#the betrayal in keeping them in ignorance of what is happening to them is worse than making them upset

[gotham-daydreams]

what would have happened if reader actually snapped at one of the batfam before they leave, causing the batfam to investigate their room and notice the readers life way before they leave?

Honestly if that did happen I don't think the reader would even get the chance to reach their friend's place.

Once the reader snaps, you know a whole dump of shit the Batfam has done to them in the past is just going to come pouring out. So depending on the person, the initial reaction would be different, if only slightly?

Bruce would go to Alfred before going to your room, the events being similar to how he ends up going to the reader's room in "Not Here", but instead, Bruce asks if he has actually done the things that the reader mentioned. With Alfred responding in his usual sassy, but to the point manner.

Dick would be frozen in place before trying to reach out and talk to the reader- only for them to harshly shove him with strength he didn't even know they had, and that keeps him in place for a while as they storm off. He decides that he'll check their room and ask Alfred — and which ever he comes across first, is what he ends up doing, before moving on to the other thing. Though either way, he ends up in the reader's room eventually.

Jason would be speechless at first, then annoyed a little bit. He's barely around, why should he get all this shit because the rest of the family have been unintentional assholes to the reader?... Then, he thinks about it... since he's clearly shown up enough to still help with fucking up the reader- especially to the point of them blowing up. So, he'd look in their room to investigate first, before asking Alfred any questions.

Tim just wouldn't know what to do. He'd stand there stupidly, mostly confused and shocked himself as he does try to reach out for the reader, but it's already too late. They reached the front door and left. Just like that. However, he doesn't waste much time and immediately starts his investigation. He might call Alfred while he's searching the reader's room, or even when he's on the way there, so that way he can multi-task and find out more about the reader quicker.

Cass is hurt, and does unintentionally let the reader go as they leave, but takes a minute before doing anything. She's in disbelief, but the pain done to the reader is so clear that she feels stupid how she didn't see it before. Even in their anger she could see the anguish and betrayal all over their body, and it pains her as much as the reader's words did. It takes her a minute to process anything, but afterward she searches for Bruce, Tim, and Alfred so that she can possibly get some answers. It's only after does she go to the reader's room.

Damian would be more confused than anything. (And let's be honest, out of everyone- he'd get the least of it. Mostly because he's so young and yeah, anger is unrational at times, I feel like in comparison to everyone else, who are worse offenders because they're older and have been influencing Damian's behavior towards the reader (albeit unintentionally), he just wouldn't get as much anger or anything directed towards him. Whereas with everyone else? Eh- I can't exactly say that's the case.) However, he would at least make an effort to ask Bruce, Dick, and or Alfred about the reader and how his and everyone else's behavior has effected them. Along with if they've noticed certain things about them and such. Only going to the reader's room with one of the three already accompanying him.

As for Babs and Steph...

Barbara would try to get the reader to calm down so that they could further talk- only to get ignored. She'd immediately try to talk to Bruce or Alfred, maybe even Dick or anyone she comes across before heading into the reader's room. Just considering it, before deciding that someone should do it, if someone else hasn't already.

Stephanie would also need a minute, before looking for people and making calls to the rest of the Batfam. Hurt and freaked out for how badly the Batfam as treated the reader, and what the reader might do now.

On the off chance that the reader blows up on Alfred, he just takes it before finally deciding that something should really be done. So if the reader blowing up at someone else doesn't light the fire immediately, he will do it for them.

Regardless of how it starts or who the reader ends up blowing up at- things hit the fan pretty fast.

Again, the reader doesn't even manage to make it to their friend's place before getting confronted, and basically cornered.

The moment the family finds out about all they can from the reader's room, it plays out similarly to "Not Here" except if you skip the part where they search the Manor, and instead go straight to Gotham. They find the reader easily since they're out in the open (and promptly ignore how they almost missed the reader, but the person who suffered the brief wrath of the reader was able to recognize them, so they had to do a double take to confirm). However things don't go great, maybe even arguably worse in comparison to Part 3 seeing as the reader hasn't had time to really cool down, and is already sick of the Batfam.

It just goes as terribly as you'd expect, and hey, maybe if a few of the wrong buttons are pushed, certain things happen instead of others. But if they're left alone, maybe the reader will get a bit of breathing space before it's inevitable invaded again.

Either way they'd be pushy, clingy, and would not leave the reader alone for a second- maybe even having them discuss parts of their life, along with certain events that have happened to them, so it can feel like the Batfam and the them are 'bonding'. (Even if the reader is very uncomfortable, in reality, and just ready to leave- but the Batfam is basically nailing them in place by staying close and invading their personal space.)

The Batfam becomes a part of the reader's everyday life as they don't want to miss a single day ever again. Not one. Even if the reader doesn't 'live' in the mansion anymore, but they'll move back in eventually, surely. The Batfam will take care of it either way.

With everything and anything the reader does, they'll find a way how to be there one way or another. But if they get too impatient? I'm sure you can imagine what happens from there.

Tldr: Things still go horribly, but just much faster than normal! :]

I hope this answered your question! If you'd like for me to clarify on anything or go into more detail on a specific thing I mentioned, feel free to send an ask! If anyone else has another question or anything or the sort, feel free to do the same!

#talking daydreams #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #gn reader #sibling reader #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Something Borrowed

Masters of the Air fanfiction

Summary: Upon the sudden stop of all their correspondence, Miss Lana Tierney finds herself bereft of her pen pal John Egan’s support -not however, without him first having made a heavy declaration and entrusted her with a precious bit of himself. Battling Tinsel Town’s awful labyrinth of censors, agents, and an ever disloyal mother, Lana seeks to find John, and having once found him, to remind him of his promise to try. Meanwhile in Stalag Luft III, Major Gale Cleven may loiter at his incriminating radio longer than strictly necessary in hopes of hearing a voice that would bring his best friend a shred of hope.

My many thanks to: Christi and Ashley for endless amounts of encouragement and advice and enrichment of the plot, y’all are invaluable darlings and precious friends. To Bri who has been the brains and requests behind the concept and the beating heart behind giving Bucky a love of a lifetime

Warnings: 18+ disturbing content. Not so much war focused but rather Hollywood in the 40’s which can be horribly gruesome itself. We are happily ripping off Lana Turner’s real story for much of this, and so in this chapter you will find mentions of certain harrowing abuses she endured. Such as: brief references to a forced, studio-required abortion, bugging of a woman’s room, arranged engagements, drugging, hinted sexual exploitation, willing current sexual favors in return for a role, Bucky going a little nuts as a POW, Lana’s mother being the worst, John Huston making a cameo that will probably make you wanna punch the guy. It’s ok, the real fella deserved it. Go ahead. Again, nothing explicit, didn’t wanna get all yucky but these themes are prevalent in here in passing.

Word count: a whopping 8k

Character name reminder: Julie Jean Turner goes by the Hollywood alias of “Lana Tierney”

Lana lay abed and stewed. She was past grief, or perhaps it was easier explained that Grief and her sisters, Denial and Betrayal, were more of Julie Jean Turner’s privilege. Miss Lana Tierney, academy hopeful and box office gold, had little left but rage and the moist silk of her pillow pressed to her burning cheek.

“What an awful few days it’s been.” she’d allowed herself to say a few weeks back.

The Julie Jean of that week didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Life was bad enough then, back when he called, but his voice cured everything from her terrible week. Vincent and the engagement and the studios, all of it. But then came a letter, one written awfully like a goodbye, and another one after it but all of them were little provisions for if he were to go down.

Scribbled hours before going up.

“I love you, I know it’s a lot to spring on a gal who’s just doing her bit and keeping me happy but I do. It’s an awful type of love, Julie, very tight fisted and I think I only love you because you love me so well in your way. I don’t think that’s the sort of love to do anybody any good, but I’d regret not saying it, beginners can’t be haughty. Here I wanted to stick my toe in and you gobbled the whole leg, and I love you. I love you for it. I love you.”

She’d rubbed over his signature, not a bit of cursive in that scrawled -John- a million times.

And then, just like that, just like what had happened to her friends and a million women across the world- his letters simply stopped. Julie Jean learned elsewhere he’d been shot down for weeks by the time she’d gotten the last one. It was hard to have finally heard his voice and known of his purpose, but now? -a dead silence that had a voice and face and love attached to it. It was agony of a sort she’d never known and was made worse by the loneliness in her secrecy of not being able to mourn it aloud.

She moaned into the mess of her pillowcase and ignored Bertha's fifth knock of the afternoon. Who’d recognize the glamorous Miss Tierney now? Pitiful and tear streaked and pale from blood loss. She still lay on a chucks pad the studio nurse had rolled her onto, a feeble trickle still seeping between her legs. Curled on her side with eyes glinting at the afternoon sun, she seethed at one more thing taken from her.

Lana could hardly stand it. But she had to try. She’d made John promise he would. They’d promised each other, and somehow she hadn’t any doubts that wherever he was, he was trying.

“Miss Tierney?” That was Herbert’s voice and Jean rolled her eyes at the predictability of this household. After not answering Delores they sent in Bertha and upon not answering Bertha here was Herbert and if she didn’t answer him, her mother might manage to rouse herself and drive over.

“Come in Herb, if you must.” she groaned, hand outstretched and patting blindly for a cigarette on her nightstand.

Her old driver came in with an unusually light step, it bespoke a sympathy for her plight that Jean would have preferred a thousand times never to read on his usually persnickety face. “How are you holding up after -“ he stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed as Jean rummaged and when she sat back with cigarette and holder in hand, she found him looking down at her with such concern she nearly threw the lamp at him. “Tonsillitis, huh?” he hummed sympathetically.

“Oh yes, nasty bout.” she lied merrily, the ache in her violated womb protested her move to sit up. “They had to take them clean out.” it was the only printable explanation for her ailment.

“Yeah.” Herb had been a renowned stuntman before he’d been demoted to driver, and before stuntman he’d been a soldier in the trenches and before that he’d been a clerk. If anyone knew about coat hangers and poor girls held down to be kept forever virginal and ever in use, Herb knew. Herb had warned her even, told her what a sick racket they ran here in Tinsel Town. Much good it did her, she was in too deep before she knew she had so much as stuck her toe in.

Rather like Bucky in love, apparently, and that thought made her madly blink away a stupid rush of tears.

“What’s that?” she pointed at the parcel she just now noticed was tucked under his arm.

“Oh, this? Chocolates. Here, my lighter miss?” Whatever was under Herbert’s arm wasn’t shaped like any chocolates she knew and Jean was about to give him a talking to for being insipid when her mood was so poor but then she saw him press a warning finger to his lips. He walked around the side of her bed and indeed pulled out a lighter, metal and rude and no doubt a relic of the first war, and flicked it for her to light up. Bending down he smelled of tobacco himself when he took the unprecedented liberty of whispering in her ear: “They bugged the room during your operation, Miss. Must be careful. Especially if you want to keep your gift.”

He pulled away and looked down at her sorrowfully before quietly laying the dirty brown package atop her pristine sheets. Mother had them changed after the bloodbath of the…operation. They were spotless before and now they were sooty. That pleased her.

Jean forgot to look away from him. She was startled and upset by the news but she didn’t doubt it. They’d probably bugged the phone ages ago, god knows they’d stop at next to nothing and she did so want to keep something for herself. If she couldn’t have a baby, her baby, then she’d keep a parcel, damn them all. Then a cold feeling of dread filled her and she thought to grab at her books and look for the hidden letters.

Gone. Mother. It must’ve been mother, it was her sort of thing to have rifled through Lana’s things while she was being operated on and found them and took them and-

The rage spurred her to look down at what Herb brought her, cigarette forgotten between her quivering lips. She expected it to be from him, a little pep up. Perhaps a doll or a stuffed animal to cheer her. But no, this parcel in its plain brown wrapping had come from afar, smudged and delayed a million times judging by its redirected stamps -and she’d know that writing from anywhere.

Her Johnny.

Julie Jean’s little gasp let slip the cigarette from her mouth but not before Herb caught it from singeing the sheets. He was quicker than anyone gave the old man credit for, banged up head or not. “Thought that might cheer you.” he grinned in that begrudging way of his, as if he were cross at the joy made manifest on his face.

“I’m scared.” she admitted in a whisper, hands hovering over the brown twine strings. Whatever was inside was squishy and giving. And whatever it was, John had sent it before he’d been shot down. But still, somehow it felt like a gift from him on this, the worst day of her life. Like he was sending some comfort even from hell on earth and without a clue of her own dispair. Herb seemed to read it the same way, and that’s how Jean knew she wasn’t being a delusional, hysterical wreck, if that crusty old sod knew its significance in coming today, then it was plain as the irregular nose on his face.

“Scared of chocolate?” His tease covered a strong reminder for her to watch her words.

“Mm, yes, what if there’s raspberry filled ones?” she whispered back. “You know how I can’t abide raspberries.”

“Guess you’ll just have to be brave and see.” he nudged her.

Nodding her head solemnly, Jean tugged apart the twine that had kept John Egan’s package together for an entire transcontinental delivery. It fell away with a crinkling sound and she found folded upon it, without a bit of fuss or wrapping, the oddest piece of cloth. Almost a patchwork of pale leather and a zipper and -Jean’s throat closed as her hand descended and felt along the soft fluff of a sheepskin collar.

He didn’t. He didn’t send her his jacket? Surely —

Herb made a noncommittal noise beside her which sounded awfully like some touched sorta gasp at the sight, but as it was Herb and he had a tobacco wad where he should have had a heart, so he must’ve been coming down with the same cold that landed Lana in tonsil surgery.

Hands shaky and heart hammering, Jean reached in and pulled the garment out, a tiny little note fluttered out. Someone else’s penmanship. “To the care of Jean Turner, until it can be retrieved by Major Egan.”

“Oh god.” she felt like sobbing before pressing her face into the sweat fumed plushness of it. “Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.” she kept his name buried in his jacket, secret like his gift and his love and his comfort and her desires. Eyes and mouth muffled into the darkness of something that was his. She felt Herb’s gentle hand pat on her head and the following click of the latch as he went out.

