i had wondered if they would be watching it

every animorphs book
  • chapter 1: my name is jake. I can't tell you my real name, because I'm the leader of a special group of kids... we're called the Animorphs. Because we morph into animals and fight aliens.
  • chapter 16: 'god, please don't do this,' i begged on my knees. Visser Three had all of my loved ones hanging from his claws in his multi-armed alien morph and was slowly squeezing the life out of them. 'you must either choose them, jake, or the rest of your planet.' i couldn't take it. i started to morph into a cockroach.
  • chapter 23: as i felt my own brain slither down my throat and into my torso to reform into my digestive system, my bones also began to dissolve into dust inside my skin. my eyes shrunk back into my skull and i could see into eternity- i could see my own mind, taken over by the yeerk. i had already taken my last breath as a free creature, now i saw my last vision as a being of this dimension. suddenly, i was gone. and my parents would never even know i had died. was saving the world worth this? i wondered, if anyone on this planet could be forced to prioritize one life over another, what choice would they make? how can any decision be right, or wrong? i closed my mind off, and fell into eternal sleep, my last echoes of thought being of how humanity continued to live on, but not truly alive.
  • chapter 26: 'hey, bro, wanna go to mc d's and grab some fries?' marco asked, riding by on his skateboard. 'yeah, that'd be totally radical!' i answered, whipping out my own razor scooter. as i pulled a nasty kickflip, i felt eyes watching me. turning around, i saw my own dog, and thought of the horrible truth only i knew. we went to the mall to get big macs. it was a good day to not be dead.
Your two complicated sons

Expectations:

Reality:

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

anonymous asked:

If I had the necessary computer skills I would totally make a masterpost entitled 'Louis is loved by all the boys' with relevant multiple images and gifs to correspond because I am convinced that all of the boys were/are in love with Louis and I don't blame them in the least.

Don’t worry, anon, I’ve got you!

Nouis:

He just tears out a chest hair!! And Niall just…lets him!

Here we have two babies!

Niall GUSHING about Louis’s music and supporting him!

“I thought it was a very honest interview. I thought he was brilliant in it. But he knows that none of us every thought that, or think that. He’s an unbelievable guy, a great singer and someone that if…if…y'know, I’d say that we would have lost the plot along the way if we hadn’t had Louis. He was a very very very, extremely vital member of One Direction.” - Niall on the Observer interview.

Louis gently teasing Niall!

I watch your back and you watch mine!!

HE IS LAUGHING BUT THE PAIN IS REAL!!

Someone insulted Niall and Louis gives them the cold stare! No wonder Niall adores Louis!

Look at that body language!

Look at his smile!!

Lilo:

Look how gentle!

Louis teasing Liam and Liam being giggly about it! (BONUS: Harry’s fond face)

HE IS SO HAPPY TO HAVE HIS FACE SMUSHED!

mY FAVOURITE LILO GIF EVER!!!!!!

gentleeee

FIGHTING FOR A SPACE BESIDE LOUIS!!!

Me too Liam!

Another favourite!

Larry:

I mean, do we even have to talk about it, like!

(x x x x x x x x x x )

And finally, because it is a part of their history,

Zouis:

(x x x x)

anonymous asked:

i have a prompt for you: what if snape hadn't called lily 'mudblood' that day. what if their friendship had stayed strong, unbreakable. would he have grown to be a better person? would lily have loved him, rather than james? would harry just have another godfather? would james and lily have survived?

Okay you have successfully convinced me to write a Snape thing, which is a possibility I have audibly forsworn many times to my loved ones. But I’m a sucker for concepts like “Harry gets another godfather,” so, here we go.


When Severus was seven, he fell in love with the girl down the street. She had long red hair and dirty knees and she offered him half her candy bar one drizzly afternoon, waiting outside the school for her parents to come pick her up.

His parents weren’t coming— dad working late and mum at the pub recounting old Hogwarts glory stories, talking of years when her life was magical– but he didn’t tell Lily that. He was just waiting for the older bully boys who lurked in the empty lot on his way home to get bored and leave.

He ate the candy slowly in neat little bites while she grinned and told him about her big sister’s feud with the science teacher, like her Tuney was some sort of hero in a political espionage drama. She talked with her hands, narrow little things with freckled backs. He watched her wave from the back window of her mother’s car and then he started the long walk home.

When Severus was fifteen, James Potter dangled him upside down in the quad and laughed. Severus landed on elbows and knees. The bruises would stay for a week. The memories would not die with them— James’s cocky grin, the laughter in the spring air, the long whip of Lily’s red hair.

He felt small, bug-like, his knees pressing into the grass. His mother would come home some nights, kick the threadbare carpet, rattle the battered old pans in the cupboard, curse a Ministry that hated purebloods, that sucked up to halfbreeds and Mudbloods, that left the true wizards to rot in filth. He would curl up, make himself small, bug-like, imagine a chitinous shield growing over his shoulders, his spine, the softness of his kidneys. Some days, his father slept through this. Some days he screamed back.

