#and I never learned anything useful???? then perish

[jq37]

So, that lady FH episode was amazing and all, but...

Hoo boy, I already see the discourse around the Ratgrinders' fates forming and it is going to be painful. Be careful around the fandom space.

(I mean, resurrection is still on the table for them, but that's based on if the players feel like it and right now, we're looking at 50/50 odds at bests)

Yeah, don't worry about me. This isn't my first rodeo and also I post a lot about D20 and respond to asks I get but I don't actually personally engage with any of The Discourse (tm).

And I'm not really surprised at the reaction. I know people have been opinionated all season in two main camps (that have a lot of overlap): people dissatisfied with the narrative direction and people deeply sympathetic to the Rat Grinders to the point of being mad at the Bad Kids.

The first camp I mostly understand. I get wishing the cast would explore a certain storyline more. For example, I've been on the Aelwyn redemption arc train since literally the first episode of Fantasy High so I was a little disappointed that when that finally came to a head in Freshman Year, it was a big fight and then very little aftermath/unpacking because Aelwyn was sent to jail right after. And Sophomore Year hadn't been announced so I had no idea that she was gonna get another shot. But I wasn't upset or anything. Adaine at that point still hated her sister. She had no reason to want to reach out. And at the end of the day this is other people playing a game. Brennan presented them all the possible plot threads and they were most interested in self discovery, hanging out with each other, doing Shenanigans, and playing Tomb Raider re: Ankarna. Those are all options they were presented and it's not like they were doing crazy off-roading. It's well within the parameters of what D&D is. If you're gonna watch a show like this (or honestly any show), you have to accept that what's most interesting to you isn't always going to be the most interesting thing to the people in the driver's seat.

So yeah, I feel like this side of things I get (even though I'm fine with how things turned out).

The other camp--people being legit mad at the Bad Kids (and in some cases the actual cast) for treating the Rat Grinders like antagonists instead of victims that they were responsible for empathizing with and redeeming--I find kind of wild.

Like…you're mad at the kids who go to Child Murder School for killing kids who want to end the world and kill them specifically? Literally the first day of school the principal of the school says that adventurers are violent wanderers who engage in shenanigans and enact violence. This is the exact assignment they were given and that's what they're doing.

I think it's wild to at the same time believe that the Rat Grinders (who have killed people) are not responsible for their actions and deserve to be talked down while in the process of causing an apocalypse because they're just kids who were manipulated while at the same time calling the Bad Kids evil lunatics for trying to stop them by killing them (in a world where Revivify and Resurrection exist) even though they are ALSO kids who are doing what they've learned at Child Murder School. The Bad Kids have to be mature enough to thoroughly investigate the situation and have nuance about it but the Rat Grinders don't have any responsibility to not join a shady evil murder plan*? And do the Bad Kids really hate the Rat Grinders to the point where they're doing some overkill in this fight? Absolutely. But it's not like they're killing them because they hate them. They're killing them because they're trying to end the world--and they also happen to hate them. Are we forgetting that Kipperlilly killed Buddy--her own teammate--with a gleeful smile on her face? That was so out of pocket.

They're adventurers! Not guidance counselors! If Jawbone was like, "We need to kill these kids," yeah that would be weird but why would the Bad Kids extend an olive branch to the kids who (1) famously hate them, (2) killed at least one maybe 2 of their own party members, (3) endangered the entire student body population an hour ago, (4) are currently trying to end the world. Hell, Adaine was ready to be mean to her own sister in elf jail literally up until the point Brennan described how rough she looked from the torture and that's when she changed her mind. The Power of Love and Empathy is on the menu but it's a special item you only can get if you know the chef. Everyone else is getting a serving of These Hands. Just because you can find a vegan solution to a problem it doesn't mean you're obligated to.

This all comes down to, "Maybe teenagers shouldn't have godlike powers and the ability to play judge, jury, and executioner" but that's literally the premise of the entire show so you can't get around it without rejecting the show's entire premise. If they were like, "Hmm the systems that underpin our world are questionable and we should change the power structures" instead of, "Let's kill some bad guys!" then that's a totally different thing we're doing here!

And, idk man, this show has always had a Who Framed Roger Rabbit style morality where the normal rules of ethics stop applying when it's funny. They beat the crud out of Ragh and then lied to him that he shit his pants just for the bit. A pirate was rude/kinda racist to Riz so they scared him into killing himself. Riz ate the remains of the sentient (albiet evil) dragon he killed. That's all unhinged behavior but none of that is meant to be serious. Getting upset about Fig sending Ruben to hell to me feels like getting mad that Jerry hit Tom with a cartoonishly large mallet.

None of this is new so I have to assume that people are having a big reaction because they relate to the Rat Grinders or just really like them so it feels bad that the Bad Kids are treating them like fodder rather than beloved NPCs.

But again, this is a world where you can bring people back from the dead and the Rat Grinders have showed intent that is grievously neglectful at best and insanely murderous at worst so I can't muster a lot of sympathy for the fact that the Bad Kids are just taking them down without remorse. I don't think you have to try to empathize with the people who are trying to harm you if you don't want to especially while they are in the process of harming you.

(*And we still don't know how voluntarily they joined this plan. We don't know if they were killed and basically forced into resurrecting with rage or if they just leapt at the chance to join a plan that would let them get one over on their rivals. It literally could be either. We've had kid villains on this show strong armed into being party to evil plans by threat of harm (Aelwyn) as well was kid villains who just had their own selfish motivations and weren't tricked at all (Penelope and Biz). We actually don't have any clear answer on how culpable they are. We don't know if they all have rage crystals (except for Buddy). And we don't know how much having a Rage Crystal effects your actions. The best indicator we got is in this latest ep when Brennan said that there was a mechanic where Porter was going to call anyone with a rage crystal to fight for him but that says to me that he's only directly puppeting them when he uses that action and otherwise they have free will and are just angrier. The Bad Kids don't have a reason to believe definitively that the Rat Grinders are just unwilling puppets even if that is the case so of course they're treating them like enemies. Anyway, this is a whole lot of "I don't knows" but that's only because I've seen a lot of people talking like the Rat Grinders literally aren't in control of their actions but that's not info that we have. It could be true but we don't actually know that so it's not a good argument.)

#asks #dimension 20 #fantasy high #spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high spoilers #brwolf1995 #i've seen ppl say that the bad kids were mean the the RG's for no reason and it's like. #...the reason is that this is a show based on high school pop culture tropes #and they immediately and correctly clocked that KP is tracy flick #like come on man #and there's no reason to believe they can't be rezzed once this is taken care of #idk why ppl are acting like they're dead-dead #ankarna could just raise them like cass raised K at the end of SY if brennan wants #also lmao emily was brutal to ruben but I think that was mostly just irl person emily being like I put all this effort into you #and I never learned anything useful???? then perish #it's not that deep #one of my friends was like 'babe this isn't steven universe' #and I think about that a lot

[oct0bra1ns]

can you do a platonic yandere teacher? like maybe the teacher kidnaps the darling (his fav student) because he has always wanted a child and you just seem like the perfect child to have! and he kinda gets pissed off if you mention your old family. Reader can be High school or Middle school age i don’t care which.

teehee, i hope you don't mind but i combined it with another another ask which was similar, i went to keep both aspects of the ask so there'll be two yandere characters, they can be a couple or just two people who live together, whatever you want. once again, no names :P

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Yandere Teacher and Yandere headmaster who used to argue all the time despite the fact that they live under one roof. Yandere teacher hates what the headmaster deems as necessary for the students and teachers while the headmaster hates how the teacher never listens to anything he says.

All the staff hate whenever a meeting is called, not because their day was disrupted, no, but because they have to sit and listen to these two arguing over the most stupid things.

They couldn't seem to agree on anything until they met you. Yandere teacher had always kept an eye on you, the one student in his class who used to submit everything on time, complete every assignment to perfection nd rather well behaved.

He usually hates having to explain himself over and over again but if you ask him to repeat something, he will, even if he has already gone though the topic like 100 times.

If by chance you don't do well on a test, he'll give you another assignment to make up for it, or be less harsh with his grading on that certain paper.

He'll let you disturb his free time if you have any doubts or topic you don't understand.

You've always been his favorite student, so well behaved, never causing a scene in class and doing everything he assigned you to the best of your abilities.

With all this in mind, there was no surprise when you decided to run for the President of the student council, with your track record, you were bound to be selected by the teachers*.

That was until he found out one student from a more well off family was planning to run as your rival and for once he went to the headmaster to ask for help.

The headmaster has always kept an eye on you, someone who managed to impress the Teacher who was known for being nitpicky with everything his students did. Of course, that wasn't the only reason, always participating in events, getting awards, representing the school in inter school events, all made him quite interested in what you could achieve within your school years.

Naturally the moment the Teacher came in, asking for you to be selected as the next president he agreed without hesitation,bringing down the reputation of a spoiled child in the eyes of the teachers was no problem for him.

It didn't take long for both of them to agree it would be better if you were staying with them, after all, being the child of the headmaster of one of the most prominent schools was nothing to scoff, that too along with a teacher who had years of experience and a well known reputation in the eyes of various boards.

Of course, being the student council president meant that you had lots of duties to attend to, ones which included you staying late in the school while most of the staff and teachers left, as such, it was quite easy for them to bring you the unfortunate news that your family perished in an accident, when in reality, they made sure to use their influence to make sure they'd never be found.

Under the disguise of being concerned for you, they'd offer to let you stay in their houses. They'd use the first week to make you forget your old family under the guise of giving yourself closure and giving you time to yourself.

They wouldn't rush anything, in time they'd start acting as if you had no other family except them, both of them would step in the role of your parents.

They'd do anything to keep you happy, learning all your likes/ dislikes, cooking whatever dish you wanted, helping you with whatever and buying you everything you ask for.

The headmaster is not someone who cares if you mention your old family, they don't matter because they're gone and as long as he has you with him, he doesn't care while the Teacher on the other hand, tends to get irritated if you mention your old family, he'll bear it to a point before he snaps and goes on a long lecture of all he's doing for you and how clinging onto the past is not good for you.

At that point the headmaster steps in and drags him aside to have a few words with him and he'll come back and apologise to you over his behaviour. The next time he goes on such a rant, one look from the headmaster and He'll stop talking.

Being the headmaster's child comes with a lot of perks, teachers giving you much more respect, students also making sure they don't upset you. If even after all that a teacher or student manages to do something that makes you upset, the headmaster deals with them personally.

*In schools over here, the student council is always decided by the teachers after a few rounds of interviews and 'tests'

#octo answers #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #tw yandere #octo writes #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere headmaster #yandere teacher #platonic yandere x reader #yandere platonic #platonic yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere writing

[2kmps]

BOUNTY

hot outlaw x engineer!reader | 2.8k

story summary; shortly following the death of your mother, you come to learn that you're the illegitimate offspring of a railroad tycoon with insurmountable wealth and power meant to inherit it all. after a hasty departure from home to begin your journey across the continent of san-am, your train is stopped and boarded by a mysterious man in black tatters who claims to be there kill you.

story warnings; mentions of death, mention of bodily fluids and excrement, heavy worldbuilding, mentions of conspiracy to murder, kidnapping, neo-western setting, old-west slang used, usage of unique slang, not really proofread or edited, concept piece for a much larger project.

if you enjoyed, please interact & reblog this post!! ❣️

Mother died a week before the lawyer showed up on your doorstep with an inheritance letter and half-hearted condolences for your absentee father’s poor prognosis. A day after that, your life was stowed into a pair of suitcases and a heavier hard case that you barely justified bringing aboard the train. In three weeks and three layovers, you would be across the continent in St. Corpus, the industrial heart of San-Am, where your father awaited you on his deathbed.

Horace Grissom had fathered a new age of industry and outward expansion in lands once believed to be sprawling metropolises centuries long gone. They had been left behind as skeletons of steel and rust from a time of global war, reclaimed in totality by the roots of elder trees, the decay of salt and sea, the precarious will of mountains, and the great sinkholes and corrosion of sand and time.

Traces of that old world had survived thanks in part to the rigorous efforts of archaeologists and conservationists at the University of San-Am in Grimerise. With each new discovery, opportunistic vultures like your father blotted their pens to their tongues to their pocketbooks and readied themselves to own the patent of it like history had a price and could only belong to them. Indeed, anything could be bought, because with those fragments of history, he built the San-Am Continental Railroad which crossed through each of the five territories and was considered the premier way to travel. 

You were never allowed to ask questions about Horace under Mother’s roof as the very mention of his name would set her ablaze in some pettish, garrulous tantrum that, oftentimes, ended with you going to bed before dusk without dinner until the next day. She loved that bitterness up until the very moment she died, clawing your clothes, your skin, her nightgown, her own throat because she couldn't breathe and there was nothing you could do to save her from succumbing.

“Go in peace, Mother.” you said, kissing the back of her sun-speckled hand even as she tried digging her nails into your face. “I love you.”