“Mister Vincent called to say there’s dinner and photographs scheduled for tonight, Miss Tierney.” he informed her levelly before he left and her ears were not so buried in Air Force Shearling she couldn’t hear of her doom. “There’s been some speculations -they want to smooth it over. Bertha was trying to pass it on.”

Bertha wanted to wipe off whatever remaining blood was on her and primp all signs of coercion off her devastated face, that’s what Bertha was here for. Jean vaguely wondered if her mother’s clenching hand print still lingered on her cheeks, she rubbed John’s jacket against the soreness of her mouth, muffling her sobs the way her mother’s hand had stifled her screams of pain only hours ago.

Back to work, asap, it would seem. -Bleed down your nylons dear, it’ll be alright, so long as they see a happy face and a lucky new couple.

Vincent. She wasn’t sure how she’d face him, the weekend getaway and his little “test drive” of her had been bad enough, the fact he hadn’t the brains to prevent it from having consequences or the spine to stand up for the life of the child he made- oh, she wondered how she’d manage to down her asparagus in the face of it all. Acting, she presumed, a true talent that had suddenly become a personality since -since? -she wasn’t sure when.

Beside her for months now, stacked beneath the pile of new Runyon books she’d taken out of the library, had been a pile of letters that didn’t have a bit of acting in them. Raw and true and terrible and wanton, each of John Egan’s thoughts tumbled off their confining pages and into her heart in mirrored response to her own. Now mother had them.

Jean wondered where all her own letters to him were, now that he was gone and someone else was in his bunk.

Funny to think of that, the most honest account of herself was most likely moldering in the bottom of some MIA airman’s footlocker.

It was all a bit self indulgent, she admitted even as she stripped out of her bloody gown and down to her bare skin, but she had lost plenty and she needed him: so she slipped him on, soft wool caressing her and stopping the shivers of shock that had wracked her all morning. It smelled so manly and sweaty and terribly real she about swooned at the sensation of having a bit of him next to her. Now she’d seen him -all those darling candid photos in repayment for hers- and she’d heard him -oh that awful, wonderful telephone call right before he disappeared- and now she was smelling him.

Jean would have to bathe and take a handful of aspirin and cinch in her girdle and kiss her fiancée tonight, but for a brief hour she layed in bed naked as a baby with her gift wrapped around her like swaddling clothes.

Vincent came later with the car, one of his father’s for certain, and eyed her choice of outerwear with a sour mouth. Fleece and chiffon was an odd mix but Lana always had been a trendsetter and it was early November, even if it was Los Angeles. Of course, for her the jacket was John, and so she wore him like armor -and if she was wearing it, they couldn’t take it without her knowing.

“I’m cold.” she answered Vin’s unspoken question sharply on the ride over, “I’ve just had tonsil surgery, you may recall?”

“It stinks.” he huffed back, his nose presumptuously nuzzling under her curls and very near the sweat soaked fleece, “Smells like a barnyard.”

What it smelled like was a red blooded American man’s honest days work killing Nazis. But Vincent and his pale hands and arranged medical exemptions weren’t likely to know what that smelled like, so Lana felt compelled to give him a pass. “It’s for the war effort,” she sighed, “we must all make sacrifices. Mr. Warner told me it would be grand press to wear it.”

She’d never spoken to Mr. Warner about much else but weather and her tits, but growing ever more desperate as these days went on, Lana thought perhaps she’d pay him a visit.

“Great press?” Vincent seethed, charmingly one track focused, “The press should be about our engagement! Not the war!”

“Be a realest, dahling,” she soothed, “nothing, not even the great scion of a prestigious family such as yours is half as fascinating right now as ball bearings and top turret production in Greenfield. If we want them to print about our engagement, it’s got to have something to do with the general war, see?“

“Ah, ah I see.” Vincent swallowed her lie well enough, still perturbed at the fracturing of his beloved media attention but consoled that Lana was not aspiring to make him a fool.

Oh how foolish that was of him, Lana hummed to herself as they pulled up to the restaurant, perhaps not tonight or in a week's time. No, for now she was down and out and no doubt about it, but eventually, she’d scramble on top, she had to or she’d be offed eventually by it all. She knew that now, it was plain with each aching step on wobbly legs and each smile of her crimped, anemic face, Vincent’s pliable hand more vice than support on her elbow as she stepped out under Chasens’ green awning.

There was conversation and photographs all through dinner, her agent and a Warner Brothers executive kindly gracing the table with heavy, stilted and very implied conversation. Lana might’ve breathed better in her booth had they held an actual gun to her head and told her to finish her parsnips that way. They were very happy she had recovered from the tonsillitis so well, they were very eager to see her on set bright and early tomorrow, they were very eager that any doubt about how in love she was with the respectable Vincent be ameliorated -a very big word to say with a mouthful of steak- and very hopeful that Lana wouldn’t get any ideas about a repeat of the War Bond tour. Yes the last one had been very effective and the government was pleased, but too much exposure to common crowds had a tendency to lessen the goddess effect, she must be let out to the pubic sparingly, and they in turn must not feel entitled to her in any way.

Such as…reaching out through the post, for example, much less expecting to be answered with anything less standardized than what Bertha might write twenty times over in her name in an afternoon.

“I just want to do my part.” Lana demurred.

“Oh honey, you’ve done your part, and now you’ve got a new part. Make a wish.” And there before her was brought out a cake slice with much fanfare, icing making a pretty little drizzle of words -“speedy recovery Lana, love from everyone at Warner Brothers Studio.”

She’d seen actresses carried out plastered to the four winds on sedative from slices just like this one, chivalrously poured into a waiting backseat of a producer or studio head, taken back to be put to bed. God knows what else happened in those beds. Her nausea returned fourfold and it wasn’t acting when she gasped a need to go to the powder room.

Instead she dashed to the phone, the one in the cubby near the toilets, trying resolutely to ignore the spying eyes of waiters and curious waves of famous guests passing by.

“Pick up, Herb, pick up.” she begged, listening to it ring and ring, then suddenly felt a horrid fear at the realization she’d left the jacket slung over her chair at the booth, with Vincent. “Herb please, please.” she moaned, stomping one well shod foot against the marble floor.

“Hallo?”

“Herb, oh Herb!” Lana gushed urgently on hearing him pick up, “You must come pick me up, they’re onto me with the letters and they’ve brought out cake and- bring a car, Vincent brought his father’s-“

“-Thank yeeew, Herbert, that will be all.” Mother’s affected transatlantic sent shivers down Lana’s spine right as she felt the cold clasp of her rings around her wrist, receiver wrenched effectively from her nerveless hand, “This is a family matter, your services are not required.”

“Mommy dearest.” Lana felt her lips trembling in a odd way that fought against the creeping numbness, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Would that I could say the same, Lana.” Mother reproved, “To abandon your fiancé without thought? And to find you calling on Herbert, like this were some otiresome fundraiser from which you may carelessly abscond -really. Your behavior is nothing but deplorable lately, I hardly know you. The cost, Lana, think of the cost of it all, this recklessness.”

“Who told you?”

“That you weren’t appreciative of the cake?” Mother smiled shyly, “Alfonso.”

The owner, of course, when he couldn’t get a hand up Lana herself he had become quite partial to mother, loyal to an opulent degree. She suspected that cake more than ever, the phone, too. God there was no getting out of this town, this place, this life.

“Alfonso says you’re distracted,” mother went on, “pale and sniffing some jacket? What has gotten into you?”

“Vincent.” Lana joked miserably and if half of Hollywood wasn’t sat so near, she’s rather sure her mother might’ve struck her.

“You’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to smile for the pictures, and you’re going to like it.” Mother laid out the case, the plan and the rest of her life, “And when we go home you’ll be getting a piece of my mind.”

“Oh really mother,” Lana sighed heavily, “I couldn’t take the last piece.”

The pinch on her arm was familiar of when Lana was a child and refused to sing in yet another talent show - the fifth that weekend. “Your fault for falling ill, now we must make up for lost time.” they were gliding back to the table arm in arm with Lana’s pale skin pinched between mother’s manicure, “Smile, darling, smile and wave.” as they wove between one starry guest and another.

Mother’s gait stalled for one fraction of a moment upon coming up to the table and seeing the bizarre article of clothing hanging over Lana’s chair. “Works better than a mink.” Lana proclaimed quite loudly, giddy enough to attract most male attention around who craned their necks to watch her shimmy it on for a try-on, much to Mother’s feigned amusement. She shimmied in the fleece, chiffon doing little to hide the jiggle of her derrière beneath the jacket’s hem and the flash of a bulb cracked significantly amongst the dinner chatter.

“It’s much too large for you -the sleeves, the shoulders-“

“That’s because it’s a genuine article mother!” Lana preened, satisfied to have caught the eye of the one she wanted as he sat in his booth.

Powerful and dark and lecherous, The Jack Huston stared at her unabashedly over the haze of his cigarette, his own date forgotten, taking in the way the man’s coat dwarfed her little body in a pantomime of covering her physically, masculine leather and zipper in stark contrast to baby soft skin swelling out of her neckline. She knew that look well, one of a man sizing her up for how she’d look beneath him.

Lana smirked at him significantly, squeezing the material around her dreamily and created a significantly more substantial amount of decollage for him to view upon doing so. “Lana, sit down for god’s sake.” Mother was hissing and Lana saw Huston laugh at it, she rolled her eyes and dramatically shrugged, seating herself as asked but refusing to break eye contact with him until he raised his glass in a toast to her brazenness.

“Lana, photographers! Come now! Chin up, smile, smile darling.”

There were so many flashbulbs here it was obnoxious to not only Lana’s throbbing eyes but the other patrons, still a hard launch of a stilted, lab grown relationship was hardly an oddity in Hollywood or its most favored eating spots, and so it was endured.

“Doll, open up,” Vincent cajoled in Lana’s ear, hand kneading her waist and nose pressed to her hair, “practice for the wedding.”

It looked quite humorous if a little uncouth in the papers next day, Lana’s gasping and amused indulgence of her green boy fiancé as he playfully stuffed her mouth with cake in that pitiful tradition of marital provocation.

“Look at my dearest daughter, tonsil surgery yesterday and already, so eager, can’t be kept from dinner with her darling fiancé!”

The world grew fuzzy as Lana did her best to keep the wad of cake in her gums until she could spit the most of it out. “Tell your studio i want compensation for having to share press with the war effort.” Vin was complaining to the executive and Lana felt her world swim, only one single, dire hope remaining -Herb.

She gripped the edges of the jacket tighter and tried to focus. Mother was being called away, taking her leave with a photographed kiss to Lana’s clammy temple -some business with Aunt Lu and that promised check for her swimming pool. Lana had put in a lot of swimming pools for a lot of relatives, she was beginning to lose track between the pools and the houses and the cars and the wardrobes and always -“it’s family, Lana, they depend on you. Chin up, smile, smile darling, smile for the cameras, there’s my golden girl, box office magic.”

“Lana it’s very important you understand the role of an engaged woman-“ the executive was very insistent and Lana was very tired and very fuzzy feeling, which apparently Vincent could sense as his hands began to grow courageous in his petting, “-it’s a fine balance between respectability and attainability. The studio has worked so hard to give you this life, made enormous sacrifices so you could have a chance at this career, created an expertly crafted persona for you -if you were to jeopardize it all in any way, by inviting speculation about yourself or your lackluster roots-“

Lana was about ready to stand up and scream “I’m Julie Jean Turner from Broken Arrow Oklahoma!” and watch the deflated disinterest cover her audience like snow, it would ruin the effect -she wanted them to care that her life was a lie, but as soon as she told the truth, they’d lose all interest either way. Fame was funny like that.

“Mr Vincent,” Alfonso was most solicitous as well as perispring when he hurried over to her fiancé’s side, “there’s been an incident, your car, sir! The windows, they are smashed! And there appear to be eggs?”

Lana wasn’t sure she successfully suppressed the bubbling little laugh that flitted out of her leaden chest at Vincent’s deathly white pallor. There were two of him in her fractured, drug impaired vision and he acted like looney twins, scrambling up from the table in a flurry of hands and pomade, tux tails flapping like a frightened bird. “It’s my father’s car you idiot! Where was the doorman? Where?”

“Ooooh daddy’s gonna be mad.” Lana cooed to herself, amused at how this failure of a son couldn’t land a deal or a car or his own, only a troublesome actress who was in dire love with a man she’d never met.

Dear Herb, the eggs were such a nice touch.

The executive was waving off the cameras, this part of the night hardly suitable to be recorded. “Stewart, phone call for you.” A commanding, sonorous voice beside her sent goose flesh popping along Lana’s arms beneath the jacket, Jack Huston and his cologne suddenly pervading the place like an ominous deity casting its shadow over the now almost empty table.

“Mr. Huston.” Lana simpered sweetly when Stewart had left and it was just them alone with his hand on the back of her chair, thumbing at the lamb skin. There were two of Huston too, in her vision, and Lana gulped in trepidation of having to please both.

“Miss Tierney,” he replied, grinning a little too wide for her to focus, “you know what you look like you need?”

“What’s that, Mr. Huston?”

“Call me Jack.”

“What’s that Jack?” she tittered, happily courting ruin.

“A nightcap.” Jack declared and was extending a large palm for her before she could second guess. It was the choice of a lion over a wolf here in Hollywood, and Lana had such plans for Mr. Huston. But, like most things, Lana’s plans must wait until Mr. Huston’s plans for her had been satisfactorily met.

Of all the backseats to be poured into in Hollywood, Huston’s was rather plush and smelled nice and had a clinking little bar in the console, well stocked and vintage. Better yet, the car wasn’t his father’s, it was his. As was his mind and his time and his appetite. Lana could only dream of having that sort of brash freedom, for now she must attach herself to those who did if she so much as wanted a taste.

“So what’s with the jacket?” Mr. Huston had the liberty to be casual on a ride back to his house with a much desired starlet, after all, he had a slam dunk assurance she wasn’t going to say no on arrival.