After Severus met Lily, he would curl up under his covers, small, bug-like, and read through the comics she’d lent him with his hands pressed up over his ears. He wanted Professor X to come take him away. He wanted to be someone special, someone saved. He wanted a giant to burst through his door and frighten his mother and offer him a squashed birthday cake and a way out.

When Severus was fifteen, he slammed to his knees on the green Hogwarts quad. Laughter burrowed into his ears, like curses, like the nights his father screamed back, and when Lily stepped toward him he snapped, “I don’t need help from a Mudblood.”

When Severus slouched up to her door that summer, Lily didn’t invite him in. She leaned on the open frame of the door, arms crossed. He had so rarely seen Lily neither smiling or incandescent with rage, but she watched him with snakeskin eyes and a set mouth, still.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t–”

She twitched a strand of hair over her shoulder, the irritation the closest thing to an emotion he could spot on her. He was watching, desperate– this was Lily, she gave things away. She talked with her hands. He never felt lost, with her. “But why,” said Lily. “Why are you sorry? Because I’m upset, or because what you did was wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You did, and it’s not the point. I don’t care if it’s the part you care about, Sev, it’s not the part that matters. That was an awful thing to say– to say to anyone. You were cruel because you were scared and embarrassed, but Sev I could really care less. You were cruel.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Sorry’s not enough, Sev. Be fucking better.”

He jerked back and tried to turn it into some kind of laugh. “Language, careful, your mum might hear.”

She shrugged, and stepped back through the open door, and shut it in his face.

He spent the summer reading comic books, haunting the local library, then the local park once it’d closed, and then sneaking home when he was hopeful his parents would be asleep. He tried to think about bravery, but sometimes he just thought about Lily’s hair, the way it went more golden in summer. He tried to think about nobility, ethics and grace, but the clouds chased each other, fat and white, across the sky and he wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

His father took him fishing by a dreary brown creek and they sat in silence. Severus could hear every creak of the rods, every lap of the water, every inhale and movement his father made. He thought maybe if he just said nothing, nothing ever, he’d never say anything again that made Lily’s face go so flat and distant. If he said nothing, maybe nothing would hurt.

His father reached back for a beer can in a swift movement and Severus froze himself unflinching. He sat in that silence afterward, slowing his heartbeat, picking apart the sudden rigid shell of his shoulders. His father hummed, cracking the can open like a gunshot.

He sat alone on the Hogwarts Express that year, stuffed in a compartment with a handful of second years who gave him half the seats while they giggled among themselves about the haircut of someone named Gertrude. Every summer’s end, for five years, he and Lily had boarded the train together, pressed their noses to the window glass, and watched the land rush by.

For the first month of school, Severus practiced pausing before he spoke, for seconds, minutes if he needed them. Sometimes he’d add an answer after the conversation had already moved on, bent over his mashed potatoes, weighing words as carefully as he weighed salamander eyes and mandrake root.

(If you crushed firedrake seeds with the flat of your blade, instead of cutting them, they made a more potent potion. The textbooks told you to stir six times counterclockwise to make Sleeping Draught, but he knew–because he had thought, and tried, and tried again–that if you did five counterclockwise and two clockwise the draught would turn that perfect turquoise and the sleep would be dreamless and sweet and deep. He kept notes in his textbook’s margins, because it helped to remember.)

In the second month, he tried to listen. People were starting to think about life after school, a big yawning chasm they were supposed to fill with themselves. People were starting to fall in love, puppyish and petty. People were starting to believe in the war, whispering, dreaming, fearing.

In the common room, one of the kids said something about Mudbloods and Severus’s head snapped up. He tried to imagine a shell growing into his shoulders, over his spine, covering all the soft parts of him. He wanted his covers, he wanted to shrink, he wanted Lily’s boxfuls of comics, but he rose to his feet and snapped back. Sometimes saying nothing hurt people, too. A small Muggleborn in green and silver ducked away to her dorm, clutching quietly at her sleeves.

For the third month, he tried to watch– not for warning sneers or cocky grins, clenched fists and broad shoulders, all the things he’d been watching for since before he could name them– but for the way shoulders might go rigid, the way fists might clench but hide, wishing for something to shield every soft part of them.

Severus was bony and pimply, sixteen years old and graceless in it, but he could be an interruption. He could mock with the best of them, flicking his brows and twisting his nose, and asking pointed questions. He could talk, smart-mouthed and snide, until the focus turned to him, and then he could survive anything they handed out. He could give as good as he got. The pauses were shorter, these days, before he spoke, but they would always be there, an echo offset from the shout, an avalanche that struck late and terrible.

When kids cried in bathrooms or empty classrooms or the library, he didn’t move to comfort them, though he heard them. He didn’t know how. He wrote his own curses, out in the forest where he could scar the trees in experiment, and they all turned out bloody. He loved few things, even Lily, as much as he loved pouring all of himself into his work, until something new and his own grew out of it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever invented something kind.