She did not waste peacefully, nor did she end by staring up rapturously at the ceiling as though something else waited for her beyond it. Mother passed in blood, vomit, excrement, and all her hatred while you bade her farewell and considered who was best to call to have her body carted away to burn with all the others that had also succumbed that day. You made sure to label that as the cause of death on the official paperwork.

After that, you had made quick work of piling all of her things into boxes to be incinerated as well, certified the house was safe and in a liveable state (besides her old mattress, which was the first thing you disposed of because of the smell) for another family to move into. 

Once all of that had been finished and you gained the time to rest, you got a knock at your door, a bald, sinewy man with a round hat claiming to be Joseph Whitwald—estate planning lawyer, he made sure to specify more than once—and that you needed to leave post haste to your father's estate in St. Corpus before he perished.

“You have significant placement in his will, illegitimate or not. This is what he wanted, this is what shall be done,” said Whitwald assuredly as he rooted through the pockets of his pants and white suit vest for something. He found it and made a sound and a flourish, revealing to you a red ticket. “Take this. It's for one of the elite cabins in first class. Your father wanted you to have the best amenities that the San-Am Continental has to offer.”

Even with such luxuries available to you with the sound of a bell on string, you eventually found yourself exchanging tickets with a young woman traveling solo for the first time. She went red in the eyes, asserted her appreciation, and scooped you into a hug before taking the ticket and her belongings to the first car. 

The passenger car was considerably noisier with children running amok, drunks and musicians belting tunes while dancing in the center aisle—doing poorly to keep their balance as the train navigated the terrain beneath the rails, and ladies in bustles and fashionable blouses screaming like hens over fresh gossip. The stewards were frustrated that they couldn't get their trolleys through all the bodies, whereas some passengers let their stomachs roar through their mouths as they assailed anyone nearby (especially the poor lads just trying to deliver food) with complaints.

You liked everything happening around you; it was a good distraction from the way life had twisted your arm behind your back. The cacophony of laughter and anger felt like home, a comfortable companion to sit there with you on the empty, thinly padded benches while you stared uselessly at the inheritance papers—uncomprehending.

A gasp shot up your throat and made you bite your tongue as you were launched forward onto the adjacent bench (also empty) when the train suddenly began to slow—brakes engaged with such quickness that the wood beams under your feet vibrated up through your soles into your bones and teeth and skull until you became lightheaded and collapsed back into your seat. 

The squeal and grind of steel worsened your confusion, turned the fuzz in your head into dull drumming—aches that pulsed to a beat you couldn't figure out, but it deadened the screams all around you and bodies hitting the floorboards in thunderous heaps. 

And then, there was silence. 

The other passengers kept their voices low as they climbed back into their seats, children were smothered deep into their mother’s bosoms as they wept, and no one dared to investigate what had brought the train to such a violent stop.

“Mummy, what's happening?” asked a girl from the benches behind you. She couldn't have been older than ten, from the sound of her. “Mummy, why—”

“Lottie!” the mother hissed at her daughter, “Shhh! Say nothing else, child.”  

From a few seats away, closer to the front, you recognized the gruff, muddled voice from one of the drunkards who had been dancing in the aisle a while ago. Now, he had a bloody nose and a nasty knot growing on his forehead.

“What the hell is the big idea of them scarin’ the piss outta us like this? Do you see my face? They gonna do somethin’ to fix it?” he complained, then swigged liquor from a flask he had smuggled on. “I should go up there and give ‘em a piece of my mind. Bastards.”

“Peace, friend,” soothed a musician with an unfamiliar accent and stringed instrument. “Don't be hasty. I'm sure there’s a good reason why they had to stop. Let them find a solution, we’re just here for the ride.”

Just as the chatter was rising up again, commotion from the first class car stifled it hard, prompting some folks to abandon their seats near the door separating the cars to crowd into the rear. You were tempted to flee with them, join their pack so if they were going to find a way off the train, you'd be mixed up in their stampede and have a better chance to get away.

Except, you simply packed away your inheritance paperwork and sat there with your chin tucked to the collarbone, the visor of your baseball cap pulled lower over your sunglasses to seem as nondescript as possible. Meanwhile, the sounds from first class grew intense; glass shattered, passengers screamed and shuffled around, something you knew to be true because you felt the floor rumble under your feet again.

And then, the passenger car door slid open without the ferocity you had expected. The door scraped along its metal rail, allowing the body to pass through in heavy, languid steps. You paced your breaths to hear it all; the boots and clinking spurs striking wood with dull thuds, a baritone hum that you were convinced you could feel reverberate in your own chest as it came closer, the scuff of thick fabric and creaking leather. 

You waited for it all to pass, to move on like a slow-moving rain cloud amidst a humid summer day, but it stopped at you instead. The tips of the man's boots were within view, as were slithers of tattered, black fabric from a long duster that fell short of his shins. 

And then, there was the barrel of a gun. The breaths you had been holding shivered out of you, cold dread sank deep into your stomach and bones as the gun flicked upward a few times.

You obeyed and raised your head up to look at the man—tall, broad-shouldered, a rugged face with dark features mostly obscured by the shadow of his wide rim. 

He tilted his head, gun higher as he flicked it down and you understood that to mean to take off your sunglasses. When you did so, offering him a full view of your face, his lips lifted crookedly into a half-smile.

“Well then,” he took the bench adjacent to you before holding something up to your head, seemingly a piece of paper, and shifted his gaze between you and it just twice. “Aren't you something special? Found you, darlin’.”

“What?” you frowned. “Found me?”

“Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny. You're definitely his kid. It's all in the eyes, really.” He said, turning the paper around to reveal a photograph of a man who you did share an eerie likeness to. It was the sameness in the eyes—the color and shape and emotion they evoked through a simple still image. “Horace Grissom had an illegitimate kid a long time ago. Turns out, not everyone is so pleased for that to become public knowledge. Turns out, someone wants you to bite the ground.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” you bristled.

He settled on the bench and hiked an arm up across the back of it. “That's usually how it goes, hun. Puttin’ holes in types like you really ain't my favorite thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people get put in your exact situation. Well, eh, not quite. ‘Cause not everyone is Horace Grissom’s kid.”

“Who hired you?” you demanded. 

His lopsided smile remained. “Can't tell you that, darlin’. Confidentiality an’ all that.”

“So, then, you're a bounty hunter?” At this point, you weren't sure if you were trying to stave off an inevitability, or he had just riled you up that badly. “How much are you getting?”

“Enough to live the high-life for quite a while, I'd say.” He continued, “but I ain't no bounty hunter. Them folks gotta play by rulebooks an’ a bunch of codes and whatever. Not my thing.” 

“A criminal, then,” you said. “An outlaw.”

He shifted the rim of his hat away from his eyes and leaned towards a pillar of golden, midmorning sunlight that came in through the window. “Sure, if that's what'll make you feel better about this entire thing.”

You could actually see him now—the contrast between the ambery hue in his rich complexion and pale green of his eyes. His skin had some weather to it, enough to prove that he had seen the worst of every season for years on end without it wearing him thin, along with thoroughly kempt hair on his face and loose waves that draped slightly beyond his shoulders. 

“I…” the longer he stared at you, the less you were able to think. That was ridiculous considering you had survived the soul-crushing burden of engineering school and all of the personalities therein. “I can offer you something better than what you were hired for.”

He did a fast sweep of the colossal heaps of fabric hanging from your frame, a style you preferred to keep eyes off of you on the best and worst of days. It didn't do much to deter him as it did others. 

“Oh, yeah? Whaddya got, hun?” 

You lifted your shoulders and stacked your bones right. “I've got a vast inheritance that I'm not interested in. Horace is dying and I’m in his will to receive half his properties, along with his shares in the San-Am Continental Railway and Subsidiaries. If you can get me to St. Corpus, you can have the inheritance—every last gris.”

A shrill whistle echoed around your head, tuneful and mocking. The sound of it whittled your confidence back down to nothing, filling the space of your throat with a vise that you couldn't seem to swallow around. That same great unease you had felt before weaseled around in your chest, coiled your ribs and then plunged straight down into your gut. 

“Good offer, but it ain't on the table.” The way he spoke was easy and slow, a thick drawl that suited every bit of him up to even now. He acted as though he weren't essentially holding a gun to your head, threatening your life in the name of money—or something else. “Gris is always good to have lyin’ around, but, honey, it don't really mean a lot to a man like me. Why, then, d’ya think I take on work like this? Why do ya think I trek halfway across the five territories time and time again? What really keeps a man goin’ out here in this godforsaken place?”

You felt yourself shrink in your seat as he leaned forward over his thighs, coming closer still like he had a secret to keep. “It's for the thrill. The hunt. The challenge of it all. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't actively seek out men to shoot or… nice types like you, but part of the fun is trackin’ down, the other part is just havin’ a chat—just like this.”

Then, he had the picture of Horace held out to you between two fingers. “Tell ya what, I see that hard case you brought aboard. I know what it is, but I want you to offer me somethin’ more interesting than a bunch of gris.”

You scrunched the photograph against your palm once you had it, hoping the sweat off your skin would ruin his face and make the ink run, but looked to the aforementioned hard case instead. 

It was made of a hard plastic shell with strips of rubber outlining the odd shape of the thing. Inside was your handheld welding gun—one of many—that you had decided to bring along for little reason besides thinking it could be of use at some point during your time away. It wouldn't be enough to handle larger jobs such as the ones you were accustomed to in the workshop back in Grimerise, but it could fix a wagon or two, glue some pipes together, and do some damage if need be.

“C’mon, darlin’, sell yourself to me.” he pressed, gesturing his impatience with winding fingers. “What do you do for a living, huh?”

“I'm an engineer,” you continued hastily, “I-I can solder, weld, braze, cut, and saw. I can do anything if I have the right equipment.”

In turn, he asked, “Does that mean you can cut open a safe?”  

“If you give me what I need, I can do anything.” you said. 

A new sort of look overcame his features, one of great fondness and admiration that made the green of his eyes take on the milky luster of jade. You had the hope that this unique softness would gain you freedom from a shallow, empty death; a chance to go forward to seize the assets sworn to you by a man you'd never known.

His hands came forward to take your wrists, the weight of them first heavy and then cold as a pair of handcuffs were locked around you, knocking bone when you lunged back into your seat and fought against them. 

“I've got myself quite boon!” In the next moment, he had hauled you up across his shoulder, retrieved both your suitcases, and called one of the stewards to carry your welding gun after him. “Time to go. Gotta introduce you to the crew and get ya settled in.”

“Wait, I don't even know your name!” you shouted and thrashed from shoulder.

He grinned. “Jericho, darlin’.”

a/n: so, this is a concept piece to a very large neo-western project I'm currently in the process of outlining and fleshing out. most things mentioned in this little oneshot will not be present in the final piece, the quality will, of course, be substantially better.

jericho is an outlaw with an extremely complex background story and will definitely be one of the more interesting characters I've ever written. he's not necessarily the sort of man you want entangled in your life, but he's loyal to a fault once you have his trust. his personality tends to revolve around "taking things as they come", which is a great nuisance to those around him. he likes a good challenge, strong liquor, and good medicine.

here's a brief glossary if you're interested:

san-am: the continent where events take place. no one knows what it used to be called because most historical documents have been lost. it's divided into five territories with a "capital".

grimerise: the central hub of commerce, home of the governing bodies. it's a large city dead center of the other four territories. mc was born and raised there. the university of san-am is also here.

st. corpus: the industrial heart of san-am, found down south near the seaboard. mc's father lives there.

"gris": currency in this world. its components are coins and bank notes. it is a relatively new thing to come about because the bartering system is still the preferred method of trading.

#outlaw x reader #outlaw x you #outlaw x y/n #cowboy x reader #cowboy x you #cowboy x y/n #romance #neo-western #neo western #oc x reader #oc x you #oc x y/n #2k writes #original fiction #original fic #original story #original writing #writing #western romance #cyborg x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #reader interactive

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

May I request an Arlecchino concept?

I can try. I stopped playing Genshin during Sumeru, so this is primarily me researching and gaining info from the internet and friends. I hope you enjoy this regardless of that :) Doesn't help that we still don't have much info on her....

Yandere! Arlecchino Concept

(Pre-Version 4.6)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Mentions of murder, Subtle possessive behavior, Kidnapping mention, Isolation, Dubious/Forced companionship/relationship.

Arlecchino seems to be manipulative, acting as a spy for the Fatui.

Her main objective is to find the Hydro Gnosis, prying about to find the true Hydro Archon.

She acts kind, often being described as a "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing".

She wants others to trust her... but we can assume she is willing to use others like most other Fatui.

Arlecchino would originally see her obsession over her darling as a distraction to her goals.

When you meet Arlecchino, she comes off as cordial and graceful.

She's strict but still capable of being lenient towards subordinates.

Other Fatui feel she is acting and isn't truthful with her motives, loyalty, and behavior.