“It belongs to a man who loves me.” she slurred earnestly.

“Pilot?”

“Yes. He writes the sweetest, filthiest things.”

“To you?”

“Only to me.” she whispered with drunken vehemence.

“I bet he does.” Huston laughed.

Mr. Huston enjoyed ribbons: tying them around her, to be specific but of all the novel and varied ways to be satisfactory it wasn’t so bad, and when he lay next to her afterwards as the drug began to take her fully under, Lana was pleased by the heavy arm around her waist. He didn't care about the tonsillitis. Bucky’s jacket hung carefully over the armchair in her line of sight, Jack had been nice about that, too.

Yes she could make some use of Huston and his ribbons and his new army uniform and his government contracts.

————————————————-

“I was insensible.” Lana maintained the following day at a meeting with Mother and Stewart and a slew of concerned agents and executives who were pleased enough by the engaged cake smashing photographs, less so by the discreet vandalizing of their blonde product by John Huston. “I don’t know what you put in that cake but it did the trick and I was as aghast as you upon waking up where I woke up.”

“And the jacket?” Mother had her priorities straight, troublesome memorabilia first, dear daughter’s virtue second.

“Shoot, I think Huston has it.” Lana whimpered, “I was in such a state, such a rush to leave-“

“Well that was a very unfortunate oversight, Lana.”

“I know.”

“He could use it against us.” Mother fretted.

“He’d make a fool of himself if he did,” Stewart shined best when full of his self-bloated importance and meetings such as these were essential fuel for that importance, “it would look like he took a pilot to bed.”

“Stewart, she’s all over the nation’s morning paper’s wearing the horrid thing!” Mother snapped and while she herself was admittedly awful most times, Lana never doubted she was shrewd, far more than Stewart and all the men in the room she jockeyed for lead with. “In fact Lana, this has really brought to a head a growing issue. Your restlessness, your ingratitude, it’s become insufferable and now it jeparadizes everything. I am speaking of the coat but also of the letters. Oh yes, I know all about those.”

A wise performance required Lana to play the frightened and shocked little miscreant and so she did, wide doe eyes looking beseechingly penitent and horrified in the face of having been caught doing a single independent thing. “Oh mother-“

“They are bad enough with their filth and their familiarity,” mother cut her off, “but to have written to him in your old name! Lana, the carelessness! It’s a mercy he’s dead, think of the presumptuous attitude he would have adopted had he returned. Unthinkable!”

“Dead?” Lana felt her throat close up, wishing desperately to be back in his jacket again, regretting most harshly her high-priced scheming of last night. All of it had been for him, and he was dead.

“Quite dead.” Mother was irritated by her crestfallen state but not so much as to prevent her crowing over little Lana’s misstep. “And now I am burdened with the necessity of tracking down his effects, getting your side of the correspondence back, think of the unpleasantness of contacting his family! Conversations with dead servicemen's families are always so tedious. You do recall what a bore it was for me to have to carry-on with them on your tour. And all of this to get back your filthy, perverse break of discretion.”

“Were they to get out they’d ruin your reputation.” Stewart put in the obvious, “They’d reveal your plain and common upbringing, your drab name and worse, you would be known to be a horny, hungry young woman.”

Lana stared at him across from his desk, that adrift feeling of aloneness taking over her, such as she’d only felt a few times in her life, like when her mother left her on her first studio couch for an audition, despite her pleas to stay. “Yes,” she agreed faintly, “it would be a terrible thing for an object of desire to appear willing. Or wanting, at all capable of their own needs. It would really ruin the shine of it all, I see.”

“Lana!”

“Oh mother, really, pimped out all my life -all for it to be ruined by the suggestion I might like it!”

“It’s worse than all that.” Stewart insisted gravely, immune to female objections and tantrums, “I’ve been contacted this morning by one of the branches of our government dealing with espionage and information,” -no wonder he was feeling so very important today- “and they’re concerned that the German Air Force is aware of your correspondence with Major Agen-“

“It’s Egan, actually.”

“-Agen and a tapped phone call as well, they have concerns, Lana, about the Germans using this connection as leverage on him, now they have him in their camps, under their thumb, at their mercy.”

Lana’s fractured world slid together again like a suctioned mosaic, one focal point of reason being clear. “He’s a prisoner of war.” she knew just the right inquisitive tone to encourage Stewart to keep blabbing.

“Yes.” Stewart was very grave and very important about being privy to this information, and Mother let out a fuming little cluck of her tongue at his fumble.

“So, he’s a prisoner.” she smirked triumphantly at Mother and was not corrected for once. “Not dead.”

“Good as dead.” Mother clarified.

Lana still smiled, she could work with “good as.”

———————————————-

“Jack?” Lana had timed her delicate attack most carefully, waiting until Huston was relaxed but not asleep, dressing but not in a hurry, happy but not restless, and most importantly, not remotely tired of her.

“What doll?” Jack had a broad back and nice hands, sometimes Lana imagined they were rather like Egan’s, or maybe that’s what she told herself to keep the tears at bay long enough for each amorous performance to conclude, “Your mother bitchin’ about me again?”

“Well,” she shied away into the bedding, “to be honest, yes.”

“Little rebel.” he praised her on his way to sling on his suspenders, apparently he was going out tonight, she felt a clench of panic in her gut at the need to throw her pitch before he left or hushed her.

“Jack I’ve been thinking.” She began again.

“Not what you’re payed for, doll.”

“No, true.” Lana was used to laughing at that same joke told by a couple dozen different men, “But is that skit competition still on? The one for the CBS slot?”

“Yeah, few more days left, why?”

“Anything promising yet?” Lana ventured carefully, Jack was so very busy with all these government contracts for documentaries and proganada shows, and ever since then he’d had a very short fuse, fussy over his stalled artistic dreams. Not that he didn’t care about the war, he did in fact, and that’s why Lana liked him if she liked him at all. But he liked it the way a movie maker does, he wanted to tell stories and he wanted to be somebody important, and if he wasn’t going to be shot at he damn sure would be known to hang about the guys who were.

He was off to the Pacific to film some Marines mucking about on some godforsaken Atoll in a month or more. She had to make her move.

In the meantime, he was to organize a broadcast. Lana bad learned that from the grapevine at Warner’s, Betty D. dropping as much over her three carrots at lunch.

“I was wondering why we haven’t got ourselves an anecdote to Axis Sally.” Lana chose to be blunt, Jack was different from other men, he liked her babified act as much as the next man, but he’d belted her too for ‘playing dumb’. Since then she’d said her mind, as much as she dared and he called her idiotic often, but she’d not been belted again. “Our boys keep listening to that trash, and the housewives too, just to hear reports on the missing and the prisoners.”

“They listen ‘cause she’s sexy and funny.” Jack informed her with a pointed look.

“That too.” Lana contemplated the sheets before her, “But can’t we be funny and sexy too? Instead of demoralizing we could be happy! And we’d not have reports on prisoners but we could give them clues and hope, in case anyone's listening in.”

“Listening in.” Jack had stopped his halfhearted listening to her, wheeling suddenly with cuff links partway hanging, “You mean in camps?”

“Camps. Resistance. Wherever.”

“They don’t let them have radios, ya know.” Huston pointed out, but it wasn’t said in argument, he was pondering too.

“You know they still manage.” Lana smiled softly and he smiled back.

“Ok, what’s the pitch?” He sighed and sat himself down again on the side of the bed, evening plans abandoned for the moment.

Lana’s heart swelled with hope and the delicious feeling of being taken seriously. Even if she was lying in his bed with hair a mess and dignity mighty rumpled. “Perhaps we could tack onto Fred Allen’s spot? Hasn’t he got a vacancy? A variety show? A skit? I don’t know, but we could have repeat actors and we could have guest stars. And it could- it could be a girl-“

“-Allied Sally.” Huston joked and Lana genuinely snickered at that.

“Something like that.” She agreed, chagrined at the need for a catchy, corney radio name, “And she could be waiting for her sweetheart, sending him messages and well wishes and jokes and -Oh! The score! The scores on everything! Baseball! Jack!”

“Calm down, calm down, it’s decent.” Jack hushed her, waving her giddy self back down as she warmed to her topic, “And you could be her.” he stated the obvious.

“Don’t you think I’d manage it well?” She cajoled, cocking her shoulder in her best pantomime of a coquette. “Aren’t I funny and sexy, Mr. Huston?”

“Hmph,” he scratched his cheek and stared at her as if summing up the likelihood of this working, “needs another angle. Beyond skits.”

“Alright. Like what?”

Huston secured his cuff links, smile broadening as his mind began to whirl, “Letters.” he stated and Lana’s heart froze, “Love letters, we gotta keep it sexy, you said so yourself. There’s nothing so funny as a redacted letter being read out over the censors. The constant beeps alone will get laughs, give it the right inflection in between and you’ll have a game on your hands with the listeners guessing and filling in.”

“Letters.” Lana mumbled in agreement, numb at the brilliance of it and filled with horror at the idea of monetizing what John Egan had given her -connection, love, devotion, grit, humor. But this broadcast, it might be the only way to keep in any sort of contact with him. At what cost? Would he care at all for her after it? Would he think she used him up for a little business inspiration? Oh she couldn’t bear it, yet worse, she couldn’t bear life as Vincent’s wife, locked in for another ten years at Warner’s under mother’s thumb. “It’s brilliant.”

“Almost uncanny how likely a story it is.” Huston grunted as he pulled on a shoe, sending her a sly look that broke her a heart a little more, “Nothing so powerful as a tale based on a real thing, Lana.” he reminded forcefully.

The letters, the blackmail her mother hung over her, all of it dealt with if this pitch became a reality. It would all fade into a myth. And with it all the realness John had brought her. “Yes, I said -it’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, easy does it for now.” He cautioned, “Gotta sort your mother and let that contract expire gently. I’ll pitch it myself. See what CBS can wrangle up. Don’t get your hopes up and keep that jacket safe, it’ll be invaluable when we get you a storyline for it.”

“Right.”

“Well go on, tell mommy dearest.” he goaded, nodding to the phone.

“Oh they wouldn’t be approving.” Lana disagreed, referring to the whole pack of them, her mother and her lawyers and her agents.

“Why not? Sounds like great business. Solves all the scandal too.”

“Something like this part-“ Lana demurred, “-wouldn’t suit my image, mother says.”

Jack barked out a rough laugh, plopped back down on the bed and tugging the sheets from her clutches. “Your mother does realize you’re walking wank material, right? That’s your image.”

“Yes,” Lana sighed, “but…unwilling, she says. That’s the crucial part.”

“Oh. Yeah, well,” Jack eyed her up, “you do make a great impression of a scared lamb in bed.”

“They’re concerned it’ll make me too independent. Like the War Bond tour,” she gave a wistful smile, “I kissed so many boys my lips swelled right up. It was grand.”

“Now Lana,” Huston cautioned, “I’m not on any crusade to liberate you, myself.”

“Oh I know!” She was quick to assure, ever the obliging little lady, “And I don’t want to be. Not from you or the studio-“

“-just from mother dearest?” he nodded knowingly, not knowing the half of it.

“Yes.” she pretended great relief at his perception.

“Huh, well, good. Because this idea would have a contract of its own, and it would be long if I’m any judge of the longevity of the project. You’ll be locked in for years.”

“But it’ll be my choice.” She reaffirmed, and this time she meant it.

“And you’ll look willing.” Jack grinned and she grinned back, compulsively like a child mimicking their threat. “Might take some practice though, to make you look willing. Get over here, doll.”

———————————————-

Major Gale Cleven was appreciative of the dangers of listening to the radio in camp, it was one of those necessary and crucial risks that required responsible stewardship and utmost care. It wasn’t a flippant pastime and it wasn’t a recreation, but then again, neither was it strictly business. Like much of their lives as prisoners of war, he and his fellow soldiers toed a strict line between honoring their captors’ jurisdictions while also thwarting their imposed restrictions at every possible juncture.

Sometimes one should listen to the radio because that is what free men did, and Gale Cleven tried by any means possible- letters, books, calculus or his frigid metal headset- to stay free in his mind, to comport himself with the same surety as his free counterpart.

Otherwise, you lived like a ghost in your own body. And that was no good for oneself or those around you. As everyone who shared a bunk and combine with John Egan was quickly learning. The immediate joy of reuniting with him, the fear of losing him to his wounds, the relief of his recovery, it had all leveled out at the end like a anticlimactic ride on a rollercoaster, skidding to a plateau where he was neither well enough to be exempt from Gale’s concern, nor ill enough to warrant the patience required to put up with his rabid moods. Always restless, being kept in the glamorized equivalent of a dog run was hardly fitting for his nature. It was hard on everyone, but Gale wasn’t such a relativist as to assume John Egan had it the same as everyone. Some folks required more miles and more sky to keep them sane, and Bucky was one of those.

It had tipped Gale into a habit that could no longer be qualified as strictly informative, nor could he defend it as necessary where he to get caught. It was undoubtedly poor stewardship to spend an extra half hour listening to the inane comedy of a BBC guest production. But he had started it to cheer Brady when Glenn Miller’s band was on, and it had done such good for him and Bucky as they crowded ‘round, that Gale had since stayed alert for any other such ‘triviality’ that might be of use.

If the Colonel walked in and demanded an explanation for this extra bit of carelessness, Cleven thought he might make a decent defense about waiting for Ed Murrow to come on, broadcasting for CBS from London, always with a decent take on what was happening in the war. The motivation of Murrow often having stars on his program was completely erroneous.

Or so Gale swore to himself for the tenth time as Demarco kept watch and he himself painstakingly tuned the dials and bent his ear to sort the static.

There was music and the typical overlap of voices for awhile until he honed it down, British and American accents floating in, obnoxiously layered all on top of each other still, yet this time intentional. He must’ve hit a variety show. He gave himself two minutes, that much he’d allow and if the thing he’d been waiting for in secret for months did not occur,

he’d move right on or pack up for the night.