He didn’t try to find Lily, but he came back from the Forest once and almost tripped over her, half-napping in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. He stumbled back into a gargantuan gourd while she pushed hair out of her face and peered up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause that rumbled and roiled in his gut, that he clung to with both hands, breathing into it and letting his shoulders go soft. “I’m sorry I said it. I’m sorry I made you feel small because I was feeling– small.”

Lily sat up a bit, in the little semi circle she’d built herself of books and scrolls and gobstones and snacks. She had built fairy circles like that, when they were children, of the flowers he’d transfigured for her.

“I’m sorry anyone has to feel that way, ever,” he said. “They shouldn’t. I’m angry anyone has to feel that way.”

“Me, too,” she said, and, fishing around in the detritus that surrounded her, handed him half a candy bar. “C'mon, you want some tea? Hagrid said he’d put a kettle on for me if I finished my Arithmancy.”

When Severus was in sixth year, Remus Lupin almost killed him on a moonlit night.

Severus had wanted answers, had wanted to get them in trouble, had wanted something a bit like vengeance, and Sirius had told him about the Whomping Willow. Sirius had grinned when he’d done it, small and bitter, and Severus had wondered if he was fighting with James again, wondering why else he’d sell out his friends.

“I didn’t think–” Sirius tried, the morning after, watching Remus across dry toast and cocoa, big juicy bowls of melon.

“You never do,” Remus snapped. (A bare handful of years later, standing in the smoldering ruins of James and Lily’s house, Remus would think about Sirius’s erratic gaze, the sharp edge of his voice, his last name, and wonder if he should have seen it coming. What here was premeditated? What was mischief? Sirius had once almost painted Remus’s own hands with red blood.)

But for now, Remus was sixteen and angry; he was sixteen and guilty of things that might have happened. He didn’t speak to Sirius for a month.

James refused to speak with Sirius, too, but he only lasted a week. Moony was sulking and Peter was busy studying his little heart out, and James got twitchy without proper and regular socialization.

“I’ll punch him in the nose,” said Lily, when Severus told her. She shifted where she sat cross-legged on the library table, like she might go off and hunt him down that second.

“Black doesn’t deserve the attention,” said Severus.

“Getting his ass kicked by a girl? That type of attention?”

“Getting his ass kicked by Lily Evans,” Severus said. “It’d be an honor and you know it.”

Reports of violence outside Hogwarts got worse. People were disappearing. People were whispering, fearing. The papers were ignoring the important things, and feeding off the fearmongering, or so Lily announced in the library while Severus was trying to study.

Alice and Lily had spent years sharing hissed rants in humid greenhouses. Over an undulating bed of luminescent deadly nightshade, Alice bent her head close to Lily’s and asked, “Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”

Keep Reading (Ao3)

Keep reading

Markiplier's live show

Dear @markiplier @crankgameplays Bob, Tyler, and @lordminion
I just go done seeing Mark’s live show. It was really amazing and funny. I would go and see it again in a heart beat. They had a mix of every thing and it was truly amazing. The entire cast did a wonderful job. The Fan interaction was great. If they were to do this again, I would enjoy everybody to go and watch them. It was great experience that I somehow to make an impact as a fan just attending can make. Thank you Mark, Wade, Ethan, Bob, and Tyler. Your show was incredible and a night to remember.
Thank you again for amazing night.
Love,
A fan who lives in Detroit

P.S. The cake is never worth it

I’m missing the memories more than I miss you
and I dream about you with other girls,
doing all the things you promised not to.
Then I remember subtle things,
I remember your distance and how suicidal I felt in the silence.
Then I remember, moments where everything tasted like ice,
melted faster than I could take it in,
when you would kiss me, when you would hold my hand, when your heart would beat faster than you got tired of me.
I think you were afraid to say that you were settling,
that you were leaving before you could even arrive.
I watched a part of me die, and I became you,
I became just as distant,
as you could
and then you get worried, and you became present,
wondering where I was going.
I think I’m afraid to say that with you I’m settling,
that temporary won’t satiate the needs of my heart,
that you were the reason why my art
had gotten so dark.
You were always so careless with me
and I tried to hold you like water, but you always slipped through my fingers like you weren’t anything to hold onto.
And you tried to hold me, only when my fire was dim enough to see yourself through.
Forgetting about you comes slow and easy,
forgiving myself and letting myself grow is beginning to come naturally.
I am blossoming in the death of summer
now that I am no longer under your control.

i cried watching wonder woman fight. i didn’t think it would matter as much as it mattered to me. i’m not a little girl, i don’t need a hero. but god, i wish i’d had her when i needed her.

i want to go as her for halloween. i know there will soon be a joke running around about how “all the girls going as wonder woman lol” and it will be funny. but i saw her and felt strong. i want that feeling to last. i want to put her banner on. something about her felt right. 

what if i’d had her, growing up? what if i had been in a movie theatre, watching someone promise me: no matter what they say about you, you can lead.

here are a bunch of AMAZING fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of august. I recommend that you read these great fics in september, if you haven’t already!! also check out the HL Summer Fic Exchange!