This manipulative behavior of hers makes it easy for her to hide her obsession.

If she does have some sort of interest in you, she hides her true motives.

Imagine if Arlecchino had Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet gain info on you.

She never says why, just asking them to learn more about you.

When they're busy, Arlecchino herself watches you closely to know more about you.

She doesn't understand her obsession... which is why she spends time getting information on you.

After all, your presence drives her thoughts crazy.

Arlecchino is very tactical in her way of thinking, carefully gaining info on you.

You barely can tell her obsession when she speaks to you for one reason or another.

Although it is odd to others that she seems so interested in you (Mostly the Fatui are intrigued).

Her views of a platonic or romantic relationship towards you are naturally quite twisted.

She's literally the Knave, so....

A platonic obsession is obviously not the typical "friends/allies" relationship.

That's not even getting into the idea of her having a romantic fascination over you.

Arlecchino will come off kind and cordial towards her obsession.

You won't catch her true motives until it's too late.

She tries to play off your conversations as "friendly chatter".

For once maybe she doesn't want to be diplomatic, yeah?

But then she begins asking oddly specific questions about you.

Arlecchino, despite claiming to be a friend, seems to want to know too much.

All the while she tries her best to keep up the trust between you two.

Arlecchino treats speaking with her darling as a balancing act.

She tries to maintain your trust with truths and lies... along with gather more information on you to fuel her obsession.

As her obsession grows... she even considers isolating you.

Those too close to what's hers is done away with.

May her polearm be coated in blood and the smell of burning flesh greet her nose...

Many will perish by her hand if it means she can have her new obsession all to herself.

When Arlecchino has enough of waiting around and gathering research, she'll escalate her obsession.

It's either the moment she loses your trust or gets impatient that sets her off.

She can't lose you to anyone or anything... you drive her insane.

Do you really think... you can just leave her now?

By the time you learn of her true identity, by the time you see how unhinged you make her...

You're taken away.

You're thrown in a cell, somewhere where none can find you.

She doesn't let any other Fatui touch you.

You're hers now, the person who had been driving her insane is now within her grasp.

She doesn't apologize for her manipulation.

Obviously Arlecchino doesn't care if you feel betrayed... much.

Even when she tries to reach out to caress your face... you flinch away and it hurts her a bit.

Despite this... she never lets you go.

You're hers... it's final....

She doesn't even care if you call her a monster as long as she has you.

Arlecchino clearly cares for you to some degree...

That's why you're here, all alone, with just her by your side... isn't it?

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere fatui harbingers

[shaisuki]

ADDICTION

|| the second entry for the series “𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄”

content warnings ─── bonten! sanzu, murder, talks about torture, noncon, implied kidnapping, drugs , dark themes, yandere themes

ᝰ synopsis.ᐟ when colored pills doesn't give him the high he needed, sanzu finds a new addiction, it's better than ecstasies.

the gunshot seem to frighten you. i apologize for that. in line of my "business" it is my job to keep the empire mikey had built to flourish. these traitors are not the worth of the name bonten and those who are without use should perish.

it's also to serve a warning to you. never run away from me.

i have no intention of harming you, let alone scare you. it's only a reminder that you can never escape from me, even you run to the ends of the world, i will follow you.

shed the blood of those who dares to look at you. serve their head in a platter. cut every finger who dares to lay their hands on you. rip their limbs apart one by one and not even death could escape their fate from my hands.

why are you crying? you don't like that? silly girl. it's a punishment for them who can't understand that you belong to me. what? can you repeat that? you don't want me nor anything of this?

you got no choice. you've bewitched me. got me high of my feelings that i didn't know i was capable of doing so. you've made me addicted to the sensation of your skin in mine. your voice like bells in my ears. no drugs could make me feel like the way you do.

you're the most potent drug that i could take. intoxicating me with your light that flows in my veins and gives me euphoria reaching in my brain. you're the medicine in my pain.

sometimes you're also the cause of the aches in my body. you never really learn do you? what got you shaking? the body drops as i pull the trigger on his head. blood pooling at those empty head of this incompetent fool to never let you out of sight when i'm dealing with mikey.

this is a warning. don't test me. although, i vowed myself to never harm you—you need to be taught a lesson. nobody messes with me, no one.

ssh. don't cry. this is all your fault. you're going to take whatever i give to you. fuck! i might lose control of myself whenever those tiny whimpers leave your mouth as i pressed my lips to your heated skin. be a good girl. all i want for you is to submit to me.

tears won't work on me darling, i've seen plenty of it. from the men who for me to spare their useless lives with a gun in my hand. it would be no different to you. you're mine to begin with. i own you.

a blissful sigh escaping from my lips as i inhale your scent. such beautiful hair you have. such bounty you have for yourself and it's mine to exploit.

the straps of your nightgown falling down to your round shoulders the more my lips move to feel of your skin. this would be your life with me as i clothe you with the most luxurious clothes i can provide for you. money ain't a problem for me. i have lots of them.

your body trembles as i touch you. i won't harm you, i told you. think of this as a lesson while you think of escaping me again. there's no escape in my grasps. as much i hate to force you, this is your punishment for making me angry. if you weren't my precious little things—i would have killed you.

we won't like that don't we? stay still. it would be easy for me to take you or else it would hurt. never been a problem for me to put down people like you.

that's it. you weren't that stubborn when i'm putting you in your place. that's right. the sight of you sinking in the sheets with your hands gripping the sheet while you brace yourself for me to take you. your plump ass raised to serve me.

eyes rolling as i sink to your warm pussy. engulfing me in such warmth that got me hooked, wishing forever to be inside you and now we are as one. connected to fulfill our desires and to feed my addiction.

i hope you learned your lesson with this one or else i'll be doing it until it get through your thick skin. i won't get tired of it nor will i ever stop.

this is what addiction to you feels like. a neverending rush of euphoria.

#ʚ•ɞ. shai writes #chubby reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers sanzu #akashi haruchiyo #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #yandere x reader

[p-seduonym]

Being the Maid of Yandere Louis James Moriarty

A/N: I kinda winged this one, if you can’t tell already. Enjoy, or don’t, I guess. Do whatever.

You were a maid at the Rockwell estate.

Fairly young, you had worked there for your entire life.

Your days consisted of tedious chores, cooking and cleaning mostly.

That is until Lord Rockwell suddenly took in three wards.

You heard passing rumors from other servants, about the incident at the Moriarty manor.

The count and his wife, along with all of their servants, tragically lost their lives in a terrible fire. Nothing was spared, except the count’s children, who were left orphaned.

Although no one seemed to mention the adopted child that had also perished in the fire…

You felt pity for the boys, only a few years younger than yourself. Especially the youngest.

The eldest son, Albert, was busy with duties as the heir to the earldom while the second son, William, was soon enrolled in school.

That left the youngest, Louis, alone.

And, although you don’t like to admit it, you felt slight trepidation at first. 

The boys were withdrawn, which could only be expected, but they didn’t seem to have an air of grief about them. More so, the atmosphere appeared almost like a cold sense of resolution.

But, when you laid eyes on his bandaged face, you felt guilty for your thoughts.

Ashamed, you made it a point to be especially kind to the boys. But, your efforts mostly went to Louis, who remained in the house most of the time.

Initially, Louis was rather confused by your attention. You seemed to go out of your way to speak with him. Whether it was just greeting him or asking how his day was.

He didn’t know why you were so interested in him, rather than Albert, the eldest, or William, the prodigy. 

Most people disregarded him, the adopted, scarred boy from the slums, with neither age or intelligence to make him stand out in a particular way.

Still, he remained cordial to you. He was even somewhat grateful to learn firsthand how to manage a household.

Soon enough, it became common for the two of you to be seen together, whether it was doing laundry, washing dishes, or cooking in the kitchen.

It was tedious work that you were used to, but you enjoyed the time with Louis.

And you couldn’t help but think he did as well.

As time passes, Louis becomes gradually less distant, his smile becoming less of a pleasantry, more genuine.

He would also leave small gifts for you, be it a small pastry he claimed he made too much of or a flower he said was out of place in a bouquet he picked.

You're pleased by this change. Ignoring etiquette, you sometimes gently ruffled his hair just to see him get flustered. Or you would hug him to coax a smile out of him.

If someone saw the two of you, they would have seen an older sister teasing her brother.

And it felt that way. For you, at least. For Louis…

It felt odd to think of you in such a way.

William mentions, offhandedly, how close the two of you seem to be.

Louis is startled by this observation. He’d never been particularly close to anyone except William, and Albert, to an extent.

He quickly assured his brother that you were just a maid, an innocent servant that knew nothing.

But William only smiles and says he’s happy to see Louis enjoying himself. 

With his brother’s (seeming) blessing, Louis reconsiders his feelings about you.

It was obvious you viewed him as a younger sibling, if your physical affection said anything. But why did that frustrate him?

He wanted to be the only one you smiled at with that beautiful smile of yours. He felt irritated whenever you gave one in passing to a male servant.

Fortunately, it was easy to use his young age to his advantage. He would grab at your skirt like a child trying to get someone’s attention. It was shameless, but effective as you would turn to him with a smile.

Or he would pretend to be confused about how to prepare a meal, just to have your attention to himself.

It was easy when he was younger, but those tricks wouldn’t work as he got older.

So how could he keep you to himself?

As years passed, the two of you grew older.

Your relationship now turned a few more heads. Why would a simple maid be so close to the son of a count? You heard this among other whispers as you passed servants in the halls.

It was endearing, at first, to see a maid so attentive to her young master. Now, however, it made it look as if you were just a tad too ambitious. Could you be trying to raise your social status by seducing a young nobleman?

The entire idea scandalized you so much that you made an effort to shape up, acting more professional around Louis, who obviously notices you becoming more distant.

It’s difficult trying to maintain a proper relationship, between a servant and their master, with him. But you figured it was for the best, since he came of age and wouldn’t remain in the Rockwell estate forever.

This was inevitable, and you had resigned yourself to that…

Louis, however…

He isn't oblivious to the rumors, so he doesn’t blame you for becoming distant. However, he refuses to accept this. You’ve become someone precious to him.

So, he asks his brother for his advice…

For reasons unknown to you, your life had become increasingly hostile at the Rockwell manor. Rumors followed you everywhere, along with disdainful looks. You noticed items of yours disappearing. Pins were stuck in your uniform and broken glass in your shoes.

Who would do such a thing?

Your only solace was Louis, who remained loyal even in the wake of your distant behavior towards him. He comforted you as you confessed all that happened.

Ultimately, it all culminates in someone - you only saw a shadow - pushing you down the large staircase, causing you to break a leg. The one who found you lying at the base in a heap was Louis…

Carrying you to the servant’s quarters, Louis softly proposes something to you.

Albert has purchased a house, in the quiet town of Durham. Somewhat old, but furnished. He and his brothers were to move there soon.

As he bandages your leg, he asks for you to come with him. He can’t bear to see you suffer here any longer. There won’t be too much work, his brothers and he weren’t demanding. There was always a place for you.

As you tear up and hug him, for the first time in a while, Louis smiles to himself.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere blog #yanderecore #yandere louis james moriarty #yandere moriarty the patriot #yandere yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #a post? within a month? #inconceivable #just let me ramble

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Since I personally don't see enough Aym/Baal content, how about Aym and Baal x reader (separate)? Where the reader, who is a lamb, gets sacrificed and is basically the lamb in the game. But every time the reader appears in Narinder's realm after perishing, they're constantly flirting with him. They consistently compliment everything about him and are just.. practically obsessed with him (not in a weird way).

Oh yeah! We gotta give them more love tbh (also I'm not 100% sure if you meant flirting with Narinder or the brothers, but I'll assume the brothers)

.....

Aym

At first he thinks you're incompetent as a vessel, given the number of times you've perished to something stupid and ended up in Narinder's realm...

And then he realizes you're literally dying to see him (which is no exaggeration), but he's just confused and irritated by your attitude, thinking you're taking full advantage of his master's power.

He doesn't see why you wanna talk to him.

"You know, I love the broody types..not many of us lambs were ever broody-"

"You think serving our master is a joke to you?" He sneers quietly. "The prophecy is to be fulfilled by you. I suggest you act like it. Master, will you send them away-"

"It is not your place to order me around, Aym." Narinder warned. "For I am quite amused by these interactions...I've never seen you become so..flustered." He snickers

At this point, Aym realizes he has no choice but to accept his fate just for his master's amusement-

He is, however, a little flattered when one day you gift him a bracelet made from the bones of your enemies.

It stuns him into silence, only snapping at Baal after you leave and he teases him over it.

Anytime you ask about it thereon, he'll claim that he got rid of it..

But you see it on his wrist, hiding underneath his sleeve.

Even after reuniting him with his mother, she learns of the gift and fawns over how "cute" you two are (with Aym rolling his eyes and trying not to blush).

