Me: sometimes it feels like the universe is conspiring against me

My brain: silly fool, you’re not important enough for that to possibly be true

Me: Oh yeah! 😄

Also me: Oh………yeah 🥲

Here is a request for slashers if they're open. My brain does a thing where I am affectionate w a person but if I get nudged away (even if it's just to readjust the position), it goes "oh no. They don't want u to touch them. Do not touch ever again or they will get mad at u. U disgust them." Even tho touch is my love language & it hurts, I just won't touch. If confronted, I will get confused & panicky cuz "u didn't want me to touch? Im respecting ur wishes? Did I miss something?" Its a mess.

Requests are indeed open, I’m sorry I take foreverrr to do these but i hope u enjoy! I don’t know what to call this tho. For simplicity’s sake I’m calling this nervous reader lmao, idk what else to call these.

Slashers x gn nervous Reader

Jason Voorhees:

Jason can very much relate to the feeling. When he first meets you, he’s sure that you’re frightened. He restrains from being too close to avoid coming off as overbearing, doesn't want to touch you because if you flinch he’ll be so hurt. He just assumes he disgusts you. Based on the reaction all of his other victims have when they see him, he’s sure you’ll probably be the same.

Once Jason is sure that you don't feel that way, he’s a cuddle monster. He wants to be close all of the time, holding hands, letting you sit in his lap, you name it. He’s so starved and quickly decides that touch is his love language too. He’s not even sure how he’s lived this long without it.

The only time I can see Jason maybe gently sort of setting you down elsewhere and walking off is when he senses strangers on the property of what once was Crystal Lake. He’s out the door before he can even see your hurt expression, Which is worse because this might lead you to jump to conclusions.

If you distance yourself from Jason, he immediately is thrown off. He can’t directly ask you if he’s done something wrong and when he tries to initiate affection with you and you don’t reciprocate whole heartedly, he’s at a loss.

He’ll get on one knee while you sulk on the couch and give you a silent plea to tell him what's wrong. You can panic and try and avoid it but he is certain there's something going on and he wants so badly to know what he’s done to put you off. You tell him and he immediately is shaking his head no, he could never be mad at you, never be disgusted with you. You’re the most breathtaking person he’s ever had the pleasure of holding, the first, most likely.

Jason nods because he understands how you feel. In the future, he’s persistent about how you feel when he untangles himself from you, making sure you’re ok.

Michael Myers:

In the later stages of your relationship, Michael is insatiable when it comes to being in contact with you. For a long time, towards the start of your relationship, he didn’t like it. It felt weird. All of the touch he's experienced prior was so clinical and sterile that he doesn’t quite know how good touch is supposed to feel. He’s so touch starved that he’s almost positive he doesn't even need it.

Slowly, he builds a tolerance for it, much like one does with alcohol, constantly checking his boundaries and letting him control the situation and he’s all for movie night, huddled up on the couch, or waking up with his head on your chest. His own personal pillow.

There are, however, moments when his need to make someone tremble with fear and then blodgeon them to death with a can opener from their own kitchen becomes too strong, so he tries to keep away from you. In the past, he might have used you to satisfy similar desires of a sexual nature and may have really hurt you but he knows that it’s not always enjoyable to you.

Then, you stop touching him. Much like Jason, he starts to think you’ve become sick of him. Sick of his coldness, his muteness, his withdrawn demeanor. Maybe you’ve moved on and he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care but he doesn't think he can see himself touching anyone but you now.

It gets to the point where he comes home one day and you look heavily troubled, expressions he’s seen on your face before, only in the event that something terrible has happened. You ask to speak to him and he obliges.

You explain that you don’t think this relationship is working, that you’re pretty sure he’s disgusted with you and how difficult this event is because you didn't even want to talk about it but it's been hurting you for too long.

His response is to stand up very slowly, pick you up and lay down with you over him, simply laying there. Hopefully, knowing you’re the one person he would ever allow to participate in this intimacy is enough to show you that you mean more than you think you do to him.

RZ Michael Myers:

This Michael is more perceptive to your touch than his counterpart, your touch sends little shivers down his spine and as soon as he gets pretty used to it, he’s eager for more. This also takes some time but significantly less. He’s enamored with the idea of returning to a somewhat normal life. Your affection grounds him in that fantasy as much as being a murderer might take him out of it.

As he establishes a relationship with you, he may even be the one to start touching you instead of the other way around. He’s read books and always wondered what it might feel like to have someone genuinely touch him without fear in their eyes. Without malice.

An unsuccessful ‘day at work’ might have Michael feeling a little het up though. He can be moody and more rageful. Neither you nor his hobbies can calm him. He seems colder than usual in these states and can come off as very standoffish.

So when you try and touch him and he shrugs your hand off his shoulder, he can’t or isn't in the state of mind to address your frown and worried look. Michael, instead stomps off somewhere to be alone for a while; maybe take his anger out on something else. Some unsuspecting soul or maybe even a poor animal in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After he’s calmed down some, he returns and almost forgot about that sad little gleam in your eye before he left. Michael remembers when he sees you blankly staring at the TV, pointedly avoiding his gaze even as you utter a weak welcome home. It’s not very welcoming. He sits stiffly beside you, watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re closed off from him and he doesn't like it at all.

Migrating towards you slowly, he eases you into a familiar hug, his big bear hugs that are a little tight but inviting all the same. His huge torso and long arms seem to swallow you in his warmth. You hardly reciprocate. You look a little surprised. Though he never addresses it verbally, (which is probably better for you) Michael offers a single glance that communicates everything he needs to say. Don't ever think that again.

Thomas B. Hewitt:

Thomas’ self esteem issues and self image are not good. He honestly doesn’t like to imagine what he looks like to other people unless it can be as a threatening man you don’t fuck with. Meeting you, he realizes that it’s good to protect his family but he’d rather you not see him as someone only capable of harm. Tries his best to get the point across that while Hoyt may be adamant that horrible things happen to you, he’s not going to let them.

Thomas has received affection but always a familial affection. A pat on the back from Monty, proud claps to his shoulders from uncle Charlie, and hugs and kisses from his dear Mother. Nothing so foreign as a strangers touch over his arm or a soft embrace.

Unfortunately, Thomas can get reactive when you attempt to touch him without his mask on. He’s absolutely settled on the false reality that you’ll see his face and immediately decide that you never want to touch him again. Interacting with you with his bare face? That's a no for Thomas.

He puts on his mask that covers the scarred skin over his face and you look dejected. He was preparing for you to pressure him but instead finds himself trying to find out why you won’t touch him now. It’s not his face, is it? You respond with your reasoning. Thomas is so confused. How could you think that you disgust him? That he doesn’t want you to touch him?

He’s quicker than the others and immediately sweeps you up into his arms and holds you as close as humanly possible. Feeling disgusting and like some sort of burden is a feeling he’s so familiar with and if he can take it away from you, he will.

Will aggressively initiate touch with you for the next week or so just to solidify the fact that he cares about you and won't reject you just as you didn’t reject him.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba is a great cuddle buddy and partner. Hugs are his favorite and he hugs his brother all the time, lifting both Nubbins and Chop Top into the air for some brotherly love. If you’re smaller than them he’s all about picking you up and perhaps a little rough housing with you. He’s careful though or at least there are attempts made to be careful

Bubba, though he could easily spend the whole day doing nothing and everything with you, has work. Chores, butchering. Cooking, and tending livestock. Plenty to do at the sawyer house and he does most of it. Suffice to say there are times when you want to lather attention all over him yet he has to go back to work.

So caught up in work that he doesn't get what's going on til way later, when you’ve had time to stew in your emotions, firmly telling yourself that Bubba is annoyed by you probably. He’s baffled and confused at your silence, your crossed arms. The little furrow in your brow. He can already tell there’s something upsetting you.

Honestly, Bubba is so affectionate I can’t see him being the kind of person even capable of alluding to the fact he might be disgusted by you. How, if all he wants to do is love you? You may bring it up as a joke that you thought he didn’t like you and he almost seems offended. Not like you?

Bubba can squash any feelings you may have about that and then some. He will not let you drown in insecurities, not on his watch. This man will do everything in his power to make you feel beautiful because you really are.

I’m sorry these are super long but thanks for requesting!

I have this really angsty idea about an bnha / mha end where, in order to defeat AFO, Izuku needs to trust Tomura and give him One For All.

*Edit: Please check this other post after reading this. It's the comfort counterpart of this post, with how things work out in the end and how all the sadness fades into a new light.

The vestiges just need to help holding AFO back, because the mix of the two powers are too much for his body to handle and Tomura plans to decay himself, finally putting an end to what his sensei started.

And what if the news are streaming it happening in live in every screen of Japan? Now everyone is watching how Tomura is giving his life in one of the most painful ways possibles to avoid Izuku or All Might dying, to save the world.

Imagine the reactions of the League of Villains, watching Tomura do everything he can to make their dream come true: a new world, where they are accepted, where they are free, free of AFO and free of the whole "heroes and villians" point of view.

Imagine the reaction of the pro-heroes that never respected Tomura and thought he was just a man child. Imagine them finally understanding that Tomura needed rescuing but none of them gave him the hand he needed. And now there's nothing they can't do to erase the tragedy of a kid that even while he's dying, he won't stop smiling and telling the world everything will be alright.

Imagine class 1-A seeing it all and knowing that it could be Izuku. They could be the ones losing a friend. The are so similar, how could they not see it before? And even if Tomura was a real villain, there's people who love him that are losing him too. He's human. And he's— he's—

Imagine Ochaco and the girls holding Toga back, because she's struggling to go with Tomura. No one have ever seen her crying like that. Why? Why can't she help the man that became like an older brother to her? He promised to never destroy what she loves, but now he's decaying himself like he doesn't matter, like she doesn't love him, like she wouldn't give everything to share his pain one last time.

Imagine Natsuo and Shoto having to pin Dabi to the ground because they know he longs to do the same as Toga. Imagine Rei hugging her son after so many years, holding him in her arms, trying to calm his fire with her ice, whispering whatever she can to reassure him. But what can she do? She heard the story of how that other kid lost his family and she wonders, she wonders about the mother that ran to his child even as he decayed her. The Touya she knew was filled with rage and bitterness and even if he's still there, in the tears of blood of her son now she finds the silhouette of a man that learned to love. And now the man who taught him that, that showed him kindness and mercy, has only minutes left. She weeps for the mother that would never see her child becoming a hero, she weeps for his own kid, a living corpse more than ever, empty eyes, resigned. She weeps for herself. They have Touya back, but she's wondering if the cost of righting those wrongs is too high.

The whole League needs to be held back. They have lost so much, so many times. Over and over again they've seen their friends die. No one cared except them. No one cared for Magne or Twice or Compress arm. Only them, tight together in dirty holes and lonely buildings.

There's nothing the pro-heroes can do.

Spinner is sobbing and screaming that all along Tomura has been more a hero and a human than any of them. Fuck Stain. Tomura fought for them when Stain was too busy fulfilling his selfish wishes. Fuck everyone. Tomura broke himself again and again and proved that he cared about them when no one else did. He was the champion of the fallen, the hero of those who had lost hope. He, the kid that was left to die, the kid that was groomed and manipulated, a living experiment who was even possessed, abused in so many ways, dismissed. If there's someone that should be destroying the world, that's Tomura. He had lived with the greatest shadow on Earth. And there he was, using the quirk that everyone said was for killing to kill their fear, to kill they're sadness, to put at end to the suffering. A light so bright no evil could ever fade it.

Imagine Aizawa and Present Mic being with Kurogiri while he's losing the kid he raised, his loved son. For a decade and a half he watched that kid get taller, smarter, stronger. He saw his anxiety and his traumas, he stayed the nights he couldn't sleep, he went every time Tomura called his name. Imagine Shirakumo begging them to save him,because that's his child. Tomura is to him what Eri is to Aizawa. That's his kid. That's his kid. And he's paying for something he didn't do. A fucking tragedy. And he's dying alone, in the hands of the man that broke him for almost two decades. To save the people that wanted him dead.

And finally, imagine Tomura asking them with his last breath to take care of each other. Imagine Tomura asking everyone who's listening to just stop that nonsense of waiting for somebody else to do the rescue. If only someone, anyone, would have taken him with them when he was a kid, none of that would be happening. Everyone can be a hero or a villian, that's not something quirks determine. Quirk or no quirk, it's not about being strong or fast or smart, it's about doing the right thing because you want to, because you want to make the world a better place.

He apologizes to the League and ask the people to understand and forgive. He doesn't want his friends— No, his family, to suffer like he has. They still has time. They can live now. It's okay. He smiles one last time, so much like Nana... Toshi feels how a part of him dies too as Tomura laughs. "Celebrate for me, would you?"

He has saved them.

And he banishes, no more than dust floating around during the dawn. No more white hair floating like a halo of stars or red eyes like morning suns. No more reassuring smiles or raspy voice. No more.

He's gone.

Sacrificial Bride Part 1//Twisted Wonderland X Reader//

Alright well, that's enough writing for the next few days if you excuse me I'm going to go sulk in my corner. Huge thanks to @softyswork​ who’s story about reader being sent to Malleus as a bride inspired this series. Also, I REALLY want to make some sort of modern-day Frankenstein it would be an amazing scientific breakthrough! You'll understand what I mean when you get to Idia's part lol.

💚🐉Malleus Draconia🐉💚

It was a common rumor around your village that ever since the death of the sleeping princess your settlement had never been the same. For you, this was nothing more than a fairy tale meant to spark a scrap of hope in the hearts of naive, suffering children who were still too young to fully understand why their fathers never returned from their hunting trips or why there was barely anything to eat for dinner.

Every time you heard this dreaded tail, you couldn't help but scuff. For as long as you've been alive your town had been in utter disarray and chaos. Monsters from the woods -what the town's folk called "fae"- attacked the village daily. Stealing jewels, destroying homes, sometimes even swallowing children or sucking the blood of the dormant. There was also the looming threat of the green flames. Blazing emerald fires who couldn't be subdued by neither water nor dirt. They advanced further into the territory of the village by each full cycle of the moon. Leaving behind in their trail, thick impenetrable thorn bushes that had taken the homes of many and the lives of many more.

Awful, dreaded creatures those fae where...

But alas you did not yet know just how cruel they could be.

On another periodic morning, your younger sister jolted you awake, dragging you to the town center before you got a chance to change out of your nightgown.

In the center of the square was short man..no...not a man you noticed his pointed drawn back ears. "Fae" you gasped under your breath. But unlike the monstrous fairies that ravished your town taking on the appearances of trees and woodland creatures, this one resembled a boy of 15. The young-looking male began to speak, his voice was clear like crystals, and to his tone bats began to flock overhead. "Truly dreadful, these fairy folk are" your sister uttered in terror as she buried her face in your side.

"Heed my words, mortals. The young prince of thorns has decided to take a wife. By the setting of the sun a full day from today, two of his guards will come to collect your offering. If you chose to disregard this Wa-- friendly advice, then what is left of your town will be decimated before the end of summer. Your children eaten, wives imprisoned and husbands killed!" An unsteady hush rippled through the crowd. Some hothead youths began to throw rocks at the stranger only for the bats hovering above to shield him from the stones. Mothers hugged their children close begging for the man to "just leave".

"If" the man's voice rose once more like a cadaver emerging from the grave " my young master is pleased with your sacrifice than we shall reward you! Bring good health and prosperity to your otherwise sick and decaying village." His last words melted into the open air before he vanished in a cloud of squealing bats and ebony smoke.

The town's folk erupted in screeches, cursing at their deities while simultaneously praying to any god that would listen.

"Help us!"

"save us!"

"Don't let them take our daughters!"

The screams escalated to the point where you had to cover your ears with your shaking hands. Your eyes scanning each of the villager's faces, a pathetic lot they were, you thought to yourself. Scared by the words of a young magician. In a flash, your heart sped up, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you marched to the center square where the boy had been mere moments ago. You stood tall, cupping your hands over your mouth.

"Listen well you disquiet, mindless lot!"

All eyes turned to you. Some holding looks of confusion, whilst others harbored glances of hope.

"This fae is lying! No way will they be satisfied with just one measly girl! No matter who we sacrifice to their so-called master, they'll still come after us! They'll still destroy our village! Let's not be stupid! Let's find a way to barricade the city instead of arguing over who to sacrifice!"

For an endless second all was quite. It was like the world had stopped turning, frozen in its place in the universe trying to decide what to do.

Then it happened,

Chants reverberating through the air

"Sacrifice her!" "Sacrifice her!"

"Sacrifice her!" "Sacrifice her!"

"Sacrifice her!"........................

WHAT!

NO!

DID THOSE MORONS NOT LISTEN TO A SINGLE WORD YOU SAID!

The crowd started advancing. Eyes locked on your figure like those of a leopard on its prey.  Their mouths were all a gap, chanting the words "sacrifice" over and over again. From behind the mob, your eyes locked with your sister's. You could practically feel the despair rolling off her figure as she covered her eyes and fell to her knees, her whole body rattling with a sort of distant rage...

A full day....it's funny how time passes all so quickly no matter what you do. Day in and day out nothing changes, pain is still pain, laughter is still laughter. Time just keeps slipping from between your fingers like sand. Even in the direst of times, Time doesn't show mercy, never once does it cease. It just ticks and ticks away until the inevitable moment arrives.

Your sister and aunt -the only two relatives that you hadn't lost to the fae- were in charge of preparing you for your so-called "wedding". Since your town was poor and isolated from other civilizations there wasn't much they could do to enhance your beauty. Smashing some berries to add color to your lips -and fervently ravishing the remains- using some coal to add shade behind your eyes, as well as around them and patting the dust of rose petals against your cheek. By the end, you hardly recognized the person staring back from the mirror. Sure the adjustments were minor but this was the most stunning you'd ever looked. "Is it almost time" your voice quivered, failing to hide the tears that began to fall. "Please don't cry sweetheart, we don't have any more coal to fix your eyes with." Your aunt's tone was monotone almost bordering on heartless. You couldn't really blame her, she'd gotten so used to having her loved ones plucked from her. One more would be no different. Sniffing as to keep the tears at bay, you nodded slowly. Your glossy eyes locked with your aunt's you could see the same fear and exhaustion in her fading irises as the night her son was slaughtered in front of her.