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)


1. How Far We’ve Come 32k

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

2. It’ll All Come Up Roses 4k *

Louis was leaning against the railing of the bridge, looking down at the water completely lost in thought when he heard someone approach the bridge from the side that he came from. Glancing up, he noticed Harry walking towards him, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, and seemingly lost in thought. Louis shifted his weight onto his other foot and stood up properly, watching quietly as Harry walked past him. Louis opened his mouth. He wanted to say something to Harry to break the silence, or at least to get him to notice him standing there against the bridge railing - but the words got stuck in Louis’ throat, and he snapped his mouth shut, going back to staring down at the water mindlessly instead. All the while, trying hopelessly to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life. Harry kept walking, and soon Louis was once again left alone to his thoughts.

Or the one where Louis really doesn’t hate his neighbor who keeps waking him up at the crack of dawn. Ft magic, Liam, Niall, and Zayn barely being mentioned, Harry and his fucking motorcycle, a date and a kiss.

3. Freeze This Moment in a Frame and Stay Like This 5k

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Keep reading

Louis is the only omega to ever make it in the cut-throat world of competitive motorcycle racing—that is, he would be if anyone actually knew about his identity. Now, his sights are set towards competing in—and winning—the European Grand Prix, the biggest and most difficult race of the entire year, so he can disappear underground for good. He’s close enough, too, until an alpha sports journalist is assigned to follow Louis’s every move as he prepares for the event of his career.
Or, an AU where motorcycle racing is the biggest sport in a heavily divided world, Louis is trying to take control of his own destiny, and Harry is in for more than he bargained for.

“I don’t even know who he is, Niall! I just want to know his name or some - ” 

“So why do you keep fucking blushing while talking about him!” 

“You know what, fuck off! I’m gonna find him myself!”

or, The morning after his party Harry wakes up naked on his bed, and there is a Polaroid photo of a stranger right beside him. Harry wants to know who is this tiny little boy that has soft fringe and a smile from heaven. He has endless hope.

The study was to see if two strangers could live together for a month and fall in love.

“We are a new organization working to prove that love can do extraordinary things.”
“You will do everything together & you are not allowed to leave the resort for the whole month.”
“We want to prove that opposites attract.”
Louis is allergic to peaches, Harry smells like peaches.
Louis just came for the money.

It’s June 2013, and the legalization of gay marriage is the most discussed political issue in the country. As a member of parliament Louis Tomlinson has decided to do everything under his power to keep marriage between a man and a woman. Little does he know a boy with green eyes and pink lips from his past is on a mission to change his mind.

Leaflet for Over Again Inc. 
“In relationships, there are three types of people: those who are happy, those who are unhappy but accept it and deal, those who are unhappy and in denial.Handling this last category is our job: we are professional couple breakers.To reach our goal, we use all means necessary.”

Or the Arnacoeur AU in which Harry is scheduled to be married to Liam in 10 days and Harry’s mother hires Louis and his team to break them up.

What happens when an unstoppable object meets an immovable force?

[Space AU. Louis is an astronaut. Harry works for Mission Control. They don’t get along.]

It’s a long plane ride to LA but sitting beside Harry makes time fly.

Louis was staring at him, expecting a response, and Harry was supposed to be the one coming up with that response, and he was so not prepared, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Where were you? You weren’t on the bus for a few days.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Uh… Sorry, I just- Um, sort of noticed that maybe you weren’t on the bus since last week. Not that I watch for when you’re on the bus or anything. That would be weird. Obviously, you have your own schedule, and I have mine. I just saw that you weren’t here, so I wondered what you were doing, or if something bad happened, like you got kidnapped or something. God, that sounded creepy. I promise I’m not threatening your life or something. Jesus, just stop me. If you have pepper spray, I would totally understand if you got me in the eyes right now.”
Louis had his lips pressed together at this point, holding back a laugh. Harry really didn’t blame him for that.

Or, the one where Harry just really wants to talk to Louis. And when he finally does, everything he says just comes out wrong.

Harry’s one of Hollywood’s biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There’s just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry’s in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood’s biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese’s next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry’s in love with someone and doesn’t care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn’t write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

“I hate frats,” Louis repeats for what feels like the millionth time.“Yes, I’ve heard, once or twice or every day for the past three years,” Liam says. His careful tone reminds Louis of how his mom always sounds when one of his siblings is on the brink of a tantrum.Louis glances speculatively at Liam’s frat brothers, who are still huddled together and chatting, with the exception of the one who’s looking in Louis’ direction. Maybe Louis shouldn’t rule out a tantrum. While making a scene wouldn’t actually free him from fraternity nonsense in the future, it would at least be entertaining.

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

Louis doesn’t get out too much due to his shyness. The only two friends he has he met online and they both live miles and miles away. Then along comes a cute bartender that completely flips Louis’ life upside down.