Baal

While Baal showed concern that you weren't the right fit for being the prophesized liberator, he wasn't as condescending as his brother.

Every time you died, he got to see what fresh new injury killed you, and he wondered why you'd put yourself through this suffering.

Then he realizes you're just trying to revisit his master's realm to flirt with him.

He gets tongue-tied, unsure of how to respond to your compliments, trying to hide his blush behind his staff or clench his jaw so he doesn't smile.

But as much as he appreciates your kindness, he worries for your health despite death being of little consequence to you.

"Doesn't it hurt your cult every time you die in a crusade? Doesn't it hurt...you?"

"Baal, the only thing that hurts is that I can't marry you.." You pout, offering him a camelia flower bouquet. "My followers throw their hearts at me every day...but I feel nothing for them. I've rejected dozens of proposals, because one day I want you to be-"

"So this is why my cult's faith is so low...go back and kill Heket. This is no time for marriage vows." Narinder scorns, sending you away immediately.

When you resurrect Baal, however, you married him on the spot (with Forneus' blessing of course).

Ngl, he's happy and always hoped this day would come. He couldn't say anything before but he can now.

#clanask #anonymous #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl aym #cotl baal #lamb reader #headcanons #aym x reader #baal x reader

[aotearoa20]

correspondence and revelations shortly after Dagor Bragollach for @silmarillionepistolary

To, Caranthir Morifinwë Fëanorian Lord of the East

Dear cousin, it is with great sorrow which I greet you. The attacks of the Enemy took us all by surprise and I mourn the blow the loss of Thargelion will surely have on us all. Though I had never the chance to visit I had heard many great things of the eastern mountains, they were fair to behold, I am told, and I know that you loved it there. Still it gladdens me to hear that you and yours escaped for the most part unscathed. Know whatever aid and support we can spare is already on its way to you as you receive this letter.

I'm sure you know already that Celegorm and Curufin have taken up refuge among my people. You should know you they are well and whole. They, along with I, have sent letters detailing their arrival and stay. I have also sent some papers detailing preliminary adjustments to traderoutes and logistics for delivering aid among our people and allies. I am sure you have more than enough plans of your own and as always i defer to you judgement on such matters.

But all this aside I had another matter I wished to inform you of concerning one of the people of Haleth in Brethil. I have kept it to myself for some time but if anything has come from these last days is that none of us knows when doom will rear its head.

The Lady Haleth herself I met only a few times, when negotiating the terms of her people’s dwelling, and found her to be a woman of brusque and bright countenance. Indeed, when I learnt of her dealings with you I thought that the pair of you must have gotten on like a house on fire, else hated each other entirely. But I digress.

It was upon one of those meetings when I saw a child, I reckoned at the time, perhaps five by the count of Men often about her dwelling. No husband she ever spoke of nor did I ask. The child had her likeness and hearing of the tradgey that claimed the rest of her family, I thought perhaps his father had perished with her kin.

In truth, I thought little of it at all until some years ago, on a visit to the city of Menegroth, when I found a youth milling about the edges of the Girdle. It must have been two hundred years since I’d last seen him, the Haladin had since had two chieftains but the boy looked no older than twenty. He named himself a changeling in his own tongue and told me his father was one of the Eldar.

Erestor he called himself in Sindarin for though he’d lived among his people, at on the request of his mother had not taken her title. Instead he stayed as a counseler for his cousin and later his children and grandchildren. (The translation is a bit off I deem but he having learned more seems loath to correct it and resistant to advice) Either way, wishing to learn more of his father’s people and had come to Doriath to see if he may by his blood be permitted. I spoke with him a while and finding him genuine in his desire, brought him with me and vouched for him before Elu Thingol, the King.

Since then he visits the city every few summers and then returns to his people before the snows set in. He has had little trouble of it, for his mother’s features hide much of his fathers heritage and he is wont to pass through, drawing as little attention to himself as he can. But I found him curious and upon further investigation and despite his protests to the contrary, I am certain his father is Noldorin. In fact, on those rare occasions he does smiles without restrain cousin - were it not for his quiet temperament I know he did not inherit from his mother - I would have wondered if he was your own.

At any rate, considering the time and circumstances I first found him, it's likely it is that his father is among your people. I can think of any number of reasons such a thing would have been hidden from offical records but I truly doubt it could have happened without your knowledge. To the point, I thought, especially in the chaos of these days, you might pass on some news of the boy’s well being. I have had news from Brethil, written in the the his hand, they are well, if overwhelmed with refugees from Dor Lomin. But he is safe. Perhaps that might comfort his kin in Amon Ereb. And perhaps you could tell him that his child is a scholar in training. That he is happy, as much as any of us can be, and untouched by doom or darkness. May he remain so.

I hope I have not overstepped in my assumptions. Always I have hesitated in speaking on this subject. I just have with the loss of don't want to leave anything unsaid that ought to be.

That is all.

As I detailed before, i have sent ahead letters pertaining to more practical means. I have no doubt in your prompt reply. I wish you well, cousin. May Tilion watch your steps before the Dawn breaks.

Finrod Felagund King of Nargothrond

#this has been sitting in my drafts #waiting for the right moment #so here you go:) #silmarillion epistolary #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien #finrod felagund #caranthir x haleth #caranthir #erestor #erestor son of canarthir

[marezablr]

when it comes to explaining gohan's weird quirks in relation to trauma (disclaimer), i think we are sleeping on the most obvious thing to accuse of being a trauma response: becoming an academic.

and i don't mean doing it because trauma made him hate fighting, or like bugs, or even anything about being a Good Son for his mother. i see these readings and i understand them, but i think we're looking at this the wrong way around.

i think we have to ask ourselves: what does becoming an academic mean?

here are just a few things that may have happened to gohan as an academic

comprehensive examination: he is left practically on his own to completely master a field of study in a span of roughly six months to a year. at the end of this period, he is put through an excruciating test of his abilities, with the stakes being that the world ends if he fails (he can't advance in his degree)

thesis writing: he is made to pour blood, sweat, and tears into his work. his supervisor tears the results to pieces and calls this mauling 'feedback.' he thanks his supervisor for this learning experience and rewrites until at last his supervisor begrudgingly admit that his efforts might be passable.

thesis defense: he stands before a group of people who are more experienced and powerful than him. they spend roughly three hours attacking him relentlessly. he has to endure it without flinching, or else the world ends (he doesn't get his degree)

publish or perish: he can never relax or take a break. he has to do research to get grant money. he has to get grant money to do research. he has to publish papers. is the Journal Impact Factor high enough? he has to keep going. he can't relax. if he slacks off, it's all over (he won't be able to get/keep an academic position)

tenure: one day, it'll be over. one day, he can slow down and relax. one day, it won't be life-or-death all the time. right?

goodyear-brown (2009) discusses a phenomenon where children removed from traumatic situations then develop anxiety because they're waiting for the other shoe to drop. they attempt to replicate the cycle of trauma->relief->trauma that they're used to and will drop the other shoe themselves if they can't get it.

so maybe gohan isn't an academic because he wants a peaceful life. maybe he's an academic because it's the best place to get that familiar, toxic combination of prolonged stress, extremely harsh mentorship, and sudden high-stakes trials he's comfortable with from growing up on the battlefield, but this time with no one's life actually on the line.

also because bugs are neat!

#son gohan #dragon ball #what i'm saying is academia is Bad and gohan entering it because he has problems(tm) makes him like every academic i've ever known #it's just too comically easy to draw parallels #academics please feel free to add further examples i just didn't want to make the post long

[rayassecretlife]

Hold onto me

Pairing: Aged up!19 Year old Neteyam Sully x Fem!Human!Reader

Summary: You and Spider grew up like one another, left behind after the sky people perished in the war, but also like spider, you made a connection to the forest and the reef—very loved by its people. You get hurt doing something you shouldn’t have, and your mask breaks before you can react, but your best friend wouldn’t let you go.

Warning(s): Mature language, overprotective Neteyam, Mentions of death, Blood, mentions of drowning, etc (i suck at warnings)

Not proof read!!! Sorry for mistakes

Some might say that human’s don’t belong with the Na’vi, that they are alien to the clan and always will be—or how they’ll never learn the Na’vi ways. But to you, the Great War between your people and the Na’vi changed your life for the better. Unlike spider, you were loved amongst the clan—even by their Tsahìk, Neytiri. She treated you like her own, braiding your hair for you, making you new outfits to wear, offering her home to you, she was the sweetest woman you’d ever met.

Your mother was very close to the clan, kind of like grace in a way. You had many connections to the forest, but none to the reef. You also had an avatar body back in the forest, but you were always too scared to go through the transition with Eywa. You’d only been in that body once or twice, and Neytiri never pushed you, but she’d always tell you it would make things easier even though she was scared she’d lose you.

There was something about you. Something…different then spider. You were treated like one of them while he was the stray cat just walking around somewhere he shouldn’t be. When Neytiri and jake weren’t around, you had their children protecting you like their lives depended on it, never really letting you get so close to danger like spider. Along the many years of living on pandora, you befriended the oldest sully brother quickly, and he was now your best friend. You two went to each other for everything, he’d even find himself on his way to your small hut in the forest just to sit and talk during the night.

You fit in at the reef slowly but surely, seeing as Ronal didn’t know how to feel about you at first. Although she soon realized how useful you had been to the clan. You were a great healer to her surprise, better then most of the ones they had already. You were also very helpful in any aspect they needed you to be, an amazing swimmer too. You were so respected in both clans, the people would do anything for you. You were one of them.

“Y/N!” You ignored the voices behind you and jumped into the deep water, the few bodies following closely behind you. “I told you to wait for me!” You scoff at him and continue to swim, holding onto his Ilu.

“You worry too much, I’m a much better swimmer then you” you hum, tapping the mask that sat on your face before sinking underwater, letting his Ilu guide you to random spots along the floor. You could feel him watching you, ears still up with worry. It was funny, even being human you had still been a better swimmer then most of the sully family—except Kiri of course.

You soon swam back to the surface, laughing at the boys worried expression in front of you. “It’s not funny, you could drown!”

“And you can’t?” He glared at you but you didn’t care, only shrugging your shoulders with the click of your tongue. “Calm down, Forest boy. I can handle myself” The wave came at you fast causing you to sink under a little, water getting all over your mask in the process.

Before you could see the sky again, you felt strong arms pull you and you already knew it was him, practically pushing you above him and out of the water. “Ow, ow!” You whine at his tight grip and he instantly loosened up, still keeping a firm hold on your waist. He forgot how much bigger he was compared to you. “Neteyam, I was fine-“

“Fine? That’s not fine! You-“

“She’s fine, bro” You turned your head at the sound of Lo’ak’s voice, him and Tsireya approaching on their Ilu’s. “You guys wanna come see payakan?” Your face lit up but Neteyam instantly shook his head, dismissing his brother.

“No way. It’s too deep out there, what if-“

“Don’t be such a loser, Nete” His ears fall at your words while you climb onto his Ilu, running a hand along its back before smiling at the younger brother. “When are we going?”

“Y/N-“

“Right now” you nod and look over at Neteyam, his eyes staring you down with that same death stare they always gave. He didn’t want you to go but he knew you would anyway, even if he wasn’t there.

“Either come with me or I’ll go with them by myself” You always used this against him because he was way more protective over you then Lo’ak or spider. He grew up treating you how Neytiri did, respecting you and treating you like the fragile human you were.

But he was also your best friend, and he needed to protect you no matter what. With a groan, he hopped onto his Ilu behind you, connecting his queue with theirs as you giggled to yourself, one of his hands holding on and the other holding your waist firmly. He hated when you did that, when you used your life over any decision he had to make—because he knew he’d always choose you.

The water was surprisingly warm as you glided through the ocean, Neteyam refusing to go under the water because you weren’t too keen with holding onto the Ilu. You slowly approached the large animal after awhile of searching, stopping in the middle of the water as Lo’ak and Tsireya slowly sunk down into the waters.

You tried to follow but Neteyam wouldn’t let you, only making you glare at him. “Let go!” He shook his head and you groaned, trying to pry his hands from you but you knew you wouldn’t be able to. He was Na’vi, and jakes son after all. “Your such a scaredy-cat!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms. You wanted to explore, to swim with Payakan and the others. This is why you never came out with Neteyam, you tried to hide from him most days for this exact reason. “Is that such a crime?”

“What the hell did we even come here for if you won’t let me go!” You complain and he sighs in defeat, still holding you against him. “Skxawng” you mumble and he couldn’t help but chuckle, the vibrations in his chest sending through your own. “What’s so funny!”