"Just a few reminders" your sister's voice was cheery like the chirping of early morning birds, but her face mimicked that of a kicked puppies. "Remember when the prince...fae...when he..you know...Oh, Lord please tell me he won't" She was shivering again. Her face twisted in horror. You knew what she was thinking, she was imagining you laying in the bed of that...that thing. She was imagining him entering you, kissing up and down your neck. Leaving patches of red skin over smooth flesh, bruises wherever his clawed hands touched you. She was imagining what was no doubt going to happen to you tonight...

the mere thought made bile rise to your throat.

"Darling, just keep saying how much you like it. It's all any man wants to hear." again your aunt or rather her lackluster form of speech was the rope binding you to your sanity.

"Do fae even have...those parts like humans do?" Your sister asked, only to be met with a glare from your aunt. "Stop wasting time on pointless questions! Hurry up and see if this dress fits your sister."

Sure enough, as you were escorted to where the thorn bushes met the village, two men, one standing tall and proud, whilst the other looked like he may topple over from fatigue at any moment, were awaiting you.

The green-haired man let out a haughty laugh, his blazing eyes scanning you from head to toe. "She's hardly worthy of the young master!" His dreadful voice was like the booming of thunder clouds. "It doesn't matter, Malleus-sama needs to be wedded off quickly so he can produce an heir. None of us are getting any younger by standing here debating the "worthiness" of yet another measly human" the silver-haired male's voice was the exact opposite of his comrades, his voice was soft and breathy like light drizzle after a storm.

The green-haired man looked ready to argue once more, but before he could open his mouth, his violet-eyed counterpart waved something thin in the air casing a pathway to open between the hedges.

It was dark between the brambles. The air was thick, stuffy, every breath was a struggle. Although it seemed neither of your traveling buddies minded the discomfort. Did fae even need air to survive?

After what could have been no less than a couple of hours, your small group made it to a large clearing where only a few rays of the sun leaked through the thick smoky clouds. Miss matched flowers in shades of grey littered the rocky barren ground. Maybe at some point, this place had been beautiful, stunning even...but whenever that time had been it was long gone now.

As you ventured farther into this monochrome land of loss and sorrow, the three of you approached a castle. It towered over everything else, grim in all its glory. "Young master Malleus is awaiting you inside..." The green-haired male's voice trailed off as his speech was interrupted by the deafening creaking of the doors parting open. Without another word the two men dragged you inside, pushing you through spiral staircases and long bleak passageways. Until you arrived at a lavish-looking room, a large throne sitting smugly in the front of the room. It's black, spiked appearance was enough to make you gasp in horror, you didn't desire to meet the monster that perched atop that throne. "Don't be so afraid." the silver-haired man whispers, his head is almost resting on your shoulder. "Malleus-sama is kind and fair. He is sure to love you better than any human ever could." you catch a hint of nostalgic sadness in the last part, like a long lost part of the lavender eyed boy's past caught in his throat like a glass shard.

Trumpets roared through the room blaring as two men, one short and fickle whilst the other tall and brooding walked in. "Malleus~" The short one sang as they both stopped in front of you "Say hello to your lovely new wife." the tall man's emerald eyes landed on you. His lips parted in a threatening smile...or maybe it was a smirk? He didn't seem to be too good at displaying emotions. Slowly he descended onto one knee, slipping your hand into his and kissing the top lightly.

"Hello, my darling little wife."

🧡🦁Leona Kingscholar🦁🧡

The After Glow Savanna was an absolute hell to be born in if your family did not belong to some royal inner court class. The endless days spent scavenging for scraps of food, walking miles for a simple glass of water, had become a sort of broken, habit beaten into the residents of the smaller less fortunate districts.

Eventually, you too would follow in your parent's footsteps, working odd jobs around the neighborhood, getting married to some guy, having kids, and giving them the same dreary life your parents had given you. It was simple -miserable- but simple never the less. In an odd way, you found a sort of comfort in how everything was set in stone. How you'd suffer through a few years then die of starvation or some disease in your husband's arms.

But little did you know that the only comfort you had in your horrible life was also going to be swiped from you.

When Ruggie, a dear childhood friend of yours returned from his prestigious school for the winter holidays you were overjoyed! A week with your best friend was the greatest gift you could ask for! But that excitement soon dulled when he announced to the neighborhood what the royal family had planned for the underdeveloped parts of the country.

"They want to demolish the homes and build parks and shopping strips instead"

The people of your tiny community gasped, shock and hopelessness mixing over their dirty, worn out faces. Some older siblings shielded the ears of their younger kin, some mothers hugged their children closer to their chests. "They can't do that to us!" Your voice was like a beacon through the thick fog of confusion. "We can't let them!" You turned to Ruggie who was seated next to you. His blue-grey eyes held a foreign sadness that you had never seen before. He was hiding something...something so grim that he was forced to shove it into the depths of his soul, locking it up and throwing away the key.

"There is a way..."

For such a hopeful phrase, Ruggie's tone harbored no happiness. You could practically see the tears that were clouding his beautiful eyes. "Tell us" someone from the crowd demanded, others soon joined in with their own chants. For a long moment, Ruggie said nothing, the shouts of despair falling on deaf ears.

"If.." his voice trailed off, as his gaze grew distant.

"If someone from the neighborhood were to marry the second prince..." Gasps of fear filled the air. Even the mere mention of the second prince's name was enough to send chills down people's spins.

"Then they could, as the newly appointed  princess, convince the royal family and counsel to scrap this monstrous plan." No one uttered another word. No one was brave enough to face the man who could destroy anything with a simple touch.

But the sake of these people, people who had nothing but their families and a muddy roof over their head was on the line.

Do something, a tiny voice in your head screamed, save them, it begged. You shifted your head so to get a glimpse of Ruggie's face. "I-" you began but were cut off before you could even finish.

"I know you would say that."

His voice broke over every syllable. He knew you would give up your depressing nostalgia for the sake of others. Life in the castle would be hell, being married to that monster would be something worst than the dwellings of the devil.

It was a speedy arrangement, so fast that your head didn't have time to process anything. In the end, it almost seemed like the royal family was desperate to find a spouse for their youngest son.

Just marry him! Was what all the absentee looks told you.

Early that morning, Ruggie had dragged you to the castle, all tears, and grumbles. The palace guards let him in with no restrain, it almost felt like he'd been here before. Your childhood friend led you to a room in the further corner of a grand hall. He told you to stay outside as he went in to chat with the prince. Moments later the newly appointed king and queen came to usher you into a privet room and discuss the marriage. Not an hour later your fate had been sealed, you'd be married off to prince Leona tomorrow at sunrise. For "historical purposes" your neighborhood would be preserved and even taken care of. 'Historical purposes' you thought 'more the like a bribe to get you to marry this beast.

that night you were dragged this way and that by the queen herself. Taken for fitting after fitting. Trying on hundreds of wedding dresses who's prices could feed every mouth in your neighborhood for months! "Leona isn't very classy" the queen sighed in disappear. "He would probably prefer you to be in something laxer, shorter if you will" the tailors ran around trying to find something that would fit her vague description, as you stood facing her royal highness.

"What's he like?" you asked soullessly

"Spoiled, although not as heartless as the rumors make him out to be"  She didn't seem to like giving straight answers

"will he harm me? It was an honest question, although the lack of thinking it took before the queen replied made your heart skipped a beat.

"Quite possibly, he is rather...aggressive at times. Just don't let his degrading comments get to you. He's not used to being around people"

The more she described the second-born prince the more it seemed she was actually speaking of some feral dog that had raised in isolation.

Oh, how doomed you were.

The wedding was even faster than the preparation. Ruggie walked you down an aisle of flowers, walking over the petals, killing them once and for all, ending their pointless existence. You stood by your self at the altar awaiting your husband to be. It took a rather long time before the doors were flung open and the king waltzed in carrying his struggling brother under his arm. "No need to worry, Leona was taking one of his catnaps again and forgot about today's events" the king announced, in what could only be described as a mock lively tone.

How on earth does someone forget their wedding! This prince really wasn't a typical human...heck you where beginning to think that the feral dog would have made a better groom.

snap, snap

A few magazine pictures here, a couple of family photos there...

Everything was so bright and loud...

right before you and the second prince were thrown into the darkness of his room. In the obscurity, you could ONLY make out the glowing of his emerald eyes.

You could feel him shifting closer, all the while you took shaking steps backwards. " I thought wives were supposed to leap into the arms of their husbands? Tell me little herbivore do I frighten you?"

Your voice refused to leave your throat, too afraid to come into contact with the prince.

"What's the matter? Did they not teach you to speak in on the streets you grew up on. Poor thing~"

Leona pounced across the room, tackling you to the ground. His sheer weight pinning you to the carpeted floor. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the silence.

How careless these royal were was the only intelligible thought that came to your frenzied brain.

Goosebumps littered your skin as Leona's claws cut into your flesh. His lips kissed over each wound as he made his way up to your cherry painted lips.

"You look so cute, you know, like a little mouse about to get devoured by a starving lion."

💙💀Idia Shroud💀💙

The rhythm of his heartbeat was slowing down, it felt like the patter of ants atop one's flesh. He was dying...this was an irreversible fact. The love of your life was dying and there was nothing you could do but sit idly by and watch the life fade from his pale bruised face. Your thumb ran over his knuckles in robotic-like strokes. Hours had passed, you'd shed all the tears that you had. He was gone...that was all there was to it.

For a hopeless second, you flicked your eyes to the open window on the opposite side of the room, There was never any sun on the island of lamination but regardless today seemed brighter than any other day. "How cruel" you muttered in a deadpan voice. Outside something...or better yet...someone was running through the fields, chasing what looked like a butterfly. The young child had blazing blue hair a symbol of the Shroud family...

THE SHROUD FAMILY

Your breath hitch in your lungs, your heart began to pound furiously in your chest. They could help you though hopefully. There family where distant relatives of the god of the underworld and a few years back -to your regulation- the hair of the family had been able to semi revive his younger brother. If he was able to bring back a child from the dead than surly they would have no problem returning your lost lover to you.

Your eyes waltz over his dormant face one last time before you got up and ran for the door.

"This is all for you my love, all of this is for you"

The Shroud family mansion was located at the top of one of the many hills that plagued the island. It was a dark grisly building that resembled the castles from old tales, where monsters laid dormant. Rumors spiraled around the rural civilization, some saying that the family was cursed by the lord of the dead, whilst others claimed that the shroud family were the long lost descendants of the lord of the dead and the maiden of spring. The curse had been placed on the family by the temperamental mother of the maiden of spring, anathematizing the family to be plagued with death and disappear for the rest of eternity.

Regardless of what their misfortune was, they may very well be the last people on earth who could help you. Surely if the family had brought back their youngest than they could bring back your lover!

You knuckles tapped furiously at the old metal doors of the frightful residence. The rhythm was unkept, unsteady, it's mere sound radiated urgency.

"PLEASE HELP ME"

Your throat burned as you screamed out those three lousy words.

After what felt like forever, the doors cracked open, revealing a tall man obscured by the shadows. Any light that touched the interior of the house seemed to die acidity, making peering inside nearly impossible.

"What business do you have?" The man's voice was croaky as if his vocal cords hadn't been used in years. For a split second, you closed your eyes, trying to organize the thoughts in your head. "My...my...h-hus...lover, my lover is d-dead...o-or rather he is dying....probably fully gone by now..." despite the mess of stuttered letters and mixed-up words, the man seemed to understand your situation. With a long sigh, he pulled you into the somber house.

Fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist he pulled you around, guiding you through the darkness until you reached a large room lit only by the mysterious blue flames of the fireplace. Sitting by the warmth was a...well it was hard to tell, her face -despite it displaying every bone of her visage coupled with dark sunken eyes- resembled that of a woman no older than thirty, whilst her body resembled a decaying skeleton. What was she? Was she the lady of the residence or yet another monster this bizarre family had created.

"My, love" the man began to speak, his voice was somehow cleared like it had been given some sort of jolt. "This young lady needs Idia's help, she wants to bring back her lover from the dead."

The woman said nothing, her eyes staring ahead, burning a hole in the wall right by your head. "What will she give him in return" despite her "deteriorating" appearance her voice was like soft silk on one's skin, melodious and fair.

"Why herself!" This time the man's voice boomed across the house, echoing through the hallways and falling on you like a cave in.

"M-myself! What the hell do you mean!"

"It sounds fair" the women agreed "my darling sweet son saves your lover and instead you agree to marry him! Oh how wonderful, just like in the tales about grandfather Hades!"

She seemed too thrilled about this, her snow-white eyes gleaming with a sort of delusional passion.

"Idia! Idia honey! Come down your father has a surprise for you!"

The hollow sound of footsteps soon filled the quiet air. Followed by another soft blue glow.

Was there no normal fire in this house?

But it wasn't fire, not exactly. When your eyes fell on the heir of the Shroud family, you suddenly felt a nervous wave crash over you. There was something -even more- unsettling about him, he looked nothing like his charming little brother. For one his hair wasn't...well hair! Sure you'd expect a small batch of blazes heading upwards but this was something else entirely! It resembled a large bonfire that floated towards the ground, rouge sparks falling in every which direction, sizzling and then dying abandoned on the floor. And his eyes, Miosis like pupils floating around in a pool of lemon yellow.

But all the physical appearances aside, the most unsettling thing about him was the gloomy aura that leaked off him, suffocating anyone in his presence. Nervously you took a step back only to be yanked forward again by the taller man.

"Idia baby!" His mother ran over to him, cradling his hands in hers "This cute young lady has agreed to marry you if you can save her lover, just like in that old tale about your great grandfather! Oh, my this is all so romantic!"

It seemed like no one here understood that you were in love WITH SOMEONE ELSE! Or maybe they did and chose to disregard it. Instead, using the bits they retained as kindling to feed their raw excitement. You shifted your gaze back to Idia's face. To your utter terror, he was...smiling? Could that...look...even be called a smile? It seemed more like the way a shark would bare its teeth at a defenseless seal! Oh, gods please don't let this...thing...be your future husband!

"It should be easy enough," His golden gaze landed on you "W-when did...did he die?" it took a few moments before you register that he was talking to you or technically asking you something. "A...A  few..." your voice cracked, tears streaming down your eyes.

"So recently...okay that shouldn't be a p-problem." He turned on his heels and walked back into the seclusion of the halls "I'll grab some things and meet you by the front door"

A few things ended up being a pile of wires and bolts. Something that looked like a light blue ball of energy and so many tools whose names seemed to go over your head.

Idia was kneeling by your lover's bed, pulling apart the skin and fusing metal in its place. Your darling's chest was cracked open, his ribs poking out towards the sky as if praying for life from the lord of the sky. Every once in awhile Idia would pull out a long tool with smoke floating from the top. He'd lay it on an organ watching as the tissue fiber sizzled away under the heat. He would then tie wires and small circular batteries inside.

"His heart stopped working, I'm guessing from some sort of shock"

You just hummed in response, too caught up in how the man you loved was beginning to look like a modern-day Frankenstein rather than a human being.

The sun had long since faded when Idia finally got up from his spot. His bones cracked and screeched at the sudden change, his muscles giving out halfway leaving him to rely on the wall for support to stand. Your lover's chest had been sewn back and covered with a silver piece of metal. His neck was wrapped in the same sort of alloy. His left arm had been cut open so Idia could shove the energy ball inside than cover it, leaving a small enough gap for wires that stretched from his chest to weld into the ball.

"He just needs a boost" Idia murmured that shark-like grin overtaking his pale face once more. From the side table, he plucked up to jumper cables and clipped them on either side of his neck. Jolts and crackles filled the room and sparks flew in every direction, the once-dead body shuffled around, arms and legs moving at random. You shrieked and duck behind Idia.

Only then did he pry the clips from his neck.

Nothing

for too long nothing happened... then there was a slight wiggle in one finger, then another. His eyes slowly began to prey open, looking over his surroundings. The moment his confused gaze feel onto you. Idia turned you around to face him, clumsily smashing his blue chapped lips onto yours.

From the corner of his eyes, Idia watched as the other man began to understand what was happening...even if he was just resurrected there was still agony at the sight of his lover kissing another...

Good! That should show him who you belonged to now!

Alright, this one definitely goes under a cut! XD

Horrorfell

Same rough concept as my take on Horrortale (if you’ve read FGTC, you know the gist, but I’ll sum up)-- human falls, does a Neutral run, leaves the Underground in disrepair, without solid leadership and no souls.

Slight divergence from that: Toriel wasn’t killed in this run...

...but a lot of other monsters were, so when she tried to take the throne, she was more or less booed offstage for wanting anything other than immediate, violent retribution against humanity for what they did.

Undnye is the candidate who takes over, grieving over the disappearance of Alphys and more than a little mad with rage at humanity.

Papyrus...disagrees with her politics. He was thinking ahead-- if one human child could so badly decimate their society, what could a grown one do? An army? No, they had to be smarter than that...

The disagreement...escalated.

Which brings us to...

Horrorfell Sans

He got caught up in the fight with Undyne, trying to help his brother out. He got a broken skull for his trouble, but he was a little sturdier than his non-’fell counterpart and took a few more hits, too: leaving his jaw set at a crooked angle and his cervical vertebrae badly cracked.