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

Aspiring writer and all-around office gopher Harry Styles is desperately trying to establish himself as a hard-hitting journalist at the famous men’s magazine M™. When his editor-in-chief asks for a last minute volunteer, Harry jumps at the chance to write his first real assignment.Suddenly, Harry is tasked with writing a 10-day, exclusive, personal feature on roguishly handsome rising star, Football darling, and pain-in-the-arse diva Louis Tomlinson’s coming out. Harry just wants to write his story. Louis isn’t going to make it easy. Oh bloody buggering fuck.

“I hope our paths will ‘croissant’ again.”
There’s a little smiley face drawn next to the words, and it’s ridiculous, Louis knows, but he can’t help the swell of butterflies that he feels as he reads over the words once more. 
An odd fellow indeed, he thinks.A moment later he shakes his head and collects himself, because he really does need to get home; he’s sure that Harry is probably watching him from behind the counter, all sweet, smug smiles and pink cheeks. And if he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure he won’t toss his groceries into the trash and walk straight back into the bakery if he doesn’t leave now, so… he really does need to get going. Before he goes on his way, though, he plucks the note from the top of the container and carefully tucks it inside of his wallet to protect it from the rain.That’s how it begins.

Harry hums, staring at his hands in his lap, and Louis can still feel their smoothness, how solid they were in between his own. “Do you think it’s the same for us? Are we here only because of the likeliness of our jobs? Of our lives?”
“We’re here because we have inventive managers,” Louis says, giving Harry’s leg a little nudge with his knee, but all that’s going around in his head is, I think I’d be in the same spot in every possible universe.

Or, when actor Louis Tomlinson used to daydream about dating Harry Styles, this is not what he had in mind.

AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his son’s au pair, but he can’t, for the life of him, remember why.

[475. The hope that this fear is unfounded.]

They walk slow, unhurried, and they talk about everything, the earth and the glaciers and themselves, little bits and pieces. Harry finds himself falling open, caving in like the crevices that run like cold veins from the icy lakes. It feels strange to talk this way. He feels like he should be having this conversation hidden under his covers, whispering in the dark. It feels like the kind of talk that means too much, that means trust and revealing the small things that make up the bigger ones, except they’re both barely blinking an eye.

Or Harry is a WWF journalist with big dreams and Louis is a glaciologist that flies helicopters for fun. Greenland is an odd place to spend Christmas, but just maybe, the perfect place to fall headfirst into love.

“Somewhere between chaos and control — these are the wonderlands.”
Harry’s daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis’ girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair.

So I like to think about what would happen if an alien sees, first hand, what a human filled with survival instincts and rage looks like. Mostly I just wanted to write this lol
***

Th'wed never thought the peaceful cargo ship would have crashed, attacked by smugglers for the rare jewels they had been assigned to watch over once it exchanged hands between them and the Humans. A gift of peace. He remembers sneering when he saw the group in ornamental armor and wondering why such a brutish race had survived so long without destroying itself. He cringed when one of them, a blonde female in the robes of a scribe, bared her teeth. All of them are savages.

When the ship went down on a hostile moon orbiting the gas giant he didn’t expect to survive. But he did, all because the humans covered him and the unshielded female. Waking up covered in the viscera of the crew and surrounded by the twisted perversion of the ship he immediately turned and vomited, uncaring for the tube like filaments on his head being coated in the green slime, the scales on them and his face turning a sickly yellow of fear and pain. The cover did not save him completely from harm, leg snapped all three toes curled in pain like a fist.

That’s when he heard it. The mournful wail that sounded more like a vengeful scream. The scribe was not worse for wear but her companions has no such luck, ornamental armor unable to save them from being pierced by the gutted ship. She kneeled beside another warrior, male perhaps, with a neck twisted in a strange way. She sniffed and to his amazement began gathering the group and the crew members, laying them side by side and crossing their arms, closing the eyes of the ones that still had faces. It was a long process and more than once she had to toss away a limb. He leaned over to vomit again.

When he leaned straight again the unnerving creature was staring at him, eyes wide and glossy. She bared her teeth again and made a strange barking sound that he tried to lean away from.

“Of all the fucking people to survive it’s the chick without a gun and the racist torrin.”

She pointed to the near by body of the male she wept over, his dark skin charred black from the flames.

“His name was Christofer and if he didn’t order them to protect you, you’d be dead. Thank him, if you think you can handle thanking a ‘brutish savage’.