“You, Syulang” You look at him but he wouldn’t stop, only laughing harder once you smacked your teeth. “You trying to hurt my feelings makes me laugh”

“I can handle myself” He hums, nodding his head at your words. He knew you could, but the thought of you getting hurt scared him half to death. “I’m serious, Neteyam”

“I know you can, Trust me” He sighs, sliding off his Ilu with ease and dipping his head down into the water to check where Lo’ak and Tsireya were. He pulled his head back up to your pleading gaze, practically begging him to let go. “If I let you go, you have to stay close to me”

Your eyes lit up with excitement. He’d never let up that easy before. “Really?” He raises his eyebrows and you nod your head, his hands guiding you down into the water. “Oh my god, there they are!” You both look over watching Payakan surface, Lo’ak and Tsireya laughing from afar and waving you over. “Come on!”

“You said you’d wait!” Neteyam yelled as you swam away from the boy, making your way quickly to the younger brother. He pulled you to sit along Payakan’s fin, ruffling your hair with a laugh.

“He finally let up, huh?” You push his shoulder as he laughs, Neteyam holding onto payakan’s fin to get in front of you. “Oh come on, bro. She’s fine! She used to jump through the trees like it was nothing” He glared at the two of you, shaking his head at your laugh.

“Neteyam, it’s fine” You ran your hand along the animal’s skin, smiling as it looked at you. You signed to the beautiful tulkun, telling him how pretty he had been. You loved the reef and it’s animals, it was calming to you. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so scared to go through the transition” you sigh, turning to look at the people around you.

“I’d be scared too” Lo’ak agrees, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you know where spider is? I tried looking for him before we left but he was nowhere to be found” you shake your head at the boy along with the other two, but you weren’t really thinking about that. All you could think about was going underwater, wanting to swim so bad but you knew Neteyam wouldn’t let you. True, he couldn’t tell you what to do, but he was much stronger and definitely could stop you.

“Can we go under?” You ask slightly nervous and the two next to you instantly nod, already on their way back into the water. “Neteyam?” He sighs in defeat after looking at your expression, holding his hand out to help you back into the water. You smile huge, slipping back down while taking his hand. You almost instantly followed Lo’ak and Tsireya down, Neteyam being quick to follow your trail.

You followed Tsireya through the cracks and plants, signing to her here and there once you saw something new. Lo’ak stayed behind with his brother, watching him watch you.

You are so in love The youngest brother signs, watching Neteyam roll his eyes before he began to swim faster, Lo’ak following behind him with a smile. Neteyam watched you closely, admiring how happy you looked. Your smile made his creep but he held it back before Lo’ak could see,

More animals begin to come into view around you, Neteyam’s Ilu nudging your leg as it passed you. Eywa, it was so beautiful down there. Neteyam came behind you once you stopped, smiling at Tsireya who was talking to one of the animals. He could tell you were so jealous, feeling left out like you always did—but you also knew you couldn’t do things they could.

You turn to the boy, giving him a small smile. Thank you. You sign before heading up to the girl, leaving him by himself once again.

But something was wrong—very wrong. Neteyam could feel the growing pit in his stomach while he looked around, ears perking at the thudding sounds behind him. You and Tsireya looked back at the noise as well, your body carrying itself over to him before you could think.

Stay close he signs to you, fingers intertwining with your own. Sighs of relief leave your body when you see Lo’ak swimming toward you, but just before you could shake it off—the large shadow behind him catches your attention.

Neteyam quickly calls to his Ilu and your almost instantly scooped up, trying to track down Tsireya but she was nowhere to be found. You tugged at his arm but he shook his head, only worried about getting you out of there. You caught a glimpse of the animal as it swam past you, it was an Akula. One of the most dangerous animals in the sea. You needed to get out now, before you got hurt.

But it wasn’t until you felt the firm grip on your arm tear away, and Neteyam was no longer next to you. His Ilu swam away, and you were left alone in the open ocean, barely keeping your self afloat. You felt so scared, so lost without anyone around you. Everyone was gone, everyone was gone and you were left to fight for yourself against this huge animal.

When you thought it had been safe enough, you quickly tried to swim to the top, moving your arms and legs frantically not bothering to look behind you. You should have known it would’ve never been that easy, because In just seconds you were thrown halfway across the area you had came from, body colliding with one of the many rock structures.

You could barely open your eyes as water began to fill your mask, fear taking over your now bleeding body. Your mask is broken—on pandora.

Just as the huge animal was about to charge back at you, Payakan came clashing against it, your body getting swept up by a moving force under you. Originally, you thought it was Neteyam or Lo’ak, but to your surprise, the smaller creature under you was trying it’s best to keep you on its back, swimming with its queue wrapped around your arm.

Neteyam’s Ilu. You knew it was unusual for an animal to create a bond with anyone but their rider, but it felt like his was yours, always at your beck and call just like him. Once you reached the surface you could hear her cries as she approached a small rock island, Neteyam finally coming to view.

He was on his knees on the rock, one hand out for you to grab while his other held his side, small grunts of pain leaving his mouth. He had been wounded—he sent his Ilu to get you because he couldn’t.

After noticing your broken mask, his heart practically dropped from his chest. Lo’ak and Tsireya quickly reaching the two of you with calls of urgency to leave. “Come on! We have to go!” Lo’ak urged but soon realized your struggle to walk straight onto the rocks surface, struggling to breath the thick air they so easily did.

“Y/N!” Neteyam called loudly as you slowly felt your air cut off, your feet stopping almost instantly as you clawed at your throat. “Come on!”

“N-Nete!” You manage to choke out and look at him with the most fearful eyes he’d ever seen, Lo’ak and Tsireya now noticing at the same time. “M-my mask is broken!”

His head whipped back around to you, watching you fall to your knees with a gasp. He quickly caught you, pulling you into his arms while he tried to cover the hole in your mask, obviously not achieving much. “Shit! Lo’ak! We have to get her out of here, now!”

You couldn’t focus on anything as your vision became blurry, fear being the only thing you felt as Neteyam moved quickly with you onto Payakan, trying his hardest to calm you with the desperate words against your ear. You couldn’t breathe—God, you couldn’t breathe! You couldn’t cry, you couldn’t move, only suffer the loss of air making it to your lungs.

“I’m gonna get you help just hold your breath, Baby. I’ve got you—we’re almost there” His hands caressed your hair, voice becoming frantic while watching you struggle under him. “Great mother—fuck!” He watched as a single tear fell from your eye and he cupped your small face, tears threatening to fill his own. “Your okay. I won’t let anything happen to you”

His heart burned with fear—screaming for help as you approached the village. Even far away, the clan were able to notice you coming because of the large animal you’d been riding on. Neteyam’s wound hurt worse but he couldn’t pay attention to anything except you, trying his hardest to calm your fear.

“We’re here, we’re here—it’s gonna be okay” He takes your small hand into his own, but just as you look at him for the last time, your air had already ran out. “Y/N” Suddenly, everything felt blank. Everything felt silent. You stopped struggling, and your once loving eyes turned into nothing—that exact moment is when he lost it.

“Neteyam!” He couldn’t hear his fathers voice or anyone else’s behind him as he yelled your name, tears falling down his cheeks like waterfalls. Everything was static, nothing was there but you.

“Great mother! Please!” He begs, pulling your heavy head against his chest as the clan approached, Jake quick to run to his screaming sons aid. “No! No, no, no!” His cries were so loud, practically alerting all of the villages around the reef. He couldn’t let you go, he wouldn’t let you go.

Jake felt his heart tear into two at the sight in front of him, Neytiri coming up behind him to see what was going on. “Neteyam!” He had to hold her back once she realized what was going on, her own sobs still not enough to cover up her sons. “Get her something! We need the healer now!” Her voice was frantic but still nothing could be heard by Neteyam, his eyes and ears were only set on your lifeless body.

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t of let you out there—I shouldn’t have took you” He hugs your head, voice cracking at every word. The whole clan watched him fall apart, Neytiri desperately trying to get ahold of the healer.

“Brother, it will be alright” Kiri’s hand against his shoulder was enough for him to snap to reality, looking back at her with his eyes stained with tears. He felt your body lift up and he instantly turned back, watching as a few of the guys from the clan picked you up. “Neteyam!” He tried to follow you but his father stopped him, only to earn a single push against his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jake stood there unable to respond as Neytiri sat crying for you, following the clan’s members to the healers pod. “She needs me! I need to go!”

“You know you can’t, it’s too crowded. Please, just wait-“

“Wait? She can’t breathe! And it’s all…it’s all my fault” His knees practically buckled under him, body sinking to the sand in front of the whole clan. It felt unreal—the pain in his heart was almost unbearable. Now, Jake noticed the blood pooling from his sons abdomen, falling to the ground to hold his sobbing mess of a son. “I’m supposed to protect her! I’m supposed to protect her, dad” his words stunt his chest like a thousand bees while his dad shushed him, Lo’ak now sunk to the ground as well only a few feet from them.

Guilt filled the youngest brother, tears brimming his eyes as he stared at the blood on his hands. He told you to go—he said it would be okay. His mother raised them to protect you and he couldn’t even do that. This was more then guilt and sadness, it was disappointment.

Lo’ak couldn’t watch his brother fall apart over you, not imagining the pain he was feeling. You and Neteyam were best friends but in everyone else’s eyes, you were so much more.

They needed you. The sully family needed you. But now, you’d never be able to experience the love he had for you—all because they didn’t listen.

There WILL be a part 2 to this! Stay tuned, this is just a small little thing to keep y’all occupied while I procrastinate the smut writings 💀

#avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar x you #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x reader #avatar james cameron #atwow neteyam #neteyam angst #neteyam gif #neteyam fluff #neteyam x human reader

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 22

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: Past Sexual Harassment, Past Physical Violence, Masturbation (M)

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

Day 204

Leah filled an entire shopping cart with vegetables, cheese, chips and all the fixings for a massive taco feast. That was, everything except the meat. For that, they stopped at a butcher shop on the way back. Sy hadn’t expected for things to still be so domestic after his conversation with Leah over breakfast but he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Sy was sure he’d misheard Leah when she told the man she needed six flank steaks but, as it turned out, it was no mistake. The small army Leah had referred to was not much of an exaggeration. Apparently, they were expecting up to thirty people which was about half the population of Warhorse.

It was a good thing they had taken Caleb’s car instead of his rental. They wouldn’t have been able to fit the multiple cases of beer, wine, juice and soda in addition to the groceries. It was also simpler to leave anything not perishable in the car rather than hull it in and out of the house.

By lunch time, they had finished their assigned task, the flank steaks had been put in the fridge to marinate and the two of them were back cuddling on the couch after eating a few sandwiches.

To Leah’s surprise, in addition to loving fantasy books, Sy was a bit of a history buff. He found a show about some famous British king and, though Leah had never heard of it, the leading men were pretty to look at so she was willing to give it a shot.

After the first episode, Leah began to feel restless. The show was interesting and, let’s be honest, the money shot twenty minutes in didn’t hurt at all, but she just felt like they should have been doing something… more.

“I guess this wasn’t exactly what you were expecting when you flew out here to see me.”

Sy looked down at Leah over her shoulder but with her back to his chest and her gaze stubbornly fixed forward, he couldn’t read her expression.

“What do you mean?” he asked, tightening the arm he had wrapped around her waist while sliding his other hand over her stomach.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, resting her head against his shoulder. “It feels like in the movies the people who get two weeks of romance before they have to go their separate ways spend them having all these big adventures or fucking like rabbits and we’re just sitting at home watching the X-rated version of British history.”

“To be fair, if we’d had X-rated history in school I might have actually learned something.”

Sy’s attempt to lighten the mood didn’t do much good. Leah still chewed the inside of her cheek like it was an olympic sport.

He pulled Leah up onto his lap, stroking his thumb over the outside of her abused cheek.

“Babygirl, when our two weeks are over, we don’t go our separate ways, we go back to Warhorse.” Sy pressed a kiss to her temple, threading his fingers through her hair. “We don’t need adventures while we’re home because we get enough life-threatening missions while we’re away.” The tip of his nose brushed the shell of her ear as he moved to kiss the side of her neck. “And you don’t need to compare us to a Nicholas Sparks movie as fitting as it might seem.”

Busted. She hadn’t expected for him to know what she was referring to but clearly he was well versed in cheesy military romances.

“It’s a book too,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” Sy smirked against her skin, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Well if it’s a book then we should be following it step by step. Although that Dear John letter might not have the same effect if you hand it to me on base.”

Leah shook her head, slipping from his grasp and moving to stand away with her arms crossed over her chest. “We won’t physically be apart but we won’t be together either. We can’t be so what are we supposed to do then? Am I supposed to sneak into your room after lights out and sneak back before anybody wakes up? Do we go back to how things were before we left?”

Sy pulled her back to him, flipping Leah onto her back and slotting himself between her legs so she wouldn’t be tempted to run again. Okay, maybe she hadn’t run so much as pulled away but he wasn’t letting it happen again. “I wish I had an answer to that, darlin’.” He moved a stray piece of hair out of her face, gazing down at her in such a way that she already knew what he would say next. And for once, it didn’t scare her. “I just know that I love you and that I’m not ready to let ya go.”

“Yeah?” she asked, in barely a whisper.