He's totally nonverbal. Speech physically hurts him now, so he stopped doing it. He could probably still rasp out a word or two, if you pressed him, but as soon as he hits the Surface, he's gonna start the slow (slow, Slow, SLOW) process of learning sign

It's slow because his memory retention is terrible and he pretty much just lives mostly in the moment, by context clues. He doesn't wanna embarrass himself or look stupid by asking what's going on (and in some cases, with the language barrier, he couldn't ask anyway...) so he just cold-reads what he can and tries to Act Natural

Aggression around or towards him can trigger feral states, in which he absolutely will snap and lunge if he feels threatened, or feels like a loved one is being threatened. While still Underground, he ended up wearing a chest-harness so his brother could grab him and hold him back from attacking if need be (yanking on his collar could've damaged his neck worse than it already was).

No harness on the Surface, but that also means that he doesn't........really leave the house, not un-escorted: his brother (and he himself) worry about him losing himself or just being unable to communicate while he's solo. Unfortunately, he's a social guy, so this makes him pretty lonely, and very frustrated feeling like he's trapped in the house and needs his brother to do things

Makes hand-knit blankets and sells them online for work, no face-to-face communication necessary and the repetitive skill is easy to get absorbed in and not screw up-- so long as he has a pattern to work off of

Horrorfell Papyrus

Lost his leg below the knee in That Fight with Undyne-- it wasn't initially a bad break, but then he walked on it, carrying an unconscious Sans, and used their limited healing supplies on his brother instead of himself, so... (It's fine though, in the end, he found out later he took her eyes in the same fight, so fair trade, right?)

Has a prosthetic leg his brother made for him, it looks nothing at all like the original leg, or even really a leg, but it's cool as hell and extremely functional, which are the only two things he cares about (He probably puts Cool™️ decals on it, post Surfacing, some awesome flames and such, you know)

Patrolled Snowdin for humans, siccing Sans on any they found and pulling him back before he mauled them too badly that their souls couldn't be used and then bringing the meat to the Capital for distribution. Getting everyone out was the priority, no grudges against Empress Undyne...except that Papyrus didn't trust her with the souls and kept them squirreled away Somewhere so she couldn't just absorb one and go to the Surface and make a huge political mess with the humans. He lies to Undyne and tells her Sans was just shattering the souls beyond retrieval-- she only half-believes him and sends a lot of spies to Snowdin on the regular, it's a Whole Thing

...Until he assassinates her and assumes the throne himself right before they have enough souls to Surface. Then, he’s the King who brought everybody to freedom, so it’s easier to convince monsters around to the whole Let’s Not Wage War on All of Humanity thing. His reign is short and he abdicates to Toriel as soon as things are more or less settled.

Has a very abrasive personality, incredibly prickly and intentionally mean (because he's terrified of forming personal connections: he almost called Undyne a friend and look what she did to him, to Sans, he has so much guilt over that and feels like he should probably never let anyone in ever again)

Very gentle and patient with his brother, all things considered-- not an insult or a cuff upside the head to be found, just casual support and acceptance. He learns sign in the first few months Aboveground so he'd be ready whenever Sans was.

A battle-weary soldier to the core, glad to be Done...but he also won't hesitate to use (non-lethal) force in any situation if he deems it necessary

Becomes a physical therapist on the Surface, he knows the pain and struggle of a mobility-impacting injury and wants to help others conquer it like he did...though he's not wholly bluffing for his ego when he says he sadistically enjoys putting people through their paces and making them cry. It's for a good cause, in the end!!!

Fun Facts Because They’re Important To Me

Sans doesn’t know a whole lot of sign yet, but he knows all the swears, all of them, it was very important to him

Sometimes when going up stairs, he will take them on all fours. He will also go on all fours if he’s running, but he almost never runs because he’s very lazy

Intense fear and anger can trigger his feral states, but so can extreme happiness-- so if he’s cuddling with a s/o, it is not out of the question that he might start purring or knead the blankets around them up into a cozy little nest

-

Papyrus needs glasses for reading, but doesn’t wear them out, he thinks they make him look too approachable. (He’s right, because they’re the half-moon kind that look like they belong on an old lady librarian--they even have the little chain attached so he doesn’t lose them around the house.)

Even more tsundere than tsundere, somehow-- it shouldn’t be possible, but he’s managed it. Anyone trying to get close to him, emotionally, had better have a thick skin for those first couple of months of ‘I’m A Jerk, You Don’t Want To Like Me!‘

Is seeing a therapist for Everything That Happened. He doesn’t regret most of it, but Undyne was... hard... and he figures he needs some kind of counseling for that. Unfortunately, he makes his therapist want to bang their head against a wall because he is so stony and slow to open up. He still goes, though, so that counts for something, right???

And to differentiate from other multiverse skeles, their nicknames shall be Brick (Horrorfell Sans) and King (Horrorfell Papyrus), and that’s aLL I GOT THANK YOU FOR LISTENING

I have no problem with (American) celebrities talking about politics, mostly because I don't think it's my place to tell anyone what they should talk about. What I take issue with is the condescending tone some liberal celebrities use when talking about voters from the other side. And the reason for that is, they don't know what they're talking about. A celebrity who is worth millions can't understand what a single mother who lives in a trailer park is going through. Or what a 20-year-old going to community college is going through. So why do celebrities get on TV and start shaming those who voted differently from them? Most of the time it doesn't even matter since the problems of us normies don't affect them. And the proof of that is that they've been travelling like crazy during this pandemic while we're supposed to feel ashamed for wanting to go see grandma after almost a year. This shaming of conservative/republican voters by celebrities like Chris Evans, Pedro Pascal, Elliot (previously Ellen) Page and so on needs to stop.

(Warning in advance: this kind of struck my blue collar nerve, so apologies for the essay you got as a result. TLDR is you’re right and you should say it, and this is a damaging stereotype that has grown particularly dangerous during the pandemic.)

100% agree. And this is universal internationally, imo, or at least in North America/Europe, from what I’ve seen - even if places outside of the USA aren’t quite as divided politically, the pandemic and everything to go with it has just elevated the tension everywhere. People in general are going to vote for the person that promises them the slightest bit of relief of the absolute nightmare that the last year had been and shaming them for that is definitely a case of misplaced self-righteousness.

One thing that really has been making me increasingly irritated about this is the ‘wEaR a MaSk’ celebrity gang (coincidentally almost always the same people who cried in their mansions about how bored they were and decided to encourage people by singing Imagine of all things - no, I haven’t forgotten) when the majority of people didn’t actually protest masks - they protested lockdowns, when they stretched out for months and it was clear that governments would offer no relief to small business owners. At this point, ‘conservative’ and ‘anti-mask’ had become somewhat of a synonym, and everyone seemed to forget that it was barely about the masks to begin with.

I’m bringing this up because it was exactly the condescension that you’re talking about being displayed from everywhere when people started getting angry. 'Just stay home, how bad can it be’, ‘don’t be selfish’, ‘wear your mask, that’s all that’s asked of you’ became the main leading point of liberalism and it was extensively successful in reducing people’s very genuine fears to some petty protesting over masks. Not saying that didn’t happen - there were definitely people flat out refusing to wear those - but it was never about the masks. What about the people who would not have a home to stay in by the end of the month when the last salary they’d had before being sent on who knows how long unpaid leave ran out? If the preventive measures had been limited to wearing masks and standing 2m away from each other, we would be in a better place as a species than we currently are.

And this isn’t even coming only from proper-rich people (last week I saw a tweet that went along the lines of, ‘I haven’t been living in fear, I’ve been staying in the comfort of my own home for months’ and I swear I nearly saw red because it’s just! good for you! last march I had to open a ko-fi page because my salary wouldn’t come in and I had to scrap together food for three people out of spare change while the multibillion dollar company I worked for decided whether they’d deign us with money we’d worked for during a pandemic! glad you’re having a good time, though!) but it’s even worse specifically from them. I distinctly remember Katherine McNamara’s whole ‘teehee just stay home I know it’s boring but you can do it’ shtick, occasionally interrupted by her taking photos on yachts and the realisation that I couldn’t stand it a moment longer before I unfollowed her, and that was so prevalent when it came to - largely liberal - celebrities that I can see why it straight up radicalised a lot of people.

Obviously all politicians lie for their own gain. I’m not saying that the conservative ones were in any way better than their liberal counterparts, but they have rarely been much worse, internationally speaking. And let me tell you - when you don’t know if you’re going to eat tomorrow, when you’re not sure if you’ll even have a job next month because of the measures tightening further, when you’re looking for literally any port in a storm, you’re going to latch on to the people who offer the way out.

Open up [insert country here] in the name of freedom resonated with people because it meant getting their jobs and their security and, again, in some much harsher cases, their homes, back. A family-owned business going under knocks your entire life off-balance - trust me, I would know, because it happened to my family. It was two years ago, nothing to do with covid, but it was largely due to much bigger chain stores in the vicinity. This happens constantly to people all over the world because while small businesses were closed and fined to hell and back for daring to open up shop, the Walmarts and Lidls and Tescos and Billas of the world profited off of people’s desperation for goods that, at the beginning of the pandemic and the delays in international transports, were scarce. The regional managers at my workplace (it was H&M, I’m no longer under contract so I don’t give a shit) fought tooth and nail to open every street location store (such as the one I worked in) while small clothing shops stayed closed for at least two more months, or were open under severe restrictions about how many people could come in at a time, which, obviously, affected them tremendously.

About two weeks ago, a friend told me about a bakery near his place that he really loves. Everyone loved it - up to and including the kids in the nearby school, who would come in during recess - and understandably, people were worried when all sorts of eating-related places were closed, because this was a family business and the family’s only income. Eventually, the schools opened for a bit last year and so did restaurants, but the bakery didn’t, so my friend called the owner to check up on them and the woman just burst into tears on the other side of the line and told him that they hadn’t made it. He asked her if there was still a chance they’d pull through - with a loan or something, at first - and she told him, ‘No, we’re in too deep.’

I barely remember being as angry as I was then. That’s one entire family’s livelihood, destroyed. In this country alone, she’s one of thousands. Worldwide, she’s one of millions. And, just... I’ve been poor all my life. I feel no shame in saying that. For my entire childhood, everything we had or didn’t have depended on how much money my parents’s shop had made on any given day. I started working as soon as I could; I put myself through university. I’ve struggled all the way through. I still struggle now, every month, whenever bills come into the equation, but we manage. We were one of the lucky ones. Stories of people who weren’t are countless, and they break my heart. The notion of some dumbass celebrity talking about how frivolous and ridiculous and uninformed it is to want to open up countries just because it’s mainly conservative politicians tooting that horn fills me with a rare amount of rage.

So, yeah. Elections are coming in my country. Both parliamentary and presidential. And this year I don’t feel like voting for anyone conservative or liberal; I’m just going to vote for whoever either gives people money or allows them to work for it. It feels like at this point, we’ve all been boiled down to that.

Arc Three: Chapter Twelve

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The sun was almost at its highest point, pale clouds mottling the sky white and blue, when Fernstar’s patrol came to a grove of trees.

“This’ll be a restin’ place for them,” Boarpaw said, chest puffed out with pride. He and his mentor, Glorypelt, had come back from their far-ahead scouting with the news that the scents of Redheart and a ‘mess of folk’ were clogging their noses in a place with drying ground and bent grass. The patrol had just reached it – they had walked slowly to allow the scouts to ensure their path was the right one, since the wind was starting to blow away the trail.

Now Fernstar nodded gratefully to Boarpaw and Glorypelt, smiling. “You’ve done good work. Thank you. Take a moment to rest while we investigate.”

Scouts, of course, never liked to rest, but Glorypelt guided his apprentice away from the main cluster of scents and let the rest of the Fleet cats sniff around, taking pathways this way and that, following what still remained in the soft, drying earth.

It was a little frustrating, Fernstar had to admit; the grass had not been bent severely enough to give a concrete trail, meaning they had to go on what the wind and sun hadn’t blown away or baked out of the ground. What was more frustrating was the knowledge that Viceroyclaw had brought up, now scratching at Fernstar’s head.

She couldn’t be gone from the leaders’ den forever. It had been several days now, and it would be several days more before she’d return. She would have to give up this hunt and leave it to the Fleet.

But there were questions she wanted answers to, questions that grew in number with every passing hour. Most of them were about Redheart, of course, but there was something Greyleaf had said when the story was reported to Fernstar that was intensely troubling her.

“Because I’ve seen it too,” he’d said.

What did that mean? Why did he believe in this story about StarClan that Redheart had started to tell when it was so transparently untrue?

Unless…

No. Fernstar shook her head. This was clearly something wrong with the two of them. She had seen StarClan’s power herself, during her leadership ceremony.

Cats circled around her, sniffing, as her mind wandered back to the days when she was younger and stronger. Back when she had fought hard for her position as deputy, had been appointed as high deputy, and waited only two or three years before the previous Clast leader had died and she was taken to the Lighthouse by a seer. She had fallen asleep to the crashes of the ocean’s waves just past the cliff the Lighthouse was set on, and when she’d opened her eyes a trail of stars was in front of her. She’d walked on it, too awed to say anything, coming up to a fawn-colored tom who represented the Clast leaders’ ceremony – Mulleinberry, he’d said his name was. He had gifted her with lives of ambition to serve the Clan and a drive to keep everyone safe and happy.

She’d like to think she'd kept good on the promise those gifts implied.

“Fernstar?”

She refocused. Fogpetal and Viceroyclaw were standing in front of her, looking at the little leader with concern and a bit of nervousness.

Fernstar slanted her head a little, indicating that she was listening, and Fogpetal spoke first.

“Viceroyclaw spoke to you earlier about you perhaps going back north,” she said carefully. “I understand that you being absent from the leaders can cause some trouble.”

Fernstar blinked slowly and stayed silent.

“If you like,” Fogpetal continued, undeterred, “we can continue the tracking from here, and you can return home.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Viceroyclaw offered, certainly more nervous than Fogpetal. “And I can send reports back to you. If- if that’s what you think is best.”

Fernstar knew very well that Viceroyclaw had made that suggestion because the alternative – acting as leader on Fernstar’s behalf – terrified her. A smaller, quieter group with a set mission that she didn’t have to invent and improvise on all the time was easier on her.

Fernstar took a moment to think. Not more than a moment. She could decide things quickly.

“Very well,” she said. “That may be best. I trust that you’ll do your duty to the best of your abilities, you two.”

The mollies bowed their heads respectfully.

“I can travel alone,” Fernstar continued. “Keep everyone you can with you. If you meet with any strangers, let them know who you’re searching for. The word will spread on its own after that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

Fernstar didn’t waste time. The clouds were thickening on the horizon, and she didn’t care to be caught in the rain if she could help it. With a wave goodbye and a thanks to everyone, she set off as if she hadn’t a thought in the world beyond her duties. But one did pick at her.

“Because I’ve seen it too.”

What did they see?

 ---

 Watching what little of the sky he could see, sitting alone, Greyleaf hated.

It would surprise many cats, if not everyone, to take a look into his mind and see how much hate coursed through his veins. How it soaked into his muscles and the very, very little fat he had on him. How every hair on his body wanted to be bristled at all times, how he wanted to bite and claw and scream to get it out. Fear had been his foremost thought the second he was born into a cold world, wet and blind and deaf. But ever since that fateful meeting with the Runagate, since his first sight of Redheart… slowly but surely, that fear started to burn instead of freeze him. It strained at his eyes, coloring everything with the knowledge he had now with red. It grew teeth that cried to tear apart StarClan and everyone who saw him with pity and contempt, who had no idea of the truth.

Mistface wouldn’t believe him if he said all this, probably. Mama certainly wouldn’t. Maybe no one would. Greyleaf had quickly become very good at containing himself starting from apprenticeship.

It was just a survival instinct at this point. Redheart had responded to StarClan’s truth with grief and determination. A plan that kept her alive. Greyleaf had no plan. He just had hate to protect him. And it’d done a good job so far.

But it couldn’t protect everyone else.

It couldn’t protect Nettlecloud.

“Hey.”

Greyleaf jolted and turned sharply to his right. Flyfang, standing behind him, jumped a little herself in alarm. Far behind her, Mistface and Redheart were whispering with Darkpelt, like conspirers. Laurelclaw, Littlepaw and Beetlefoot sat together, with Laurelclaw huddling like he wasn’t far outsizing the two of them no matter how he was postured. The air was tense, but it wasn’t frightened. It wasn’t hateful.

Greyleaf realized belatedly that he hadn’t said anything to Flyfang, so he cleared his throat. “Hi.”

Flyfang relaxed a little and tilted her head. “You doing alright?”

Greyleaf didn’t know how to answer that. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His jaw twitched and he looked down, away.

“You’ve just been by yourself for quite a while, is all.” Flyfang stepped closer with great caution. “Mistface was going to check on you, but Darkpelt wanted him and Redheart for some conversation or another. I don’t know why she didn’t ask for you, you and Redheart work together and all, but…”

Something must have shown on his face, because Flyfang trailed off. She instead closed the distance and sat down next to him, tail tapping nervously. Greyleaf returned his gaze to the thin sunlight, grateful for the shadows of the forest.

“I thought you looked a little stressed,” Flyfang said after a moment. “I know that’s normal for you, but…”

Greyleaf did not care to tell her what he had been stewing over the past few minutes. He just went with what was always on his mind, even just in the back. “I’m worried about my Mama.”

Flyfang’s face softened. Saddened a little, too. “Beetlefoot mentioned she wasn’t doing well the last time he saw her.”

Greyleaf saw no reason to be gentle. “She’s about to die. Cancer.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pain and grief and helpless rage in his chest. “She might be dead now, for all I know.”

Flyfang didn’t say it, but they thought the same thing.

And StarClan might have her.

“I shouldn’t talk,” Greyleaf said suddenly. “Your mother’s been there for a while.”

Flyfang nodded, her voice strained. “She has. Unless she was quick enough to run.”

“We rarely are,” Greyleaf muttered.

The two were quiet for a moment, before Flyfang fully turned to him.

“I have a request,” she said.

Greyleaf looked at her sidelong.