“I’m not sure about no boy writing you letters!” a man’s voice crackled through, comedically irate.

The next voice was girlish, smooth despite the poor frequency and made the hair of Gale’s arms stand on end from universal male appreciation and a gut wrenching sense of recognition: “Well I don’t know any more about it, paw paw, except that he loves me and I love him!”

“Yeah?” -Gale thought perhaps that was Bob Hope’s voice, play acting as the fuming father figure, “Yeah, then tell me, dear daughter, what sorta fella calls the girl he loves: Acorn! Huh?”

Gale’s eyes bugged from his head, glassy and shocked and Crank rushed over in solidarity, terribly sure the whole continent of North America had just been reported as broken off into the sea. “What is it Buck?”

“Crank!” Gale croaked, “Go! Go get Egan, tell him his girl’s on the radio and to get his ass in here, goooo!”

“Egan’s got a girl?” Benny was bewildered.

“Acorn!” Brady and Gale yelled in unison.

“But that’s Lana Tierney.” Crank pointed over the spunk wall, or as it was called in more noble moments of higher aspiration, the Wall of Hopes and Dreams, where Lana and Rita smiled tantalizingly and warm from their crinkled posters, down on the men’s bunks.

“Yes, Acorn. Go!”

Gale held his breath and listened harder, trying to gauge how far into the sketch he had caught them, wishing them to linger, as if by sheer willpower alone he could make her stay on until Bucky got there.

Fuck -acorn? Why would she use that? She had to be out of her mind to dare a thing like that, had to be just to get his attention, right? Surely? Had to be out of her mind, Gale decided, which was just another diagnosis for love. And that gave him pause.

“What’s your feller anyway? He a squirrel?” Bob Hope was pressing the issue right as Bucky burst in with a flurry of flapping overcoat and steaming breath.

“Get in here, come on, get over here.” Gale stood up and pointed to his vacated seat, shoving Bucky down for good measure and crouching to press the headpiece to his ear, wanting to share it for some idiotic reason, as if like a parent he could cut the cord if something sad or risky came on.

“Maybe he is,” Lana was breathily defending, “and we’ll live happily ever after in our tree. And there’s nothing you or Jerry can do to stop us!”

“Shit.” Egan breathed out reverently like he’d been punched real and good and an epiphany on life was brewing beneath his shuttering smile. “Holy hell it -it is her. It’s acorn.”

“On a show called ‘Dear Acorn’, Bucky.” Brady chimed in, face as lit up for Egan’s current happiness as if it were his own.

“So what’re you twos gonna live on, huh?” Bob Hope crackled through “Love and nuts?”

“Oh well dunno, I do so love my nuts.” Lana rejoined.

“Jesus!” Gale pulled away from the headset like it had personally accosted him for a tumble in the sheets.

“Acorn.”

“Yeah paw paw?”

“You’re nuts.”

“About him I am.”

“Uhuh.”

“And there’s nothing you or Jerry can-“

“-can do about it, I know, acorn.”

“Pinky promise!” Lana chirped a couple thousand miles away, and John Egan obeyed her once more with a raised hand and a crooked finger.

That night at roll call they had something to whisper about, and for once it wasn’t half cooked schemes to climb the barbed wire or try smothering the commandant in his sleep. Instead Bucky was rocking back and forth joyfully on his heels in the bitter night air, trying hard to keep his grin in check as the spotlight swooped over, choosing the intermediate bits of darkness to nag Gale for any bits he’d missed.

“I sent for ya right away, Bucky.” Gale insisted in a gentle whisper out the side of his mouth, “They were just starting to joke about letters being written to an acorn.”

“Can you believe it?” Egan hissed, almost demented in his sudden good cheer, “She’s that proud of me, built a whole damn show on it. Fuck, it makes a man wanna fight a dozen wars.”

Gale eyed him up carefully, the inside of Bucky’s head a foreign place even to him, but if his friend was hopeful and generous enough not to mind his intellectual (or rather, lack of intellect) property being capitalized on for the war effort, then Gale wasn’t about to sow seeds of doubt. “She’s somethin’ else.” he agreed nebulously, and meant it, “Bombs Away Betty, huh?”

“Showing partiality to one branch of the armed services, Buck.” John was back to grinning, “She must’ve liked the jacket.”

Hope you enjoined, thank y’all for all the screams and thoughts you’ve sent through my asks, the comments and reblogs too, I treasure each.

If you’d like to be tagged in my MOTA writings, drop a note below. 💋

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #john Egan #Bucky Egan #gale cleven #john egan x oc #john x acorn #Julie Jean Turner #mota spoilers #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #Callum Turner

[alexxncl]

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 31 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | lessons | lesson 30 | lesson 32

normal and hard

now idk about the rest of y'all, but it took me a minute to make this choice. i was stuck between not knowing and thinking that he won't. there's a slight chance that he'd tell them in the instance kayden hadn't tried to talk to him and explain, but they did

levi cares too much about mc to let anything bad happen to them. he knows that if he tells one of his brothers, they'll tell lucifer. once lucifer finds out, he'll be furious, and not only that, he'll be terrified

lucifer masks his fear with anger, like we've seen him do in season one of nb and multiple times in the og game. this also makes me really like the peacock theme throught his demon form; they're big ass, scary ass birds who try to show up other birds by flaunting their feathers to make themselves look better. but instead of lucifer doing it for mating tactics, he does it to protect himself and his brothers from any harm that could come their way

leviathan knows this. he doesn't want mc to get hurt, even with the possibility of him never seeing them again looming over his head constantly. he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he caused anything bad to happen to them, especially if it turns out that he had the wrong idea about their conversation with solomon and that all his anxiety was for nothing

also the clock ticking in the background during this scene ??? impeccable tension building on the game devs' part. we're running out of time to make pacts with everyone, and solomon and mc both know it

goofy ass sticker chain 😭

mc 🤝🏽 me

blowing up people's phones when they ignore me or don't answer within 5 seconds

see i was also thinking lotan

but what if it just means they're all gonna have a crying fest once kayden has to leave for good??

...it's probably lotan

what if it's both? AND lotan? and a long awaited reappearance of henry the snake 🫶🏽

baby no :((

i wish he realized his worth more, but removing yourself from a cycle of self-deprication and self-loathing is easier said than done

i think he's feeling guilt on top of his already expressed betrayal and self-loathing. he doesn't think he deserves all the care and patience mc is trying to give him, and he hates the fact that they keep trying to talk to him when he won't budge. he thinks they're wasting time by even trying to be around him because it "doesn't matter" when he's not around, or, at least it shouldn't in his mind

this is even worse than what i thought initially MY HEART

and it hurts even more bc levi might not have been able to say this if he was face to face with mc. he's never said anything quite like this to them in all the screentime he's had when he's being vulnerable around mc

imagine if he hadn't heard the conversation between them and solomon? mc leaving him would've hurt so much more bc he wouldn't have had any proper reassurance from mc to tell him that they love and care for him as much as he loves and cares for them, if he even thinks they feel that strongly about him at all

i guess it was lotan. well

also ending a lesson like that is insane but i digress

me 🤝🏽 mammon

adhd twins

THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS BACK i can die happily now

but why is she talking like chloe from miraculous ladybug (iykyk)

also we STILL haven't made a pact with beel after that hassle of an angel trial i'm sick

#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #leviathan obey me #levi obey me #obey me levi #om levi #om leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me mephistopheles #obey me solomon #obey me thirteen #obey me nightbringer #nightbringer spoilers #obey me nightbringer spoilers #om nightbringer #lucifer obey me

[busyxfangirling]

The second season is honestly becoming increasingly harder to watch because what are they trying to do?

The show is titled Loki but he feels like a side character is his own show, I know many MANY things are happening but literally Loki is not the central figure driving the story.

My expectations were low but I did not know Disney could do this much worse!!!!

What the FUCK was episode 3 with the Miss Minutes thing and weird little Ravonna/Victor attempt???

Marvel is just getting worse and worse with what they're putting out, I want the character or even narrative driven stories back where people were well fleshed out, had consistency and their actions made sense to who there were!!! This feels like just trying to sell shock value because you know you have a base of consumers who will stay to see what happens to their favourite character.

They are absolutely ignoring all the material they have available to them to work with! This Loki has only experienced things till the Avengers movie, there is so much character deep dive they could do! What is the point of giving them their own show and then not talking about them at all??

I'll come to the queer things later cause boy do I have a list for that, but first of all, Loki is not a new character in any capacity??? He has been loved and is arguably the biggest fan favourite since his introduction, the amount of theories about him and what people would like to see is very well known!! Right in front of them is his still unclear feelings in his adoption, about being a Jotun, loosing his family and the complicated relationships with them. I can see they are acknowledging his God of Mischief status a little bit but!! Trickster!! Let us see him be a wild card properly!! Not in the sense of betraying his new TVA family - that's what it is and you can fight me on that- but being chaotic!! Yes, using his magic like with Brad!! SHOW ME HE IS A GOD!!!

The worst thing is how lost everyone feels, like I'm not talking about the whole free will conundrum everyone is going through, that is spectacular! Unfortunately it is not coming across, we literally don't get to hear any of the characters talk about what they think of it. There was the key lime pie moment but no follow up to what that is for Loki? It's just one crisis after another, maybe rehash some of what has already happened, bring back the seriousness of this!! The entire multiverse is at stake but we'll make it look like whimsical wishy-washy stuff??!??!!!

Don't get me wrong, I am LOVING the time travel aspect of it, where it looks like Loki/Mobius are on cute dates. But then make it real, the fucking queerbaiting is ridiculous. The throw-away comment in season one about looking being bi was just that and nothing else. And I'm not saying this cause aww they look cute together! But also cause the development of their relationship has been as such!! They have been very dependent on each other and that's not being addressed at all.

I know there are multiple posts about a possible betrayal and my fear is that they're going to try to use that to basically change everything about the characters again, a lot of OOC based on the fact that oh yeah they're going through an existential crises so it makes sense.

Sylkie made barely any sense to me even apart from the whole selfcest issue- they just imposed a the structure of what a straight relationship should be where there was barely any chemistry. S1 E3 had them as really good chaotic siblings/twins and then adding the romantic tones to that really ruined it. Trying to bring it back, possibly, is just weird cause so far they want very different things. These people just don't align together, stop forcing them to? The fact that they refuse to even talk about that kiss shows that they are keeping it open and not just acknowledging that "hey, we don't want the same things in life and I'm happy for you, you matter a lot to me but a romantic relationship is not happening. Also cause you know, we're the same person, lol."

Sylvie as a character is also very confusing rn, there is honestly no need for her to keep coming back in this way??? I'm going to reserve further opinions because half the season is left but I dont expect anything to really get better.

#loki #marvel #lokius #loki season 2 #loki spoilers #mobius #kang #loki tv series #sylvie #rant

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Anon because reasons. I've been a transman for over ten years. I never thought I would reach out to a TERF but I'm seeing things in my community that scare me and I literally don't know what to do. The transwomen I follow suddenly started reblogging and making posts about protecting transwomen from rape/pedo allegations but I'm conflicted because I was raped by my uncles when I was little. I feel like I'm going crazy idk why I'm asking you I just feel so dysregulated and distressed. Please don't hurt me or expose me, idk what they would do if they realized I was talking to terfs.

I have no wish or intent to hurt or expose you, so have no fear of that. To be upfront: I am a feminist. I do see sexual assault primarily as a hate crime men commit against women and girls (rape). Women and girls being female humans and men being male ones. But you already knew that. For the purposes of this response, however, I will use gender neutral language where possible.

Honestly, ten years ago I had no idea I'd be where I'm at now. I was considering identifying as agender and was only just starting to become uncomfortable with trans activists. The biggest reason was, even back then, protecting predatory behaviour. Unfortunately, as the years have gone by it's only gotten worse. Maybe it's not something you've come across until now, so I imagine this must be a shock, or maybe the people around you doing it used a lot of weasel words and it hasn't become apparent until now.

Either way it's a terrible thing to realize the people you consider your community just don't think sexual assault is that big a deal, especially when they've said it is, but their actions are showing otherwise.

It's a betrayal to those of us who have been sexually assaulted and don't want that to happen to anyone else ever again. Especially if the person who sexually assaulted you was someone you trusted. What your uncle did to you was already a horrific betrayal. To know someone you respect would say he should be protected from your allegations if x reason (in this case if he identified as trans, but this can happen in other ways; someone I greatly respected called Julian Assange a friend after he raped two women; that sucked and I stopped keeping up with him after that) is a betrayal on top of that.

I was molested by my stepfather and some fucked up shit happened when my biological father showed me off to his friends when I was a toddler. I know that pain well. "Valid" is a word that's certainly been over-used and misused, but right now I'm going to use in the way it was used at the Sexual Assault Crisis Centre I attended: your feelings on this are valid.

Sexual assault is one of the worst things a person can do to someone. Saying that people who do those things should be protected for any reason, that alleged victims should be doubted, that alleged perpetrators should be given the benefit of the doubt is fucked up. You are not in the wrong for feeling uncomfortable and worse about it. That just shows you have your humanity.

Now, I'm not going to tell you what else you should think, but what I will say is: I'm not afraid of the women here knowing I talk to men. Or trans people for that matter. Even if I was reaching out to vent. At most they might question why I chose a man and not a woman, but ultimately it just wouldn't be an issue. It's not that there are no assholes here--there are quite a few--but most of them are easily ignored and those that aren't typically get pushback for being assholes and eventually end up leaving or ostracized.

Do you think that it's healthy, as a literal trans-identified person yourself, for people in a community to be so afraid of one another that they can't let anyone know if they talk to certain people? Now, I'm sure it's not as simple as just dropping people who act this way. I've known people with shitty friend groups. It's hard. It's hard when all of your peers seem to support certain behaviour. I get it. I am in no way expecting that you're suddenly going to drop your community.

