse to stick around inside the house, wished his mother had looked at him with rightfully-fueled anger, doled out punishment and hid away his bike keys like he was back in high school getting grounded, caught red-handed sneaking out. He wished she yelled at him, scolded him, called the last few months of his life stupid, a mistake, told him that he knew better, that he could be better. He wished she vocalized every single thing he thought of himself, as if someone else saw all he did and knew exactly what he was. But she didn’t. Lucy looked at him with sad eyes, a head full of words that felt fit to burst and yet, still, she didn’t know where to start. They stared at each other in silence, Lucy’s arms wrapped around herself and Michael poised as if he was ready to run. He knew she wanted to talk to him, probably wanted to remind him that she loved him, that she supported him, that she was so sorry all this happened. But Lucy’s mouth didn’t open. She didn’t remind him of her love. She didn’t remind him of her support. She didn’t scold him, didn’t tell him to go back to bed. Didn’t even pretend as if he was just sneaking into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, giving him an excuse to avoid trouble. She didn’t comment on the wild, sick look in his eyes. She didn’t comment on the dark splotches beneath his eyes, ones that matched her own. She didn’t comment on a lot of things when it came to him, though he knew it wasn’t for lack of trying. She should’ve been a better mother. Michael should’ve been a better son.

Michael realized, quickly, this wasn’t a new look. She’d thrown glances like that his way for years. Michael also realized, quickly, he couldn’t take her gaze another night. It was quiet when he left, Lucy’s mouth hanging open but unable to make a sound. His head was ducked low, eyes turned away as he left out the door. Lucy remained stationary, watching her son go. She could hear his bike wheels rolling along the dirt path in front of her father’s house, Michael walking his bike far away enough from the house before he started it. She figured he might’ve been afraid to break the silence inside the house. Might’ve been afraid to wake up who, what, still laid inside. Lucy chewed on her lower lip as she waited, straining her ears to catch the faintest sound of a motorbike kicking to life in the distance. Waiting to see if she’d hear more than one. There was only one when it happened, the distant revving that could easily be lost in the night wind. She squeezed herself tighter. She went to check on Sam.

The cold wind was the first thing to greet Michael as he exited his house, a welcomed change to the stifling air inside the house. It smelled less like dust, less like chemicals, less like death. More like an empty, cold nothing, a world so much larger that the one he found himself trapped in the last couple of weeks. It was a small comfort, though one that would quickly be soured as the bike underneath him kicked to life and his hands squeezed the handlebars. Nights like this used to mean freedom, a chance to tear himself away from the life he used to know, a chance to taste what more the universe could offer him. No uncertain future to agonize over, no money problems, no divorce, no unstable childhood, no father, no mother, no brother. Just him and the night sky and the road beneath him and the dull vibrations of his bike’s engine. Nights like this used to be just about him, falling away into the shadows before he got too cold or too lonely or too inside his own head or just when he realized if he didn’t head back home at that moment, he might never go back. Just him under the night sky, until his bike was joined by others - or, accurately, just him until his bike followed another’s. A group of them all, tearing through the boardwalk and beach alike, a group of wheels, a group of bikes, a group of boys with all their shouts and their laughter and their push and pull to get him further and further into their lives. Just a group of boys.

Michael followed the back roads and unbeaten trails to avoid most of the main roads of the city as he headed towards the boardwalk. He could hear it, see it, even smell it in the distance, still so ever lively. A thousand bodies that surged through the shops and over the pier and spilled out onto the beach, like blood in a heart, ever beating, ever alive. He could hear the distant screams of riders on a roller coaster, the metal clicking as the car raced along the track. A mixture of discordant music from the different rides. Cotton candy and kettle corn. Ocean waves that rolled against the beach. Lights and sounds and an entirely different world that drew in all manner of people into its center. And Michael drove right past it, turning his bike to the left as he sped down a street that led him further away from the boardwalk and closer to a lonely hill that overlooked it all from a distance. Michael couldn’t dare to get any closer, as if he could sense that the boardwalk was no longer a place for him to tread. A latent sense of hostility as if he were stepping onto claimed territory not his own. He fled, tail between his legs, parking himself on wet sand and barely-alive grass. Kickstand down and his cold hands shoved into his pockets. His fingers curl around the beaten cardboard of a cigarette box and the metal of his lighter. He pulls them both out, his movements tense and slow. A cigarette is pulled free, lighter flicks to life, and a breath of smoke blurs the boardwalk lights. A nasty habit, his mother’s voice seems to echo in his head, though Michael found he couldn’t care about the risk of death and disease as he filled his lungs with cold air and hot smoke. It tasted bitter as he exhaled, breath and smoke and heat and cold. It did little to ease the tension in his chest, but it gave his hands something to do other than clenching themselves into tight fists. Gave him something to focus on besides the thoughts that began to flood into his head as he stared down at the boardwalk. 