“If you and Redheart and everyone decide to leave…” She shifted a little, anxious. “I’d like to get my sisters before we go. They’re not far from here.”

Greyleaf blinked. “You’d travel with us?”

“I mean, yeah.” Flyfang gave him a mildly humorous look. “You all know the truth and I’ve made friends with a couple of you. And I trust you and Redheart. You’re both smart.”

At this, Greyleaf did half-smile. “Against all odds.”

“And you’re tough,” Flyfang added. “Like, just knowing about this, having no idea what to do, it almost makes me crazy. I have no idea how you two are sane knowing this your whole lives.”

Greyleaf’s smile faded just a little, but it didn’t go away. “I’m barely hanging on at this point, honestly. It’s been a lot of edging along a narrow cliffside, hoping not to fall, for my whole life.”

“Especially with your nightmares.” Flyfang shook her head, voice admiring. “I didn’t think anything of you at all when I first met you at the Clast. Healer, weak, nervous, all that. Did not expect you to be as hardcore as you are. Redheart, I could get, but not you.”

The idea of being ‘hardcore’ made an amused huff escape from Greyleaf. “I don’t know about that.”

“Dude, if any of us had suffered this for so long, I think we’d all go nuts.” Flyfang smiled broadly at him, oddly looking impressed. “And you’ve been at this since you were a kit. I think that qualifies as hardcore.”

Greyleaf’s eyes lowered to the ground, but his smile felt more genuine. “…Thanks, then.”

“No problem.” Flyfang leaned her head forward a little to look him in the eyes. “Are you a little happier?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Then my work is done.” Flyfang gave a self-satisfactory nod. “I just got worried about where your head was, and I thought you might need a bit of cheering up.”

Greyleaf looked at her, eyes narrowed in a more friendly way than anything else. “You’re not bad at it. Do you cheer up your sisters a lot?”

“Plenty enough.” Flyfang puffed out a sigh. “The Marish are terrible for a kit’s mental health, I’ll tell you. Mosquitopaw and Gnatpaw must be desperate to get out by now.” Her voice quieted a little. “And they have no idea of the real reason why they should.”

Greyleaf wanted to return the favor of positivity, but just as he opened his mouth, Redheart called, “If everyone can gather around!”

The two grey cats looked at each other in surprise, but stood up and joined the others, where they all sat down, watching the conspirators curiously. Mistface had a calmly pleased and, oddly, almost eager look on his face, and Redheart’s eyes were no longer exhausted. Darkpelt’s usual wide eyes and big smile were present where they should be, but there was a sparkle in them that Greyleaf couldn’t define.

“We have a proposition,” Darkpelt said. “And we’d like to share it with you.”

21 - noctambulist

hello hello ! i’m happy to see that you like my writing style and, of course we could be buddies (us newbies gotta stick together) o(TヘTo) くぅit took me a while to figure out the flow of this piece so hopefully you’ll end up liking what i’ve scrounged up for you ! good luck with yours too and stay safe! i’m worried i rushed the ending again hh

📝to note: this is a repost because the initial post somehow got deleted ! the “you” in this story will be taking up the mc role ! also, we’re past 100 followers for this blog ! thank you so much to everyone who’s been supporting me and reading my work, this means a whole lot to me・゜(。┰ω┰。).・゜i don’t have anything in mind right now for a special so, if it’s alright with everyone, i’d like to ask for a few suggestions in regards to this |ω；｀) i haven’t much of a clue on what to do to be honest since this is my first time having a writing blog｡

【 𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔪𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ; malleus draconia : “ do you, too, dream of me ? “ after returning you to your world, malleus can’t help but feel as though he has lost something. 】

★ warnings: angst, post-overblot ★ 🎵  playlist - i handpicked a few songs for you all to listen to while you read !  ★

━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━

“You’re the only one who can do it,” the wind was playing with your hair, obscuring your face from his eyes though he knew that you were smiling at him. You always smiled at him. “I don’t-,” he starts but cuts himself off. His face scrunches up in pain and reluctance, making him look away in fear of seeing you disappointed. He tries again to tell you but every word in his mouth tastes like goodbye. His expression closes and suddenly he realizes he’s shaking.

Gingerly your fingers reach out to him, pausing when they’re merely inches away from his arms as if hesitating; thinking he’d break at their touch, until you’re finally pulling him into your warm embrace and he presses his cheek onto the top of your head. “I know,” you say tenderly. “I know,” Your arms squeeze him, telling him that you did know. The very thought of that makes his breath hitch and soon the tears he’s been trying desperately to hold back run down from his eyes and into your hair. 

“I know.”

——————————⋆

Memories came to him in half-formed faded dreams, leaving him bleary eyed and distant in the morning. He tries to keep going; attending his classes, eating lunch with his dorm members, doing and finishing his homework, wandering off into the abandoned parts of the premises; everything he did before, but his eyes muddle the world around him, giving him the impression that he’s not actually there but instead drifting into the undulating waves of a cold endless sea.

How are you?

The only time when he’s feeling alive is when he’s sleeping and dreaming. Most of them were about you or, well, how you were to him when he saw you and talked with you. He realizes now that, despite spending a lot of time with you in school, he didn’t know you as much as he thought he did. He could easily tell anyone what you looked liked if asked and deduced from the way you’d go out of your way just to hang out with him that you thought of him as your friend.

Was he your friend?

The question plagues him for days. Along with it, the subtle pressure to move on. Both are heavy weights on his shoulders and yet, he stubbornly refuses to entertain either, in fear of uncovering some dark twisted truth inside that’ll uncoil and taut the only connection he has of you left in him. 

Would you tell him?

——————————⋆

The panic comes to him in slow suffocating chunks, consuming his every breath until it tastes of nothing but ash and brimstone. He bellows as the world splits open, thrusting him into a cold and silent brightness that he can longer fill with the crying of his heart. Frightened by the emptiness and filled with a raging hellfire, he unfurls his shimmering leathery vans and lets the ground from under him crumble with a single beat. Thorns sprout out from the cracks, twisting, turning and slithering its way into the surrounding area, abetting the reverberating voice inside his head that dragooned him into engulfing the world in darkness, flames and thunderstorms.

As chaos ensued, he lets himself look up to the sky as if in search of something, or someone. “If I cannot transcend this emptiness and touch your hand一,” another voice, so broken and soft, whispered to him softly, “-then there is no need for this world to exist.”

——————————⋆

Hyperemotionality was a part of human composition. Nearly all of the fairies, believing themselves to have a higher sense of logicality when compared to their weaker counterparts, viewed this as nothing more than irrational detritus to be disposed of in order to keep the rationality and correctness of the mind but as time went on, converts started emerging from the masses with their strayed beliefs from the old philosophies, declaring that love (the most prominently destructive of all human emotion) was not something to be cast aside in arrogance and fear of the unknown.

He used to scoff at these nonconformists, thinking them foolish for fighting for something that inspired deformation of structure and irregularities— but then, he met you.

You were someone who let his guard down with gentleness and trust and made him experience things he has never experienced before.

He fell in love.

He slams his hand onto the wall, thump! There was no need to think of you now, not with the risk of him unwinding his thorned heart. Wiping out his mind of thoughts of you, he lets himself revert back to the shell of a living being he was left as and continues on with his day.

Can I come see you?

——————————⋆ 

Gentle hands press against the rough edged surface of his face, reaching out to him in his haze. “Malleus.” 

The voice is familiar, though for some reason he wasn’t sure where he’s heard it before. It calls to him again, louder and closer, enveloping him in warmth. He searches for its source frantically, afraid of losing it in the vastness until finally a shape emerges from the darkness. He blinks, his green beady eyes fixed on your relieved face smiling at him with tears running down your cheeks. “Y/N.” Your name comes out of him more like a question than a statement; his voice uncertain. You laugh as you press your forehead against his. “Yes.” you say, bringing his face closer until your noses touch. A moment passes before he exhales, laughing as you do with tears brimming the corner of his eyes.

He falls to his knees before you, shakily taking your hands and holding them to his face. The world blurs and mutes, leaving him with only the sight of you in front of him and the sound of your voice in his ears. He says your name again, this time easing himself into the recognition of the sound of it and knowing that there was nothing in the world beyond you and him in this moment.

——————————⋆ 

He was grateful for Lilia and the others for always being there to assist him. Their normalcy was an anchor that kept him from straying into the waters of contemplation. 

“Urgh, I think I’m coming down with something,” Sebek says from across the lunch table, looking undeniably pale and queasy. Silver flashes him a look of concern while Lilia, who was beside Malleus, perks up at this and smiles at Silver. “Is that so? Well, we can’t have you up and about now can we,” he says, “Why don’t you just call it a day and rest in your room. I’ll make sure to take care of you later and bring you some soup!”

Silver chokes, as if abruptly reminded of something. “You know what,” Sebek smiles nervously, “I was about to do that but now I think I’m starting to feel a little better.”

Sebek’s words, ‘-starting to feel a little better’ ring inside his head. It startles him at first, unsure of what it would do, but soon he lets out a small smile, for once feeling unbothered by the thought of it.

Are you feeling better as well?

——————————⋆ 

He emerges into a street filled with strange looking multicoloured vehicles in between what seems to be heavily windowed buildings that reflect him in all of his monstrous and scaly glory. He lets himself be awed by the peculiarity of its glaring surface for a moment before looking away and craning his neck around in search of the man you showed him with your memories. People around him point and shriek, some with phone cameras pointed at him, though he pays them no heed. You did warn him that his kind was not something regularly seen prancing about.

When he finally spots him in the crowd, gaping, not at him but at the figure in his hands, Malleus bends down and slowly reverts back in front of him with you sleeping peacefully in his arms. He didn’t know who he was; whether he was a familial relative or a friend or your lover but calmly, he walks up and brings his arms out to him. “They’re tired but okay,” he says, staring at the man before him who was already crying at the sight of you. Without needing to ask, Malleus gently hands you over to him. He thanks Malleus, though it was barely understandable with all the sobbing that he was doing, then brushes the hair out of your face. He watches the two of you for a while, letting the ache and regret sink in before closing his eyes and reluctantly turning away. The portal opens almost immediately, much to his dismay and expectantly swirls in front of him. He wonders, as he steps into it, if it was truly better for him to leave without saying goodbye. There was little chance that he’d see you again but some part of him didn’t want to hear you say it.

Concluding that their was no longer any reason to think about the what-ifs, he grants himself one last time to see you and smiles bitterly. “Take care of them.” he says before the portal shuts.

——————————⋆ 

Memories were as addictive as emotions. It was hard for him to accept to have loved and missed you, especially when you continued to plague his dreams. Sometimes, he even wished that he could be reborn again and again, just to see you in the days of the past. As time went on, he let the knot in his chest unravel and the weight on his shoulders lighten with the thought of you happy and enjoying life in your own world. 

It’ll be okay

He can almost hear you say it.

I wonder, he thought to himself, do you, too, dream of me?

He may never know the answer to that question but, one thing’s for sure, that was going to be alright with him.

A Step Through Time - Chapter 1: Visitor

Me: Don’t do it

Brain: 

Me: Don’t do it.

Brain:

Me: We haven’t even finished the other one yet-

Brain: HERE’S A SYLVIX IDEA THAT YOU NEED TO WRITE SINCE IT’S PREVENTED YOU FROM DOING ANY MEANINGFUL WORK ALL DAY.

Me: FUCK.

Pairings: Sylvain x Felix ; minor Claude x F!Byleth

Warnings: mentions of masturbation/sex; typical Felix swearing.

Synopsis:

When Felix agreed to go back into the past to make sure certain events during the war actually happen, he expected that he would be the only time traveler at the monastery for those three moons. What he did not expect was for his 6 year old daughter to send herself to the past 4 weeks after himself because she missed him.

or

The one where the post time-skip gang meets an older Felix Fraldarius from the future who tells them he’s there to help for a few battles for reasons he can’t explain and everyone’s dying to figure out who the hell he’s married to - wait, what the fuck he has a daughter?

Some notes:

Verdant Wind / Azure Moon route mash up. Basically the Golden Deer Route but then at the Battle of Gronder (Ch: Blood of the Eagle and Lion), Dimitri joins up with Claude.

Dedue is back. Dimitri isn’t crazy anymore. Rodrigue is unfortunately dead.

All characters are recruited (including Black Eagle students)

Next Chapter (coming soon!)

XxXxXxXxXxX

It takes roughly two weeks for the Resistance Army to fully wrap their heads around the fact that there are not one, but two Felix Hugo Fraldarius’s at the monastery.

It takes them another week on top of that to come to terms that the newest Felix to join their army is from the future. 12 years, to be exact.

The day that Future Felix - that’s what they’ve dubbed him and he thinks it’s ridiculous; who has time to say that mouthful? - arrives knocking on the monastery gates, the entire place goes into an uproar. Claude and Byleth aren’t entirely sure whether or not this is just some dark magicks that the Empire has cooked up in a sad attempt at espionage, or if something has gone so horribly wrong in the future that they send their prickliest general back in time to whip them into shape.

Claude insists on tying him up which Felix grudgingly accepts, because of course this all seems a little far fetched - no one has ever heard of time travel magic...at this point in time anyways. And like everything else Felix does, it just makes them even more suspicious of him because the Felix they know would be hissing and spitting at them with all the fury of an angry wyvern if they even tried to touch him, much less restrain him.

Funnily enough, it’s his past self that manages to convince them that he’s the real deal.

“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” Younger Felix crosses his arms and glares at his future self, as if his stare alone could dispel any illusionary magic with its withering intensity.

It’s a bit weird to be on the listening end of his scathing remarks rather than saying them. But technically he is saying them... or at least the past him is, so really is it any different?

“Well, unless you have a better idea, I think this is the best we’ve got for now.” Claude shrugs and runs a hand through his tousled hair for the millionth time that day. “If he really is you, then he should know a secret you’ve never told anyone, and you can confirm it.”

Byleth nods from her place next to the Alliance leader, “We can’t wait until Lysithea and the others find an answer in the library. It could take weeks before they can confirm that any of this is possible through magic.”

More like years, Felix thinks to himself. In his timeline, time travel magic is still a completely new thing. In fact, the only people who know anything about it are a select few that Dimitri, Byleth, Claude and Linheartd trust with their lives. The only reason he’s here now is because the green haired mage had somehow stumbled upon a rift in the flow of time while conducting some experiments. Fearing that this small bump could have dire repercussions to the past, it was decided that they would send someone back to Harpstring moon of that year to help along the events that were yet to unfold.

Between the people who knew and who were available, it ended up coming down to Felix or Sylvain. 

Unanimously, they all voted for Felix. (”Hey! I’m totally trustworthy!” “We know that, Sylvain, but with your reputation for having a silver tongue, none of them will believe you.”)

And now here he was 12 years in the past, tied up to a chair in the Knights hall in front of the fireplace, patience running dangerously thin at the bickering that has been going on for hours.

“Fine,” his younger self grouses with a scowl fierce enough to make a grown man cower. “But he’s writing it down and none of you are allowed to stand close enough to read it.”

It’s a smart idea, really. And if Felix knows himself, then he knows that the quickest way to get to the end of this whole fiasco is to write down a secret his younger counterpart is too embarrassed to admit out loud.

Thankfully, Felix has plenty of those from that time.

From before things become official with Sylvain.

From before he becomes Felix Hugo Fraldarius-Gautier.

A mercifully short moment later, his hands are free and he’s rubbing at the tender muscles where the rope bit into his skin.

A small inkwell, quill, and piece of parchment are placed in front of him by a silent but wary Dedue and Felix nods in thanks before his younger self more or less shoves everyone back a good distance so they cannot read his secrets.

It is silent other than the occasional pop and crackle from the low fire. Hard, piercing Amber meets warm liquid Amber, neither willing to look away, one gaze filled with distrust and jaded bitterness, while the other watches with silent empathy and understanding.

Blame it on his husband’s bad influence, but Felix can’t help the growing desire to tease his younger self. (Which he knows is absolutely hypocritical because he hates being teased but Sylvain was right when he said it is just so easy.)

“How much do you want me to reveal?” Felix dips the tip of the quill in ink and pauses, the tip hovering over the parchment ready to spill secrets only the two of them know.

“...I’ll tell you when to stop.”

It’s a free pass to go wild, is what Felix hears.

There are so many things that he could write. Ranging from the priceless family heirloom he accidentally broke and hid when he was child all the way to some of his more embarrassing training mishaps - one of which involved him falling and stabbing himself on his own goddamn sword -  but despite all of the memories that flash through his head, one in particular stands out the most.

For the second time that day, Felix curses his husband and his perverse influence before scrawling out:

Bedside table. Second drawer. Third notch - press hard to release the fake bottom.

Images of a very familiar flask of oil that has seen many restless nights flash across Felix’s mind. And if the red flush on his younger self’s face is anything to go by, he would bet everything he owned that he was also thinking the same thing.

A beat of silence. “Not enough?”

Felix is honestly a little impressed. He was sure that his secret sex drawer would be enough to mortify his younger self into believing him.

Fine then. He could bring out the heavy artillery.

The first time we realize we are in love with Sylvain is when we are 15 and figure out that the burning rage we feel every time he talks about his latest girlfriend is actually jealousy.

He pauses for a moment to look up at younger Felix. Receiving no response, he continues writing.

The first time we realize how absolutely fucked we are is the morning after the training session where Sylvain takes off his shirt and we dream about -

Ink splatters on the table and over his gloves as the parchment is unceremoniously wrenched away from him and immediately tossed into the fire.

“He’s real” are the only words the new Duke of Fraldarius manages to sputter out between the fingers hiding his burning face. The poor boy looks like he wants to spontaneously combust and also let the floor swallow him whole.

Felix almost feels bad. Almost.

----

The days following can only be described as incredibly odd as Felix wanders the familiar - yet different - grounds of Garreg Mach. He helps where he can with the chores and spends the remaining time either at the Training Grounds like usual, or just simply chatting with his friends of old.