But I'm not talking to them. I'm talking to you, the person who reached out to me. From one survivor of familial sexual assault to another: you don't deserve to be treated this way. You don't deserve to have your pain trivialized, even indirectly, for a cause. So even if you can't talk to any of your peers about it (and maybe you can! maybe there are people you know who feel the exact same way), I want you to know in your heart that this is wrong and you're right to feel that it's wrong.

And when you're ready, whatever that looks like, I hope you can get out of this and find a community where you would never be punished for raising concerns about something like this. You would be upheld and loudly supported because that shit just wouldn't fly.

Take care of yourself, anon. I hope you have a good day/evening. I hope your uncle rots and I hope the transwoman you're following becomes a better person. Or falls down a well. Whichever comes first.

[lakesbian]

what do you think a second trigger from alec would look like? both in how it would happen and in how his power would change.

would he be like kephri?

OOH this is an interesting one thank you. you guys gotta stop giving me alec questions (do not stop giving me alec questions) i will never read pact efficiently at this rate.

alright so second triggers need to mimic the circumstances of the original trigger event, like how both times brian triggers from not feeling/being strong enough to protect a loved one. i haven't quite figured out how to structure my essay explaining what i think the general premise of alec's trigger event was yet so you're just going to have to Trust My Autistic Expertise when i say that he triggered because he either very desperately wanted or outright asked for help/protection from heartbreaker from someone (possibly a sibling) and was ignored. so what that translates to in abstract is "lifelong isolation & terror w/ no one ever stepping in to help despite many people watching the abuse happen culminating in betrayal and abandonment at his weakest point, leaving him with the devastating realization that he truly is entirely alone in the world and no one will ever care enough to help him if they're not forced." w/ the added details that the source of fear and the source of betrayal are both extremely personal and well-known to alec. subsequently a second trigger would be very unlikely, because it would necessitate 1. alec being scared of and unable to defend himself from a specific known threat (tall order, he's bad at being scared of things now) 2. that known threat persistently attempting to hurt him specifically (tall order, no one gives a shit about regent) and 3. the undersiders being his last line of defense and then callously leaving him when he needs them (they would not fucking do that i joke about them leaving him in a bassinet outside PRT headquarters but they would not fucking do that).

the other thing to note about second triggers is that, in terms of worm's ongoing power/trauma metaphor, they're what happen when your coping mechanisms aren't enough. brian's initial power is him putting up a big scary front to hide the vulnerability and fear that's keeping him from doing what he thinks is his job and protecting aisha--and then when it's not enough to keep bonesaw from seeing how weak he is and hurting him even worse, when it's not enough to help him protect taylor, it shifts. he's already prone to imitating his abuser--the scariest, strongest thing he knows--when he doesn't know how else to keep in control. it's why he's physically violent to rachel to keep her in line, why he tells her that he hates that she's making him acting like what he hates the most. his second trigger takes that and turns it into a superpower: just being scary wasn't enough, so now he can become what he fears and hates, take the powers of the people menacing him & his loved ones and fight back with that power.

so if alec being able to force the people he spends time around to help him doesn't work, if the closest thing to a family he has abandons him anyway, just like when he was a kid, then his power will shift to compensate. it wouldn't be a khepri circumstance--whereas taylor's trauma (& subsequently her power) are focused on isolation and betrayal from society as a whole, the locus of alec's trauma is the family, a much smaller and more personal source of pain. hence why his power is limited to 3-4 people at a time, and why it's capable of such exacting and intimate control. (compare to khepri, who has endless multitasking capability, but poor fine motor skills w/ people she masters--she's focused on frustrations w/ society as a whole and thus moves people in broad sweeps that are most powerful as a crowd, whereas alec is focused on more interpersonal betrayal and thus has more exact control over fewer people.) imagine how he would respond to the team, the only people he has, abandoning him? to aisha, the person he cares about more than his own life, abandoning him? he would have no interest in reaching out to different people in this circumstance, so his power's range wouldn't widen--rather, he would want to be better at holding onto the people he already wants to care about him.

i could see something along the lines of his multitasking abilities degrading even further--maybe down to 1-2 people at once instead of 3-4--and in exchange, he gets the ability to actually start changing people he's controlling. slowly supplanting their desires with what he wants (e.g, for them to want to help him), his power being able to seed auto-piloted future actions or pavlovian responses, people he's controlling slowly feeling more and more positive to him heartbreaker-style, etc. i dunno i'm just throwing out ideas here. don't quite think any of these are perfect but they're in the ballpark.

#ask #parahumans #we got a brian special feature in this one #worm spoilers #scarf don't look

[readingismypurpose]

Percy doesn’t like mirrors

inspired by @sandersgrey

Percy doesn’t like mirrors.

When he was five years old, he first heard them whispering about his eyes.

“His eyes—-“ “Too Bright.” “Strange”

He climbed up onto the sink and stared at his eyes. He tries to not look people in the eyes as much anymore.

When Gabe came, he called him ‘pretty’ and then he would swing.

Percy would go back to the mirror and try to make the purple go away, he doesn’t want to be pretty.

When the teacher again doesn’t understand and the bullying is getting worse, he goes back.

Is it his face?

He spends hours trying to get his face to look different. It never does.

He goes back and his bad luck follows again and again and Gabe keeps calling him ‘pretty’ and he doesn’tknowwhattodo!

He finds himself in front of the mirror, once again.

He can’t fix it.

He gets to camp and not even a week in, he’s ostracized because of his dad. His dad that he thought was as good as dead, his dad who abandoned his mother, his mother who is gone.

He looks like his dad.

As he looks in the mirror, never more has he wished this wasn’t true.

He goes on his first quest and freezes when Medusa talks about his resemblance to his father. He hates/loves it at the same time and he doesn’t like how it makes him feel.

Then he fights Ares after abandoning his mother, and he is full shock and pain and hurt and what just happened, what have I done?

He meets his father who has his green too green, not normal eyes and his troublemaker why do you always have to cause problems Percy smile.

Poseidon tells him that he is sorry Percy was born and Percy shatters.

Were you expecting an ‘I love you’?

Percy looks at his reflection in the water, his hands shaking, and wishes he looked more like his mother.

He didn’t look right, he was still too pretty.

Luke betrays him and his betrayal leaves a mark. Percy spends hours scrubbing the spot, as it bleeds then mends, where the scorpion stung him, but it doesn’t come off, why won’t it come off.

At least he is not pretty anymore.

He discovers that he is related to Tyson. He just was accepted only to be an outcast once again. He channels his fear into frustration.

Fear that the difference between him and Tyson isn’t that big after all.

Fear that one day he is going to look in the mirror and see one eye staring back at him.

Fear because he had forgotten that Poseidon was the father of monsters and how different is. he really?

Circe calls him ugly and Annabeth calls him dumb.

They’re not wrong.

When they finally finish the quest and Tyson is safe, Percy wonders again.

Thalia is back and Percy is stuck.

He is shockshockshock, but at the same time relief-no-hate-no-like?

He meets Nico who is bright, too bright. Was he ever this bright?

He watches as his sister abandons Nico and tells himself he won’t do the same.

“You promised!” Nico screams.

Percy is numb, he needs to do something, anything because it keeps replaying in his head.

“The stars, my lady. The stars.”

“It was the only one that he didn’t have.”

Zoe, Biana, Zoe, Biana,Zoe,BianaZoeBiana.

They kept going in his head like a broken record. He goes and he scrubs at his hands, he could have saved them, why didn’t he save them?

He notes absently that the water was healing his cuts a little slower than usual, but that’s s ok, he wanted to bleed, he deserved it.

He ignores the white strand in his hair as he looks into his eyes and thinks he can see how broken they are now.

Things speed up over the next year.

Rachel.

The Labyrinth and that made him feel sick. He stared at his brother and wondered.

The fear rolled in his stomach again.

Wrong wrongwrongwrongwrong.

Pan.

He could tell that he knew the other with the old pained eyes and him with the fractured green.

Then came Nico and Percy felt like he failed again.

I’m so sorry, Nico.

Quintus was Daedalus because of course he was.

Then came the battle, the battle of the Labyrinth, they would call it.

He truly felt mad.

He felt as people he knew and those he didn’t, kids, die and he felt himself crack a little more.

That’s when he truly learned to mourn, staring at those who had fallen, where they should have been safe, this home should have been safe.

He felt himself crack a little more.

It feels like the blood will never come off.

When Nico and his dad appear at his birthday party, he wonders.

The war is coming. The fact that they are just kids doesn’t seem to matter. It should matter.

Charlie dies and Percy is lost. It shouldn’t have happened. Why Luke?

He learns the prophecy and remembers the fates and how his fate has hung over his head for a long time.

He tries to keep moving.

Tries to not think about how that wouldn’t be so bad.

He agrees to Nico’s plan and it works, but why? Why did Nico have to betray him? He trusted him!

The war goes quickly, but not at all.

Michael, Lee, Silena, and so many others gone.

How many people did he kill? How many kids? He feels wrong wrongwrongwrong.

And Annabeth. She was stabbed for him and his world feels like it stopped.

When he fights Hyperion, something snaps in him and suddenly he has his own personal hurricane.

He pushed it out of his mind. He refused to think about it.

Finally, he’s in front of Kronos and he is forced to watch as Ethan and Luke die and somehow he couldn’t hate them anymore.

He feels his hands shaking, is it over?

He turns down the gods easily, he didn’t want their curse, he just wants parents to acknowledge their children.

After all is said and done, on his birthday, getting a girlfriend, Annabeth, was perfect.

That night though, he wake up in a cold sweat and as he threw water on his face to cool down, he couldn’t help but look in the mirror.

Scars crisscrossed his body and his eyes were shattered.

Percy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then went to bed.

Percy doesn’t like mirrors.

#pjo #percy jackson #percyjackson #percy #percy jackon and the olympians #inspired by sandersgrey #random #percy is not ok #Percy doesn’t like mirrors

[francis-writes]

Can I request a oneshot for Ramsey Bolton x fem reader where the reader is a servant and Ramsey is attracted to her but doesn’t act on it and she accidentally stumbles upon him killing his father and she hides in the corner somewhere in the room and over hears him planning to kill his stepmother and brother so she tries to help them and get to them before Ramsey dose but she is unsuccessful and Ramsey discovers what she tried to do so she begs for forgiveness and he tells her he will consider it if she can prove to him why she deserves it so he takes her to the room where he flays people and has sex with her on the X-shaped cross ?

A/N: it isn't really good but in my defense, I wrote like half of it while still high on acid so...

Warnings: it's Ramsay, what do you expect

You were watching from behind the corner, praying to all the Gods so your presence would remain hidden and unnoticed. Otherwise you would end up in worse situation that those people you tried to protect.

Your were barely breathing, listening to the screams of Fat Walda. You weren't even able to look at it, just a few moments after dogs attacked her, you turned away your gaze, feeling nauseous. You would love to be wherever else, as far as possible from this place but right now there were no escape from hearing the gut-wrenching screams of agony as woman and her child were ripped apart by the hounds.

You closed your eyes, distancing yourself from overhelming reality but soon you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Ramsay asked. His voice wasn't angry but it didn't matter. You saw him flaying people with a calm mundane voice so you never knew what's awaiting you in his presence.

"I was just walking to the kitchen-" you tried to quickly make up and excuse but Ramsay only slapped your face. You touched tour burning cheek.

"Don't lie. I heard what you were talking about with my stepmother. You came here to warn them"

You simply nodded. Whatever the punishment will be, better not make it any worse.

"Forgive me, my lord, I made a mistake... Please, show me mercy" you pleaded, avoiding looking right into his cold eyes.

Ramsay observed you with mixed feelings. Your betrayal ignited his anger, and you should pay for your lack of loyalty. But at the other hand, seeing you terrified, cowering like a beaten dog... that was a gorgeus sight.

You were on his mind for quite some time but he didn't show it before. He was only observing you wander through the halls and do your chores while he fantasized about taking you on a hunt or pulling you to the nearest bedroom. Even during the feasts, while you were serving him, he only looked, holding himself back from pulling you on his lap and sliding a hand under your dress.

"Can you prove that you deserve it?"

"Hm?" That wasn't the smartest answer. It wasn't even mediocre sensible. But you didn't expect your pleads to bring any sort of answer, except for slow and cruel death.

"If you prove that you're worth of my forgiveness, you'll receive it"

You felt on your knees, ignoring the mud staining your clothes and freezing your knees.

"Thank you my lord, I will do anything, just tell me how I can prove myself-"

Ramsay cut your monologue, pulling you from the ground and leading you inside the castle. You felt disgusted by how much you had to humiliate yourself but it was still better from tortures. Just in case it saved you from any because Ramsay went into the dungeons.

Your anxiety has increased when you entered one of the cells and you saw X-shaped cross standing in the middle. You knew well what happened to people who ended up here.

"Will you flay me?" You asked, just to make sure and spare yourself the torture of uncertainty.

"No, as long as you behave. So if you want to keep your skin, take off your clothes"

You obeyed him, though still frozen with fear. Your dress landed on the floor and you were standing in front of him completely bare. Ramsay took your hand and lead you to the cross, then he started fastening your arms to the cross with a strong rope. You could feel it pressing and scraping your skin but you gritted your teeth, trying not to make a sound.

When he finished his job, Ramsay took a knife from the table. You thought that he lied and it's gonna be your end but he started carving letters on your chest. You moaned quietly as pain pierced your body. You looked down and noticed that under blood runnig down your body, Ramsay was carving his name in your skin.

"No one will doubt now, whom I belong to" you said, not sure why but after all experienced anxiety and fear, your mind get rid of every barrier and sensible plans. You were one foot in a grave and nothing mattered anymore.

When he finished his art, Ramsay leaned over and licked your wounds. You arched your back, in mix of pain and pleasure. His warm tongue caressing your broken skin brought you some twisted form of excitement. The same one you always felt looking at Ramsay. You knew about his depravities and what he could do to you, but you couldn't help desiring him. He was alluring in a way of forest fire, that brings death and destruction, but you can't stop looking at it. You dreamed about his touch for many years but you never expect it would happen in such circumstances.