It felt surreal. Only a month ago Michael had prowled the boardwalk every night, tasting life for the first time, part of a group that liked to raise a little hell. They were troublemakers, Michael knew. Banned from the boardwalk but no one really cared to stop them, there were more problems than a handful of kids making the occasional scene, especially when most of it was some gang rivalry. Bikers and surfers, as if the two were natural enemies. Michael felt a sense of belonging then, as if wearing a leather jacket and riding some excuse for a bike was enough to at least make him look, from the outside, part of the crowd. He’d be wrong, however, in saying that feeling didn’t extend even further than just skin deep. Michael knew the Lost Boys hadn’t seen him as just a tagalong. Some cheap accessory to drag around and potentially lose in the crowd, swallowed up and abandoned. Michael had felt the way they looked at him, the way they talked to him. They wanted Michael to be part of them. Michael wanted to be a Lost Boy too. Desperately, he’d come to realize. He took another drag from his cigarette as the thought hit him. God, he wanted to be part of them. He loved the way it felt, that sense of belonging, seeing the world look at him and think he was part of the Lost Boys, part of people far greater than him. Far greater than he could ever be. They looked at him, his new leather jacket and nearly pierced ear and cheap bike and thought he was part of something. He was part of something. He was part of the Lost Boys, if only half-way, sharing in their schemes and their ploys and acting out in all the ways he knew his mother wouldn’t like. Staying out till sunrise, sleeping in a cave, underage drinking. Speeding, riding his bike through crowds and over beaches. Jumping off bridges, swearing he could fly. Getting into fights, should the need arise. As if he belonged with them. His loyalty and his trust were thrown behind David, as if he really could make a difference there. As if David needed protecting. As if Dwayne or Paul or Marko needed it. His lips twitched, as if they dared to smile. Yeah, they needed protecting. From him.

He remembers that cave, sun still in the sky. He’d never really gone that way in the daylight before, only ever left it when it was just breaking over the distant California hills. Sleep was threatening to take him, his eyes felt heavy and the sun too hot. Dragging his feet down those rickety stairs and into a sunken hotel and carrying out one half-vampire after the other before he collapsed alongside them. He didn’t even hear Marko scream. He didn’t hear the blood. He didn’t see the stake or the body. He didn’t see the Lost Boys lash out, anger and hate and fear and anguish as one of their own was murdered in his sleep. Michael only saw the aftermath when he dared to return to the cave a few days later. He swore it was just to scope out the scene, make sure no one else had taken up residence inside or, by some miracle, someone was left alive. Michael didn’t believe it, didn’t believe that any of the bodies somehow got up and returned home, but some part of him had hoped. Pathetically, sadistically, selfishly. As if the Lost Boys could piece themselves together and were waiting for him inside, as if he could pretend the previous week hadn’t happened and they’d all still greet him with a smile, a cheer, ask what Mikey was up to and if he was still willing to tag along with them. As if he ever refused. As if he would ever refuse. He didn’t have the strength left in him, he realized, to not follow them again. To not want to throw himself back into their arms and act as if he never left in the first place. But nothing stirred in the cave. No Lost Boys. No music. Not even a pigeon that flitted about.

But the place wasn’t abandoned.

Marko was there. Marko was still laying in that cave, stake pulled out of him and discarded somewhere. He figured the Lost Boys must’ve done it, taken care of the body as much as they could with the sun still in the sky. If it wasn’t for the blood that stained his jacket and the hole pierced through his chest, Michael might’ve thought Marko was sleeping like he always tended to do in the morning. Michael felt sick seeing him, swallowing back spit and bile as got closer. The air smelled rotten and he could see the torn flesh and muscle, entry and exit wounds that ended Marko’s life. His hands shook as Michael reached for him, clenching his teeth and holding his breath as he dragged his body outside of the cave with more care than Michael ever showed him while alive. Marko felt light in his arms. Small. His head cradled like he cradled Star’s. Arms held on his chest, placed there by Michael to cover the wound. Michael carried him up those steps and onto less sandy ground, placing his body down on the earth before he pulled the shovel from the trunk of Grandpa’s car. He left him there, body buried on the cliff overlooking their cave. A pile of rocks for a headstone. Silence in his wake. Marko deserved better than eulogy. Better than an apology given far too late. Deserved better than a shallow, forgotten, lonely grave.