A few times a week he will accompany the troops and assist them in their various missions eliminating bandits or Demonic beasts that have wandered too close to their base. Though he is older now, Felix has never slacked off in his training regimen, not even after the war ends, and his current skill and mastery of swords and Reason are more than enough to deal with these minor nuisances.

All in all, Felix is enjoying himself.

...Except for how much everyone keeps pestering him to reveal things about the future.

“Ooooh, do Claude and the professor finally hook up?” Hilda is leaning across the dining hall table with the biggest shit eating grin on her face, the sausage breakfast in front of her completely forgotten in favor of even juicier gossip.

Felix sighs for the umpteenth time that morning and cuts into his own plate with a bit more force than intended. “Hilda. For the last time, I can’t tell you anything specific in case it fucks up the future.”

“But you’ve already told Annette that she goes on to teach at the School of Sorcery and Mercedes opens up an orphanage!”

“Yes, and that’s because I want to make sure those things actually happen.”

“So what, you don’t want Mr. Leader Man and the Professor to finally knock boots?!”

To his right, Dimitri chokes on his toast at the mental image Hilda conjures.

Much to his relief (or dismay), Dorothea chooses this time to slide into the seat to his left along with Petra.

“Are we interrogating Future Felix again?” The Songstress doesn’t even bother hiding her mischievous glee as she eyes Felix the same way a predator would prey.

“No, we are not.” He glares at the former opera star, cursing the fact that his friends have already figured out that the years have more or less mellowed out his bark and that he has a LOT more patience before he actually bites.

“Aww, come on. It’s basically a breakfast tradition now! Nothing like a side of future gossip with my tea to get me going in the mornings.” Dorothea winks at him before a flash of flaming red near the food line catches both her and Felix’s attention.

“Hey Sylvain! Felix! Come sit with us.” She waves them over and nudges Petra to scoot over to make room.

“Is there anything you guys want to know about the future?” the pink haired Great Knight asks as soon as the pair are seated.

“Oh tons,” Sylvain winks as he picks up his fork and twirls it loosely in his hands. “But the real question is if Future Fe over there will actually answer them.”

Felix lets out a humorless snort. As if he would.

He makes a point to actively avoid his younger self as much as possible because he isn’t sure if it will affect his timeline in any way. Unfortunately, that also means that he has to avoid Sylvain.

Seriously, how did he never realize that they were basically joined at the hip? Where one went, the other was never very far.

It was a fucking miracle that no one had figured out his lifelong crush on Sylvain considering how much time they spent in each other’s company.

But then again, considering everyone’s surprise at how many of them ended up paired off after the war... maybe they were all just that blind. Or stupid.

Thank the Goddess they were all blind and stupid.

Felix manages to fend off most of their prying inquiries, snapping only a few times at Hilda and Dorothea who don’t know when to stop, but everything truly goes to hell in a handbasket when Mercedes comes by asking the group if there is any equipment or armor that needs cleaning since she’s on duty this week.

“Oh, yes actually.” Felix seizes this opportunity and begins pulling off his gloves to hand to the Bishop. “I need the ink stains removed from my gloves. I never managed to find time to properly clean them since the first night I arrived.” 

He isn’t aware that he has done anything wrong until the table goes silent and everyone is staring at him, or rather his hand, with a mixture of disbelief, shock, pleasant smugness, and overall general bewilderment.

“What are you all...” His question trails off when he realizes that his wedding ring - the one that he always wears under his gloves - is now out in the open, the plain obsidian band glittering innocently in the morning sunlight filtering through the windows.

“You’re... married?!”

Oh fuck.

----

“So who’s the lucky girl?”

You like Annie. Don’t murder Annie.

Felix swings his training sword against the practice dummy and lands a clean diagonal hit.

“Ohhh, I bet it’s some noble girl from the Kingdom.”

You like Thea’s opera shows. If you kill her now, you won’t be able to see them after the war.

Stab. Feint. Slash.

“No, Felix doesn’t care for dainty noble girls who don’t know how to fight...”

Thank the Goddess Ingrid is still reliable as ever.

“Maybe it’s a guy?”

Nevermind. Ingrid is the devil.

Duck. Side step into a zig zag pattern approach. Upwards slash.

“It’s... forgive me if I am overstepping, but I am happy that you have found happiness in the future, Felix.”

Don’t kill your king. Regicide is a crime.

Retreat backwards. Dash in for the final blow.

“Yeah! Congrats Felix on finally getting laid!”

It’s only when Felix snaps his training sword in half at the blue haired warrior’s comment that his sword training session turns into a brawl training session.

----

The Fraldarius Duke has never been more relieved to receive a call to action than when Byleth rushes in not long after Future Felix gives Caspar a shiny new black eye.

“Bandits. In the sealed forest. Civilian involved. Gates, now.” is all the warning they get before she is sweeping out the training room doors, no doubt going to retrieve her own equipment.

After 5 years of being at war, they are all seasoned soldiers and as such, it doesn’t take them very long before they are rushing towards the site of the battle.

They have foregone the usual battalions in favor of only deploying their former classmates, allowing them to move much quicker through the dense vegetation.

Up ahead, they can hear low voices talking and what sounds like muffled sobbing. Byleth signals them to slow down and get into position - it’s one of their usual strategies: approach undetected, surround the enemy, and then close in to eliminate.

It isn't until they get close enough to hear the sobbing more clearly that Felix feels his heart leap up his throat.

He knows that sound. He’s heard it a million times over the past 6 years at all times of the day.

Please Goddess, he prays as he creeps closer with more urgency, ignoring Claude’s alarmed look, let me be wrong.

Of course he isn’t.

Raw panic seizes his chest as he recognizes the little girl with an ornate sword strapped to her back cornered under the jagged overhang of a large rock, her long wavy hair a crimson beacon amongst a sea of green and brown, and Felix is running before he can even formulate a plan.

“Come on, little girl... just give us the sword and we’ll let you go,”

“N-no! Papa gave m-me this sword!”

“Well then I hope you’re ready to die-”

Electricity crackles through the air and his body falls to the ground before he can finish his threat.

“Sophie!”

Large, watery honey gold eyes lock onto his and suddenly the battlefield narrows. For one agonizingly long heartbeat, Felix watches the little delicate, red nose he loves so much scrunch up, and he can already hear the tearful wail that comes next.

“PAPA!”

Then, all hell breaks loose.

---

There were very few of them that could say they had the privilege of watching the Felix from the future fight prior to the current battle. Felix - the younger Felix of this timeline - is not one of them.

However, as he watches his older self weave through the bandits like liquid steel, mercilessly cutting them down with cold rage, he cannot help but compare it to his current skill level.

He wonders how many more battles he will have to go through before he reaches that level of deadly grace.

“Watch your left!” Sylvain shouts at him from somewhere to his right and Felix grunts as he parries a hard downward strike of an axe.

His feet flow through footwork long ingrained in his mind and in the next moment, he has slipped past the bandit’s strike range and shoves his sword through his chest.

A clean, quick kill.

Felix is actually rather grateful for the distraction of a battle. But despite the battle cries and sounds of metal on metal clashing around him, he still cannot silence the one thought he’s sure is going through everyone’s mind.

He has a daughter.

He has a daughter in the future. A freaking daughter.

A little girl whose hair is unmistakably the same obnoxiously beautiful colour as those of the Gautier lineage.

Who in the actual fuck does he marry?!

The question rings in his head over and over again as he fells enemy after enemy, and by the end of the battle, he still has not found reprieve from the shock that he is grappling with in his mind.

Felix is not aware that he is unconsciously searching for familiar golden brown eyes before the knot in his chest dissolves when he spots Sylvain cleaning his lance off to the side.

But just as quickly as that knot disappears, another one takes its place.

Because as much as he loves Sylvain with all his heart, there’s no way that even if by some miracle they get married in the future that they can have a child together.

Which means that either Felix has married a distant cousin of Sylvain’s or Sylvain has a daughter that Felix somehow ends up taking care of.

And since Felix knows that he would never be able to love or marry anyone other than his childhood best friend...

...that leaves him with a very bitter pill to swallow.

----

“Papa!”

Sophie is wearing her favourite teal dress with the little swords embroidered on the hem, and even though it is now caked entirely in mud, Felix cannot bring himself to care as he falls to his knees and cradles his daughter tightly to his chest.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” Calloused fingers fruitlessly brush away the steady stream of tears on Sophie’s blotchy cheeks, the salt water clearing some of the mud away as Felix scans for any injuries.

She shakes her head twice and continues to sob into his chest and he continues to hold her while stroking her hair gently in gentle, calming caresses. Even after this whole fiasco, Sophie’s long waves somehow look as beautiful as ever and a distant part of Felix’s brain wonders if it’s just some inherited Gautier genetic to always looks good no matter what.

“Felix! Goddess, who is that? Is she okay?” Ashe runs up to him, Mercedes and Ingrid not far behind him with equal looks of concern in their expressions.

Felix shakes his head, “I’ll answer questions later. Mercie, can you take a look over her right now and make sure she has no injuries? she says she’s okay but she’s probably still high on adrenaline.”

It is the first time in Mercedes’ life that she has seen Felix look this concerned for another person’s well being and she’s already reaching out with warm white magic even as she nods, but as soon as her hand makes contact, Sophie flinches further into Felix as if burned.

“Sophie. Sophie, it’s alright. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

It takes a little bit more coaxing before she pulls away far enough to look at him.

“Hey,” Felix nudges her temple gently with his nose. “It’s alright. You remember Auntie Mercie, don’t you? Auntie Mercie would never hurt you. She just wants to make sure you’re not hurt, okay?”

If Mercedes has any reaction to being called Auntie, Felix is thankful that she does not outwardly show it.

“It’s okay, Sophie.” The healer flashes her a soft smile. “I promise this won’t hurt a bit!”

It’s only when Mercedes manages to start her healing spell that Felix lets the tension and fear seep out of his body.

There are so many questions clamoring around in his head, like how in the world is she here in the past and where the hell is his husband who is supposed to be watching her in his absence, but all of that will have to wait until they return to the monastery.

And, if the matching strangled, heart-broken looks on his younger self and Sylvain are anything to go off of, he’s also going to have to reveal a little more than planned if he wants to make sure that he still gets to marry the love of his life.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sorry that the ending seems a bit rushed. I’ve been working on this for 5 hours now and I just want to post it and go to bed (it’s 3AM). I promise I’ll come back to make some edits later!

Next Chapter

Masterlist

A Switch of Fate

*Sigh* Another quick midnight fanfic I go~ This time it's for my WotM!Cole AU. Hope you like it :D

Spoiler alert for: A Realm Reborn ending, early Heavensward

Characters: Word of the Mother!Cole || WotM!WoL, Minfilia Warde, Mammon of Greed, brief Lucifer of Pride, brief The Master || OG Sayo!Cole, mentioned Thancred Waters, mentioned Y'shtola Rhul

Word count: 1200+

"Your tea, M'lord"

A silver tray at her hand. Steaming hot cup of chamomile tea lay on top of it. Mammon slowly approached the figure sitting in the arbor. He grunted, signaling approval. With delicate hand, she put the cup onto the glass table beside him.

Silence fell as gentle breeze blew through the garden of beautiful crystal roses, scattering petals loose enough to be carried by the light wind. Nothing but the clinking sound of the tea cup being set back to its place as the figure finished sipping the tea.

As the silence grew, the servant finally broke the ice.

"Do you regret it?"

This earned her a questioning hum from the other person. She continued.

"Not running away with her. Did you regret leaving her behind, when you could've escaped together from them?"

No reply. Only a soft sigh escaping from the other's mouth.

Another silence.

It took long before she finally got her answer.

"No… I don't regret my decision"

Another gentle breeze carded through the raven-haired as he continued.

"However, I do regret not being by her side now. When she needed me the most"

Shifting his gaze to his most loyal servant, Cole smiled hollowly. Under his empty grey eyes lied a hint of sadness.

As if to try easing her master, Mammon spoke.

"My sisters and I have been watching over her this past couple days. There has been some unease between the remaining Scions and the citizens of Ishgard. But rest assured, Lady Minfilia is well and healthy, if maybe a bit stressed right now. What's with what happened in Ul'dah and now being accused as heretics by the Heaven's Ward"

What happened in Ul'dah… Just the thought of it sent a pang of guilt inside his heart. The guilt far outweighed the relief of hearing his best friend, someone whom he considered as sister, doing fine. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall what happened that fateful night…

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

The sound of water splashing violently under their feet as they ran as fast as possible through the underground tunnel. Running away from the crime they never committed. One by one their allies stayed behind to give them time, stalling the Brass Blades and the now defecting Crystal Brave that's on their heels, until it's only the both of them.

When he noticed Minfilia stopped running, that's when she'd stay behind. That he couldn't stay with her and that he's the Warrior of Light, their only hope.

He grabbed her, demanding her to explain and that what she's about to do was crazy. She only gave him a sad smile.

"Cole… I'm glad that you're concerned of me. But I have to stay. 'Tis the only way"

"Bullshit! I can't just leave you here alone! We have to get out of here! Please, Lia! I… I can't…"

"This is the will of Hydaelyn. It's my duty to fulfill her will"

"Lia…"

"It's alright, Cole. I… We'll meet again soon…"

Her gaze pleading. She wanted him to be safe. To not worry of her and that everything will be fine.

Was this really the only way? Was there really no other solution?

No. He wouldn't have any of it.

"No… I'll stay"

"Cole?"

But before she could talk further, his grip grew tighter. His body trembled with suppressed emotions.

"Listen to me, Minfilia. I may be the Warrior of Light. But I'm merely a blade. A weapon to fight. I… I couldn't go this far without you… You're our heart. The reason we kept going. The reason why I kept going despite everything. I am… disposable. Yet you're not. You have to get out of here. You MUST escape. For the sake of Eorzea. For us. For me…"

Minfilia's eyes went wide. How could he call himself disposable? Him, the savior of Eorzea? Yet before she could protest, he pleaded.

"Please… It… doesn't have to be this way… I-I'll stay instead. I'll go back and help Y'shtola and Thancred. You just…. Be safe, okay? P-Please… I couldn't... I-If Hydaelyn needs anything... even if I lost her blessing... then I-I'll be the one… helping her…"

"Cole…"

They both fell silent. Yet they both knew their time ran short. Without hesitation, the raven-haired walked back to where they came from, letting go of his grip.

"I won't let fate take you away from us…" he muttered.

Warmth engulfed his hand. Her hand gripping his tenderly. He turned to look at her, the blond-haired almost on the verge of tears.

"Be safe… okay?"

He smiled and nodded, putting up a calm and brave facade.

Minfilia looked at him for the last time, keeping his brave figure in her memories, before letting go and bolting off to the exit.

His smile dropped as soon as he faced the opposite side. The Sisters of Purgatory emerged behind him, forming a line of defense as they each readied their blade of energy.

"You guys ready?" he asked, his knife-scepter hybrid on each hand.

The eldest sister, Lucifer, spoke as their representation, "Ready as you are, M'lord!"

He smirked and closed his eyes. Taking a moment of peace knowing that Minfilia would be safe.

"Thancred… I keep my promise for you…"

Fire of rage burned brightly in his eyes the moment he opened them. With a yell, he charged blindly into the darkness, his servants on his tow.

The next thing he knew, a bright light blinded him before it consumed his vision.

----------

Cole pried his eyes open as he returned to the present.

Everything after that was a hazy blur. He recalled offering his body to Hydaelyn, anything to spare Minfilia from the fate that awaits her. The Master, intrigued by his act of selfless if foolish sacrifice, promoted him with the title of Witch of Light. The Crystal Garden of Roses was given as his new dwelling, a downtime when Hydaelyn not using his body for reasons only known to her.

"Sir?"

Blinking, he looked back at Mammon, still standing there watching her dear master.

"Are you still worried about her?"

He would be lying if he didn't.

"Yeah… But I can't do much now… I can't really go back to the mortal world, can I? The best I can go in Hydaelyn's realm is in the Aether realm. Even then, I… well, you know I can't really BE myself there"

The servant thought for a moment, before asking, "What if we take another you from the Sea of Fragments? Surely there are countless of you who's still a Warrior of Light out there. Hell, didn't the Master say you're one of the very few exceptions? That's why he's interested in you in the first place? If we can get his permission to pick up a different, still a Warrior of Light you, maybe we can protect Lady Minfilia in a more… direct way"

Cole looked at the brunette in surprise. A way to protect his friend directly? Isn't that an enticing prospect? In his current state, he could do nothing but watch from afar. But if it's a mortal version of him…

A wicked smile formed on his lips. Combined with his empty eyes, one would fear what's on his mind. But not Mammon. Not his most loyal servant. She smiled back, happy to see the long lost energy filled her master.

And so it's decided….

-----------

In an antique library, a black robed figure stood facing a bookshelf. A book in his hand. When the door opened forcefully, he knew. A glance at his white robed doppelganger tells him all he needed to know. He couldn't contain his glee. What kind of story would be woven this time? Smiling cruelly, he addressed his counterpart.

"What can I do for you, my precious little pawn?"

What is it, to be a hero?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBXXOVOJJpM

Okay soooo Marvel stans, this. I want to talk about the importance of this video. More than the video, the words of Karen and the other characters.  I think that these words are the most important words ever spoken in the MCU and, in general, in the whole Marvel universe. We can think, while listening to this, at almost every single story ever told in the comics and movies. The first the pops in my head is for sure Spider-man, ‘cause even tho I love Billy, the Young Avengers and the X-men, my fave will always be Spidey.  And the reason why I think of him first is because he’s just like us. I never read of any other hero as relatable as Spider-man ‘cause, if you think about it, no matter how hard he tries, he will always have that sadness with him. He had Gwen and lost her in a fight with Goblin; he had a marriage with MJ and lost it to save May when she was shot after Peter revealed his identity; he finally had his own Parker industries and lost that too. But after all of this, he always stood up. There’s a part of Karen’s speech where she says: “because a hero is not someone who lives above us, keeping us safe. A hero is not a god, or an idea. A hero lives on the streets, among us, with us. Always here but rarely recognized”.  This line in particular does make me think about Peter Parker, but it can be  extended to almost every other hero in the Marvel universe. 