“Yeah…” He’d never said those words to a woman before and he was suddenly worried he’d spoken too soon.

Thankfully, the cutest little shy smile pulled at Leah’s lips. “I love you too.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, leading Leah to playfully slap his shoulder.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Leah felt more than heard Sy’s appreciative rumble. “Yes ma’am,” he growled before sealing his lips over hers.

Her hands snuck up his shirt, exploring the vast expanse of his back. Pinned under his comforting weight, there was no space left between them but she still tried to pull him closer by wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Ignore that,” Sy mumbled when his erection pressed against her covered core. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m gonna anyway.”

By some twisted coincidence, breathless moans coming from the television pulled their attention away from each other and over to the screen where the King was being generously served by a woman on her knees.

Sy broke away from Leah’s hold, reaching for the remote and switching the show off. As he dropped back onto the couch, he took a deep breath, grateful for the moment of reprieve before he blew his load in his pants. Before they could get back to what they were doing, footsteps coming from the upper floor alerted them to the time.

“Shit, I need to get the car loaded. Caleb’s gonna be fussing with his hair until the last possible second so he won’t think to do it himself.”

“I should uh… I should go shower.”

Not wanting to draw attention to the little situation he would obviously be dealing with while he was in there, Leah simply nodded and moved towards the kitchen.

“Oh!” Sy looked up towards where Leah stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Wear something warm and pull out some stuff for overnight. I’ll put it in a bag for later.”

Intrigued, the Captain made his way upstairs to get his clothes. As he walked by the half-open bathroom door, he saw Caleb bent over the counter as he styled his hair, wearing only a towel. With a smile on his face, Sy riffled through his duffle, tossing some clothes on the bed and taking his nicest jeans and henley to change into after his shower.

As he stepped under the spray in the small first floor shower, Sy was still at half-mast. As soon as he replayed the moment where Leah told him she loved him, he was back to granite. He put a hand on the wall and wrapped the other around the base of his cock, giving it a squeeze. There was no time to draw things out, he just needed a clear head for the rest of the night.

Leah might have thought he shut off the show to avoid making her uncomfortable but the truth was that he shut it off to stop picturing Leah on her knees for him. He would wrap that hair he loved so much around his fist and use it to move her head over his shaft.

The water rolled down his back as his muscle clenched with every stroke up and down his length. Sy released a shaky breath when his thumb slid over his tip just right. He slowly repeated the motion a few more times, causing his ass to clench as his hips bucked forward of their own accord.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head falling forward.

Closing his eyes, Sy envisioned Leah’s tongue darting out to taste the beads of precum dripping from his slit. Then her lips would wrap around the head and she would sink down the length of his dick, going further and further each time. Her small hand would work the bottom half of his shaft and when she would be done making him nice and wet, she would take her hand away and sink down until he hit the back of her throat.

Before he even realized he was close, Sy was shooting his load onto the shower wall. A shiver ran down his entire body as a choked moan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit.”

Though his chest was still heaving, Sy couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He quickly rinsed the shower wall and used the available bottle of body wash to clean himself and his beard.

Sy stepped out of the bathroom just as a voice sounded from the second floor.

“Leah, come on we gotta go!” Caleb ran down the stairs with his hair perfectly styled but his shirt not yet fully buttoned. “Where the hell did I put my wallet?”

“Your wallet is with your keys on the table. The car is loaded and the electric cooler is plugged in for the cold stuff. We’ll meet you there.”

That made Caleb freeze halfway through putting his shoes on. “The fuck you are.” He marched back towards the kitchen where Leah sat at the table. “Look, I know you weren’t legal yet but we made a deal when you got that death machine and we agreed you’d never drive it after drinking ever no matter how little and especially not at night.”

Sy didn’t appreciate the raised voice and was tempted to intervene but he knew better than to get in between fighting siblings or to fight Leah’s battle for her. Leah, however, didn’t at all seem phased by her brother’s outburst, crossing her arms and waiting for him to finish his rant.

“Do you have any idea how many motorcycle accidents we get in the ER and what kind of damage the riders get? Broken bones, concussions, road rash… that’s the injuries the lucky ones get. The unlucky ones go straight to the morgue.” 

“Are you done?” she asked, standing and walking around the table.

Caleb looked taken aback by his sister’s calm tone. 

“Sy has a rental car which he can use to drive us but I was thinking we could take the long way there with my bike and stay at the cabin tonight.”

“Oh.” Caleb let out a relieved sigh, wiping a hand down his face. He hadn’t automatically assumed she would be staying the night since the cabin only had one bedroom and they normally just made the half hour drive back so they could each sleep in their own beds. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell like that.” He pulled Leah into a hug, muttering an ‘I love you’ into her hair.

If Sy had to venture a guess, he would say that their open affection came from the unexpected loss of their dad. Caleb was obviously terrified something might happen to Leah as well. And who could blame him considering the things he witnessed every day working in a hospital emergency room?

“Do you ride?” Leah asked once she saw Caleb off.

Sy nodded. “I got my bike license before I got my car license.”

“So… What do you think about riding up together?”

With a sigh, he caught Leah by the hips, pulling her closer. She responded by clasping her hands around Sy’s neck.

“Darlin’, I’m willin’ to put my male pride aside for a lot of things ‘cause I know you’re tough as hell and independent to a fault but I draw the line at ridin’ bitch.”

He was expecting some kind of snappy retort at his choice of words but Leah just smirked.

“Who said you’d be the one ridin’ bitch?”

Now that sounded like an amazing idea. Leah’s bike didn’t have anything for a passenger to hold onto so she would be forced to wrap her arms around him if she wanted to stay in her seat.

“Well if you’re offerin’ so nicely.”

After Leah found her spare helmet and set up a GPS on the front of her bike, they packed their change of clothes in a backpack and set off for the evening. It didn’t take long to realize why Leah had suggested the ride. The fall colors were gorgeous along the open road. As a bonus, Leah’s body was pressed flush against his back, her legs framing his and her gloved hands fisted in his old leather jacket.

Sy was almost disappointed when Leah pointed out the dirt path that led off through the trees. 

“Finally,” Caleb said as they walked in. He was halfway through the back door, holding a stack of what looked like four by fours in his arms. “L I need you to cut up the vegetables while me and Lachlan finish setting up the yard. Camden will be here soon with the stereo equipment.”

Out in the yard, Caleb’s friend was raking the leaves, while Caleb began attaching what Sy now knew to be legs to a table top.

“There isn’t much room in here so we take the legs off the tables when we store them. It also makes them easier to bring in and out of the cabin.”

Leah had obviously realized what he was looking at while she began pulling the vegetables out of the grocery bags.

“Why not just use folding tables?” he asked, taking everything over to the sink to be washed.

“Folding tables are expensive for what they are. Plus they’re often really narrow so my dad custom built three different tables that were the same size and could be attached together with brackets. With a power drill, it doesn’t take much longer to set up.”

Leah was almost done chopping the peppers and onions when the next person arrived, letting himself in.

The man gave a general greeting to the guys who’d come back inside to wash their hands before dropping his bags and moving to stand behind Leah. He put both hands over Leah’s ears and turned to Caleb.

“Why is Leah in the kitchen?” he stage whispered.

Caleb laughed, waving off the man’s concern. “Relax, she’s getting the vegetables ready. No cooking involved, only her scary knife skills.”

“Oh, well that’s fine.” He removed his hands and set them on her shoulders instead. “Hey Killer, welcome home.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before unpacking his supplies.

“Fuck you, I’m not that bad a cook,” she said, shooting a glare at the older man.

“Says the girl who managed to make a salad inedible.”

“You mix up the sugar and the salt one time…” she grumbled under her breath, looking back towards the cutting board.

Sy couldn’t help but smile at the adorable way she was pouting.

“Why does everyone call you Killer?” he asked, both genuinely curious and wanting to draw the attention away from Leah’s apparently lacking culinary skills.

A blush crept up Leah’s cheeks as she expertly sliced onions into long, even strips.

“It’s not everyone, just the guys who were around while I was in my freshman year of high school.”

“That doesn’t answer his question though,” Lachlan pointed out.

When Leah remained silent, Camden took over.

“One day, while me and our friend Niki were studying at his house, he got a call from Leah’s school asking him to come in because they couldn’t reach Caleb. When we get there, the principal calls Niki in and starts telling him how Leah was getting suspended because she attacked another student. The guy starts going on about how they will have to involve social workers if we can’t keep Leah in line and says that she needs a strong hand to keep her emotional outbursts in check. So Niki pulls me and Leah in and asks what caused the altercation. Turns out, the principal’s son had been calling Leah ‘doll’ despite her telling him numerous times to stop.”

“That’s when Niki asked if I was the only one being punished for what happened which was a stupid question seeing as they knew exactly who his son was and they knew for a fact that he could get away with murder.”

Camden hummed in agreement. “I was pre-law at the time so I gave him some speech about sexual harassment being a gateway to rape and that by not addressing the harassment he was condoning it and fostering a hostile study environment. It spooked him enough that he agreed to drop her suspension. Anyway once we left the school Niki made a comment about how Leah had every right to go Chucky on his punk ass. Killer kind of stuck after that.”

Never in a million years would Sy have guessed that Leah’s nickname would come from ‘killer doll’. In a way, it was kind of brilliant that they would use it as a way to praise her for sticking up for herself.

He remembered how Leah had said she’d isolated herself after their dad had died and realized it was probably a result of that asshole principal threatening to involve social services instead of admitting his own son had done something wrong.

“I’d never seen Niki so angry before,” Caleb chimed in. “When I got home from my midterm he looked about ready to hunt the kid down himself.”

“Still would have been better than Gage being the one to do it.”

“Fuck,” Caleb shook his head, clearly in agreement with Lachlan’s comment, “dad would have brought him back just to kill him all over again.”

When the three men stepped out to unload the stereo equipment, Sy slipped in behind Leah, putting his hands on her hips. “Is it all pet names that make you go serial killer or just ‘doll’?”

Leah looked outside, making sure Caleb was still out of earshot before she set the knife down and turned to face Sy.

“I lost my shit that day because he told me that if I wanted guys to notice me I should be a good little doll and only open my mouth when I wanted someone to stick something in it. I didn’t want any of them to worry more than necessary so I never told them.”

“Jesus,” he pulled Leah closer as if wanting to shield her from the memory, “I think that just ruined the word doll for me.”

He rested his forehead against Leah’s, taking a deep breath. 

“That’s okay, I like ‘darling’ better anyway. Or baby girl, that was nice too.”

Chapter 23

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #cpt syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fanfic

[writing-for-life]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN DREAM'S HAIR USED TO BE WHITE!! oh my god. i just saw your post about killala and i have now perished. thanks for breaking my heart.

but also hi!! i'm relatively new to the fandom and it's a great place to be. i haven't finished reading all the comics yet but i'm curious to know:

what do you think are the main differences between TV!Dream and Comics!Dream? i've heard so many people claiming that he is incapable of changing, for instance, and though the show does convey his overall rigidity pretty well, i'm not getting the vibe that he's immutable.

also!! it's clear that he feels a lot. which is always funny to me when the corinthian is like yo, try this and maybe you'll feel something for a change but like. he does!!! or i get the impression that he does. he probably feels too much if anything?? all of it simmering just beneath the surface, barely contained. how would you personally analyze his relationship with his own emotions?

i hope all of this is coherent enough for you to answer lmao, i saw your post about enjoying being asked sandman questions two seconds after i woke up and barged into your inbox. hope you have a lovely day!

Thanks so much for the ask, and welcome if you’re new(ish) to the fandom! 🤗

I’m sorry I broke your heart—much more heartbreak to come I fear if you haven’t read the comics yet, so I’ll try to keep this as spoiler-free as possible.

I am one of those people who believes the differences between comics!Dream and show!Dream are actually not as big as they are made out to be where it matters, and you will definitely find people who disagree. At the end of the day, we all read it through our own lens and will never be fully objective about it.

The main difference I see is that they filed off the rough edges of the comics a bit to make a new audience sympathise more. It’s very hard to do that with a character who is basically in full arsehole mode for most of the first 40 issues or so, and even then only slowly begins to come out of it (although we can obviously see glimmers of what lies below the surface at the beginning of the comics, too, but it’s far more subtle than in the show). I’ve worked in musical theatre for a over decade of my life and understand a bit about bringing the written word to stage/screen, and some things simply don’t translate well from book to stage/screen, and you have to change it. So my personal opinion is we get a more sympathetic Morpheus and certain changes so the audience can do exactly that—sympathise off the bat. You will lose an audience pretty quickly if they don’t care about the protagonist and the universe he moves in, and you can’t be as nuanced about it as you can be in a written work. We’re talking about streaming services thinking about profits here, even if people don’t want to hear it.

Also: The more you sympathise with a character, the deeper the emotional investment and the more you feel, even if it hurts.