Ramsay crouched and started kissing your naked legs, going up and getting closer to your crotch. Then, out of sudden, he bit your inner thigh and you gave out a quiet scream. You didn't look at him but you were more than sure that he smiled hearing this.

He stood up, his warm calloused hands wandered across your body, caressing your belly, breast, hips and squeezing your butt.

Finally his hand wandered between your legs.

"Your already wet" he noticed with smugness in his voice "So that's what you like? Pain? Being on my mercy?"

You wanted to deny, to don't give him that knowledge. But you knew he wouldn't believe you and he would torture you until you admit it; though some of these tortures would probably turn you on.

You nodded.

He lifted your legs,  so you could embrace your hips with them. He pulled out his dick, and entered you without any preparation. Fortunately, you were already wet enough so it went smoothly. He pressed his body to you and stared thrusting. Ramsay nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck and you felt his hot breath of your skin. Occasionaly, he bit your neck and shoulders. Now it was more exciting than painful, though you knew you were going to wear bruises for a long time.

He had to be very turned on because after few minutes of fucking you, he gasped and feeled you to the brim with his seed. He pulled out and you could feel his cum running down your legs.

"So... will you free me now, my lord? You asked while he was pulling on his trousers. Ramsay chuckled and walked to the table with his tools.

"If you think it's an end, you haven't been paying attention . We're gonna spend a lot of time together "

#ramsay bolton x reader #Ramsay snow x reader #ramsay bolton imagine #ramsay bolton #got imagines #iwan rheon #tsoiaf imagines

[wolfsbane-666]

So I just saw the new Willow episode and I wanna share some thoughts about Kit's character and her relationship with Jade, Boorman, and Elora.

Spoilers ahead.

Episode three certainly was something. And while it had a great impact on a lot of characters, I want to focus on Kit a little bit (mainly because she's such a little shit and I love her for it).

This episode changed a lot of things for her. Kit can no longer deny that Dove, this unimportant kitchenmaid who just seemed to be her brother's latest plaything, is actually Elora Danan, the woman who is destined to save all of them. Kit saw the result of Elora's magic.

But what does that mean for her? What does it change? The answer is everything.

First it means that her mother has lied to her all her life. In episode one, Sorsha said:

"[...]Tomorrow Prince Graydon marries my daughter, Kit. At last unifying Tir Asleen and Galladoorn, [...] strengthening us against any threat we might face. [...] may they rule wisely and justly, and defend our realm till that day when the true empress Elora Danan returns"

When I first saw this scene, I must admit, I was a little pissed. Sorsha basically called her daughter a fucking stand-in.

But looking back now gives this scene even more weight. Because Elora was never gone. She was there, hidden in plain sight, the whole time. Sorsha was willing to marry her (very gay) daughter off to some guy she doesn't even know, obviously forcing Kit into a situation she felt very uncomfortable with, just to keep up her charade. Something she even admitted to Boorman later on.

That alliance through marriage is only necessary to unite the kingdoms to protect the realm until Elora returns. If Sorsha had decided to let Willow train Elora from the beginning on, the marriage most likely wouldn't have to exist since the realm would already be united under Elora.

I don't know if that's too far-fetched. If Kit still would have been married off to Graydon to secure an alliance. My point is, that Kit feels betrayed by Sorsha. She already did so because Sorsha tried to force her into a loveless marriage, but that betrayal just became a lot more impactful.

But her mother is not the only person she feels betrayed by. If Elora was with them all the time, it also means that Madmartigan didn't have to leave them to protect Elora. That tale, that explanation of his departure that Kit tried to make up for herself, has now completely fallen apart.

So far as Kit knows, her father left her and Airk to chase after some myth about magical armor. And that's where Boorman comes in. He was with her father. He knows what happened to at least a certain point.

The thing is, he is obviously not being completely truthful either. After episode three I honestly don't really trust him anymore. He acted very suspiciously when they reached the Slaughtered Lamb. Plus he lied to Kit about what he found in the well. So I keep asking myself, what is his goal. Boorman claims that Madmartigan found the Kymerian Cuirass, yet he never returned from his adventure.

I doubt Sorshad would have sent Boorman away with her daughter if she truly thought that he had something to do with Madmartigan's disappearance. But I'm sure that Boorman knows a lot more than he lets on and that he is following some sort of agenda on his own.

And that he is using Kit to get to it. He keeps feeding her breadcrumbs about her father and although she keeps asking, Boorman always deflects from Madmartigan's fate.

Of course, that's only theory and could be complete bullshit but at the same time, I find it too suspicious to just ignore.

And that leaves us with Jade in the end. Over the first three episodes, their relationship got pretty dented. At first, Kit felt betrayed by Jade because she was prepared to leave her when she needed her the most. Jade felt hurt by this as Kit wasn't happy for Jade following her dreams. All of that changed, however when Airk got taken. Kit clearly appreciated Jade coming with her and probably wasn't even that mad at her anymore (given the straddling and kissing and overall very gay behavior).

But then Elora came into the picture and better turned to worse again. They became hostile toward each other and more distant. Before Dove's true identity was revealed, there were comforting touches (like when Jade talked about her deceased parents) or soft smiles (like when Jade was watching Kit sleep). But once Willow said who Dove really was, that stopped. Jade believes in Willow and Elora, something that Kit clearly didn't. In Kit's eyes, they were just wasting valuable time that could determine Airk's fate. Airk, who she had a very big fight with. Kit is feeling a huge amount of guilt.

So their relationship strained over time, but the reveal that Jade let Kit beat her during their sparring sessions, that was a huge blow. You could literally see the hurt and betrayal in Kit's eyes. How she questioned everything. Has Jade been letting her win since the beginning? Has she ever actually beaten her or was it all just an act? How much did Jade hold back? Was their friendship just an act too? Was Jade only her friend because she was the princess? What else has Sorsha told Jade to do?

And now combine all that with the fact that Kit has feelings for Jade. That fucking hurts.

But Kit still cares. When Jade was forced to kill her mentor, Kit tried to comfort her, even if they were interrupted before she actually could.

How Kit handles the situation in the next episode is going to be very important. I love her, but girl needs to forget about her pride and swallow that ego of hers.

She saw that Dove truly is Elora Danan. And she saw that Willow was much more than she originally thought. And I believe that that will have a huge impact on not only how Kit interacts with those around her but also how she views this quest.

#idk if any of this makes sense #willow 2022 #willow series #kit tanthalos #kit x jade #jade claymore #sorsha #madmartigan #willow ufgood #elora danan #dove #boorman #thraxus boorman #willow spoilers

[all54321]

A Painful Sacrifice

I have made this AU so elaborate but I have such little written for it. What I do have sure is something. Although this went out of hand as I wrote it. Apparently.

The end of 3rd Life just hits harder in this AU and I just couldn’t resist.

In Avian courting, gifting your partner a feather is one of the biggest declarations ever. “I want to be life mates” kind of big. So the person receiving it either rejecting or accepting it is a huge deal.

—————

As Scar, BDubs, and Grian make their way to BigB’s house, he gently runs a hand over the feather on his necklace. The red life in him only craves destruction, no matter what it hurts, even more now with so many dead. But Scar’s heart forces those desires away, forces away any thoughts of harming a certain avian.

Scar loves Grian, loves him way more then one should in these kinds of games, and, if the feather hanging around his neck means what Grian says it does, he feels the same way.

Scar can already hear the faint chants of blood from those who died. He swallows nervously and looks at Grian who’s confidently leading them. He looks at BDubs, holding the clock in one hand, and his sword in the other. This can only end one way.

Doing this will hurt more then anything before, worse then the creeper, worse then falling into a ravine. They reach BigB’s house as Scar starts his plans. The No Kill Pass is gone, Scar looks over at BDubs, that leaves them with one choice.

~

Scar looks down at the No Kill Pass in his hands, then up to Grian and BDubs. Grian stares at him, panic edging the desperation in his eyes, the fear. BDubs stares at him, red eyes glinting with chaos and bloodlust.

Scar forces his voice to stay even as he directs the other two, he hates even thinking of this, but it’ll make the end easier. He throws the paper out, keeping his voice even and without emotion.

He hates the betrayal in Grian’s eyes when he blocks Scar’s slash at him even worse. The betrayal quickly changes to anger, sparking with the same strength as red lives have, just like he always was capable of.

Much to Scar’s surprise, Grian only pushes him back, before turning on Bdubs. Scar lets himself stagger back, surprised that Grian isn’t willing to kill him. Scar watches him die to Bdubs’ hand, the sick feeling in him worsening.

Now Grian will want him dead.

The red life energy was always in Grian before, but now that he is a red life? He’ll be unstoppable.

Scar touches Grian’s feather again, heart hurting over what could have been. Maybe in another world they could be together, but only death resides here.

Scar follows Bdubs, silent. He doesn’t have much to say, he knows what’s going to happen. BDubs and him will die, that’s how it’s going to be.

Scar never really cared about winning, turning red made him want to win, of course, but all he really cared about in the end was Grian. The only thing that really mattered to Scar is Grian. Even now.

Scar can see how this will go, Grian will find and attack them. Scar will make sure Bdubs doesn’t kill Grian again, no matter how it happens. And Grian will kill Scar, unaccustomed to ignoring the call of a red life as Scar is. The anger from his betrayal will help with that. Stop him from hesitating.

Scar forces his pace to stay steady, it will hurt less this way.

Even as he claims that’s how it will end, a small voice in his mind is whispering that Grian couldn’t kill him, not again. Scar hates to admit it has a point.

Scar gently picks up the feather, holding it by the quill in his hand. There is one surefire way to get Grian to fully turn against him, one where there won’t be any hesitation.

No matter how much Scar wants this to end easier for Grian, he can never do something like that. He would rather rip his own heart out. He sets the feather down, letting it rest against his chest again. Grian giving him the feather means way to much to him, to both of them. He can’t ruin that.

Scar just wants this to end soon.

~

Scar looks around the cactus ring, empty handed. So much for all of his plans and hopes.

Grian cares way too much about him. Normally that thought would make him ecstatic, but with the voices whispering right into their ears, it only hurts.

When Scar meets Grian’s eyes, he can see his pain mirror in them. Why did it come down to this? Why does it have to come down to this?

Scar doesn’t fight back when the ghosts say go. He throws punches, sure, but not enough to do anything. Not enough to help him survive, to help him win. He doesn’t care about any of that. All he cares about is that he can’t bring himself to kill the avian he loves so dearly.

~

Through all his painful planning, Scar never once thought about how much pain Grian would go through from killing him. Maybe he should have as he watches Grian throw himself off the cliff, unable to continue living after killing the man he loves. Choosing death over finding out what happens because he won.

Despite Scar knowing he would never consider himself winning the game if Grian wasn’t there, he never thought Grian would feel the same.

As he watches Grian’s despair as a ghost, he realizes that he never once thought about how Grian would feel about any of this.

I don’t feel so good.

Maybe he was the selfish one.

And now he can’t even make it up to him.

#my writing #soul bound and closer then ever #3rd life #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #the logs #angst angst angst

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I’m thinking something like that fic ‘The Double Edged Sword’ by AuRon_Scaleless where Ezio and Altaïr are being manipulated by the apple of Masyaf to hate Desmond.

Difference is, the apple of Rome is also there because Ezio brought it with him by mistake so now it sits with Malik for safe keeping. The Masyaf one sits with Altaïr because the man studies it.

Anyway! The two are mistreating Desmond and he’s slowly falling apart with the mixture of bleeding effects and the after math of using the eye to save the world. With the added words and jabs at his apparent ‘betrayal’ it just deteriorated him more.

Malik is just as distrustful of the young man as anyone but at the same time he can feel that there is something more going on here. He just can’t figure out what.

This is until the Rome Apple decides to show him just what Desmond had gone through before popping up here. He sees the farm, the way he grew up, the borderline abuse disguised as training, the years of running and constantly looking over the shoulder, the eventual capture.

He sees Desmond fighting tooth and nail against the modern templars and he sees them drug him, forcing him into the animus to do their bidding. Then there’s the assassins doing pretty much the exact same things to him, his time in the machine growing longer and more frequent as his symptoms get worse and worse and worse.

And when Malik thinks it’s finally all over, that this used and abused young man can finally get a break from everything the ones who promised him a painless death and swift passing on do the exact opposite.

Malik can feel the wisps of pain that Desmond experiences and even that is almost too much for him. He sits there and watches Desmond scream and writhe for what felt like hours but must have been mere seconds.

Then Desmond is transported here, a few months after his second ancestor mind you, only to receive treatment just as bad as his original life.

Malik is practically thrown out of the memories, breathing turned ragged and tears that he didn’t event notice before streaming down his face. The apple in his hand pulses gently, as if it is saddened by the memories he had just witnessed, imploring him to do something to save the young man.

Before he can even move there is a hesitant knock on his door, a familiar head of brown accompanied by a face that is much too gaunt popping through the doorway with a hesitant smile. Despite everything the man still tries to smile at everyone and gain their trust, a feat he has not quite achieved with everyone sadly.

Desmond opens his mouth to speak, Malik hasn’t a clue as to what he’s about to say because he’s already up and across the room. He pulls the young man into a firm yet gentle hug, mindful of his still tender arm and trying to convey every single jumbled emotion he feels in that moment. God, Malik’s sure he has never despised missing an arm more than in this moment.

“I’m so sorry Desmond… you didn’t deserve… any of this. But you worked so hard for the brotherhood, for us and I am so proud of you.” There’s a moment where the young assassin doesn’t move, frozen in his arms before his chest suddenly hitches, body collapsing against Malik’s own as he lets out a quiet, bitten back sob.

The sound just makes the pain radiating through the Dai even worse. God the man couldn’t even cry freely without fear of something happening to him. He ignores the thoughts though, bringing Desmond to the pile of cushions he has set up in the corner of his office for those late nights he can’t quite make it back to his sleeping quarters.