But now I want to talk about every single one of my fave sentences from this video.  1) What is it to be a hero? Look in the mirror and you’ll know: this is so fucking powerful. How many times we looked for a hero outside the comics/movies but never found it? And I am not talking about people with a cape or a mask saving us and fighting bad guys, even tho they’re our favorites. I am talking about that someone who could help us escape the everyday life. The one to be ourselves with. The one to be the real us. ‘Cause too many times we’re there with someone who always makes us feel like we’re not enough, not beautiful, not capable of doing something. I always felt this way, especially in my family. I mean, they for sure love me but too many times happened that some comment from them about me teared up my whole day. Especially when I was still in the closet ‘cause I had to listen to all the things they said about gay people and people from the LGBT+ community in general, and it made me always feel so wrong. Until I couldn’t hold it anymore and I had to tell them, so I did it first with my mother and then the others.  But then thanks to a book that we both love, I met the person that now I call my best friend. We met on the internet almost 6 years ago and since then we’ve been inseparable. And she helped me make me realize that sometimes the hero we deserve is in front of us if we look closely in the mirror. 

2) It’s too late for me, but not for you. This is your chance; a chance to earn that look in your daughter’s eyes. To become the hero that she already thinks you are: okay this is, maybe, one of the best quotes of the entire Marvel universe and not only the MCU. I don’t have much to say about this, but I want it to write it down in this post ‘cause it’s just so powerful. The fact that Scott (this line is from Ant-man) did everything for his daughter, to become indeed the hero that she always thought he was, is simply amazing. Especially ‘cause in the comics (and for sure it will be like this even in the movies) she wants to become a hero because of her father Scott, and she became one then and joined the Young Avengers. Is so freaking inspiring. 

3) It’s not about saving our world, it’s about saving theirs: this instead, made me think (especially) of the X-men. How many times they fought for the people that rejected them? How many times they fought but without anyone giving them credit for saving the world, and still they fought. I always think about the fact that the Mutants are the comics counterpart of the LGBT+ community, ‘cause they are feared just because they are different. Even tho I think that we (gay people ecc.) have nothing different from the straight people. I don’t think that the fact that I enjoy sex with people the same gender as me makes me different from a boy who does sex with a girl. But this is just the world we live in, and if you are not like everyone else then you’re an outcast. This about the Mutants can be extended to a lot of different people, like: “you’re not right because your hair are like that”; “you can’t come with us ‘cause you’re black or chinese”; “you can’t go to that bathroom ‘cause is for boys and we don’t care if you feel like a boy, you’re just a freak”; all this stuff I heard my entire life and I am just so tired because I have learned that sometimes the best people are the ones that society tells you to not look at.  So what I love about the mutants, the X-men, is the fact that no matter how many people hates them, they always fight for them. Even tho #cyclopswasright 

4) Look into your own eyes, and tell me you are not heroic. That you have not endured, or suffered, or lost the things you care about most: this can relate to what I was saying in the first dot. But speaking about the characters, this can relate to every single character. Just like Stan Lee always said: “superheroes with super issues”. And it’s true. Spider-man lost his uncle and girlfriend, and a lot of other things too. All the mutants who discovered their power by killing someone accidentally. Cap who lost Bucky only to meet him in the present day as a killer controlled by someone.  Still, every single one of them kept fighting against everything that came their way. Because that’s what a hero does. There’s a line in the Young Avengers saga called The Children’s Crusade that says: “There are no guarantees. There are no happy endings, but you show up anyway. you don’t give up. You never give up. Maybe that’s what it takes to be a hero”. And I think that this, simply, is one of the best descriptions of a hero. 

5) Whatever comes our way, whatever battle we have raging inside of us, we always have a choice. My friend Harry taught me that. He chose to be the best of himself. It’s the choices that make us who we are, and we can always choose to do what’s right: This one if I’m not wrong is from The Amazing Spider-man (the first one) and I think about it almost every day. Maybe the fact that is directly from Peter Parker, for me, makes it more important for me but he’s right. We can always choose what and who we wanna be. And whatever choices we make has an impact in everyone’s life around us, so we must always think about what we do, how we do it and why. I think that this is what it takes to be a decent human being. 

6) He’s my friend.      So was I.  This one just broke my heart again so, well, go on. 

7) Everything that happens now is in your hands: this I wanted to write it down just to talk about Magneto and how an amazing character he is. I love how he wants to do everything to defend his kind, even tho most of the times the methods are not so, ehm, right? But what matters is that in the end he’s always there for Charles, even in the comics. In the comics now he’s not a villain anymore, or at least not like before. He did stand with Cyclops when everyone was against him, ‘cause he knew that it wasn’t him who killed Charles but the Phoenix force. And if Erik, who’s the best friend of Xavier, is with him then why is not everyone else? In the end, eventually everyone forgave him and a lot of people was on the street with signals saying “Cyclops was right” ‘cause even him embraced the same thought that Erik has, that is they will never be accepted the dream of Xavier will always be only that, a dream.  I know that this line from Charles in movie is said to Mystique and not Erik (at least from what i remember) but always makes me think of him. 

8)A hero is not someone who lives above us, keeping us safe. A hero is not a god, or an idea. A hero is here, on the streets. Among us, with us, always here but rarely recognized. Look in the mirror and see yourself for what you truly are: I know that I’ve already write it down before but I want it to end with this. How inspiring this is. With this last one I just want to say that we know nothing about the people we meet in the everyday life. You might see someone walking down the street as normal as you, but he may be one the greatest person in the world. Not everyone, this for sure, but I am sure most are. Once I read a quote that says: “every person you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always”. This line goes well with the end of Karen’s speech. We just need to learn and try to be kind with everyone, and if this one ends up to be a douchebag then it’s not up to us but only to them. Be kind. 

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." -  THOMAS C. FOSTER 

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat. 

Good news: you accept the gift. 

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it.  enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

 //

Could I request when the companions new they were in love with sole? (Especially hancock hehe)

(romanceable companions in this one, if you want the others too please send another ask) also under a readmore cause it’s fucking long lol

Cait isn’t too sure what to feel for a long time. Usually it’s anger that keeps her going, rage that lets her survive in the wasteland. People will use you and abuse you if they can, it’s a dog eat dog kind of world out there. And why would Sole be any different? It takes a while before she gets comfortable to be around them. Even longer before she allows herself to relax. All the while she waits for Sole to turn them away because they’re sick of her. She’s not useful anymore, she’s more of a burden now. But even when she musters the courage and asks for help for her addiction, the biggest request she can imagine, Sole is there for her. Friendly and smiling, even eager to help. They literally fight through hell just to get her clean and she can’t imagine anyone being that kind. And then they keep going. It’s the way Sole looks at her, the way they make her feel that really does it. She feels… human. Cared for. A strange feeling but a good one and once she gets a taste she realizes she’s starving.

Still, it takes a few more weeks before she realizes that if Sole ever asked her to leave she’d just straight up refuse. It feels strange to even consider not being by their side and surely they think the same; they’ve gone so far together, how could they possibly stop now? Sure, saving the world isn’t exactly Caits idea of a future but maybe it’s not the goal that matters, but how you get there. The two end up in an ambush late at night with low visibility so guns are not an option. It becomes a brawl and the two are unstoppable, moving together in unison and striking with force that would make gods tremble. When it’s over she reaches out to check if they’re still alive and kicking and when she gives their face a little slap for a reaction, she feels the cheek tense. She leaves her hand and brings the other to hold their face, pulling them closer and touching their face to see if maybe they’re now too swollen and bruised to guide the way but instead Sole is grinning, warm breath crashing against her own.

“What?” she asks, considering the possibility of a concussion.

“Didn’t know you knew how to tango.” they reply, almost giggling before swinging their arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “I would’ve taken you dancing long before tonight.”

She exhales in disbelief at the so-called joke, but feels warmer inside at the thought. Dancing… not something she’s been known to do but with Sole? She blames the heat on her face and her suddenly shy rambling on the fight, maybe her head got hit too hard, but she knows now. She understands. Cait think dancing is dumb and boring but for Sole she’d do anything and there’s not many reasons a person would do that for someone else.

She’s surprised she’s even capable of feeling love but once the word pops up in her mind it echoes and reverberates through her body until one fateful afternoon when she musters her courage that they helped her build and lets them know.

Curie thinks emotions are extremely difficult. With almost everything else in the world there is reason, there are binaries and categories and labels you can explain and investigate but emotions… they used to be a concept, to her. They were always explained as arbitary but generally a red thread could be followed from current or prior events. A person looking at a dog could either experience joy or fear, depending whether their previous experience had been pleasant or horrifying. In some cases a person could even react differently than expected, but this would also be considered a valid cause, through a growth in character or through unrelated events acting as a butterfly effect.

Curie has met many good people. Preston in particular is a gentleman with few flaws and many desirable attributes. Even Mayor Hancock, despite his vices, is an exemplary individual. And yet they do not strike up many emotions. Unlike Sole, who after months of allowing her to venture out with them, answering all her questions without fail, and after getting them a body (which she understands is not very easy), now makes her palms sweat and intestines squirm. No, Curie is not sick. She has checked and done the necessary tests. She’s quite alright.

It’s an interesting development and she relishes in investigating this new mystery but emotions are… hard to explain. Difficult to pin down. She studies books and interviews people and they all smile and call it love. Love is itself a broad subject. Of course she loves Sole! Why wouldn’t she? It makes sense that after what they’ve done for her and what they’ve done for a lot of people; they’re a good person! But she loves Preston and Hancock too. They’re good people. Why are her feelings for Sole different? It’s better to confront Sole about this affliction. They seem to understand her a lot better than most others.

And yet she feels… nervous to approach. She knows that she won’t be bothering them, this is a fact. She knows they don’t mind her company, also a fact. She also knows that they will do what they can to help, as they’ve always done, which is another fact. But still she hesitates until she forces herself forward with more logic and less emotion. Their reaction surprises her but is strangely attractive. Sole looks gorgeous and she can’t help but to stare, cataloging every feature so that she can look at them again later. When Sole explains the difference in love and which love she seems to be describing, she immediately perks up.

“Oui, why of course! Romance! The data I’ve read has explained physical turmoil as a symptom but I never imagined it would feel like that. Then, this is now the part where I ask you out? Yes? What would you like to do?”

Danse has never felt so low before, so crushed and defeated. Most of the time he hides away in a room Sole has let him stay in at one of the camps they’ve set up for the people he thought he was protecting. Protecting from what? Himself, apparently. Weeks go by and his shame turns into rage. He works harder than anyone to build things, repair and clean up but he does it alone. He goes out at night, hoping the darkness is enough to cover him from the watchful eyes of the Brotherhood, just to vent. He comes home with bleeding knuckles and sweaty clothes and Sole never asks. They just let him in, makes sure he’s eaten something and leaves him again.

But they don’t leave him, not really. Not back then. Not infront of… him. They haven’t given up on him despite the monstrosity he’s become, what he’s always been. He feels like a failure and the anger that kept him out of bed eventually evaporates and turns into sobs. This is when they come back. Sometimes with clean clothes, or sweet snacks, but they always come back, to him. He wants to push them away, to at least protect them from him but lord knows that Sole is relentless and they stay. They let him sob into their clothes, snot and all, and they stroke his back and comb through his hair with their fingers, soothing him.

He feels so out of place, so unreal, and first he thinks no one can imagine what he feels like but then Sole does. Of course they do. He holds onto them like a lifeline and they not only let him, they encourage him. They bring him back up to his feet, lets him take his time to get ready and once he finally rejoins society they’re there, as always. They show him a place where he’s welcome and all the pain, the rage and the tears fade into something else. Something stronger.

He asks them why they don’t give up on him and they tell him that he’s worth holding on to. That he’s worth more than the sum of his parts. And just like that he knows. There will never be anyone else like Sole. There will never be anyone else who makes him feel human, even if he isn’t. Maybe he is worth more than the sum of his parts but one part is his love for Sole and maybe that’s the part that makes it all worth it.

Hancock cares for everyone who steps into his town, no matter who you are or what you’ve done. Sole is no different. He does what he has to do, lets them on their way and then continues with his duties. He hears rumors, though. Interesting ones. That maybe this drifter isn’t just a drifter.

He takes a little shine to them and appriciates that someone is shaking things up out there but then suddenly they’re robbing him? That ain’t right. He demands to see them, to set things straight and they explain the situation. They were misled and didn’t mean it. Well.

He’s glad there’s someone willing to make a difference but they seem to be too naive about the world. Hard to imagine someone not know what a bag of crap the wasteland is but alright. It happens. But maybe… Hancock can be their counterpart. He’s not doing much difference in Goodneighbor and finally there’s a person who can raise the kind of hell he wants to so he makes a suggestion and they take the bait. And so they go.

He learns a lot about them and he teaches them a lot about the world. They seem to be a good match, a perfect duo. The old vaultie and the young ghoul, fixing the world one punch at the time. Hancock already knows for a while that he more than appriciates them. This random person who walked into his town ends up being the person who brings out all the best in him. But he knows that all the best in him doesn’t make up for the worst on him. Hell, he can’t count his blessings for the vaultie to even want to be near him. So he shuts up about it. Tries to see the bigger picture.

Eventually they end up in a small town or whatever, just to stay the night. Someone throws a comment his way and he takes it in stride, it happens. No big deal. No need to start trouble that can get them kicked right back out into the open darkness. But Sole snaps and shoots back a retort that could’ve cut the mans head clean off. The jackass walks away, a little stunned and Hancock can’t say he’s the only one. Sole turns back to him, apologizes, and says he doesn’t deserve that kind of abuse.

Hancock chuckles. “It is what it is, don’t get yourself in trouble over me.”

Sole doesn’t take the bait this time. “You’re a good person, Hancock. I wish people can see what I see.”

The compliment punches him right in the gut but he keeps his cool. “Oh yeah? What do you see?”

Sole turns to face him, makes him stop in the middle of the road. “I see someone who gives a shit. I see someone willing to put himself out there for a stranger who then spits at you for how you look. I see someone with a good heart and a strong fist and someone who makes me happy I survived all this shit because it’s been worth it to get to know you.”

Now, Hancock’s loved a lot of people. He’s even been inlove a few times. He’s not a stranger to strong emotions, good or bad, but this? The warmth bubbling up his chest, threatening to burst out, the air going out of his lungs like he’s been shot up into space?

It’s the big L. His soul mate. His one and only, love of his life. And in that moment, he grins like a boy that’s just had sugarbombs for the first time.

MacCready doesn’t trust very easily. Most people don’t care about you or your troubles, they have enough of their own. So he turns himself off, suppresses his emotions and gets to work. When he meets Sole he treats them like anyone else. Sure, they’re funnier than most and their ass is… beautiful. But they’re just a person with caps at the end of the line.

And at first it works! It’s a simple job of shooting and walking, nothing he can’t do, but Sole isn’t there for a job. Sole talks to him, asks him questions, takes “care” of him. Gets him the food he likes just because he likes it, makes sure his thinner self has the extra blanket at night so he doesn’t freeze, small things like that. He tries desperately to ignore the growing affection in him, prays that he can because he needs that money and this has to be a job, not a campingtrip.

Eventually the truth comes out and they vow to help him and they do without hesitation, even sends him on his way to be with his son without regards to the job he didn’t finish despite them paying full price for it.

His fear for his son shadows everything else for a while, as he races back to the Capital Wasteland with cure in hand, ready to make things right. Once things are settled, and he can calm down, he realizes that the wasteland doesn’t feel like home. The only thing waiting for him was his son and now they’re reunited. Now that things are calm MacCready finds himself thinking about Sole a lot.

They had big plans themselves, big goals that needed assistance. He remembers their smiling face as they’d go off about how much better they were going to make things. The shine in their eyes during the dark nights next to a lantern, retelling stories they heard as a child. Their laughter that he could feel in his gut.

It doesn’t take much to make up his mind but he stays successfully naive until they meet again. He sees them on the ground, sorting through piles of scrap that they made him carry and he cringes at the way his back used to creak, but then they look up and see him. They smile so wide and drop what they’re doing to reach him and in that moment, in that small second where they spot him, is when he knows why he came back.

Piper is surprised at how well Sole handles themselves in the wasteland, all things considering. You’d think a person who’d spent last month comfortably watching TV on a sunday would be worse at fighting through hordes of raiders and ferals and yet it’s like it comes naturally to them.

What’s more; they seem to appriciate her company and they don’t even tell her to be quiet when she goes off on a tangent. But what really warms her heart is that they know of her job and reputation but still tell her everything. They never treat her like the enemy and she can barely remember the last time someone made her feel that way.

Honestly it doesn’t take long for Piper to fall head over heels in love with Sole. They’re strong and brave and they fight for the people. Even if they didn’t treat her with respect she’d probably still admire them. But Piper doesn’t really acknowledge her feelings until the truth comes out about what the Institute has done to them. They could give up. They could say the Institute is too powerful and scary that there’s nothing they can possibly do but instead they get angry. They get ready to fight even harder and when Piper sees the fire in their eyes and when they ask her to continue helping them she’s awestruck.

It hits her like a ton of bricks that this person, this glorious beautiful survivor, is everything she’s ever wanted to be and have. They’re going to make a difference whether the world is ready or not and they’re asking her to join them. She doesn’t hesitate.

Preston doesn’t feel much more than guilt for a while. Guilt for surviving Quincy, guilt for failing to save so many, guilt for just not being enough. He especially feels guilty for putting such a burden on Sole so soon after they get out of the vault, even if he didn’t know at the time. He tries to think that they had the option to say no, they still do, but he knows that’s a weak comfort. In truth, he was just at the end of his rope.