The scales tinged pink with embarrassment. So she had heard him complaining to the captain. He never expected her to help him up, short stature surprisingly sturdy as she helped him limp away into the foliage. He was always amazed that such tiny creatures command such fear. She was patient with the shell shocked male, saving her own tears for when they had found water. She used her outer robe to set his leg and left him to go back and scavenger for supplies. Th'wed doesn’t worry much, taking the moment to mourn as quietly as possible, scales turning a dreary grey. Help will come soon. It has to.
***

Help did not come. In the passing of the gas giant and the sun, night and day both equal to three earthling days according to his guid, Morgan, she healed the hollow bones of his leg best to her ability but he suspects he will limp for the rest of his life. Her eyes grew colder everyday although she smiles more. He remembers almost fondly the hysterical laughter she had when she explained that her species barred their teeth in joy and politeness. She hunted for them while he used his own knowledge of those sector to find edible plants and fish. Their dynamic grew into a fondness, perhaps even friendship, the smaller alien often touching him. Petting his "hair” or examining his pink hued skin or his clawless limbs. She was fascinated with his eyes, large and round and completely black. Equated him to something she calls an owl.

He often looks back at the day he asked her how she knows to survive and hunt, the smile he is now able to differentiate from becoming cold and predatory.

“I grew up on a ship colony with my brother. When we landed for supplies we had to hunt for our food, too poor to use what credits we had for nutrient blocks. They caught us one day, chopped off my brothers hand when he took the wrap. When I joined the military to provide for them they gave me survival training. Never know when a ship crashes and you have to make it until a ship comes for you.”

His respect grew as he sat in the small lodging they built together. From the craftsmanship of the things she lovingly carved he suspected she wanted to be something else and not a military lackey. The short alien from then on began using familiar nick names and hugging often. Pack instincts. He would have sneered months ago at the notion. She was a peaceful woman who laughed more often than she cried and went against every stereotype he knew. It lulled him in security with her, forgetting the predator she was.

An animal, one he never saw before but was monstrous in size and shape attached him while he gathered one day, snapping his makeshift cane and almost crushing his ribs in one swipe of its spotted paw. It’s long snout split the wrong way, vertical mouth filled with slavering teeth. Knowing he was going to die he lied limp on the forest floor and awaited the golden afterlife. He heard a great roar from behind him and felt the sweeping air of a spear over his body.

The creature backed off while his human crouched over his body, eyes wild, pupils so blown they almost dominate her eyes. Her chest heaves and fists tighten. Looking at her face he felt both of his hearts almost stop in pure fear. He wonders how he could have ever mistaken her smiling for a show of aggression. He can clearly see the artificially sharpened teeth, something he dutifully ignored before, glistening in the reflective shine of the bright red gas giant hanging in the sky.

Opening her jaw in a way he almost couldn’t comprehend he let out a strangled roar and charged the thing. With every swipe it bleed. With every indigent scream it made at her she answered in kind only angrier. It was insistent, probably not used to its food fighting back, and made as to clamp its jaws around her. Screaming for her to run did nothing. She stood there face twisted in rage as she grabbed the closing jaws and. Tore. Them. Off.

She separated the jaws until a wet cracking sound echoed but didn’t stop until she tore it completely free, fingers dripping in blood. Green for the creature and red from her own ripped palms. She tossed back her head and screamed to the sky, red planet outlining her body like a bloody halo. She looked like a god of war her people so love to worship. Rescue came weeks later from a human ship honing onto the beacon from the crash. He was roomed in the med bay while she was escorted away on the large military colony and he didn’t see her for days while he messaged his queen. When she came back she was groomed and wearing the royal blue of a generals uniform, chest glittering with the metals of valor. She grinned and stood at attention.

“We have not been formally introduced. I am general Morgan Regina of sector Terra. I was sent to ensure the first official contact with a new species went well.”

He took the offered hand which he now knows is filled with nanotechnology, turning her bones to metal and her muscles into inexhaustible strength. Even turning off her pain receptors so she will not be hindered with her own pain. Swallowing thickly he wills his face into the unfamiliar stretch of a smile and her eyes glitter at the effort. He fears her. Respects her. And will probably die fighting his people for the alliance her people offer. He is indebted, it seems, to a savage brute.
****

New toy II pt.2

Jungkook x reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst, sub!jungkook

also some thigh riding 

word count: 10.2k


What is a better occasion for some nasty actions than a blackout?

Originally posted by nochuie

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Honestly, it vexes me when I consistently see people saying that they don’t want to see redemption arcs.

And to clarify because I don’t want to beat around the bush, I do mean Kylo Ren in particular—though this could be generalized for other characters, too, I guess?

Kylo falls under the role of an antagonist. He has done horrible things: he is the Jedi Killer, he ordered the slaughter of those people at the start of the film, tortured Poe for information, fetched information from Rey’s mind and killed his own father. These are actions that firmly establish him as Not Good. He wouldn’t be an antagonist if he didn’t do bad things, would he?

But context is very important, and the finer emotional nuances in scenes such as Han’s death need to be evaluated less simplistically. In multiple source materials, it is canonically established that Kylo Ren is not pure evil. He struggles with the actions he believes he must take. Adam Driver has described Kylo Ren as someone who (while not verbatim, the intent of words is the same) “feels what he’s doing is right, and feels justified in his actions because of that.” If you want the full bit of what he said, just for clarity, here:

Well, I don’t know. I certainly didn’t think of him that way in playing him, that he is doing anything villainous. It’s more if he thinks what he is doing is right, and being justified by it. And then trying to tell the story of why – making it a person as much as possible.