Marko, however, was not the first Michael had buried. He just had the honor of being the last. Michael had originally considered the idea of burying him closer to the others, but he knew carrying a body back to his house was a far greater risk than he was willing to take. He hoped the location would be good enough for Marko, close enough to the home he shared with the Lost Boys. The others were buried closer to his own house. He wondered if the Lost Boys found their resting places insulting, an insignificant path of dirt and grass too-close to the family home of those that killed them. Michael would’ve taken them back to the cave but, akin to Marko, carrying so many bodies through town wasn’t an option. So Michael did what he could, alone. He refused to let his family touch the bodies, a burden he felt as if he alone should carry. Star was not allowed to touch them either, the guilt on her face as she gazed over their corpses more than enough a reason for Michael. He gave the excuse it was his problem, he had caught the Lost Boys’ attention and it was him who should be the one to deal with them. Plus, even his mother agreed that Sam shouldn’t be getting anywhere near the bodies though she had tried to insist on helping herself. She didn’t want Michael, still her boy, to deal with such a macabre task. But Michael’s stubbornness, his insistence, and another outburst of desperate frustration quieted his family and he set out to work.

Dwayne was the first to be taken care of, his body littered across the main room and, in his opinion, the worst of the three to look at. Charred flesh burned his lungs and he nearly gagged as he collected the bits of Dwayne’s torso, his exploded limbs, gathering Dwayne into an approximation of what he must’ve once looked like. He could still hear his screams echoing about the room, the pained cries of a dying monster. Michael couldn’t help but watch the scene when it happened, his eyesight blurred and blinded by the sparks of the pierced radio, Dwayne’s cries mixed with music. The explosion of blood and gore and viscera. Michael nearly retched. Dwayne would need to be buried without a head. Whatever remained was little more than shards of bone and blood. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t peaceful. A horrible death that made Michael’s skin itch even as he sat on his bike so many days later. The cold air still biting at his exposed skin. A shaky breath that ended in a cough as he wondered when, exactly, did Dwayne die? Before his body had torn itself apart or had he been alive, full of electric pain, until the very last moment? His stomach lurched and Michael inhaled cold air through his teeth.

Another bitter thought suddenly invaded. He should’ve thanked Dwayne before he died. Dwayne had knocked Michael out when he first entered the home, sparing Michael from bearing witness to another death. He only saw the aftermath, rotten blood that burst through his house and painted it red. Thick, viscous, dead blood that tore through the house and stained the wood and the walls. Leaving marks that Michael doubted would ever come out. He wondered if Paul thought that might be fitting, one last fuck you to them all. A permanent reminder that Paul was here, once. He was alive, once. He existed and he was real and he was as alive as the rest of them. He wouldn’t be forgotten, he wouldn’t let the Emersons forget him. He heard his mother and Grandpa talking about potentially ripping up the walls and floor and laying in new ones when the time was right. When the money was there. Michael doubted it would ever be there. And Michael doubted, even if the evidence was wiped away, that Paul would ever fade from his memory. He was easier to remove than Dwayne, though seeing his body in the bathtub had made Michael feel dizzy. A stripped skeleton in tattered clothes, a fanged row of teeth. Michael was almost scared to touch him, as if his fingertips alone would turn the bones to ash and erase every trace of Paul. Michael found himself being grateful, just for a moment, when he finally dared to place his hands on the bones and found they were still sturdy, that they didn’t crack and bend in his grasp. Michael was careful moving him, trying his hardest to keep the bones in one piece, locked together in the shape of him. Paul, at least, got to be buried with his skull. He still had his face.

The final body to be taken care of was, in Michael’s mind, the hardest. Not because the others hadn’t been his friends, not because he didn’t care, but because the final body was on account of his own actions. His own choices. His own hands. He had felt it all beneath his hands, used his own weight to pierce David’s chest against antlers. He had seen the way David looked at him his last few moments spent in pain. In fear. Anger and sadness and regret. Dying alone, the rest of his family slaughtered in a single night. He, too, had seen the way David looked at him when Michael denied him. The look of pain, rejection. Confusion. Even after everything, David had asked Michael to remain at his side. Join him, stay with him. All he’d have to do is stop fighting. Accept what he was, what he would become. David had sacrificed his family for Michael. And for Michael, it still wasn’t enough. He refused to be a killer and yet, at the end of it, it didn’t even matter. He became exactly as David said. Exactly what Michael refused to be.

A killer.

Michael had buried the Lost Boys, side by side, digging out their graves by hand. He spent hours dedicated to his task, until his hands felt raw and blistered. His back ached and his throat was coated with dirt. Each of the bodies had been wrapped up in sheets and Michael had lowered them each into their graves. Paul. Dwayne. David. He buried them in silence, nothing but his panting, strained breath and the sounds of shifting dirt. Fresh graves, fresh bodies. He had sat out there until the early morning, even after David had been covered. Sitting and admiring his work, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts that left him feeling strangled.

Michael blinked then, brought back to the present as a sudden flare of hot pain hit his fingertips. He dropped his cigarette onto the ground and smashed it into the sand with his foot. He’d been so lost in his head, he barely noticed his cigarette threatening to burn his hand. Michael blinked again as he remembered where he was, his eyes focusing on the distant lights of the boardwalk. His eyes stung. Blurred. Watered.

It was just from the smoke, he thought. Just the smoke from the cigarette.

#drabble tag tbt #hehe