A whole community decimated to just a handful of people left. All because one person decided to turn his back on humanity. Preston continues to feel guilty but he also continues to ask Sole for help. What else can he do? His chest aches with loss and despair but he just refuses to let go of hope, that something can still grow from this. And Sole, like an angel right from the start, agrees.

His guilt gets lighter as time goes on but it never fully goes away. He’s almost comforted by the thought of it. Like a grim reminder of what has been and never will be again. It’s not until they reclaim the Castle and put the Minutemen back on the map again that he feels something else; hope.

As much as he regrets forcing Sole into a role they never wanted he’s happy it turned out that way. This person who just saw their world end and woke up in a place far worse still got their shit together enough to do what he couldn’t and maybe it’s okay that he had to be bad guy, pushing them to be good. They’re the rain that the world needed to finally be able to grow.

Despite the vigor they put into the missions to help the Commonwealth he still expects them to bow out once the Castle is running again, they didn’t ask for the job after all. But still they fight on, soldiering on by his side, enthusiastically sharing his goal to help people.

Once the guilt is only a part of him and he has room to be human again he quickly succumbs to their charm. They are the General now, and he doesn’t dare try anything, but it becomes difficult to not be enamored with them and he’s far from the only one. They’re brave, smart and tactical. But more so than that they have a heart of gold and he hasn’t seen them turn anyone in need away.

When they sit alone in their office, discussing the future of the Commonwealth, the conversation sometimes drift to more personal things. They tell him about their past and he tells them about his, about the grief they’ve both endured. He confides in them that he’s terrified Quincy might happen again and they hold his hands in theirs, locking eyes with him, and swear it never will. He believes them. 

After that he adds another feeling to his chest that overpowers the guilt almost completely. It’s a new world with Sole in it, and he’s proud to be by their side.

Macavity’s Sister

Alright I wanna preface this by saying that this Headcannon only applies to the cats movie and not any of the stage productions specifically because of the appearance of characters in the movie.

So I’ve been watching the movie over and over again, as one does, and I had a thought stuck in my head that I can’t seem to get rid of and it’s driving me bonkers. So in the stage version of cats Grizabella is usually portrayed as an older cat who is more gray and raggedy. As such for almost all the stage productions I Headcannon her as the mother of Macavity and Munkustrap.

The movie version of Grizabella is a lot younger than her play counterpart and as such I don’t think she is anyones mother, but I do believe she is someone’s sibling. If you read the title of this post you already know what’s happening, but I think Grizabella is macavity’s sister.

NOW HEAR ME OUT CAUSE I KNOWS THIS IS WEIRD!!! Cause despite the fact she isn’t macavity’s mother I still really think she needs to have that connection to macavity otherwise the tribes abject hatred of her doesn’t make sense. We also have to consider the fact that the tribe isn’t afraid of her like they are macavity so I don’t think she committed any serious crime like murder or theft or kidnapping or anything so wtf happened?

Well imma bout to tell ya! GATHER ROUND KITTENS ITS STORY TIME!!!

Years before Victoria’s arrival at the tribe, two kittens are discovered abandoned down by the River Thames in a cloth bag. The bag rets on dry land but is soaking wet as if it had been thrown and pulled out of the river again. A young Deuteronomy discovers this bag during a nightly patrol of the city and opens it to reveal two small brown kittens. Both kittens are small and shivering, but oddly enough neither of the kittens are wet at all despite the condition to the bag they were contained in. Deuteronomy only takes a few moments to acgkniwledge the strange phenomenon she is witnessing, and judging by the heavier breathing of the male kitten it is obvious who the culprit is.

Deuteronomy returns to the tribe and the kittens are quickly accepted into the ranks. The two soon grow into a young Tom and Queen who are dubbed Macavity and Grizabella.

Macavity is a strapping and strong dark Tom who shows a talent for protection and diplomacy. In secret he trains with the lead protected Deuteronomy in both physical and magical defense and offense. He grows up spending tome with Deuteronomy two children Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger and over time the three become like brothers.

Grizabella on the other other hand grows up to be beautiful and graceful. She has a wonderful singing voice and greatly enjoys the attention she receives from many cats in the tribe. She spends the majority of her time with a small gaggle of queens including Cassandra, Demeter, and Bombalurina. While many Toms (and queens) have their eyes on her, Grizabella has shown no interest in relationships more serious than a one night fling. After all she was young and beautiful and had all the time in the world to make a choice.

Both Macavity and Grizabella were enraptured by the beauty and talent of the tribe, but they differed slightly in what enraptured them. Grizabella loved the attention and the affection the tribe held for each other and she soon found she couldn’t live without having at least a portion of that physical connection everyday. Macavity on the other hand became more obsessed in the religious persutes of the tribe, that of the everlasting cat and the jellicle choice.

Macavity’s obsession with the choice became more clear to Deuteronomy once she was declared leader. Hardly a day went by where Macvity didn’t bring up the choice to her in conversation or during his lessons or to her sons. At first she encouraged this curiosity assuming it was macavity’s desire to learn more about the tribe and their beliefs. Over time however this obsession became more worrying as macavity began constantly challenging to contests and competitions of all kinds to prove his masterful was in all skills and subjects. When macvity would win he would often parade himself around the well know chandelier bowing and laughing triumphantly. If he were to lose he would often be seen sulking off to parts unknown. One day after a particularly embarrassing loss Deuteronomy sensed a presence above here and noticed that Macavity was actually hiding in the rafters above where the chandelier would rise up every year, staring down at her and the other jellicles with territorial eyes.

Soon the gossip cats were abound talking about how Macavity was seemingly obsessed with the jellicle choice and was planning to compete that year. This news reached a startled Grizabella who was shaken by the thought of her brother leaving her behind in his efforts to ascend to the heavyside. She approached Macavity with this news and found her brother in an almost manic state of planning and drafting. He smiled at his sister in the way he always did, but there was something behind his eyes that shook Grizabella to her core. He told her of his plan, he had learned who was going to compete that year and had learned what all of their songs and dances would be. He planned to sabotage the other contestants, but he couldn’t do it himself due to Deuteronomys new watchfulness over him. He asked his sister to do it in his stead in order to make his dream come true. He promised her that if he was reborn, he would come back to her and protect her in his new life where he would finally be perfect.

Grizabella was hesitant, but she loved her brother far too much to say no... so she agreed. She studied his plans endlessly, spending less time with her friends and admirers and disappearing for hours on end in the month leading up to the ball. She claimed it was due to illness and worry about her brother, which wasn’t a complete lie when she thought about it. Macavity had lessened on his grand competitions and had spent more time getting closer to old Deuteronomy and her sons in order to garner more favor from them.

When the ball arrived the competitors dances and songs were in a surprising level of disarray. Singing cats croaked, dancing cats tripped over themselves, and acting cats suddenly found themselves stuttering over every other word. Through all this however, Macavity looked in his prime dancing about and singing perfectly on key. Macavitys presentation for the choice was without a doubt the greatest performance of the night thus far and he was ready to be chosen, but to his surprise Deuteronomy announced there was one more performer.

The tribe watched in awe as the young queen in question stepped forward. She was relatively new to the tribe only being there for a year and as such Macavity hadn’t even considered her as a competitor for the choice. In truth she had only told Deuteronomy about her intention to compete the night before, after a visit to the vet with her human family. Deuteronomy had accepted her request immediately. The young queen glittered under the moonlight as she danced and sang her song of joy, music, flowers, illness, and a prayer for a new beginning. The jellicles were enraptured as she performed, but rage burned in one Jellicles eyes.

Grizabella watched her brother in fear as he slinked deeper into the crowd of jellicles to conceal himself. Then after a moment Grizabella felt a chill, a sensation she hadn’t felt since her and her brother had been thrown into the River Thames all those years ago. Long ago that feeling was her salvation, now it was her worst nightmare. Grizabella looked up at the young queen in horror as suddenly a loud snap was heard as the young queen landed from a graceful leap only to have her leg snap. The young queen screamed as she collapsed and the tribe fell into panic as they raced to her aid.

Then suddenly the situation halted as the young queen painfully forced herself to stand. Through her tear filled eyes was a quiet hope and desperation to finish what she started. Several of her fellow competitors rushed to her side and with their help she finished her dance. Old Deuteronomy smiled at the queen through there was distinct sorrow in her eyes as she quietly announced to her and the tribe that she was that years jellicle choice.

The cats smiled and cried and laughed as the song of the heavyside layer was sung. Grizabella watched with a small smile on her face as the queen was carried to sit in the chandelier as a few Toms struck a match to light the candles. Grizabella watched in silent joy as the queen ascended far beyond any jellicles sight to a pace where she would feel no pain, sustain no injury, and return to them one day in perfection. Grizabella would later realize that this was the happiest moment of her life, before everything went wrong.

“How dare you”

It was a quiet and terrifying voice that caused every cat to suddenly shiver and turn. Macavity stood a distance away from the celebrating jellicles, his stance wide, his eyes bright with a furious maelstrom of held back magic. Macavity began to scream at Deuteronomy in rage at the insanity of her choice. This queen this stranger ha fondly bend with them for a year had the worst presentation of the night and was chosen while he, a true jellicle raised alongside jellicle royalty with the most flawless dance had been denied his right!

Deuteronomy calmly and sternly shames Macavity not only for his hubris but for his shameful use of the gift the everlasting cat gave him. For a moment the tribe was confused, but quickly realized the implications of Deauteronomys statement. Macavity has been the one to break the young queens leg. Half the tribe stepped back in fright from the Tom while the other stepped forward in anger. Macavity laugher as the jellicles he had many times before bested in contest of strength seemed to strip forward to challenge him once again.

Deuteronomy looked at the young Tom she once had considered her son with resolve as a proclamation of banishment left her lips. The tribe was both shocked and understanding of the decree, but Grizabella and Macavity both stood in stunned silence. Macavity looked mortified for a moment as he stared at the jellicle leader, then her sons, and then his sister standing besides his newly formed enemies. A twisted grin spread across his lips as he quietly and calmly revealed the betrayals of the night were not his alone.

The eyes of the jellicles slowly traveled to Grizabella who immediately raced and landed at Deuteronomys feet quietly begging for forgiveness. She admitted to her crimes that night but swore she never intended to hurt any of the jellicles, she just didn’t want to lose her brother. There was silence as Deuteronomy gently bent down and, much to every jellicles surprise, lifted her chin and gave her a sad smile. She told Grizabella that while it would take time, she would not be forced to leave with her brother.

Grizabella sobbed with relief, but that relief was soon vanquished as she heard her brother once more scream with rage. He stared at his sister with a seething look of betrayal before charging the jellicles. For a moment it appeared he was winning, but he quickly realized something about his little competitions. He had fought almost every jellicle one on one, but he had never fought against them all at once. Macavity’s was quickly overpowered and stumbled backwards in pain as he felt the pain of a claw cutting across his eye. He stumbled backwards starring at the blood on his paw and the blood on the paw of the jellicle who had done the dead. Munkustrap stepped forward seemingly unfazed by the blood on his claws as he once more reiterated his mothers decree.

Macavity glared at the jellicles quietly, ensuring he made eye contact with each and every one. Before finally landing on that of his treasonous sister and the jellicle leader. He proclaimed that he would get what rightfully belonged to him. It was only a matter of time. No sooner had the words left his mouth, when Grizabella watched her brother scatter into dust and vanish, the sound of his laughter echoing through the theatre.

This ball would forever live in infamy for the tribe, and yet Grizabella would still see one more ball before she followed in her brothers dark footsteps. Though that is a much different, and much more tragic story that will be told... but not just yet.

(Hope you enjoyed reading through my inner ramblings about the cats movie! If your interested in hearing part two of this story and tale of Grizabella’s fall from grace please let me know! :3).

I have wandered into your tumblr and I want to know absolutely everything about your ideas for Earth 3 Impetus and Motion. EVERYTHING. Possibly the least relevant part of that is the family line, as Earth 3 often has really skewed versions of the characters. Would the first Johnny Quick even have a speedster grandson when he was killed and his blood used to power his successors?

Oh, cool ask! Thank you!

😄 I’m very happy to talk about this but I’m afraid you may be disappointed, because I’m Doing It Wrong. I’ve been working off and on on a bespoke Earth-3 for the past…several years. Production has slowed but not stopped. It’s up to over 300,000 words on AO3 at this point.

The issue that set me off was that tendency to skew; I didn’t like it. I found that, most of the times DC had built into Earth-3 before rebooting again, there were two countervailing currents leading writing decisions. On the one hand to make things As Wrong As Possible compared to the main timeline, and on the other to just make them…arbitrarily different.

Lois Lane is Superwoman, evil counterpart of Wonder Woman, for some reason, woop-de-do; this fits under both categories.

This process worked neither according to the ‘timeline that diverged into a Bad Timeline at some point in the distant past but somehow contains versions of the same people in the same place’ premise of the original Star Trek ‘Mirror, Mirror’ episode, nor does it work according to any direct cosmic principle of inversion, although some of the early versions claimed to.

(See: Mirror Christopher Columbus discovered Europe and then later Evil George Washington conquered England for the American Empire, what even guys. 😩)

Also Earth-3 so transparently existed almost every time it was reinvented as a place to get villains from, and to look bad in comparison to the main timeline, without any attention to making it work internally, which I thought was a damn waste of a cool concept. ‘A damn waste of a cool concept’ drives a lot of fanwork lol.

So for my world, I had the slightly conflicting goals of working as close to that amorphous thing ‘canon’ as possible, and of making the setting stand on its own, as a superhero setting, with internal causality and more or less the usual sort of hero-versus-villain logic. So I inverted the alignments of only superheroes and supervillains, and kept as much as possible of their backstories intact.

This means my stuff doesn’t map onto any canon Earth-3, especially not the one from Forever Evil because that came out after I’d already gotten all the big things pinned down. 😅 Some people get upset about this and come yell at me about how i.e. Owlman is Thomas Wayne Junior. But since I always saw that particular concept as a huge cop-out from looking at how few alterations it takes to turn Bruce Wayne into a spectacular villain, I was like ‘nuts to that’ from the start.

If you’re cool with my relationship with canon, on we go.

-&-

So, Impetus and Motion! I don’t remember what I said on that one post where I remember blathering about it, so forgive me if I repeat myself. ^^

Lineage is the same as canon, technically. I’ll go over it; if you don’t care just skip ahead to the next subsection. 😄

Mirror Barry Allen, the Dash, got his villain name for his signature kill technique of grabbing someone, hyperaccelerating them, and then letting go at the right moment that they get dashed against something immovable and go splat. He dashes people against things.

(His eventual sidekick, Blaze, got his for liking to make things combust by accelerating their molecules. The combination makes them sound like a pair of racehorses, which they did not intend and are very annoyed by when it’s pointed out.)

The Dash is pretty scary, especially because most of the ways he abuses his speed for profit are so low-key nobody even notices (i.e. screwing with the stock market) and he doesn’t need to be a supervillain. He just likes it.

His public villain profile is relatively low for the level of danger he poses, tho, because his town is infested with really dumb superheroes who beat him embarrassingly often, when he actually turns up to fight or is successfully ambushed. And with the occasional exception the scale of his crimes is fairly small compared to i.e. Ultraman.

Keeping him imprisoned is ridiculously difficult, tho. He can’t be completely depowered (because the Speed Force is external to him and all the power dampeners that are used assume they’re trying to shut off something generated internally) and he’s really smart, so it took years of battles to keep him long enough to transfer into a proper cell even, and longer to get an unblurred look at his face.

His secret identity survived so long that Barry Allen was there to comfort Iris West after she was targeted by the Dash on several occasions, and they were married by the time he got ultimately unmasked.

She left him after that and moved back to the future, which she was still from because that’s hilarious, but he eventually tracked her down and promised to reform if she’d take him back. This obviously fell apart eventually, but not until after the twins were born.

I haven’t mapped out the mirror Thawne line. I assume the Thawnes with healing powers who inadvertently adopted Barry’s twin were much nicer in this timeline but idk if he ever became Cobalt Blue or what. I hope he lived to old age. Apparently there have been multiple Cobalts Blue? Idk idc, Flash continuity what even are you.

Everyone thought Eobard Thawne was nuts, but he actually did go back in time and stop the Dash from destroying the world with nukes in a fit of rage, his historical analysis, method of giving himself speed powers, and time machine were all successful. He may additionally suffer from some degree of psychosis, but he wasn’t wrong. (His little brother still exists in this universe because good!Eobard wasn’t the type to manipulate time to erase inconvenient family members. He also doesn’t have the title Professor because he never got tenure, so he just goes by Zoom.)

-&-

Bart is still Don and Meloni’s kid. Frankly I don’t understand those two in the normal timeline, so it’s hard to construct their mirror versions in any depth or even decide whether they should get mirrored. (Probably not tbh.) But I don’t exactly need to, because the resulting Bart is very much the same and thus doesn’t really know them. He was still born with his weird speed glitch that caused him to be raised in a simulation, and eventually time-traveled to un-glitch him.

The difference is that he’s not a nice kid. He’s a two year old who looks twelve and has received all his socialization from reasonably good AI in a world that was not real. Where nothing had consequences. Where nobody was real.

He’s very frightening, is Impetus. Impetuous, wildly powerful, selfish–oddly sweet, occasionally, in the ‘gay and innocent and heartless’ way of Peter Pan, but probably even more likely than Peter to knife someone. He’s so delighted the first time he eats actual ice cream, as opposed to a simulated version, but the ice cream stand is now on fire.

Mirror Bart isn’t so much cruel or even un-empathetic as solipsistic. He’s arrested in the state of an intellectually advanced toddler playing, what’s that game called, the one where the objective seems to be getting in car chases a lot? When was the last time they made a new one, I feel like I haven’t heard it mentioned in ages, it’s a dead franchise isn’t it I’m old. Grand Theft Auto! That’s it. He doesn’t just not understand that danger is real, the way Impulse started out. People aren’t.