“Wait!” You might say. “He thinks the fucked up shit he’s doing is right? How is that at all supposed to make me want this guy to have a redemption arc?”

This is where we get into the finer details and lore, my friend. While the matter of Ben Solo’s grooming by Snoke is an entire other issue the fandom is up in arms about, the fact that he was targeted in the womb is undeniable. There are multiple written scenes in the Aftermath novel that lead to this conclusion:

The dark, now lit with stars. One by one, like eyes opening. Comforting at first, then sinister as she worries. Who is out there, who is watching us? Hands reach for her, hands of shadow, lifting her up, reaching for her throat, her wrists, her stomach -

Inside, the child kicks. She feels her baby turning inside, right-side, up and down, struggling to find his bearings, trying so hard to find his way free of her. It’s not time, she thinks. Just a little longer.


He is less a human shaped thing and more a pulsing, living band of light. Light that sometimes dims, that sometimes is thrust with a vein of darkness. She tells herself that it’s normal - Luke said to her, Leia, we all have that. He explained that the brighter the light, the darker the shadow.

The baby turns inside her again, troubled by something she cannot feel and cannot yet understand.

As well as this moment from the novelization of TFA:

Leia bit her lower lip, refusing to concede. “No. It was Snoke.

Han drew back slightly. “Snoke?”

She nodded. “He knew our child would be strong with the Force. That he was born with equal potential for good or evil.” “You knew this from the beginning? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed. “Many reasons. I was hoping that I was wrong, that it wasn’t true. I hoped I could sway him, turn him away from the dark side, without having to involve you.” A small smile appeared.  

“You had—you have—wonderful qualities, Han, but patience and understanding were never among them. I was afraid that your reactions would only drive him farther to the dark side. I thought I could shield him from Snoke’s influence and you from what was happening.” Her voice dropped. “It’s clear now that I was wrong. Whether your involvement would have made a difference, we’ll never know.”

He had trouble believing what he was hearing. “So Snoke was watching our son.”

Always,” she told him. “From the shadows, in the beginning, even before I realized what was happening, he was manipulating everything, pulling our son toward the dark side.

And then, of course, are these additions from JJ:

It’s more than just having a ‘bad seed’ as a kid. Snoke had targeted this kid and knew that this kid was going to be incredibly powerful in The Force and wanted him as an ally.

So this mother and father had a target as a son, someone who’s watching their boy, and these parents aren’t there enough to guide him.

Kylo Ren is a villain, but he’s also a victim and this plays—no matter what people might want to think—a very integral role in his character progression. Snoke has been an influence on Ben Solo’s life for almost as long as he’s existed. There has likely never been a Ben Solo that existed without that outside influence. According to the timeline we’ve been able to establish about Kylo, he defected when he was in his 20s—meaning there is a part of him that always resisted the seduction of the dark side, but eventually gave in. 

But why did he give in? What was the extent of this manipulation on Snoke’s behalf that could cause a golden child from some of our favorite heroes to go so wrong? 

The thing is, we can’t be sure. We only know that Ben was kept from the truth about his lineage and when that knowledge came forward, he felt betrayed. Worse, it is likely that the combination of Snoke’s influence and the respective actions/inactions of his parents (no matter how well meaning) all served to push him off that edge. 

My two cents? Kylo Ren has the illusion that what he’s doing is right because what he used to believe in—his parents, the Jedi, the light—were proven to be ‘wrong’ when he found out the truth. This all-knowing force that had guided him all his life had been right instead. 

“The supreme leader is wise.”

I believe that in the end, the rhetoric of the dark side and Snoke became the only thing left to Ben Solo that made sense anymore. So he did what Snoke told him was right, because he’d been right about everything else. He follows his dark path almost religiously because it’s all that’s left to him now.  

When Han talks to Kylo Ren on  that bridge, he isn’t talking to the Jedi Killer—he is talking to his son. He is talking to his boy who has not heard his own name in god knows how long (because Ben Solo is dead) and he is getting through to him. When Han Solo asks Kylo Ren to come back home, Kylo Ren does not laugh in his face. He doesn’t proclaim his father a fool. He doesn’t praise the dark side.

He says, with tears in his eyes, “It’s too late.”

In my opinion, it’s practically an admittance that this is not what he wanted. He does not want to be on that bridge, preparing to do what he’s going to do. I think he wants to go back home, but—going back to what I said earlier about the dark being all he has left—he believes that there’s nothing left, though Han is offering him family again. Because if his father is right, then what has he done? What has he done all this time? If Han is right, he has made so many unforgivable mistakes, and who could live with that? If what he’s done is not right, then what does that make him? 

Anyone would have a hard time swallowing that. It has to be right, because if it’s wrong, the alternative is unthinkable. 

JJ has another memorable quotation that I can (and will) reference back to in order to support this:

People have asked me if I think that Kylo Ren was just playing with him the whole time, if he meant to kill him from the beginning. And the truth is, I think Kylo Ren, in this moment, is actually being convinced to walk away from this. Snoke is, as Han says, using him, and I think that somewhere Ben knows this. But I think that he can’t accept it. Deep down, he has gone too far.

Despite anything Kylo Ren has said, Ben Solo is still very much alive. The action of killing Han Solo was an act from Snoke meant to quiet that voice completely. It’s not weakness in his apprentice that Snoke fears: it’s his apprentice thinking for himself and having Ben Solo’s power used against him. He played the long game. Every investment he made into the birth of Kylo Ren was to ensure he had this quivering mass of rage and anguish fighting on his behalf. He does not want Kylo Ren to be at peace with the pull inside of him the way Kylo Ren thinks killing his father will achieve.

He wants Kylo Ren to suffer. He wants to Kylo Ren to sabotage himself until there truly is no way back.

At the end of the day, it’s important for people to realize this: redemption arcs are not about what a character deserves. It never will be about deserving. Han Solo deserves justice? Yes. Poe and Rey deserve justice? Yes. Finn deserves justice? Yes. Does Kylo Ren deserve to be punished for what he’s done? Of course. Redemption arcs aren’t about justice either, however. It isn’t about cleansing an antagonist of their sins or punishing them. 

It’s the antagonist realizing the horror of what they’ve done and deciding they need to do something to make things right. Whether that be a sacrifice or a lifetime’s worth of service in the name of a greater good, it doesn’t matter. It’s about repenting. 

This is about Kylo Ren realizing the light wasn’t a lie, that he doesn’t have to tear himself apart anymore. That he’s drawn to it for a reason. This is about reparations to a galaxy, an abuse victim realizing he is being abused. Gaining his independence for the first time in his life. Giving his father’s soul peace, and his mother one more piece of her shattered family back after everything she has lost.

That is a redemption arc. 

Rotten Judgement - part 2

AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Hercules!AU After selling your soul to save your lover’s life, you become one of the Lord of the Underworld’s slave. Bucky is obsessed with one thing: collecting hearts. But why?

Word Count:1,630

Warnings: Language, Angst, Slaves, Demonic creatures, Mythology , Attempt Assault 

A/N: Seriously guys, thank you so much for the nice feedback. I hope I tagged everyone, sorry if I didn’t :/ (As usual some quotes from the movie)

“I know who you work for,” Brock Rumlow, notorious human trash bag, hissed as he pinned you with the weight of his body against a brick wall.

He put his big, calloused hand around your throat and tightened his grip until you were gasping for air. You tried to pull yourself free, but your hands were trapped behind your back. He was breathing so close to your face that you could feel his clammy breath on your skin.

In hindsight, you should have known that Rumlow wasn’t going to be easy an easy target. He was a murderer and a thief, he probably didn’t even have a heart. Your targets were usually old people or horny men, this was a first and you couldn’t understand why Bucky needed his heart. It was most likely all black and corrupted.

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New Rules ( i )

PART: one | two | three | end |

SONG:  new rules - dua lipa

Pairing: JIMIN X READER

Summary: “ One, don’t pick up the phone

You know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone. ”

Genre: angst, smut, bad boy! jimin

Length: 1.4k

A/N: also some of the backstory is based off a lovely anon who shared this cute cliche story with me.

anyway i hope you guys enjoy this and please show some support because posting is h a r ddddd

Originally posted by kpopkpoop


“You’re doing it again,” Jimin pushed himself off your body, and you blinked at him trying to understand what he was saying. Just as you were starting to become worried, he dipped his lips back to capture yours and happily, you moaned against the plump surface. He was topless, although you don’t remember him taking it off, however, you were happy to trace your hands down the well-sculpted chest you were so familiar with.

“Y/N, stop it.” Your eyes snapped open looking at Jimin, but he was smirking down at you as his arms rested on either side of your body, and you let yourself become lost in the way his lips mouthed on your neck until he began to shake your body, hands on your shoulders as he shook, “Wake up! Wake up!”

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Cold

Originally posted by whenimaunicorn

Originally posted by cindecasso

Ivar x Reader



Ivar glowered from the edge of the docks as you stood with Margrethe who was saying goodbye to Ubbe and Hvitserk. You hadn’t even given Ivar a passing look. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, it never had before.


“Do not worry we will be back soon.” Ubbe mumbled to his wife as Hvitserk nodded to you and climbed onto the boat.


Ivar glanced up when Aslaug’s hand gently squeezed his shoulder. They stayed to watch the boat vanish from sight before Margrethe excused herself. “(Y/N), Margrethe has decided to take care of Sigurd and… I was wondering if you would be willing to do the same for Ivar?” Aslaug gave you a look that told you not to refuse despite all three of you knowing Ivar would refuse to be helped and that ‘looking after Sigurd’ was not as innocent as it could be perceived.

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