They collapse into the mound together, Desmond burying his head deep into Malik’s chest and clutching his robes as he shudders and silently cries against him. The Dai can feel the young man’s mouth opening against his chest, as if he wanted to scream and sob aloud, but no sound escapes. Just ragged breaths and quiet sniffles.

They lay there for several long minutes, Malik keeping his arm looped around Desmond and running the tips of those fingers up and down what little of his spine he can reach. The young assassin doesn’t seem to mind though, relishes in it even as he slowly begins to calm down.

Before either of them realise it Desmond’s fast asleep, face looking peaceful and form more relaxed than Malik’s ever seen. He can’t help but plant a tender kiss on the younger’s forehead, breathing him deep as he tries to think on what to do next.

Apparently today is a day for interrupting him since there is another knock on the door, the noise loud and startling in the now quiet room. Desmond doesn’t even flinch at it though, an apparent testament to how exhausted he is.

Before Malik can get up the person enters, pleasant greeting on his tongue dying before it fades into an annoyed and angry scowl at the sight that greets him.

The Dai feels his own annoyance and anger rise at the sight of it, all those previous moments over the last few weeks suddenly springing to the forefront of his mind. Malik growls lowly at his longtime friend, glaring at him in a way that he knows the other is somewhat scared of, though the man would never admit to it.

“Get out Altaïr. I will speak with you later.” The mentor isn’t as easily cowled apparently, already opening his mouth again before stopping when Malik suddenly shoots to his feet. He had been extracting his arm and Altaïr hadn’t even noticed until now.

“I said leave novice. Do not make me say it again or I will make sure you regret it.” The mentor looks down at the still sleeping form of Desmond with one last glare before turning on his heel, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Malik huffs out an annoyed breath at his antics, turning around only to be met with wide and frightened eyes, scanning over everything as if looking for an escape route.

Also I suddenly thought of this. Desmond goes to the poor districts to help treat the sickly people (he has first aid knowledge because of his need for survival while he was on the run. Nothing like surgery but basic shit like how to prevent an outbreak and set a bone sort of stuff) and as a result the people there love him. It’s the only place he can feel like he’s doing something right and feel as if he belongs.

Nobody else knows of this for obvious reasons. They’d either spread the rumours there and make everyone hate him or they’d do something equally as bad. But that’s where he escapes to when things get to be too much for him in the bureau.

He’s not allowed to leave either because they have to ‘make sure he isn’t a threat to the people’ even though they don’t spare him a single thought the second he goes missing.

Malik follows him one day and when he sees just what the man does in order to help people he can’t help but feel even more anger toward Altaïr and Ezio. How could they treat a man so broken and pure like that? How could they hate him so when he smiles that reassuringly toward a child who has merely scraped his knee? It makes no sense.

#fic prompt #prompt #fic #assassins creed #Desmond miles #Ezio auditore #Altaïr Ibn-La’ahad #Malik Al Sayf #established Ezio x Altaïr #Future ezio x Desmond x altair?? #or future malik x Desmond?? #honestly this is already half a fic #I may have something like this already posted #poor Desmond #Altaïr and Ezio are assholes #Desmond’s a saint #Malik holds the braincell #as usual

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hey there!! I have to say thanks for doing my Shamura and cat reader ask!! It really did succeed my own expectations!But reading it gave me a few more…Lovely ideas!! Like…Let’s say Shamura,instead of realising the reader isn’t actually Narinder, just falls deeper into a spiral of what is left of their poor broken mind and becomes almost…Possessive of the reader,needing to be with them every waking and sleeping moment,and just becomes more and more crazed by the day until such concerning behaviour finally reaches their siblings and what they see when they reach Shamura domain….The now very much immortal reader in bishop clothes and Shamura who looks the most happy they’ve seen in quite some time…And just who are they to ruin their siblings,very much one-side,happiness!! Sorry if I dragged this own too much I just have too many ideas that didn’t know which one to go with!! If This is too much then pls feel free to ignore this ask.Have a great day/night!!

"I think we have a problem.."

“Oh, what could it possibly be this time, brother? Is it truly another problem or just you overreacting again?”

“No I--I’m not, sister! It’s about Shamura.”

“Kallamar, we already know. It’s been tough helping them cope. I understand. But if they need help they’d come to us.”

“Yes of course, but..the way they’ve been coping as of late is troubling. They seem fixated on this one follower. It’s been getting worse by the day..I never see the two apart anymore.”

“Huh..maybe they were chosen as an aid?” Heket suggested, confused on what her brother meant by those words.

“No, no..nothing like that. It’s..It’s like they have this deep obsession with them and they’ve turned them into something they’re.....” Kallamar paused, before sighing wearily as he rubbed his hands together. “It’s better if you two see it for yourselves. I worry this is interfering with their Bishop duties.”

“So you’re saying Shamura is incompetent?” Leshy huffed.

“..let us go. Now.”

Although perplexed, the two Bishops decided that maybe it’s worth visiting Silk Cradle. Just to see what was happening to the wisest of them.

Of course, Shamura had taken Narinder’s betrayal the hardest. But even then they tried to resume their usual duties with war and wisdom within the Old Faith--though if Kallamar was that concerned with their capabilities then..the others ought to check up on them.

All at once they warped to the entrance of the purplish temple, immediately stumbling upon a rather unusual and surprising sight inside:

Shamura was fawning over you, a simple black cat follower dressed in bishop garb; a thin dark veil and a faux crown woven from silk were also on you, making you resemble someone all-too-familiar to them..

Neither of you had noticed the Bishops’ arrival, as your leader was giving you a tour of their domain, falsely believing you lost your memories after being “sealed away” for so long.

The problem was that you knew Silk Cradle like the back of your paw; you’ve been to this temple dozens of times for sermons.

At first you were wildly uncomfortable, regretting ever putting yourself in this position: pretending to be someone you’re not for Shamura’s sanity. Part of you wished you could’ve told them the truth of who you were, yet you’d feel eternally guilty for doing so.

That guilt only grew after they vowed to be at your side every waking (and sleeping) moment, sharing knowledge of Death with you and even turning you immortal through a forbidden ritual. 

This wasn’t an obsession that could be curbed.

Any follower who tried telling Shamura you’re not actually him would be killed on the spot, frightening everyone else into keeping up the illusion--even your friends.

Only now Leshy and Heket realized how serious of a problem this was.

Kallamar had every right to be frightened for their eldest sibling.

“By the Great Ones..” The frog whispered. “I knew their mind was torn but..this is going too far. This is borderline delusional! I can’t believe they would even---” Her shocked gaze quickly hardened, and she turned back to the two bishops behind her. “We need to shut this down. Right now.”

“How?”

“Tell them to stop playing pretend with a follower. It’s almost insulting to see someone so disposable masquerading as a false god...our heretic brother, of all people.”

“I-It’s not pretend, I’m afraid..” Kallamar remarked. “They genuinely think this follower is Narinder.”

“But they aren’t! They never will be! We’ll get rid of the problem and order a new doctrine: No black cats in the Old Faith-”

“Wait, wait. Sorry for speaking out of turn, sister, but...I sense Shamura is..happy with this.” Leshy told her, putting a hand to his chest. “I can feel it. This may be doing them more harm than good, I agree. But look at their face for me..and tell me what you see.”

Heket scowled at the bushworm, although when she stared at Shamura for some time, she noticed the big smile on their face.

A true one that none of them have seen in ages. 

“They seem..happy. But..we can’t have this. Kallamar said it’s-”

“W-Well, maybe I did overreact a little bit after all.” The squid chuckled nervously. “I mean, when’s the last time we saw them smile at all? Or even come out of their cave? Would it..be right to destroy what little happiness they regained?”

Heket fell silent as she looked to Leshy, surprised to see his nod of agreement. “Brother, this is-”

“I know. But maybe..we can play along. Just for a little while until we’re confident in helping them move on. Right now it’s just too soon.”

As much as she wanted to rip off the bandaid already, she found herself extremely hesitant to march over there.

Things were already bad enough. Why add to it?

Eventually, Shamura took notice of their presence and smiled, picking you up and bringing you over to them. “Welcome, brothers and sister. We are reunited once more..four becomes five once again.” They grinned. “All is right in the world.”

“Shamura..” Heket began, but she sighed in defeat upon looking at you and seeing the resemblance to Narinder. Her heart stung like a bee. ‘Damn you...’

“We’re so glad to be together again!” Kallamar exclaimed joyfully. “So this Fol--little kitty is Narinder reborn, huh?” He almost tensed up at his mistake, though thankfully Shamura didn’t notice and he calmed down. “Fascinating. I-I know..your rituals of resurrection were heresy but..we forgive you, brother.”

“Uh..thank you?” You answered timidly. Seeing all the Bishops gathered here would be terrifying for any Follower--but you were a special case. Yet you couldn’t help being afraid.

Now you had no choice. You couldn’t break the illusion even if you wanted to.

“I’m uh..sorry about your injuries.” You looked to Leshy, who simply bowed his head in understanding. “I didn’t mean to lose control.”

“It’s not your fault..you had every right to lash out at us.” Shamura whispered, hugging you close. “We deserved this.”

Heket scowled at them in fury, although the nudge from Kallamar made her stay silent as she glanced over at the temple door. She could barely look at you, but you just kept your gaze upon your jovial leader.

It seems these Bishops you revered were closer than you thought.

#ouuughh this concept still hits the heart hard </3 #clanask #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl bishops #cat reader #cotl shamura #bishop shamura #angst

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

last night's shower thought that may or may not have been done before but I haven't personally seen it done so I'm gonna write it anyway

so the phandom has dabbled in halfas potentially existing before Danny and Vlad, in the hypothetical million to one chance of 'what if a natural portal opened on top of a human'

gonna take a hard left turn here but we'll circle back I promise, that part will be important later

I love the unreliable narrator aspect of Vlad in TUE but what if Vlad's story about how Dan came to be was completely true, Danny's ghost half really did go absolutely feral as soon as it was torn from him

because even though Vlad says it was his ghost half that corrupted Phantom, in the flashback it was obvious that Phantom had already gone a little wonky before that, considering the acts of actually ripping out Vlad's ghost half and then absorbing it, very weird and out of character

(and I have other headcanons about that but we're ignoring those for now shh)

so the first time Danny was split, it split two of his personality traits that were both dominant at the time, his need to be a hero and protect people, and his need to be a normal teenager just enjoying life

after his family died in TUE tho, his dominant traits would have been more like misery, guilt, and anger, we can guess which one Phantom got

same thing probably happened to Vlad when he was split but we didn't get enough time with future Vlad to get a clear idea on what his dominant traits were, (but I'm gonna guess they were something akin to guilt and spite, spite having been absorbed by Danny and making his whole situation so much worse)

all this to say, what if Pariah Dark was the first known halfa, created by that million to one chance with a natural portal back in the dark ages (or earlier), and he was once, much like Danny, a protector, a hero, keeping a peace between humans and ghosts, whether he also fought a tyrant king for his crown, or was gifted the position by the former king wanted to retire (I kinda like this idea better), he became the ghost king with the support of the ghost populace

but I wanna touch in on the aus people throw around where to become the actual rightful king, Danny has to die

and maybe this is what happened to Pariah Dark, and maybe it was not a 100% consensual affair, maybe the Observants, whether sneakily or by force, somehow managed to separate Pariah from his human half

and in that moment, one of his dominant traits was rage

betrayal by ones he trusted, half of himself stolen from him, his fury was overwhelming, and it was what consumed his ghost half, and began his reign as a tyrant, his human half, whether deliberately or accidental, was killed in the process

this is why the Observants wanted Danny dealt with in TUE, they were seeing history repeating, they didn't care that Clockwork saw an alternate future because they didn't want that alternate future, TUE happened after Reign Storm, they were clinging onto the one excuse they had to get rid of this new halfa before he realised he had a claim to the throne and became the next Pariah Dark

they knew Danny was just as attached to his human half as Pariah was, and they'd seen evidence of that already in Dan, they couldn't have a king who was part human, and they couldn't take his human half from him without dire consequences

so of course their solution was just make him go away

see! in this one particular future he becomes a monster just like we said he would, Clockwork go destroy him, problem solved, good job everybody!

when Danny finds out about all this and presses them on why he has to be a full ghost to rule, assuming it's some mystic law that cannot physically be broken, the Observants are just like

"oh... uh no, technically it's physically possible, it's just... well, it's against tradition"

cue a Danny blowing up

"YOU CAUSED THE ENTIRE PARIAH DARK MESS OVER FUCKING TRADITION?"

"well it would be have been quite embarrassing having someone half alive ruling over the dead"

Danny has to be physically wrangled out of the room by Clockwork before he brings the whole fucking building down

it's completely absurd but the Observants just really feel like the kind of assholes who would stick so rigorously to that kinda shit despite all logic and reason telling them not to

#lula's headcanons #danny phantom #pariah dark #the observants #clockwork #tue

[branzinos]

anon who asked about Lisa's twitter comments: I'm really not gonna get into the topic itself because there's no way to discuss it in a way that is going to be acceptable to everyone

what I will say is:

boomers are bad at social media and don't know how to respond to any kind of mass questioning (I won't call it dogpiling because it's people who are hurting) without getting defensive, and when you're defensive you just get worse and worse at putting your arguement across, even if you actually DO agree with the people you're arguing with, as people pick apart your words trying to look for the "gotcha" moment and try to trap you into saying something worse or that you don't believe, because taking you down is like a game. when people keep repeatedly misconstruing what you said and accusing you of worse and worse things as a result you lose sense of what the arguement was about and just feel attacked as an individual. yes there were genuine people involved in the arguement trying to engage in kind conversation and learning, but not all of them were, and she wasn't filtering out the difference between them and Jimmy03738272 with three followers. it's not a topic you can discuss without someone getting hurt in some way and she shouldn't have waded into it to begin with. she hasn't gotten used to the power dynamic of having a platform as large as hers and so when things come up (like the arguement about soap operas a few months back) she doesn't know how to step back from it and digs her heels in because it feels like a personal attack she has to defend herself and her public persona from, rather than where you or I would recognise that it's ok to just ignore some people who read what you're saying in bad faith and recognise they're just lashing out because they're hurting.

equally, I will warn and remind that if you're going to dedicate your personality to stanning a celebrity over 50 and expect them to be good at expressing hot button political takes on social media with any kind of nuance or agree with you on all social issues you're gonna have a bad time because that's just the material reality of generational divide, but this is why social media managers exist and should be utilised, so that there's a filter between what they say and what they think so that situations like this don't happen and if they have to say something, it's expressed in a careful and sensitive way instead of mouthing off without thinking. it's why lynda carter's socials are so good, because she has a team helping her make her content engaging to interact with. the way Lisa behaves and interacts with fans on twitter in general is not healthy at all and fed into why this became so emotive, because the girlies on there felt like this was a deeply personal betrayal, like they "know" her, or thought they did, until they bumped up against something that didn't align with their internal version of her. parasocial relationships are dangerous to feed.