Impetus is easily bored and surrounded by NPCs. It gets ugly, sometimes.

He also time-travels a lot more frequently than normal Bart, because he doesn’t really get attached so he doesn’t try to maintain a normal life of any kind, so he pops up all over the timestream.

Jason Blood hated him personally long before Bart had any idea who he was; they have a villain rivalry plagued by causality issues and closed time loops that is alternately epic and stupid as fuck.

And then there’s Thad. Thad’s had a less awful time than he did in canon, I think–President Thawne is not technically a supervillain so he’s probably about the same as in the original timeline, but even assuming Meloni and Don are still out of the picture (probably it’s Barry’s fault in this dimension?) raising a kid as a ‘defense mechanism against a supervillain’ calls for less extreme brainwashing fuckery than raising one to hunt down a superhero.

So he probably behaved a bit more like a reasonable grandparent, simply because the context incentivized him to emphasize concepts like duty and loyalty more, and hatred less. He might even have been able to go public with Thad’s existence, depending on the spin he came up with. Among other factors.

But it was still a depressing, isolated, dehumanizing way to grow up, and it went on a long time, because as per canon Thad has the opposite problem from Bart in terms of how he passes through time. Motion is a 40-year-old man with a 12 year old’s body and approximate life experience.

Thad was already So Tired when he finally got out into the world on his own, and once he encountered Impetus he learned pretty quickly to both pity and fear him.

Even when Thad tries to avoid Bart and just have a life, Bart always crashes back into his existence again, and in the meantime he feels guilty. Because even if he could completely shake off having been raised to see countering Impetus as his whole reason for existence, he’d still feel a lot of personal responsibility to try, because he has the ability to stand up to him in a way almost no one else does, and he knows Bart’s out there resulting in casualties.

Due to all the time travel involved, even having just defeated Impetus doesn’t mean he’s not still out there at an accessible point in the timestream, needing to be stopped.

Impetus results in Motion the way Inertia resists Impulse. They’re very much locked into an action-and-reaction framework that does not even a little bit help with Thad’s clone identity issues.

Except for how the amount of time Thad spends saving people from Bart has slowly created a fairly large body of people over the course of history who know them as distinct entities, and like Thad a lot better. 

Good feels good. ^^ It’s not necessarily the case that this happens, obviously, but with their alignment swap they also ultimately exchanged who’s defined by isolation. It takes Bart a long, long time to even understand that he’s lonely.

(Part 1) The Final Fest has come and gone and the victor has been decided... However, Nocchan and Doppel have one last score to settle...

*Both teams of Chaos and Order have dispersed and the night life of Inkopolis returns to it’s usual midnight bustle. But, in the distance, on the MC Princess Diaries station, floating next to the ruins of the NILS Statue, Doppel quietly looks up to the full moon and braces herself. Thoughts of her last encounter with her skull faced counterpart flash through her mind. What Nocchan said about her pursuits, her fight to prove her strength despite the fact that it almost lead to her demise, twice, it haunts her... Doppel knows all too well what dwells in Nocchan’s mind, hopefully she can show her reason, but such a thing is far easier said than done, and their last battle was a clear sign of that. Before she can contemplate further, the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the silence.* *With her inkbrush resting on her shoulder, Nocchan slowly makes her way to Doppel’s side, all while keeping her eyes on the ruined statue* “Ya know, not gonna lie, it feels kinda weird, seeing this thing again... Kinda surprised it’s still here, for the most part” *Doppel can’t help but smile and shake her head* “You still did quite a number on it. And this is only the outside, I bet whatever is, or WAS, on the inside is nothing but scrap now.” “You know what sucks though? I can’t tell anybody about this thing. Pretty sure no one wants to know that they came pretty close to being destroyed, and they didn’t even know about it!” “And yet, here we are. A lot of people were in this same spot not that long ago, looking at this thing. I’m sure there’s a few people out there who have some idea of what this thing REALLY is” *Nocchan lowers her bandana, revealing a rather confident smirk* “But I don’t think they’d know about how it got trashed so badly~!” *For a moment, Nocchan and Doppel couldn’t help but laugh. Before a familiar silence, accompanied by that same tension from their last chat, slowly began to sink in. Doppel turns to Nocchan, who’s looking over her right hand. After a deep breath, and a moment of hesitation, Doppel speaks up* “I know you’re very proud of your strength...and you have every right to be. You’ve fought pretty hard to get where you are...but-” *Nocchan clenches her fist and turns away* “Yeah yeah, I know. You’ll never let that go, will ya? I meant what I said though, I’m strong enough to handle things.” *With a slight dramatic flare, she points her inkbrush towards the wreckage* “If I can handle that, I don’t think there’s much I CAN’T handle. I saw some crazy things in there, some things I’m still not too sure about. But, none of that stopped me. I mean, c’mon, look at that, and look at me~! I’m still kickin, and it’s, well, I think I’ve made my point~” “You have, and I’m sure you’re better off not thinking about some of those things too much. Honestly, I’m not sure if I want to know what you saw down there. It just makes me think...what if this is a sign? This could just be part of something bigger, and this thing, alone, almost wiped out inkopolis, and then some...What would we do then?” “Well, if there IS somethin’ bigger than this, I’m pretty sure I can take it down too. It’ll be some time before whatever’s next shows up, so I’ll use that time to stay ready! By the time it’s here, I’ll be around to handle it.” *With a slightly stressed sigh, Doppel tightens her grip on her dynamo roller and looks up to the moon one more time. Gritting her teeth, she prepares herself.* “And that’s what worries me...You’re strong, yes. But, we both know that you almost didn’t walk away from that last moment. I’ve been thinking about this and, I’ve made my choice. Someone needs to keep you in check. Nocchan, and I’ll be the one to do it. While I was out there, during the Fest, it hit me that I can’t just let you run wild, not anymore. Left unchecked, you might do something reckless again, and you might not be so lucky next time.” *Adjusting her bandana, Nocchan locks eyes with Doppel before gesturing towards the statue ruins* “Then...let’s get moving. You already know I’m not gonna let anything stop me, not even you. If you’re serious about this, then you better bring everything you’ve got. No ‘going easy’ on this one.” *For a few moments, the tension nearly becomes tangible. In the past, their battles have been fierce and destructive but, this fight? This fight already promises to be different, and both sides have yet to make a move. Nocchan simply makes her way towards the massive statue, while Doppel stays behind to gather her thoughts, steel herself, and follow suit.* *Upon landing, both combatants step away from each other, allowing for a few more moments to reflect and assure themselves of what this fight means. Nocchan’s freedom to fight and test her strength against Doppel’s plea for her to consider how risky her actions can be. Beneath the light of a full moon, the only sounds are the waves crashing against the destroyed structure...* *Without a word between them, Nocchan and Doppel charge at each other, weapons in hand, and begin swinging at one another. Clash after clash shakes the stone beneath their feet, each strike more driven than the last. Nocchan’s flurry of Inkbrush attacks keeps Doppel locked in place, but the size of her Dynamo alone is enough to act as a shield.* *Unable to find time for an opening, Doppel jumps backwards with a quick spin, coating a portion of the area with enough purple ink to sink into and dodge a rush from her skull-faced counterpart. Nocchan wastes no time, frantically searching for her opponent without much luck. For a moment, she pauses, taking time to rely on sound rather than sight, which pays off when she hears the sound of something massive being brought down towards her from her blindside. With only an instant to spare, a quick roll saves Nocchan from, what would have been, a devastating attack that would’ve rendered most cephalopods unconscious.* *A�� turquoise spark dances across Nocchan’s eyes as she darts forward for a counter attack, flailing wildly against Doppel’s weapon. in the midst of her rush, she uses Doppel’s guarded stance as an opportunity to jump on top of the dynamo and launch herself into the air. While airborne, she grabs a splatbomb and kicks it back down, aiming right for Doppel’s face. The explosion nearly knocks the dynamo out of her hands and causes enough of a distraction for Nocchan to mimic Doppel’s earlier “hideaway” tactic.* *Shaking off the splatbomb attack, Doppel uses the moment to catch her breath and focus. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she’s able to gain some insight on Nocchan’s erratic movements just in time to react to, and counter, a frontal attack with enough force to send the masked squid back a few feet, enough space for Doppel to lunge forward and slam her dynamo down with enough force to put a small crater into the statue, only to miss by a few critical inches.* *As the duel rages on, both sides show no signs of backing down as their blows start hitting their marks. Wild brush swings and calculated dynamo attacks leave the two battered and bruised, but more determined than ever to put an end to the fight. Things reach a fever pitch when Doppel manages to sweep Nocchan off her feet and follows up with a mighty overhead swing that leaves the skull-faced squid on the edge of unconsciousness in a small cloud of ink and dust.* *The sounds of waves and wind are muffled, the sight of the moon and stars are blurred as Nocchan struggles to stay in the fight.* ”Hell......no..... Not like...this..” *A growl through gritted teeth, a vow with a clenched fist, Nocchan staggers to her feet. Sparks of energy begin to jolt across her faintly glowing body as her eyes turn pure white.* ”I..won’t....” *Bracing herself, Doppel calls upon her own energy. An ethereal aura surrounds her and collects in the palm of her right hand, marking the beginning of a booyah bomb’s formation as Nocchan howls at the top of her lungs* ”I WON’T LOSE TO YOU!!” *Turquoise energy quickly builds up and wraps around Nocchan’s arm as she dashes forward, right hand outstretched towards Doppel, only to stopped short by a booyah bomb, slammed into her chest, as Doppel lifts it, and Nocchan, higher and higher into the air, preparing to detonate it* *Temporarily stunned by the impact, Nocchan tries to collect herself as she’s brought further up, into the air. Doppel’s voice, though slightly muted, is the only thing she can hear as she laments* ”I’m sorry about this....I really am...This’ll only keep you down for a while but...still, I hope you can-” *Doppel’s apologies are cut short when Nocchan’s eyes suddenly open, and her energized hand quickly grabs Doppel by the face. Was it instinct? Fear? or Rage? An answer that was lost when both Doppel’s Booyah Bomb and Nocchan’s Splashdown detonate, high above the ruins. A marvelous, multi-color explosion that can be seen for miles, shakes the area as both plummet to the ground...* *A finger twitches, a sudden gasp for air, and the sound of one struggling to pick themselves up. Nocchan rises with enough strength to kneel as she tries to catch her breath and come back to her senses. She drags herself over to her inkbrush and uses it to keep herself on her feet. A sense of shock and dread slowly washes over her as she turns around to see a badly wounded Doppel, her hand reaching towards the sky as small wisps of violet light leave her body, drifting toward the bright, pale, full moon. Her hand manages to grab something as she falls limp and the color fades from her. ”Hey...” *Nocchan slowly walks over, as a tear builds up in her eye* ”Wait...” *Doppel’s vision slowly fades to white as she hears Nocchan’s voice growing more and more distant* ”................Doppel?” *Before Nocchan can reach her fallen counterpart, a flash of blinding light catches her off guard, accompanied by the sound of a helicopter. A silhouette drops in front of her and a slightly distorted voice sends a chill through Nocchan’s body* ”Well...I’ll give you this, that was a rather impressive show. When i heard a report of trespassers, I had a feeling it might’ve been you. Thankfully, that light show was all the confirmation I needed”

*Riza, aka: Agent 3. Once a Turf War celebrity, she grew bored of the spotlight. Fame and fortune were nothing compared to the rush of a fight. A brief encounter with a group of octarians and their commander landed her an Agent position in the New Squidbeak Splatoon, and lead her to a new kind of battle, one where she puts her life on the line. Riza has also earned the title of Nocchan’s nemesis, having faced her twice before. Their first battle still weighs heavily on Nocchan’s mind, as it was her first, and most devastating, loss. Now, after witnessing what she’s truly capable of, Nocchan has earned something both respectable and dangerous...Riza’s attention.” *Riza paces around the battlefield, taking note of the damages to both the statue and the two fighters* ”An off-limits area, a perfect place for a scuffle, I must say. Shame about your...”other” though. I had hopes for them. I suppose you were right, you really won’t let anything, or anyone stop you...” *Nocchan grips her inkbrush and takes a few steps forward* ”Is this all you came here for? Just to gloat or whatever? Get on with it already! ...Or do I have to-” ”Oh drop the attitude, for once. You can barely stand. Save your strength, or whatever’s left of it. From what I saw, I’m surprised you’re even talking, gotta give you credit for that” *Despite Nocchan’s best efforts, she can’t help but drop to one knee as she tries to stay awake. She looks back to Doppel, one more time, as the shock begins to take hold again* *Meanwhile, a bright light gives way to darkness. the sounds of voices fades, eventually replaced by the sound of...bubbles. Beneath a sea of black, something slowly rises to the surface. A hand breaks through, reaching towards the sky, dragging themselves up and standing on the water, as if it were solid ground. Doppel coughs, trying to get the water out of her lungs as she struggles to breathe.* *She finds herself in a monochrome world...The sea, a seemingly endless void that stretches as far as she can see. The sky, a dull grey, with small white stars that just hang in the air. The moon, what was once bright and glowing, now shares the same darkness as the sea she stands on.Even Doppel herself has lost her color and blends in with this...lifeless place.* *Taking in her new surroundings, she sighs and begins to walk forward with nothing but the sound of her own footsteps to keep the silence at bay. Despite walking, for what feels like hours, the scenery remains the same, it’s only then that Doppel realizes something, something her hand has been keeping a tight grip on...something with a faint purple glow...* *Doppel stares at the light in her hand, the glow steadily getting stronger as the small wisp hover just in front of her. it begins to pulse, like a heartbeat. Doppel puts her hand over her chest, and feels nothing. The wisp gently moves onward, almost fading out of view, when something stirs in the back of Doppel’s mind..” ”Move...I...have to move. I can’t stay...here?” *Before she realizes it, she’s walking after the wisp, and she’s picking up the pace. Thoughts start to fade into her mind, thoughts of friends,and past battles and challenges.* ”No...I...wait, I think I...I know?” *Looking towards the sky, the dull stars begins to twinkle, softly, one by one, as more thoughts and memories spring forth. Memories that feel familiar, but also unfamiliar. Memories of Nocchan’s perspective. How she became the fighter she is today and those she met along the way.* ”I can’t stop either...” *Now chasing after the wisp, running as fast as she can, even the moon’s begun to change and regain its luster. Memories of the day Nocchan and Doppel split, the booyah bomb that separated them and gave Doppel her own form, rush to the front of her mind. The many days she spent wandering around in a haze, trying to figure out her own life, the many questions she has yet to find an answer to, her encounters with Nocchan, and something that still weighs on her heart, even now, Nocchan’s words after their first fight “You make a good other...”* ”I’m...I’M NOT DONE YET! I CAN’T LOSE NOW EITHER!” *She reaches out and grabs the wisp again, holding it close to her heart. The faint light now glowing with a brilliant radiance. The waters beneath her feet begin to spiral as the stars fall into the whirlpool below. Doppel floats above it all, regaining her colors and feeling air rush into her lungs. Holding her breath, she dives down into the whirlpool, towards the blinding, swirling, star light as a voice starts to reverberate around her* *Riza continues to pace as Nocchan quietly begins to grieve* ”You know, for what it’s worth, you honestly surprise me. When we first met, I never would have guessed that a rookie would reach a level of power like this. I thought you were just another wannabe but, here we are. Look at what you can do! I’m actually, and I don’t throw this around lightly, I’m quite...interested, in what you can really do.” *Nocchan lowers her head, gritting her teeth while a tear rolls down her face. She struggles to get back on her feet while keeping a firm grip on her weapon* ”Just...shut up. Before I shut you up, dammit. Unless you’re that hellbent...” *A familiar spark darts around Nocchans hands* ”Remember this place? I kicked your ass and showed you what I can do once....I’ll be more than happy to do it again!” *Beneath her gas mask, a sadistic smirk creeps across Riza’s face. A sinister green aura begins to emanate from her body* ”All this, and you can still fight? Like I said, you surprise me. Maybe it’s time I return the favor?” *Riza and Nocchan take a single step towards one another when both of them are suddenly distracted by a loud “BANG” accompanied by a flash of purple light enveloping Doppel’s body as she slams her fist into the statue. Wisps fly down from the midnight sky, descending into Doppel’s body and lifting her to her feet before she opens her eyes that glow with renewed vigor. Her dynamo seems to spring to life and is drawn to back to its wielder’s hands. Nocchan takes a moment to brush the tears out of her eyes as Riza steps forward* ”Wait...Doppel? But...you-” ”Huh, now that’s new. And here I thought you were down and out! Will wonders never cease~?” *Doppel leans her dynamo on her shoulder with a smile and walks over to Nocchan. A pale aura coats her hand as she rests it on Nocchan’s shoulder. The energy soothes and revitalizes her.* ”Wait wait wait, what the hell’s happening here?” *Doppel just smirks, takes a few steps back and readies herself* ”Let’s just say, for now, I figured something out. But, there’s something more important to take care of. C’mon, you’re not quitting on me now, right?” *Still in disbelief, Nocchan shakes her head and fixes her bandana while keeping an eye on Doppel and Riza. The agent simply nods and offers a short applause* ”And so, here we are. I must say, this was a bit more than I expected but, I’m certainly impressed, nonetheless~!” *Riza puts her hand to the side of her mask, answering a call from the helicopter above* ”Have a team on standby but. don’t have them move until I say so...Now, give us some space” *As ordered, the helicopter moves away, about a mile from the makeshift battlefield* ”Right then, back to business, yes?” *With her Inkbrush at the ready, and a glint in her eye, Nocchan looks between Doppel and Riza.” ”I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Don’t pull punches, got it?” *In an instant, all three rush to the center of the field, weapons ready, auras blazing, and ready to give it this fight every bit of power they have*

***T O  B E  C O N T I N U E D . . .?***