Having said this, I don’t think Morpheus is incapable of change, and I never got where that idea comes from. His biggest flaw is that he believes he cannot change (and even he has moments when he admits he might have). In the introduction to Endless Nights, Neil Gaiman says that he was once asked to describe The Sandman in twenty-five words or less, and famously, it was this (you might have heard it):

“The Lord of Dreams learns that one must change or die, and makes his decision.”

And I think some people might have wrongly taken that for an either/or thing. I don’t want to say too much at this point because I don’t know how much you know (if you’d like spoilers or already know how it ends, let me know, I’ll happily expand on it). Only so much:

He is capable of change, also in the comics. Very obviously so. But just like he denies he has his own story (which also isn’t true), he denies he can change. Or at least he thinks he perhaps cannot change enough (it’s actually hard to write about this without giving everything away, help! 🙈).

As for his feelings: He does feel, but again, it is something he pushes down and will deny himself. Until it bursts to the surface and breaks through, and when that happens, it’s usually with, well, let’s say varying results, and that’s putting it mildly. Personally, I’d say he has problems relating to his feelings, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. Quite the opposite in my view. He holds the collective unconscious—all unprocessed feelings and whatever else floats around in that collective mess, and it’s exactly what he says to the Corinthian in that famous scene: he needs to keep a lid on it and keep that lid firmly closed so all of it doesn’t consume him. But that also means denying himself the feelings that are linked to his own personhood (if you want to call it that). There’s Dream of the Endless, and then there’s Morpheus. And while they’re one and the same and inseparable, Morpheus is also the “point of view”. The character, the person, if you will. And deep down, he craves that personhood so badly. Out of all the Endless, he is the only one who basically collects names because they mean having something beyond his function, which is also mirrored in what he tells Death in “The Sound of her Wings”: he wants something more. He is the only one whose realm is populated with sentient beings (yes, I know Despair has rats, but I think you get my drift). He is desperately lonely and struggles with it. He seeks connection yet denies it to himself. That’s not someone who doesn’t feel.

I don’t know if this answers your questions at all—I was doing the wild “spoiler-free” dance 🤣 But please let me know if you want me to go a bit deeper, I love talking about this stuff.

You can also have a look at my metas if you haven’t already. The headers pretty much explain what they’re about and what spoiler-level to expect, but none of them are truly spoiler-free I guess:

Again, thanks so much for encroaching on my inbox, and feel free to follow up if anything was left unanswered.

@dreamaturgy ask answered

#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #sandman meta #ask answered #send asks #sandman analysis #sandman character analysis #sandman comics #the sandman netflix

[astarionsilverbough]

Prompt: Halstarion making up after a fight? 👉👈🥺

OH Y E S OH YES YES YES this even fits with the last chapter of tlogm omg

It's a stolen scene; something glancing and far less dramatic than anyone might expect of Astarion Ancunin.

Because after they've taken out Nere and Astarion's recovered from Gale's latest close call, Halsin is catching Astarion's arm as the others move to make camp in a ruined wing of the forge they've found themselves in.

The vampire halts and shoots Halsin a look he's not yet used to. He releases Astarion's arm immediately - he'll not be another monster that bruises him, never, he'd die first - but steps closer and is relieved when Astarion doesn't step back or growl.

"I wanted to apologize."

Astarion blinks. "For... what? Gale? He did that to me, not you."

"No - for the... our disagreement prior to heading this way," Halsin says. Astarion's narrowed eyes blow wide open.

"The -" he glances around; finding that they're finally alone, Astarion steps close and splays his hands over Halsin's belly. "Darling. Please. That was - that was nothing. A trifle."

But it's all bluster and charade; he's always been a natural at it, a charlatan charmer like no other Halsin had ever encountered. Beneath Astarion's flippant tone and easy expression is the energy of an animal about to bite and run.

Slowly, carefully, like he's approaching an animal about to bite and run, Halsin frames Astarion's waist in big hands and murmurs, "I know you, Astarion - and I do not fear you. Nor do I look at you and see anything but the man I've always known."

Astarion's sunset eyes search his own. Halsin gazes right back into those burning irises and prays he finds the truth he's looking for.

"I was incredibly selfish, disagreeing with you about this little rescue," Astarion states.

"Selfish? You didn't ask to be dragged into every interpersonal conflict in Faerun," Halsin chuckles. "You've got a tadpole in your head and we're planning to hurtle headlong into the Shadow-Cursed lands. A detour was... risky. And entirely my impulse to fix every problem I come across."

Astarion steps back - but not out of any want to escape. He steps back and stares shrewdly up at Halsin, eyes narrowed and brow knit tight.

"You're disturbingly self-aware," the vampire says wryly. "You always have been."

"A hard-won trophy, earned only through the slow learning of difficult lessons," Halsin states.

Astarion folds his arms over his chest. "I don't care about the slaves," he says next.

"I never asked you to, love."

"You're not... upset? Disappointed?"

Halsin shrugs. "You've never been one for charity," he says earnestly. "You're a man driven by vengeance, passion. Not heroism. Now, should the slaves have perished, I know you'd be first in line to avenge them. I'm... just the one who prevents the need."

And now, he's done it: rendered Astarion speechless. The vampire gapes at him for a beat, then splutters a faint "well," before he purses his lips, ears growing pink as his words fail him entirely.

Halsin bows to kiss his brow. Slowly, inch by inch, Astarion's shoulders climb down from his jaw. He relaxes first in Halsin's presence and then his arms, body draped against the sturdy plain of the druid's own.

"You've a beautiful heart, Astarion," Halsin says against his ear. "I've always known it. Vengeance is necessary in this world, and you carry it like you were born to it."

"Oh, well," Astarion manages, "now you're just flattering me."

Halsin can't help the grin that spreads over his face as Astarion fiddles with the lacing of his leather jerkin, fingers flying over the broad expanse of Halsin's chest. He's blushing properly now and all Halsin can do is smile.

Clearing his throat, Astarion straightens up and primly says, "your apology is accepted, then. Now - would you - ah. Would you perhaps like to join me in my tent? Not for anything untoward, mind. I... Find myself struggling with the concept of being very far from you at the present moment, and -"

Halsin cuts him off with a kiss. Astarion melts in his arms and stays there.

All told, it's far gentler a mending than anyone might've thought possible of Astarion Ancunin.

But then, very few knew him as well as Halsin.

#baldur’s gate 3 #the land of gods and monsters verse #halstarion #astarion #halsin

[strwberri-milk]

Baizhu, Zhongli, Xiao, Dainsleif, and kaeya (separately) x reader who has the same element or powers as them? Like for xiao another adeptus and for zhongli another immortal geo user , Dainsleif could have a reader who is also immortal and used similar powers to his? Fluff plz

Also how are you ?

a/n - I'm doing alright!! I started a job so that does monopolise my free time now since it takes up the slots I'm not using for classes but it's going well! I hope you enjoy the read - im still learning how i wanna write these charas so its probably gonna be ooc :D - also, i totally made a reference to my "series" Eternity is a Little Warmer With You bc i just had to aejiofwajw also crying shitting screaming this has been living in here for FAR too long i dont even know when it will be posted im SOBBING the same way i was when my coworker tried to put [REDACTED] in my face to fuck w me (i think shes great no worries shes so funny oawejfwaiod)

I don't think he expected to see another Dendro user in the area, much less one with an unfamiliar face. He makes it his business to know everybody in the harbour in case they require his services.

But, when you show up one day with a minor illness and the Dendro vision hanging from your clothes it piques his interest, which led to his continued visits to you under the pretense of taking care of you.

When things begin to develop further between the two of you I think he'd love to experiment more with your visions!

I see him using his vision in conjunction with his research and when he sees how different the way you use your powers he decides to experiment a little himself and see how effectively he can mimic it.

Overall, he would be fascinated with your abilities and would love to mess around with it a little! Even more so since you're doing it with him.

He had a lot of reservations when he first met you.

You were a terrifying anomaly to him, stirring emotions deep in his chest that he could never understand. However, with time you taught him he was allowed to embrace such thoughts and feelings,

It was terrifying to imagine a single day without your smile, but he knew that he would never wish this curse of immortality on you. He could never hurt you like that, force you to bear a burden that he was cracking under.

But when he told you about his curse the tears that slipped from your eyes matched with a happy smile made him take pause. He had no idea why you were reacting that way and only held your hand silently, brushing away tears with his other hand.

His hand stopped as you told him you were the same, your grasp tightening around his fingers as the realisation sunk in.

He was so afraid to hope for some sort of dimly lit future that could have you in it, intimately aware of the trials and tribulations you had to go through.

Now, with your hands joined together he can only think that eternity will be a little warmer at your side.

Xiao was aware that not all of the Adeptus perished in the war. He's only heard of a few of the others, less famous than him but still just as deserving of the title in his opinion. After all, you both worked hard to serve your Archon and were continuing to do your best.

When the two of you first met it was simple. A nod of your heads and you were both on your ways.

Once your patrol routes began to intersect it only took time and a few conversations under the light of the moon for him to find himself endeared to you.

It was easy with your smile and lack of pretense around him, and fortunately it seemed that the humans really were capable of protecting themselves.

Both being Adepti made it easier for him to understand why you said or did certain things what with your shared background. If anything, it helped make your bond stronger because the moments of silence were filled with an innate understanding he didn't feel like he had to explain.

At its core, your relationship is full of trust and unexplained pauses that fit comfortably between the space of your bodies. He feels fully at peace with you and knows that he can trust you with his heart and life.

He's still worried his karmic debt may stain you but the soft words of reassurance you whisper into his ear calm the thundering rush of his heart.

When Morax decided to live as Zhongli he knew that there would be things he would have to grow accustomed to as a human but also lots of things to learn.

When he first met you he didn't think he'd learn about love.

But it came so naturally to you, what with your natural curiosity and penchant for charming in the most innocuous of manners. To him, it seems human to explore the feelings you give him and so he does.

It won't stop the nagging voice in his head reminding him not to get too attached lest you slip from his fingertips far earlier than you should.

When you confess to him that you're immortal as well he does a bit of a double-take. Sure, he doesn't personally hand out visions but he thought he would have at least been familiar with a fellow immortal Geo user.

Regardless, he discloses to you a bit of his own truth with a kind smile, hugging you tightly to his body when he sees your body slump forward with relief.

Maybe one day he'll be able to disclose the other half of his secret but for now he was more than content to know that you two were going to be spending a lot more time than initially thought.

Cryo users aren't exactly rare so that wasn't what caught Kaeya's eye.

Instead, it was the fact that you pushed him out of the way when a hillichurl came barrelling towards him so fast he barely registered it.

The cold blast of ice against his skin made him think somehow he triggered his own powers without thinking until he heard the clinking of your vision against your clothes.

From there on he decided that he'd have to return the favour, deciding the best way to do that would be training with your visions.

Paradoxically, the chill of both your cryo visions does nothing to abate the warming of your bodies as you find some sort of rhythm while sparring together.

In fact, it only serves to make you both warmer when he pins you down underneath him. His cold hands hold your wrists in place over your head with a cocky, albeit out-of-breath smirk as he tries to think up what he wants to ask of you for his prize.

#kaeya x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin #baizhu x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #dainslief #dainsleif x reader #kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya alberich x reader #xiao #zhongli

[blueshistorysims]

June 1922, Henford-on-Bagley, England

Dearest sister, 

I know you are tired of my constant complaining… but there are few people I can complain to, and unfortunately for you, you are one of them. I had never realized there was so much to do as a peer. I can sense resentment from the tenants of the Feldsbury lands. Parliament is so boring, and most of them don’t like me, considering I one, married a colored woman, and two, I am part of the Labour Party. Not that I care, but I am snubbed often at places where my title is of great prestige. To quote one of the earls, I am ‘a disgrace to the memory of the late Duke and should be ashamed as such.’ What a pity.

Stella is in London again if you and Francesca wish to invite her to dinner, or at least stop by and visit. And before you say wasn’t she in London two weeks ago, well, she is there again. I rarely see her. We were on track to fix everything, and then the bloody old man had to croak. Now we are strangers again in a life neither of us chose. 

We have finally been invited by our neighbors for dinner on Friday, so she will be returning for that. It’s bloody Mungroves. I don’t think I ever told you, but I was friends with their son in boarding school and I spent a summer there.

Joel Mungrove was… let’s just say the first person I developed feelings of a non-platonic nature for. Turned out he was a right cunt, for lack of better words. But the hilarious part of it all, is that neither Sir Francis Mungrove nor Lady Mungrove recognize me. I am delighted to embarrass them during dinner. 

Your brother, Byron

“Lovely house,” Stella muttered.

“The first girl I ever kissed was their daughter,” he mumbled under his breath.

She smirked. “Anything else?”

“Shhh,” he hissed, looking around. “...I felt her up as she… you know…” he wavered off, making a motion with his hand.

Stella laughed, and he smiled. He hadn’t seen her laugh in a while.  

“The Duke and Duchess of Feldsbury,” the butler announced as the Mungroves entered the main hall. 

“It is an honor to finally have you for dinner,” Lady Mungrove said, smiling kindly. 

She and her husband looked so much older than the last time he’d seen them, over thirteen years ago. He smiled politely and gestured to his wife, whom he noted Sir Francis was not making eye contact with.

“My wife is quite eager to see your dining room.”

Stella nodded. While she loathed it, she played of Duchess well. “The Duke has told me how beautiful it is.”

Sir Francis cocked a brow. “You seen it before?”

“Yes, I dinned here when I was a boy.” He grinned like a shark.

“It really is you!” A voice exclaimed from the stairwell, and there he saw Wilhelmina coming down with a man he thought looked familiar. “You’ve gotten so tall. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I’d read that you were Feldsbury's heir.”

He laughed. “I could say the same to you,” he greeted as she kissed his cheek.

Her parents looked bewildered. 

Wilhelmina gestured to the man next to her. “I’m sorry. This is my husband Jack Porter.”

“The poet?”

He nodded. “Yes, Duke.”

Byron was impressed. Stella looked much more interested than she had moments prior. 

“You know our daughter?” Lady Mungrove stammered.

Wilhelmina stared at her mother. “Mother, his grace was Joel’s friend he brought here in the summer of 1909.”

Color flooded the cheeks of the couple as Stella bit her lip to hide a smirk. 

During dinner, Byron learned that Joel was dead, having perished in the war. Sir Francis and Lady Mungrove were mostly quiet during the affair, likely from the embarrassment of earlier. Seeing them so uneasy made his evening entirely worth it. 

Afterward, he and Wilhelmina went to the balcony, reminding him of the many conversations they’d had in their youth. Jack was keen to show Stella the house, asking questions about the jazz scene in Harlem. 

“You know,” she began, “When I read that you married your wife and you were heir to the Duke of Feldsbury, I laughed. Of course the dukedom was our neighbor.”

“I wasn’t even aware back then. Are you happy with Mr. Porter?”

“Yes. He knows the real London social scene, and he makes me happy. I love him dearly. What of you and the duchess?”

He frowned. “The title has put a tremendous strain on marriage if I will be truthful. The only person who hates it more than I is her. I rarely see her.” He sighed.  “I confess, Wilhelmina, I don’t think our relationship will thrive if I do not leave Henford.”

She sat next to him. “I am sorry, Byron.”

“I didn’t tell her I was heir to a dukedom until after we eloped. She resents me for that. I don’t blame her.”

“Well, Jack and I live in London if she is in ever need of friends.”

“What she wants is to be around people like her, in a community where she doesn’t have to be someone else. That community is in New York.”

Wilhelmina nodded. “...My parents weren’t truthful about Joel’s death.”

“What?”

“I think you should know the truth. He did die during the war years, but not on the battlefield. He was severely injured and disfigured after a mustard gas attack. My mother couldn’t even look at him unless he was in bandages or wore a mask. It was hard to look at him. He couldn’t take it, so he killed himself.”

Byron sat there quietly. “My God.”

#the walshes #the walsh legacy #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 decades #sims 4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 history challenge #ts4 historical #tw suicide mention #ts4 decades challenge #1920s #ts4 1920s #bit of a rollercoaster whoops #tw racism #stella gardenhouse #byron walsh

[qe-podfic]

Check out @lexarturo's FUNKTACULAR cover illustration for Chapter 1 of Quantum Entangled.

AHHHHHHHH. THIS ARTWORK MADE ME PISS BLOOD. /pos

Excerpt below cut:

Gosh, he was late! Anathema—Aziraphale’s formidable but quirky supervisor—was going to wring his neck like a repressed housewife in the 1960s, squeezing the last remnants of dirty dishwater out of a hand towel. Only, instead of soap bubbles, it would be Aziraphale’s bloodied guts spilling out onto the linoleum floor. Anathema was a kind young lady, but there was an unmistakable fire in her eyes. It was the fire of a girl who had gotten her doctorate in her mid-twenties. And, with nowhere else for her limitless passion—and it had to be limitless, because writing a PhD at forty wasn’t an easy feat; doing the same, in half the time, required about as much mental fortitude as one might expect (ergo limitless)—to go, she had adopted Aziraphale as a kind of pet project. If you knew her, and you were gifted with any sense of self-preservation, no matter how small, you wouldn’t willingly get between Anathema and her latest pet project.

Aziraphale was currently getting in between Anathema and her latest pet project.

Never mind that he was the pet project, he wouldn’t put it past her to learn the lost art of necromancy in the wake of his recently corpse-ified body, post-murder on account of tardiness. A trivial little thing like death couldn’t put a stop to Anathema Device. Perish the thought!  Supposedly—on account of some author or another—there were only two constants in life; death and taxes. The first of these we’ve already discussed. The second, according to Aziraphale’s blurry memories of the Device estate and its subsequent callous disregard for bookkeeping—books of prophecy excluded—was no obstacle either. In the wake of such revelations, Aziraphale wished to propose an amendment to the popular idiom. There were only two constants in life; ‘were’ being the preliminary condition. Because, once Anathema Device was born, death and taxes both tendered their resignations and held hands while they skipped gleefully into the sunset. Aziraphale hoped they had a holiday house, somewhere near the beach, where they could grow old together. He would do the same if he didn’t fear Anathema finding his proverbial vacation-inn and thoroughly beating the—proverbial or otherwise, Anathema wasn’t much fussed—ever loving crap out of him.

The dark storm cloud of his—Anathema themed—violent musings had brought Aziraphale all the way to the faculty staff room. Its thin pine door was a wooden board lacking stature, opulence, and foreboding, but trying its best to make up for it by acting as the sole barrier between Anathema Device and the outside world. It was a futile effort as Aziraphale, easy as anything, pushed it open—the lock had broken an indeterminate number of months prior, and no one was bothered enough to do anything about it—entering the domain of his supervisor.

“Ana? I know I’m late, but I’m here now if that counts for anything!” Aziraphale called, wafting the gift of crappy university coffee towards the hunched pile of sweaters sitting at Anathema’s desk. The sweater pile turned to look at him, revealing circular spectacles that enlarged the eyes beneath them. Her elk-fur coloured irises, blown out to proportions more fitting for an alien, or an animated bug in a Disney classic, were not tempered by the human habit of blinking. Anathema had mastered the unmoved stare by the age of four, she was not going to let her streak—almost three decades unbroken—end now.

“Aziraphale,” she said in a tone that implied that it could list your sins verbatim, without need nor want for breath. There was a moment of silence. Then, unlike herself, she sighed.

“You don’t even have a paper for me to demand a draft of yet. Neither of us have any work to do. For all intents and purposes, this is a social call. You can’t be late to a social call, Azzy. It begins precisely when it does, with no interest in the time it was planned for.”  Anathema explained, making Aziraphale feel a mite foolish, as she was often wont to do. Having deposited the lukewarm beverage onto her workspace anyway, he made himself comfortable in the cubicle-desk hybrid opposite her; where she was regarding the cup with the conditioned wariness of someone who had already known the taste of the grim sludge TadU had taken to calling ‘coffee’ these days. Her first sip wrestled a grimace onto her typically calm features, but by the time the second sip hit her tongue, she had acclimatised to the amalgamation before her. She continued drinking it, her exterior, at least, affecting unperturbed. Anathema was always more for the content than the aesthetics. In this case, the content was caffeine and the aesthetic was the offensive chemical concoction that contained said caffeine.

“I spoke with Crowley today,” Aziraphale remarked, apropos of nothing.

Anathema hummed appropriately, if not disinterestedly, before actually processing what he had said.

“The thesis guy you were so excited about? The one with the dissertation on primate social behaviours and their implications for modern notions of evolution?” Anathema probed, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“The very same.” 

“Holy fuck, Azzy. You’ve had the biggest crush—” Her words were interrupted by the swift interjection of one—rather embarrassed—A.Z. Fell.

“Academic crush. I value his unique perspectives,” he didn’t need to say more on the matter. It was a well trodden argument.

“Fine, you’ve had the biggest academic crush—” She coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘bullshit’ before continuing. Aziraphale offered her his handkerchief, regardless. Politeness was something he prided himself on, even when his friends were being obstinate hecklers.

“—on him for ages! This is big news! What did he say?”

Aziraphale floundered for a moment, unsure how to distil their brief meeting into something comprehensible. While most of Aziraphale’s conversations strayed into the territory of ‘a bit odd’, his exchange with Crowley was more than ‘a bit odd’ even by his—somewhat unusual—standards. No, the banter between him and Crowley ventured past the ballpark of ‘a bit odd’, beyond the neighbourhood of ‘somewhat peculiar’, and landed straight in the realm of ‘Weird Nerds saying Weird Nerd Things’—capitals included. Not that Anathema wasn’t a Weird Nerd herself, it was just that her particular brand of Weird Nerd veered more towards occult philosophy and historical chronology than it did towards quantum mechanics.

“He recognised me, actually. He mentioned my Master’s in passing and even asked for my number.”

Anathema knew all about Aziraphale’s MDiv, having friended him doing a joint research project on the Salem Witch Trials. This meant that she also knew, more intimately than most, how utterly boring his thesis was. Well, boring to anyone who wasn’t specifically that brand of Weird Nerd. It both surprised her and didn’t surprise her that Crowley was exactly that brand of Weird Nerd. Surely, for as prolific and expansive a researcher as Dr. A.J. Crowley was, it wouldn’t be beyond justification that his interests swept the dusty niche of Pauline Christian theology. But, on the other hand, it simply didn’t fit the vague sense of academic identity he carved out for himself. His debonair leather jackets and faux-suave saunter never seemed like a natural counterpart to the stuffy rigmarole of pastoral philosophy.

“Did he ask for your number? Or did you bluster your way into his contacts?” Her tone was suspicious, and not unwarranted. Aziraphale had—mostly by accident—ambushed himself into the texting roster of many a fellow bar patron, classmate, and—on one notable occasion—a critical care nurse. It was an unfortunate habit of his, coercing people into adding him as a new contact. Therefore, Anathema was not unfounded in her doubts.

Finding himself unwilling to explain it, Aziraphale just handed her his phone. Letting Anathema draw her own conclusions was often the best option available when she scented a curiosity. Upon viewing, she grimaced. First at Crowley’s comment about wanking on Bohr’s grave, and then at something she alone could parse. It was the kind of double take that only she could do. One where the art of it was that she could present the aura of looking away without actually taking her eyes off of the chat logs.

“He sends an awful lot of kisses, doesn’t he?” was the sole comment she graced him with.

“I think that’s just how he types,” Aziraphale returned, for lack of a more poignant remark. Anathema nodded solemnly, like the text chain in front of her was instead a trial record straight out of Salem. It was oddly familiar, an absurd echo from their early post-grad.

“Angel?” Anathema questioned—something wicked about her—as she reread the nickname, thinking that she might have misinterpreted.

“Oh! I’m afraid that’s an in-joke of a sort. Nothing as untoward as what you’re implying, dear girl! Ho ha!” Aziraphale chuckled with the odd inflection of a bad liar, even though he wasn’t—technically—lying.

“Sure.” Anathema snorted, as unconvinced as a woman of her intelligence should be when faced with such an awful performance. 

It was in the ensuing silence (an intentional silence, on Anathema’s part—she could break even the toughest of method actors with her intentional silences) that the telltale ‘bzzt’ of Aziraphale’s phone brought news of an incoming text. Faster than Aziraphale by whatever metric you wished to measure them—other than, perhaps, the metric of who could devour a pie, éclair, or other sweet treat fastest—Anathema ducked under the desk to read what she hoped to be another message from Crowley. Lady luck, as it appeared, was on her side (or was just pissed with Aziraphale for no particular reason).

“Angel?” she recited with all the dramatic flair of a thousand William Shatners thrown into a Kugelblitz black hole.

“Did your supervisor…” she paused for effect, and also to kick away Aziraphale’s reaching hands as he tried desperately to get the phone back.

“Actually kill you?!” she squealed, peals of laughter interrupting her very serious and not-at-all-over-acted sobs. Steadying herself with a slow breath, she retreated further into the cubicle half of the cubicle-desk hybrid.

“I might just have to avenge your death,” she read, voice gravelly as she felt the ‘script’—or ‘Aziraphale’s private texts’ depending on whom you asked—required it.

“—if they’ve truly gone and skinned you alive.” The message ended with two obscenely wet kissy sounds, paying homage to Crowley’s typical sign-off. Then, prim and proper as anything, she got up from the floor under her desk and handed Aziraphale his phone back. She had the grace not to laugh outright as he hastily scoured the message with greedy eyes of his own.

Discord:

AO3:

#good omens #ineffable husbands #podfic #ao3 #archive of our own #ineffable spouses #azicrow #good omens brainrot #good omens memes #good omens shitpost #fanfiction #good omens fan art #good omens fanart #fanart #fanfic