I don't want this to come across as me defending her because she was a big ol' bitch to some well meaning people last night. but I think it's important perspective to remember that most older people did not grow up with technology the way we did, surrounded by discourse like this as background noise every day, with the ability to filter it out or know how to engage with it with a level head. I mean, hell, have you looked at Sheryl's twitter lately? She's sharing math riddles and bitmojis and stuff about the dangers of aspartame. She's your aunt on Facebook, they both are. Just because they're famous doesn't mean their online literacy isn't more or less the same as your Uncle Alan who reposts chain mail on his Facebook feed.

it's absolutely valid if some of what she said last night hurt you, and you're right to feel that. I'm not defending the things she said. but I also think it helps to look at the bigger picture of how your Mom, or your Uncle Alan, would responded to 30+ people online accusing them of believing horrible things they don't believe, even if they were just reading bad faith into your words because they were hurting - would your Mom be able to tell the difference? Mine wouldn't.

#like i dont want to infantilise the 60yo woman because she doesnt need me to do that #but if youve ever had a bunch of people coming after you for a hot take youll know how stressful it is #that doesnt go away just because youre famous lol #youre either good at stepping back and knowing how to respond with a level head or your arent. and she is the latter lol

[acciotherapists]

Little Sparrow Chapter 5

Loki x Reader Mafia AU

When Tony Stark's little sister wakes up deep in enemy territory she assumes her life is over. She'll be killed or worse: used as a bargaining chip against her estranged brother. What happens when the mafia leader, Loki Laufeyson, offers her a deal she can't refuse? No sentiment. Only revenge. What happens when the truth is revealed? Will she betray her only family or betray the man she loves to hate? Little Sparrow is an enemies to lover's fic riddled with betrayal and spice!

Warnings: No actual smut but a bit of ✨spice✨ and tension

Tony hadn’t stopped blowing up my phone since that first day and there had slowly been more sightings of different members from the Avengers, slowly getting closer to where we were. Loki had been leaving a lot over the last week to deal with these sightings as having Avengers in Asgardian territory was ‘bad for business,’ as he’d put it.

Each time I found myself worrying if he’d come back. Was it truly worth all this? I was starting to wonder. And what is it that Loki wants bad enough to let this all continue. Does my brother even know what Loki wants?

A loud crash pulled me from my thoughts and I tossed my book to the side, stepping into the hallway.

“Prove it, then!” Odin shouted. “Take her with you!”

“I have nothing to prove!” Loki shouted, slamming the door behind him. His eyes locked with mine and he made his way to our room, eyes flashing with anger.

“Listening at doorways, are we?” He approached the door frame, leaning against it. “It’s hard to defend you when you're acting like a little spy.”

“Oh, shut up, Laufeyson! I heard a crash so naturally I came to make sure everything was okay.”

He entered the room, shutting the door behind us. “You’re going to hear a lot of noise in this house, little one. It’s best you learn to ignore it.”

“Where does your father want you to take me?”

He sighed, dragging a hand across his face. “The next Avenger sighting. He wants me to take you with me.”

“Why?”

“Who knows why the old man does anything,” he spat. “He’s senile.”

I rolled my eyes, turning to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist, spinning me to face him. He had me pressed against his chest, his hand resting next to my throat, thumb grazing my cheek.

“Your eyes are going to get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them like that.”

I dramatically rolled them again and he smirked. “You’re cute when you’re defiant.”

“Then you must find me fucking adorable.”

He moved his lips to the shell of my ear. “That I do, little one. That I do.”

“That must be unfortunate for you.”

“How’s that?”

“Because if you get this hard every time you find me adorable… you must be in pain often.” I accentuated my words with a rough grind of my hips against his.

“You’re playing with fire, pet.”

I shrugged. “Your point?”

“Do you enjoy testing me? Testing my strength to not take you against this wall.”

“You’re not that kind of man,” I replied. “You wouldn’t take a woman without her consent.”

“You don’t know me, pet.”

“I think you want to call yourself a monster first before anyone else can. You want everyone else to believe you are this evil man who doesn’t care about the lives of others but you are not your father.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea, little one.”

“You keep calling yourself a monster and I’m going to kiss you to prove you wrong, dickhead.”

His lips brushed against my ear. “I… am… a… monster,” he whispered slowly, carefully enunciating each word. He pulled back, carefully watching my movements.

I smirked and backed him against the wall, standing on my toes to reach his lips and kissed him hard. His hands gripped my waist as he moved his mouth against mine. He turned us around, placing a hand behind my head as he pressed me against the wall hard.

He groaned when his phone rang in his pocket, reluctantly pulling away.

“What?” he growled into the phone, slowly backing away from me, leaving me breathless.

What have I done?

“Damn it!” he hissed. “Send Syf. I’ll meet her there in ten minutes.” He hung up the phone and turned to me.

“Loki, what’s wrong?”

“Your brother has been spotted five minutes away from here. Five minutes!” he shouted.

“Odin wants you to take me with…”

He shook his head. “I won’t ask this of you.”

I placed a hand on his arm. “I’m coming with you.”

“Stay out of the way and try not to get yourself killed.”

***

I don’t know what I was expecting when we arrived but it certainly wasn’t this. Tony was sitting across from Steve and Natasha in a coffee shop. It was clear they were having a heated discussion but we couldn’t tell what it was about.

Loki entered the coffee shop and everyone except Steve, Tony, and Natasha stood, quickly making their way out of the shop. Everyone knew what was going to happen. The Avengers were on Asgardian turf and this wouldn’t end well. If he wanted to, Loki had grounds to shoot them on sight. I couldn’t help the flutter in my stomach, knowing that they’d been sighted many times before on Asgardian turf but he hadn’t killed them.

Tony turned, his eyes landing on Loki. 

“Must we do this?” Loki smirked. “I mean, honestly, it’s a lot of hassle to comme all the way out here… quite the risk too, if I might add.”

“You took my sister,” Tony replied, sipping his coffee and placing the cup back on the table.

Loki tilted his head. “Took her?” He turned to me, holding out his hand. I walked toward him, taking his hand, and he wrapped an arm around my waist. “She’s free to leave whenever she wishes… but I don’t think she does.” Loki smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to my hair. “Do you want to tell him what happened, little one? Or shall I?”

“Y/n, are you alright? What is he talking about?” Tony asked.

“I was with him,” I hissed. “He left me in the woods and I was attacked. Loki found me and saved my life.”

“Seth left you there? He said he wasn’t with you that night.”

I scoffed. “And you believed him?”

He turned to Steve. “Find Seth. Bring him to the compound. I want to find out what happened that night.”

Steve nodded, getting up from the table with his phone.

I scoffed. “I’m your sister, Tony! You would seriously take his word over mine?”

“I just want to find out the truth. You’d say anything to get out of our arrangement.”

“Fuck you, Tony! I’m telling the truth!”

“Tony,” Natasha began softly. “She’s your sister.”

Tony turned to her. “She’d say anything to get out of this but Seth is a good man! He’ll take care of her!”

“You can’t control everything, Tony,” Natasha argued but he waved her off, turning to face me again.

“You’re coming back with us.”

“Like hell I am!”

Loki’s grip on my waist tightened.

“He’s an Asgardian, Y/n! You’re seriously going to stay with him?”

“At least he didn’t abandon me in the woods!” I shouted. “It took you two days, Tony! Two fucking days to realize I was gone!” I could feel Loki watching me carefully as I fought back my tears. His eyes softened and he wrapped both arms around my waist, placing a hand on the back of my head. He lowered his lips to my ear. “It’s alright, little dove.” He gently rubs the back of my head. “What can I do?”

“I want to leave, Loki.”

“I understand, love… I understand.”

But he didn’t understand. I could feel him loosening his grip, pulling back to look into my eyes, gently moving my hair away from my face.

There was the sound of shuffling feet before Syf moved in front of us. “Sit your ass down,” she hissed.

“Tell your boss to get his fucking hands off my sister!”

Syf said nothing. She simply glared at Tony.

“You wish to leave?” Loki murmured, just barely loud enough to hear.

I nodded, cupping his face. His eyes were wet but I wasn’t sure why.

He nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

He didn’t understand.

“She’ll never love you!” Tony spat as Steve entered the room again, returning his phone to his pocket. “No one could ever love you!”

“Banner’s bringing Seth to the compound. Said he’s asking to see Y/n.”

“There, see?” Tony said. “He’s been inconsolable since you left.”

“I. Didn’t. Leave,” I hissed, turning to face him again.

“Enough of this.” He turned to Steve and Natasha. “Now!”

They seemed hesitant but eventually began moving toward us. Steve began fighting Syf as Nat approached us.

“Don’t make this any harder, Y/n. Just come with us.”

“It’s alright, little dove,” Loki said softly, removing his hand from my back.

“I won’t force you to stay.”

He didn’t understand.

Natasha grabbed my hand as I turned to face him, my eyes wide.

“You promised!” I shouted.

Something seemed to snap in the moment and sadness in his eyes was replaced by fury. He grabbed Natasha’s wrist, removing her hold from me and sending her flying backward as Tony approached. Loki pulled a gun, aiming it at Tony.

“That’s far enough,” he hissed. “Call off your soldier and I’ll call off mine.”

Tony turned to Steve who was on his back, trying to push Syf’s sword away from his throat.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

“Syf, you too.”

They released each other and Syf walked over to us, turning to me. “You alright?”

I nodded.

“We’re her family,” Tony growled. “She belongs with us.”

Loki slowly backed away with me, passing his gun to Syf, who kept it aimed at Tony. When we were out of earshot Loki pulled me against his chest.

“I thought you wanted to leave, little one.”

“I want to go home.”

“Then why fight?” he asked as his thumb brushed my cheek. “Why not just go with them. I would’ve let you go.”

“You don’t understand,” I replied. “That’s not my home anymore.”

“When you said you wanted to leave…”

“I meant I wanted you to get me out of here, Loki… I wanted you to take me home.”

*********

Taglist: @honeyrydernot

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x y/n #lokixreader #loki friggason #marvel #marvel mcu #loki of asgard #avengers #marvel au #mafia #mafia au #loki au #loki spice #loki fluff #loki x you #loki fanfiction #loki fic

[hughjidiot]

Regarding anne not telling Sasha and Marcy’s parents: i didn’t have a issue with her not telling the truth(i figured it was because she was afraid they’d tell the fbi) but i do have an issue with Anne not facing consequences for lying. Especially when Sasha and Marcy are punished for there lies, it seemed like the narrative was letting Anne off the hook.

Marcy's Journal confirms that during the events of The New Normal Anne sat down with her parents and agreed not to tell Sasha and Marcy's parents everything until they could get their daughters home safe. That's exactly the problem though: it occurs in the book, when a scene like that absolutely should have been in the cartoon itself. As it stands, the show barely mentioning Sasha and Marcy at all in season 3A makes it feel like the narrative as a whole forgot about them.

As to your comment about Anne getting off easy for lying, I both agree and disagree. I feel like the narrative did punish her a bit for lying in Anne-sterminator, when her not being honest about what happened in Amphibia left them completely unprepared when the Cloak-bot attacked them in their home. I can also see what they were going for with Anne continuing to lie: after all the betrayal she suffered in True Colors she had a hard time trusting anyone and had to learn to overcome that because she would need other's help to get back to Amphibia.

What I agree with though is that when it comes to lying about what happened with Sasha and Marcy, Anne gets off scott-free because it felt like the narrative itself didn't care about Sasha and Marcy. Presumably Anne telling the truth about Amphibia to her parents included what happened with Sasha and Marcy (barring the stabbing, since we later see Mrs. Boonchuy unknowingly recreating the stabbing at the toy store), but we never got to see how her parents reacted to that. Even when they brought in characters who logically should care that Anne came back but Sasha and Marcy are still missing, like Anne's classmate from the mall as well as the freaking FBI (who irl keep a database of missing persons with priority given to minors), none of them were shown to care at all.

Oh and side note about Sasha and Marcy's parents, another reason it may feel like Anne didn't get severely punished for lying by omission about what happened to her friends is the fridge horror aspect. Sasha and Marcy's families basically spent months living every parent's worst nightmare of not knowing if their daughters are dead or worse, and by not telling them what happened Anne and her parents basically come off as heartless sociopaths. Yes there did turn out to be an in-universe reason but I repeat: it was delegated to the book when it should have been given in the show itself.

So yeah, combine the fridge horror with the fact that literally no one else seemed to care that Sasha and Marcy were still missing, and it does indeed come across as Anne getting off easy for not telling the truth about them.

It's easily the second biggest flaw in the show after Endgame Villain Darcy. They spent two whole seasons crafting interesting subplots with Sasha and especially Marcy, have it all masterfully come to a head in True Colors... Only to then basically forget about both girls for 95% of season 3A. Even if the censors got on the crew about not making things too serious following the True Colors debacle, that was no reason to practically ignore Sasha and Marcy's existence the way that they did.

#hugh jidiot answers #amphibia #amphibia season three #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu