#I cannot listen to it without grieving

[dirubtrentfree]

I suppose many of us have that one song that makes us miss Acchan terribly. For me it's Moon Sayonara wo Oshiete. 😿

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 15. The beginning of the end

PREV PART trigger warnings: (threatened) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, mentions of drugging, anger, the start of yandere behaviour, delusional behaviour, swearing, tell me if I missed any!  main m.list      series m.list

Jason is going to do something he’ll regret, and this time Dick feels no reason to hold him back. After your little stunt of just leaving to your friends house for a week, without a phone, and ignoring Damian at school Dick feels no reason to make shit easier for you. Perhaps he’s feeling petty, disregarded like a piece of trash. But then again, isn’t he just that?

In the week you had left Bruce had found your medication stash, and instead of taking it like he predicted he would he sabotaged it. Adding a little bit of drugs that’s meant to make you sleepy enough that you’ll need more help, at least that’s what he told Dick. He doesn’t know if he believes his adoptive father, it’s clear he’s spiralling.

Dick remembers your mama, he remembers her warmth, how she saw through his disguise and how she helped him with grieving Jason. Gods, she was an angel descended down to earth to leave too soon. It makes him think of how similar your future fate might be to your mother’s, it makes him question Barbara if she knew what he could do to bond with you further, but no one but Duke knows and he made it clear he’s not on their side. He likes to think your mama would have sided with them, would have given them the grace you refuse to give. She wouldn’t, she would curse them all to a crueller fate the Joker had given Jason.

But your pills isn’t something that enraged Jason. No, he found that it was quite a good idea. It was your blatant disregard for their feelings, to a degree Dick could understand why you disregard them but he won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt.

So here he is, with Jason waiting for a few of your friends ready to threaten them. At least he convinced Jason to not go as Red Hood, isn’t he so kind?

Now, there is no time to get distracted, your friends will pick you up at work tonight and they need the fear of your brothers in them.

“I’m so excited for (Name) and Maria,” Francis says to Willow, grinning ear from ear. Oh perhaps the brothers will listen tot his for a short moment. “they finally picked an act for the talent-show.”

“About damn time,” Willow agrees, grinning just as big. “oh and I cannot wait to see that Damian’s face, he’s going to be so surprised that (Name) is even participating!”

Okay, now they’ve heard enough.

“Excuse me,” Dick greets them with his award winning smile (no really, he won awards). “could we have a moment of your time?”

Willow and Francis look at each other and pulled a disgusted face, a face that pissed Jason off enough to grab Francis’ collar. “We shouldn’t be polite to these little fucks,” he hisses as he drags Francis in an alley, something that makes Willow follow immediately. And by the look in her face she was about to kick Jason in the fucking nuts. “they need to be learned a lesson-”

“Get your hands off my fucking brother, you sibling beating bitch!” She shouts, kicking Jason in the side but it does nothing. The kick was like a little tickle and Jason laughs at how pathetic it is. Truly, (Name) you want these pathetic little fucks protecting you?

Dick tsked and forced Willow to stand in a corner with her brother who looks suspicious. “We don’t want to fight,” he says, but it’s a clear lie. And when he saw Willow’s deadpan he gave her a smile that Willow could only describe as crazed. “yet.”

At least Francis has the sense to attempt to protect his little sister, but all Jason could think about was smashing his head in the wall for filling you with thoughts of leaving. For giving you the confidence to act like a bitch (what they don’t know is that this won’t intimidate Francis and Willow, no, they’ll tell you all about it and whatever you do. Don’t worry they’ll stand by your side). “Don’t glare you little shit,” Jason hisses at Francis. “you have no right, who the fuck do you guys think you are?!”

Willow scoffs; “Maybe we need some context to two strangers pulling us in an alley and clearly having a fucking issue with us!”

She knows who they are, Dick is sure of it. She has to.

“Because all I see is two insecure men that can’t believe their little sibling is fucking awesome and no longer needs them!” She shouts, and now it hits him. Willow doesn’t see them as Dick and Jason, no. Simply as two poor brothers. “And now you are fucking intimidating us?!”

Well turns out Jason has less self-control then Dick remembers, because now it was Willow’s head who was smashed into a wall. Blood dripping down her face, and for a second Dick has a moment of clarity. What the fuck are they doing? They are meant to protect civilians, yet here they are smashing a small girls head in a wall. Francis makes a sound of surprise and quickly pulls Willow to his side, his eyes wide as he spoke; “You know at first I couldn’t believe (Name) that the Wayne’s are such pieces of shit. But now I know that’s even too kind.”

Dick chuckles. “As if anyone would believe you if you were to tell them what happened then and now,” Francis smirks as if he knows something Dick and Jason don’t, which he’ll ignore for now. “so run along and see this a warning. Stop corrupting (Name), or this won’t be the last of this.”

“Even without us,” Willow starts, slurring her words a bit. Jason still frozen in shock of what he just did and the fact that Dick didn’t stop him. “they would have ‘turned’ against you, you neglectful motherfuckers.”

With that the two they left, not knowing what storm was coming when (Name) comes home.

BAD ENDING 0.16 NEXT PART (main story) As the titel says, it's the beginning of the end! I know it hasn't gotten all too bad yet but from this chapter forward I will be going 2 ways, a bad ending and a good ending. Idk yet how many chapters they will each get, but basically the bad ending means that the batfam gets their preffered ending (with a few hiccups) and the good ending means you'll get an escape ending which will be ‘the main story’ because the good ending takes a different path than the bad ending. And the bad ending is more extreme so I'll make a seperate masterlist for the chapters for that and a seperate taglist.

taglist:@prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[zarnzarn]

TW: jumping on the manwhore au but aftermath, discussion of S/A, read carefully.

Three weeks pass.

Odysseus is carried through them with ecstasy and joy, reuniting and grieving and laughing and rearranging.

But then everything settles down, and-

It was him who'd ordered it. Ordered owls to be carved into every free inch of Ithaka, coveted shipments of the secretive birds for his personal menagerie, sold trinkets in the market. Made no secret of who favoured them, when he had half the houses painted blue.

But now every step he takes in his own home haunts him.

He cannot so much as look to the side before feeling the urge to flinch away, shame growing inside of him until it chokes him up. Cannot look at any owls. Cannot look at any of his men.

("Well, if our captain can't think his way out of it, at least now we know talking filthy works just as well!" One of the men chortles, unaware of how Odysseus' blood had run cold, standing with his hand raised to knock.)

("This day, you've lost it all, consider this as my goodbye-")

("Come on, she's a beautiful, powerful lady! How bad could it really have been, Captain?")

("Captain?" Eurylochus whispers, as Odysseus wipes the blood off his mouth and reaches for his cloak. The ships are silent, even though the roar of the waves has left. Eyes stare at him from all directions, wide and-

Pitying? Horrified? Odysseus can't really tell.

"Full speed ahead," He says, voice ruined, and keeps his chin high as he hobbles back to his room.)

(When the sirens come, all he sees is Penelope. It is nice, at least, to know that he can discard the intrusive thoughts creeping in about natural reactions and forced pleasures.)

("Please- please don't do this, don't make me choose, I'll do anything-")

("Leave me the fuck alone, both of you. If Penelope does not take me back after all of this, it's her choice. But I have to get all of us off this island and it's better me than you.")

"Ody- Your Majesty!" Odysseus reaches into his robes, pulls out the whittling tool and the wood, busies himself as he walks. It's one of the younger men, the ones who'd barely been boys when they left. "Listen, we were wondering if- if you'd come join us at the festival! The- all of the men, really, we've been- heh- missing you since we now have to share you with the rest of the kingdom. We could- we could sing together? Like we used to?"

Athena's prayers.

"You go ahead," Odysseus murmurs, eyes on the carving. "Next time."

"But you didn't come for the last one either!"

"I have-" He hears his own sharp tone, stops and swallows to soften it. He was terrible to all of them, he knows, those last few days aboard the ship, rude and sharp and brutal like all the other royals, where he never was before. "I have work to do. Have a good day. I've heard the new hound stock is coming in today, you should see if you want a pet."

He ignores whatever is said in response, walking on. He wonders, darkly, what they think of him. Do they still think he enjoyed it? That it was a privilege to be had by gods?

("He won't speak to us!" One of them hiss that night, when the lad comes back sniffling and downcast, like all the others. They'd grown up with Odysseus, almost like younger brothers, and all of the younger ones were taking the sudden frigid silence hard. They all were. Somewhere they had lost their friend, left him behind without noticing, until only their king returned. "He cannot possibly think we think less of him for sacrificing so much, for- the gods are impossible to hold up against, he can't think we blame him for-"

"We don't know what he thinks," Polites says, pulling his head out of his hands and wrapping his arms around himself. "He doesn't even look at us."

The men around the fire are all silent.

"He has to know, right?" Someone whispers. "He has to.")

"What did happen on the trip back?" Penelope says, voice quiet, sitting next to him. He jolts. When did he reach their bedroom? "Something did. You have barely touched me since that first day."

Odysseus opens his mouth, but for the first time, he has nothing to say. What can he? She had known, the first second he had turned his eyes from her in shame, and yanked him back in anyway with eyes blazing like a lion, growling that she didn't care what he had to do to come back, as long as he had.

Odysseus doesn't feel like he has.

Penelope carefully takes the whittling knife away from him, as well as the spear he'd carved. "And you have not prayed, after your return."

(He had tried. Had walked right upto the temple steps when everyone was asleep, and then turned around and thrown up in a bush.)

"Have you heard the story of the high priestess Medusa?" He murmurs, staring at the wall. Watches the shadows dancing across. "Athena used to tell me about her. One of her favourite devotees. I never understood why she cursed her, when it was not her fault."

Penelope puts a hand on his shoulder. Both of them are shaking. She has seen the scars, the ones that glow beautiful and bright, left behind by each god who touched him.

"A gorgon, snake-woman, capable of turning anyone she looked upon to stone, gods and humans alike. No eyes upon her, ever again."

The breeze blows in.

"At the time, I thought it to be a curse." He whispers. Remembers the story of the way she had screamed in the temple bower for Athena's help, insane, at the feeling he knows now is violation of self and celibacy both; Athena's chosen, ripped away from one of their ways of worship by force. "Now I know it was a blessing."

"But-" Penelope swallows. "Perseus-"

"Was a mercy." He looks at the ground. "She was pregnant. She did not wish to be. Athena granted her so."

"The shield is to honor her," Penelope murmurs. "Not a trophy."

He hums.

"I-" Penelope starts, voice thick. "I remember when you asked. When we first got married. If I was fine with not being joined with you in bed often, as long as I was satisfied. Was it-?"

"Only her priestesses can have true celibacy, her devotees less, me lesser. I had a crown to continue, so Athena accepted a more lenient vow, when I became her student." He stares out at the sea, the sky. "But I had vowed. I had sworn." A half-sob escapes him, some delayed noise of grief. It feels far away now, and the scars have all healed, but he cannot move past the violation, the stares, the whispers. The shame of betrayal. "I had an oath, Penelope."

"It was not your fault," Penelope whispers, taking his hand like he will shatter like glass. "Poseidon seems to target all of Athena's people. If anything-"

"We fought," He says, turning his head to press his face to her shoulder, shuddering as he confesses it. Abandoned by his own god. "She left. Maybe this is her punishment, all the eyes, all the time. Paranoid that another Olympian will jump out of the shadows, do it again."

"Or," Penelope says after a long pause. "She does not know. Only one way to truly find out."

Odysseus considers.

"Could you," He swallows, throat clicking. "Could you get me- the things from my shrine?"

-

He does not expect her to actually arrive.

He shakes in front of her, for the first time, feeling small and foolish and broken. Wishes he could go back to being twelve, do it all over correctly. "Lady Athena," He says, as formally as he can. "I beg your forgiveness. Please- please, is there anything I can do to-"

"About time," She interrupts, bored. "Finally willing to concede that I was right?"

Odysseus feels bile rise in his throat. "Yes, goddess. I was- stupid, to ever consider otherwise."

Penelope's hand is clenched tight in his robes, kneeling with him.

"Good," Athena says, pleased. "A war well won, all things considered. Our glory will go down in the history books." A pause. "Why are you on the floor?"

"What?" He chokes out.

"You've never kneeled to me once, even when I've taken you out at the ankles, you impudent brat," She snorts. Odysseus feels his pounding heart freeze in his chest at the- fondness in her voice. Fondness. She is not furious with him, not unforgiving. "What, do you want something else-"

She knocks him on the head, flicking him on the forehead playfully- then freezes as he looks up at her. Goes completely still, and he knows she can see what they did to him.

Penelope's hand reaches out to steady him.

"Only your forgiveness, goddess," His voice breaks. "Only that."

-

After, Penelope holds him, crying silently herself as she wipes at his cheeks. Athena sits with her head in her hands, helmet removed, anger finally under control but completely silent. Just sits there at the edge of their bed, bent over, face buried in her own palms.

Finally, she straightens, inhaling. Turns to look at him. "You may not be alive to see it," She tells him, quiet and furious. "But this is their last transgression, I swear to you. I will find a way to get revenge. They will die."

"I do not-"

"They will die. And no vows have been broken." She hesitates, hand hovering over his ankle. Odysseus crumbles, nodding desperately, and nearly passes out at the relief of the familiar touch, sharp and cleansing, godly and unlike the chaos of all the others. "You need not apologise to me about that."

He sniffs, turning his face into Penelope's shoulder. It feels freeing, some latent relief that Athena finally sees him, understands, forgives. She is not the terrifying goddess so far removed, cold and cruel, that he was starting to think she truly might be; bowed over in grief and horror for him, like a friend- he just wishes this was not the reason why.

Her eyes are gold at the edges. Crying. Nauseated almost, at the fact that- her uncle. Her father.

"Would you-" Odysseus wheezes. His heart hurts still, for their fight, for what happened after, for how hard he knows she will take it. "Can you-"

"Anything, champion," She says softly, strained. Gives him a half-smile. "My friend."

"The wings-" He whispers, feeling stupid, but-

"Slow," Penelope murmurs, reaching out to steady Athena as she climbs in close. Her voice is wrecked. She does not say anything more.

Owl wings fold around him, not white or blue or pink, patterned and brown like the mud; home. Home.

"No one will see you," Athena murmurs, and her voice is wretched, but caring. "No one can see you. Peace."

"Peace," Odysseus repeats, and leans into them both, letting the darkness shroud around them like an embrace. Peace.

Home.

[heartsiebyul]

What if the overbolt gang were to find Reader crying? But after asking them what's the reason they're crying, they just explain that... They're missing all of the new content from their favorite media!! 😭😭

I rlly just want something silly, so hopefully it could be that? Like Reader is being very dramatic and stuff ig

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

art: twisted wonderland archives

featuring — Overblot boys : Riddle : Leona : Azul : Jamil : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

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☛ Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle nearly drops when he finds you hunched over in the rose bushes, your shoulders shaking. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?!” he demands, only for you to sob out that you’re missing the comeback of your favorite K-pop group.

He blinks. Once. Twice. “I… don’t understand. What’s a comeback? Who came back from where? But more importantly, you’re crying over that?” he says, absolutely confused. But when your eyes well up again, he softens. “W-Well! That’s… understandable! I suppose.”

Despite not really getting it, Riddle returns with a prepared strawberry tart and a blanket. He gently pats your head, muttering, “calm down and get up so you can eat this.” He then gives you a gentle lecture about managing your emotions properly while you sniffle and nibble through your “withdrawal.”

You even dramatically sing a few lines from their track, and Riddle claps awkwardly. “Exquisite vocals, (name).” He’s utterly lost. Still, he lets you show him a few photos of your biases and listens seriously as you explain how unfair it is to miss live fan events. He’s trying his best, okay?

☛ Leona Kingscholar

Leona is napping in the field under a tree when your wailing disrupts his peace. Groaning, he rolls over to see you lying on the grass, dramatically sprawled like a damsel in despair. “You dying or something?” he mutters, and you hiccup out that you’re missing the season finale of your favorite manhwa adaptation.

“…You’re crying because of that?” he snorts, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re such a drama queen.”

But ten minutes later, he’s tossing a bag of dorm snacks at your head and flopping down beside you with a sigh. “Tch. Cry quieter and eat something.”

He listens with one ear as you rant about plot twists and cliffhangers, occasionally grumbling, “They really killed him? Psh. I wouldn’t have.” He secretly likes how animated you get.

☛ Azul Ashengrotto

You’re sobbing in the VIP lounge of the Mostro Lounge, tissues piling up as you complain about the K-pop update drops you’re missing. Azul, mid-study review, startles and rushes over. “Are you hurt?! Is someone harassing—oh.”

His concern quickly turns to confusion when you explain that you’re grieving over missing updates.

He adjusts his glasses, flustered, then nods and leaves. He returns with a dessert platter and a cup of your favorite juice. “Since I cannot provide your missing media,” he says with a sheepish smile, “perhaps a taste of luxury can ease the ache?”

Floyd walks by and loudly asks if you’re “mourning a boyband again.” Azul nearly chokes.

☛ Jamil Viper

Jamil is walking down the Scarabia hallways when he hears sniffles coming from the lounge. He finds you curled up in a blanket burrito, your phone clutched tightly in your hands. “Let me guess, you can’t access your media from your hometown again?” he sighs knowingly, having witnessed this meltdown like clockwork every month.

Without a word, he heads to the kitchen and returns with warm curry and a mango lassi. “Food heals all wounds, even breakdowns.” he teases lightly, handing them to you.

He listens as you wail about the lack of fans and concert tours, occasionally raising a brow. “You get this worked up over them?”

Still, he stays beside you until you feel better, secretly amused by your dramatics.

☛ Vil Schoenheit

Vil finds you weeping on the floor of the dorm lounge, surrounded by your phone and tablet. “Whatever is the matter?” he asks sharply, one brow raised, fully prepared to scold you for such an undignified display. But he pauses when you wail about missing the comeback and new songs from your favorite group.

There’s a long silence. Then, Vil sighs dramatically. “This is exactly what ruins skin elasticity,” he mutters, before vanishing and returning with fruit parfaits and under-eye patches. “At least cry on the couch, not on the carpet and let me preserve your beauty while you grieve.”

He lets you rant while adjusting your posture and gently dabbing at your face. “You are far too radiant to be destroyed over missing an update.”

☛ Idia Shroud

You’re lying on the floor of Idia’s room, surrounded by tissues and dramatically mumbling about the updates you’ll never see again. Idia peeks out from behind his screen. “You’re… alive. Just emotionally wrecked,” he mutters, worried but unsure how to help.

He awkwardly places a bag of chips next to your head and slides over a tablet. “I downloaded a bunch of stuff that’s probably similar to what you had back in your world. I figured you’d have withdrawal symptoms sooner or later…”

He mumbles that he gets it, his own spirals are way worse, and even lets you cling to the sleeve of his oversized hoodie while you vent.

Bonus: Ortho cheerfully tries to find music similar to the ones from your world, compiling a “coping playlist”.

☛ Malleus Draconia

Malleus hears your sobbing echo through the woods beside Ramshackle and appears beside you, only to find you weeping on the floor. “Dear… why do you mourn so?” he asks gently, concerned, as he lifts you into your bed.

When you dramatically declare that you’re missing concert tours and comeback announcements, he looks completely baffled. “…A performance has caused such despair?”

But he doesn’t question it further. Instead, he brings you a basket of treats. “I cannot return you to your world,” he says solemnly, “but I can offer you the warmth of this one.”

He even sits beside you, gently patting your head as you explain the group and the fandom and the heartbreak of missing live streams and updates. Though he doesn’t understand a word, he listens, intrigued by your passion.

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Honestly, I’d be the same, thrown into an unfamiliar world without my favorite media lol

[justafewberries]

Lenore Dove is the dead wife in the montage, and she should have died in the jail. From the moment we leave District Twelve, she exists predominately outside of the narrative, and only through Haymitch's memory. Consequentially, she's dead the moment we leave 12, just like a dead-wife montage.

The whole pre-reaping scene reads like a dead wife montage. He colors her with vibrancy. He tells us about how smart she is, how she seems to know everything there is to know, and he just listens because he loves her so much. It makes sense. Haymitch spends his time from the train onward mourning her like he has already lost her. In a sense, he has. He is convinced he will never see her again, and, in turn, his conviction transforms his girl into a haunting, guiding-force- the dead wife archetype.

Which would make it all the more devastating if the dead wife never came back to life.

When reading SOTR, I was convinced the call in the study would be their final words together. In The Raven, the narrator calls out to his beloved and receives no answer:

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”— Merely this and nothing more.

Which already parallels the line at the end of the call:

But I'm trying to be noble, to, pull myself up to say those words, when the line goes dead without warning. "Lenore Dove? Lenore Dove?" She's gone. Truly for good, this time.

An auditory final goodbye would have paralleled the Raven, but it also would have lent itself to more hallucinations. Haymitch could have come to believe he hallucinated the call. He could have blamed Plutarch for setting him up, and under the context of Lou Lou, he could have believed they just mixed her voice or had someone else on the other line.

He would have never gotten a real, genuine, final goodbye with his girl, which lends itself to his reclusive life in the trilogy. Especially because he breaks his phone in his victor's house and Effie is the one to have it fixed twenty-five years later. Maybe he hallucinates his phone ringing only to pick it up for a dead tone, and it drives him mad to the point of destruction. Maybe it is Snow calling just to listen to him grieving his girl, thinking maybe, just maybe, he'll hear her voice again.

Further, prior to the call, Haymitch bragged about selling alcohol to the commander of the d12 peacekeepers in his interview while she was in custody. While we do not know if it aired, word of mouth on gossip that flammable was bound to spread to the commander's higher ups. The commander, seeking to punish Haymitch, could have brought the gavel down on Lenore Dove and, in his corruption, made an example out of her. It would send the message of I can break the law, but you cannot. The peacekeepers are above the law. We choose if you live.

Because the interview happened right before the call, I was under the impression news just had not gotten back to the commander by then. Or, if it had, Lenore Dove was trying to comfort Haymitch by relaying her position optimistically. Yet, it seemed there were no actual consequences for his admission.

It would have been even more all the more devastating for Haymitch to lose his girl as a direct result to his attempted submission. He knew he had to put on a show. He gave them what they wanted- a troublemaker, and even while doing what he had to do, playing the game, they still punished him. It's the convince me line of Catching Fire all over again. Through attempting to convince everyone he is a rascal, he hurts the girl he loves most by making an off-hand, truthful comment.

Haymitch would have to live with the fact speaking up was what got her killed for the rest of his life. And Snow can still have a hand in it. Music is illegal. She was playing music. Crack down on laws that were previously forgotten, and it forces people to submit by getting back in line.

By making an example out of her, the Capitol can then justify anything via digging up laws and making up new punishments. There are no laws, because everything suddenly becomes law when it is needed. There is nothing to stop the Capitol from writing a freshly inked date of the past, pointing to it, and saying "Look, this has always been the law." There is no regulating body to stop this, either. They would have the choice of rebellion or conformity.

District Twelve would then have more of a reason to stay in line and conform, like how we see in the trilogy. It would be the pinpoint behind the characterization of why they are afraid to rebel in the first place. It sets up the idea that for years, they were afraid of breaking long forgotten laws, and thereby developed a keep your head down culture to save their own necks.

Lenore Dove should've been a multifaceted political execution. She was the dead wife trope.

[jedimayukidaawesome]

I have a hot take, and I just wanna air it out here.

I’m going to be honest, I wonder if deep down people actually hate Caitlyn because of her wealth allowing her to act upon her grief. And I mean what she ACTUALLY did, not what she did plus huge doses of exaggeration (looking at you “she gassed the lanes and everyone suffered because of her” crowd - she gassed the HQs of two chembarons and the arcade where Jinx was. She didn’t gas the whole of the lanes and none of the innocents there).

If Caitlyn didn’t have the wealth and status that she has, she wouldn’t have been able to hunt Jinx, the Chembarons and the Shimmer factories with a strike force. She rolled up with her team to a secret council meeting and didn’t get locked up or thrown out because she had a cause to be there as the Kiramman heiress. She also more than likely wouldn’t have been chosen by Ambessa to rule under martial law if she was a commoner. Her convictions aside, no one of the ruling families would’ve respected that decision, and Salo would’ve been manipulated and given control instead.

If Caitlyn had no status whilst being an enforcer, and Cassandra was a lower class woman who died working in that building, it would’ve more than likely been a one woman rampage through Zaun, with or without Vi, trying to hunt down her mother’s killer. She still would be pissed, she would still be grieving, she may still try to get the Chembarons and Shimmer destroyed, and her quest for revenge would be seen as more justifiable and sympathetic to the average viewer. Her not being rich makes her “relatable” and “misunderstood”, whilst her being rich makes her “monstrous” and “not relatable”.

The difference is that it’s far harder to do so as a simple enforcer as opposed to someone with power. If you’ve ever hated someone that deeply - a drunk driver that killed a relative, a bully that drove your friend to self harm, a parent that abused you severely - you at your angriest would wish for the worst to happen to them, and those with power make it so.

Caitlyn’s wealth allowed her to achieve her desire for vengeance far more easily. She had the resources, respect and voice that Ambessa exploited and the elites listened to.

She had the power many of us wished we had when we were so terribly wronged.

Do I think she fucked up? Yes. Do I believe she deserves to be crucified and hated because of it? No. She still had lines she wouldn’t cross (the cells where Vi was kept we’re not allowed to be used, causing violence at checkpoints got her pissed at Rictus and Ambessa, improving prison food because of an off handed comment from Vi and still have it to her mother’s murderer etc), she didn’t want things to turn out the way they had, and actively tried to do better: not for the sake of redemption, but for the sake of doing what’s right (giving Sevika the Kiramman council seat, allowing Vi to free her sister and letting go of her hate, betraying Ambessa etc).

I believe in “do not turn people away from a better path even after they fall”, and many here grant that concession to Jinx, who has murdered, kidnapped and destroyed, some of that for years. Yet people say “she was traumatised so young and she deserves to be protected”. She does, but when a victim of hers - who got ambushed in her shower whilst naked, kidnapped, vandalised and lost her mother in the same night- needs the same, everyone cries “ShE’s a MoNsTeR and a FACIST! I HATE HER - Vi DeSeRveS BETTER!”

Like bruh … the fuck?

Tl:dr - Caitlyn haters may just subconsciously hate her for being rich enough to enact revenge against an unstable, possessive and murderous teen who killed her mother and assaulted her, and those same haters cannot comprehend that Jinx caused Caitlyn’s own trauma and don’t even care to acknowledge it because of her wealth and Jinx bias. You see “rich” as an insult (hell, it’s the first “insult” Vi flings at Caitlyn after reuniting with her), and a negative character flaw; even though we’d all like some level of wealth in our lives to make it easier.

Caitlyn Kiramman deserves better, end of story

[sunnami]

the marauders as. . . whatever these love languages are (ii).

“i’m so fucking tired, please god just let me rest for five minutes.”

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐍 sees a monster staring back at him in the mirror—you tell him that you see a kind, gentle soul deserving of all things beautiful. he wants to bury himself beneath the ground, where the earthworms burrow and the primroses bloom one day. the mornings after the full moon are always the hardest. a new scar to his growing collection and fresh blood spilt on his wretched hands. he is a monster and there is no better word to define him than that. so why do you burst into his room, much like the morning sun—without a care for the moon’s sorrow—and smile at him like you actually care?

he doesn’t believe you’re real—only a mirage sent by his darkest nightmares to torment him. yet, how can torture feel so delicate and forgiving? still, you insist on seeking him out despite knowing he is a cursed man. you see the bloodied tips of his fingers where claws have grown the night prior, the crimson smudges in the corner of his mouth, teeth stained with the lives of innocent creatures he’s taken. he is a killer, and yet you stay by his side.

don’t you see?

he’s trying to keep you safe by pushing you away. one day, you’ll tire of him just as he has grown weary of living in his own skin.

why do you look at him as though he cannot rip you apart, limb by limb, with just a flick of his hand?

“because you are remus lupin,” you say, a cruel whisper in his ear, holding his head close to your heart, and shouldering his burdens, aches, and pains. “i will be here when the sun rises, and i will be with you until the earth knows the taste of our existence, when the vines creep over our legs and arms, and until you understand that love is not strong enough to explain why my soul calls out to yours.”

ah, remus sees it now.

he needs you just as a canary needs their wings to fly. his tears soak the fabric of your shirt, and you hold him closer until he feels you—and only you. you are the reason his heart still endures, hammering inside his ribcage as though it knows you are nearby. his body is but ruined flesh—even so, if the gods think he is deserving to bear witness to the innocence in your eyes, then perhaps he is not so much of a monster as he thought.

please, he begs to all the deities listening, do not take this pure creature away from me.

he would never ask you to share the weight of his damned fate, but he grieves at the thought of losing you—for remus might know true death, then.

a/n: did i go overboard with this one? probably. . .

[skull-faced-fruit-cake]

listen i get why some of yall want eddie and buck to have this honest, open moment of communication bc they keep fighting and eddie never apologizes or whatever yall are moaning about but like. eddie diaz is the most classic, textbook case of acts of service. buck is grieving throughout the whole episode. he's lost. he's stuck in orbit without the gravity he needs to be pulled back in. and eddie SEES ALL THAT. KNOWS ALL THAT. cannot communicate it properly because 1) he's so emotionally repressed the catholic church envies him 2) he's guilt-tripped about bobby and grieving and spiraling himself. and even though his instincts are telling him to run, it's always so much easier to just run, he Knows what buck needs is for him to stay. and he stays. and he brings chris to buck and buck to chris because he Knows. and with this, eddie is saying: "i know you're lost. i know you're scrambling for something to hold on to. im here. i've always been here. this is where you belong. this is where you will always belong." AND BUCK KNOWS. BUCK KNOWS OKAY. BECAUSE HE NEEDS SOMEONE TO STAY AND EDDIE STAYED!

[potatoplace]

Gone

Azriel x Archeron!Reader (deceased), Elriel

the 1 | alternate endings: betty | The Prophecy

mini-series masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: In the wake of your death, Azriel loses everything. And still, you're dead and gone, an aching void felt in those around you.

Warnings: character death (suicide), dead body of reader, grieving, fuck Azriel

Words: ~2.5k

Author's Note: Yes, the title comes from Rosé's 'Gone'. Go listen to it RIGHT NOW. I would say that even without this fic tho lol love me some Rosie 🫶 So here's the first one of the second parts to the 1! I hope you guys like it, and I hope I did all of the characters' reactions justice (especially Miss Feyre) - ALSO thank you for all the love you've given the 1! It was born out of my own crappy day, I'm happy something good came out of it ☺️

18+ only pls

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Azriel quickly made his way back to Elain, doing his best to put the interaction he had just had with you behind him.

His mate.

Elain’s sister… That’s the only way he had ever thought of you.

As a human you had been… Less than average. Hard to look at.

At least in comparison to Elain.

Elain was a breath of fresh air, so lovely and innocent and so entirely unlike him.

And turned fae, she was even more breathtaking.

He had waited for her to realize how truly damaged and scarred he was, and not just on the outside. How entirely unworthy of her he was.

But she hadn’t. She had seen him, loved him, even with how broken he was on the inside.

And he had meant his words to Nesta, when he had said no one would ever compare to Elain, even his mate.

And he was right. You didn’t compare to her.

But as he reached her side and wrapped his arm around his lovely Elain, he couldn’t help but… wonder.

Had he just made a mistake in rejecting the bond so easily?

His free hand came to rub at his chest, which felt like it was being scraped with a knife, a dull, throbbing pain.

“Are you alright?” Elain’s sweet voice asked, and he tilted his head to look down at her.

A small smile graced his lips. “Of course, sweetheart. Come to the balcony with me, will you?”

The ring he had selected for Elain lay in a white velvet box, tucked safely in his jacket pocket. It was a beautiful ring, a silver band inlaid with glittering diamonds, and a stunning pink diamond as the centerpiece.

You had told him that Elain had always wanted a pink diamond ring.

He hoped you weren’t lying, trying to sabotage his proposal.

He wouldn’t put it past you, mating bonds do make fae rather territorial. Even if Elain is your sister.

He shook the thought out of his head, you had never been anything but kind. Boring, yes. Quiet, yes. But always kind.

Azriel smiled at Elain once they reached the balcony, and they stared out over Velaris together for a moment while he gathered his courage.

“Elain,” he said softly, drawing her gaze to him.

“Yes, love?” Elain asked, her lips curving upwards, as if she knew what was coming.

Azriel dropped to one knee and pulled the box from his jacket, reveling in how Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Elain, I have loved you for so long now. In fact, I believe I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you all that time ago, in the human lands. Never did I think that I would have the honor of calling you mine, even once. But now, knowing how wonderful you are, I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you. Elain,” he said, cracking open the box and showing her the ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

Tears were streaming down Elain’s face as she beamed down at him. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” She squealed, and Azriel quickly slipped the ring onto her left hand before taking her in his arms and spinning her around. “I love you so much, Az. And how did you know I wanted a pink diamond?” Elain asked once he had set her down, giving her time to admire her new ring.

“Oh, I may have asked Y/N for advice on what you’ve always wanted,” Azriel said.

“Ah, that was smart-”

“Oh my gods!” Feyre screamed, cutting Elain off and causing the pair to look over to her.

“What is it, Feyre?” Rhys asked worriedly, panic on his face after Feyre’s outburst.

Feyre took off running before answering, Rhys following immediately, and the rest of the inner circle exchanged looks before sprinting after them, leaving the confused citizens of Velaris behind.

They skidded to a stop at a balcony, where Feyre was leaning over it, sobbing.

“No!” She screamed, a guttural cry leaving her lips as she collapsed to the floor, Rhys barely catching her in time as she passed out in his arms.

“What is it, Feyre?” Nesta asked as she walked over to the balcony, glancing over the side herself. “Mother above! Y/N!” Nesta yelled, the first time that Azriel had heard true, heart wrenching pain in her voice, and she collapsed next to Feyre, tears streaming down her face.

Y/N?

But what would be wrong with Y/N? Azriel had left her in the hallway, not ten minutes before now.

Elain tugged him over to the balcony, her heart rate picking up just from the reactions of her sisters. When she peeked over the side, a scream left her lips, more wounded and hurt than Azriel thought she would ever sound. “Y/N!” Elain cried as she fell next to her sisters, the three of them huddled together once Feyre came to a moment later, her sobs picking up instantly, her hands clutching at her chest.

Azriel dared a glance over the side, his heart dropping to his stomach when he saw it.

Saw you.

Lying there, unmoving, darkness surrounding your body.

He gasped and stumbled back from the balcony, reality hitting him.

Dead.

You were dead.

You were his mate and you were dead!

Tears streamed down his face, and he couldn’t tell exactly what happened next, but soon enough Cassian was flying back up from the ground, your limp, unmoving body in his arms.

The three sisters’ sobs grew louder when they saw you up close, the three of them surrounding your body where Cassian had gently placed it on the floor. Feyre sat with your head resting in her lap, her hands running through your hair as she sobbed. Azriel watched on, a hand covering his mouth as he beheld your lifeless form.

“Why…? Why would she do this?” Feyre cried, resting her head on Rhys’s shoulder when he sat next to her. “I don’t understand, she was fine just a little bit ago…”

Azriel couldn’t help but feel partially responsible.

“I…” He started, but stopped before he got it out.

Nesta’s head whipped towards him, though. “You…? You what, Azriel?” She snapped.

All eyes followed suit, snapping to Azriel’s form, taking in the tears on his cheeks.

“I… Y/N is… was… my…”

“Spit it out,” Nesta growled, her voice icy with rage and grief.

“Y/N was my mate,” Azriel finally whispered.

Everyone gasped, but it was Elain’s face that broke his heart.

“Y/N was… I don’t understand,” Feyre said softly, watery eyes meeting Azriel’s. “What… What happened?” She asked between teary breaths.

“She… She told me, when she had asked to speak with me, Elain.”

“And?” The sharp question came from Rhys.

Azriel hesitated, but the pressure of all those teary eyes had him answering. “I rejected the bond. Just as I said I would.”

“You what?!” Nesta screeched as she launched her body towards him, only stopped by Cassian’s strong arms wrapping around her waist and holding her back from killing his brother. “You found out about the bond and rejected it in the same night?! In less than ten minutes?!”

Feyre was glaring at him, tears streaming down her face, and he was sure that if she wasn’t still cradling your head in her lap that she would be eviscerating him with Nesta’s help.

And Elain… She was staring at him with such sorrow in her eyes, the love that had been shining in them mere minutes before all but gone.

“I… I thought that it was what I should do, I love Elain,” Azriel explained, but he could tell it was the wrong words by everyone’s shock and disgust.

“So you turned down the bond? Just like that? You couldn’t even think about it? When it was Y/N?!” Nesta yelled, her struggles against her mate renewed with her outrage. “What in the hells is wrong with you?” She snarled, silver flames bursting from her fingers.

“You should go, Azriel,” Feyre said quietly, the calm before the storm. And he didn’t want to be here when his High Lady turned into a raging hurricane.

His gaze snapped to Elain, who had turned away from him, instead focusing on where her fingers were caressing your rapidly paling face.

“Az. Just, go home. Okay?” Cassian suggested, his own expression harder than it normally appeared, but still softer than everyone else around them.

Mor and Amren, who had been quiet throughout the ordeal, gave him pitying looks as he turned to leave, his wings drooping to touch the ground.

The three sisters wails grew in volume as he left them, Feyre’s the loudest among them as she mourned her twin, who she’d already lost in death once before, and nearly again to the terror that was the Cauldron.

He could hear the concerned chatter of the citizens of Velaris nearby, a few people daring to venture into the disallowed areas of the House to see what all the commotion had been about. Quickly, Azriel made his way to another quiet balcony, launching himself into the sky.

Tears were still falling from his eyes when he landed in front of his and Elain’s cottage- though he wasn’t sure if he should even call it that anymore.

She still said yes, his shadows whispered to him quietly, their voices tinged with sadness. But… Our mate… they wept softly, coiling tightly around him.

Azriel threw the door open, making a beeline for the bedroom. He collapsed by the foot of the bed, a sob ripping from his throat.

His mate. Gone.

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Three days later and his mate was being lowered into the ground, her decoratively carved wooden casket slowly taking her to her final resting place.

His mate. Dead.

It had been three days since he and Elain had spoken, though they had laid next to each other in silence each night when Elain came home from planning the funeral and mourning in the company of her remaining sisters.

She looked beautiful today, even in dull black mourning garb. Her engagement ring was still sparkling on her ring finger, the one ray of light still left in his life.

He couldn’t help but feel she was slipping through his fingers, though.

A situation entirely of his own making, he supposed.

After the ceremony and during the wake, he waited for Elain to approach him first.

“Hi, Az,” she said softly, settling herself into the chair next to him. He murmured a soft hello back. “I wanted to… Talk to you.”

“Oh? What about, ‘Lainey?”

A slight blush colored her cheeks at the nickname. “I wanted to know… What you said to Y/N. I just… I need to know if it was just the bond being rejected or…” She trailed off, turning her eyes from his hazel ones to the table.

“If I was needlessly cruel to her?”

Elain pursed her lips together. “Yes.”

Azriel sighed. He had hoped he would never need to admit how horribly his last interaction with his mate had gone. “I… I was not kind to her, not like I should have been. I wish I could change how I rejected her Elain.”

Elain’s mouth turned downwards. “What exactly did you say?”

Azriel looked at the ground. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he repeated his awful words to her, her eyes widening by the second.

“I… Azriel, I am sorry, but I cannot marry you.” She slipped the ring, the ring that was so, perfectly Elain, off of her finger and onto the table, sliding it over to him. “I would not be able to marry someone who could say such things to someone, let alone to my sister and their mate. I… I wish you the best. I’ll move my things out of the cottage as soon as possible.”

And with that, Elain stood from the table and walked back to where her sisters and his brothers were sitting, leaving him and his broken heart in her wake.

She’s right, master, the shadows whispered to him. You hurt our mate badly. She is gone.

Tears pricked Azriel’s eyes again.

A few minutes later, a black cloud encroached on his field of view-

His High Lady.

“You said WHAT to my twin?!” Feyre screamed at him, darkness flooding his vision. “You thought being her mate was a joke?! And when it wasn’t a joke, you told her she would never compare to Elain?! And that waiting for your mate, the one who was made for you, was a waste of time?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Feyre raged, her inner beast coming out, only for Azriel to see.

And he was horrified, terrified as his High Lady pinned him to the ground, talons cutting into the skin of his throat and piercing his left wing.

“I should rip you limb from limb,” Feyre hissed, her voice more animal than fae. “It is only for my mate that I will not, but you will leave this court and never return. Better yet, leave the fucking continent so that I am less tempted to hunt you down and slaughter you anyways.”

And then Feyre was off of him, letting her claws slice into his neck, just barely missing his jugular. The darkness receded, leaving him lying on the ground bleeding and Feyre standing over him, appearing as a fae again.

“Azriel.” Rhys approached the two of them, followed closely by Cassian, and extended a hand to help Azriel up. “Brother, you know that I love you. But… You can’t stay here. Not now. Not after… This.” A heavy sigh left his brother’s lips.

Cassian hugged him tightly, careful to avoid brushing against his now punctured wing.

“I’ll miss you, brother. Take care of yourself… Don’t… Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Cassian said quietly, tears shining in his eyes.

“I second that, Az. Be smart, hmm? I’m sure that you’ll find somewhere to hear from this, to change from this,” Rhys said aloud. Then, he spoke into his mind, “I know Feyre said to never return but… If you could, I would like for you to check in with me every month or so. Just to know that you’re alright.”

“I will,” Azriel replied in a soft voice, his throat sore from where Feyre had held him and cut him. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” he added as he regarded the three remaining Archeron sisters, knowing it would likely be the last time he would see any of them.

And then he took to the skies, even with his punctured wing making flight painful and more difficult than it had been since he first learned.

His mate, gone.

His family, gone.

It’s what I deserve.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

'the 1' Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @historygeekqueen @angelbunny222

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (II)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You only have a few days to convince Adar that he should keep you alive and choose you as his companion. You get to know him better, which makes you start feeling sorry for him – but not sorry enough to forgive him for defeating your lover. In the meantime, Adar's suspicions about Sauron's comeback give you hope.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hello! 🤗 Thank you for liking the first part of this story and I am sorry it's going a bit slower than I expected but I am job hunting at the moment and I might actually get one, which is an opportunity for me. Because of that, I was pretty busy those past few days + I have started a different multichapter fic as well. Please, keep your fingers crossed! 😊 Although, if I don't get the job, I will have more time for writing... 🤣 Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 🥰

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 5,120

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (II)

You spent the rest of the day in your chambers, watching the courtyard carefully from your window. The orcs were walking around it carefreely as if the saint trees did not grow there. They could not care less about anything holy. And at night they started a fire to sit around it while talking and laughing loudly in the most obscene manner. But because they went to sleep so late, they also were not up early – unlike you.

You got dressed in a black mourning gown, which was a beautiful piece made of velvet and lace. You were grieving in many ways after all – you were grieving your life that you could lose very soon and you were grieving the downfall of the fortress that had been your home for such a long time.

When you were finishing getting dressed, you looked out of the window and furrowed your brows at the sight of Adar approaching the holy trees and sitting on a bench underneath them. Was it possible that he prayed? You highly doubted that – even you were finding it difficult these days after the time you had spent with Sauron. An Elf as corrupted as Adar just could not pray, of that you were sure.

In that quiet moment in the early morning, you found your first chance to approach him but with a different attitude than on the day before. However, you were aware that the change of behaviour cannot be too sudden – otherwise, it would reek of falsehood.

Taking light steps, you walked up to Adar and even though he had to hear you coming, he did not even flinch. Only when you were very close to him, he turned his head around to look at you without a word. You did not say anything either and took a seat on the other side of the bench, clasping your hands on your lap and staring at the tree above you. He eventually stopped observing you and went back to looking at the tree as well.

“Do you pray to the Valars?” You asked calmly but with a hint of curiosity. Your eyes still remained on the benches of the tree, though. You refused to lock your eyes with him. Not yet.

Adar was not answering for a while, which made you grow nervous. But, thankfully, he eventually answered your question. Well, kind of.

“Do you?” He inquired without looking at you either.

“Nobody listens to my prayers,” you said, “but I like to come here and think.”

Adar nodded and the long silence occurred again. You were fidgeting with your fingers nervously throughout all that time but you didn’t mind him noticing that. You knew what kind of person you had to play – tough, mysterious and intriguing in a way. With a hint of darkness that would make him curious but also with a hint of innocence and nervousness that would make him feel compassion. You were sure he was still able to do it since he could treat the Orcs like children. You wanted him to pity you in a way – to pity you enough to keep you alive. And to intrigue him enough to make him want to keep you with him.

“You wore black today,” he pointed out with a smirk and finally looked at you. You turned your head around to meet his gaze and you felt your cheeks heating up. His eyes were intense and so far you caught yourself feeling all the things you wanted him to feel towards you – you were intrigued by him but you also felt sorry.

“I mourn Ostirith,” you informed him and watched his reaction but there was really none. He was as cold as a stone on the outside like he was on the inside.

Adar looked up at the benches with leaves. You looked there, too, following his gaze and from the corner of your eye, you spotted him staring at your exposed neck. You wondered what was going inside his head. Was a man like him ever thinking of women in the same way as other men did? Was he ever craving someone to be by his side? He had to be lonely.

Perhaps, you had to make him realise how much. And that he did not have to be anymore.

“What happened to you?” You broke the silence and looked at him again, which made him furrow his brows with a hint of anger. You expected this sort of reaction, so you quickly backed out. “Forgive me…” You lowered your voice and looked down, nervously.

You hoped he wouldn’t walk away and indeed – he did not. That was part of the success already, you thought. You waited patiently for his next move.

“Morgoth happened to me. Sauron,” Adar explained after a long while of silence. At the sound of your lover’s name, you felt shivers go down your body and you moved uncomfortably. You hoped he hadn’t noticed but why would he suspect you to know any of these men personally? You were only a naive daughter of the Lord Guardian of the Southlands.

“What do you mean?” You laid your eyes on him again and batted your eyelashes, trying to show him compassion with the way you looked at him. Adar hesitated before answering more of your questions.

“I followed Morgoth out of my own curiosity and thirst for knowledge and power. And then I paid the price,” he explained, sparing you the details. You wondered if it was because they were too painful to talk about or was it because he found you too delicate for them.

“Is it justified to blame them for your downfall, Lord Father?” You dared to ask. “Was it not your own pride and greed that caused it?”

Adar chuckled at that as he tilted his head to take a better look at you. You did not shy away this time, showing your inner strength.

“You are not afraid of me, my Lady,” he pointed out.

“Why would I be? I only have a week of life to live,” you reminded him. “For an Elf, that is nothing. It makes no difference to me if you kill me then or now.”

“Why would I kill you for asking questions?” Adar shook his head. “Curiosity is no stranger to me,” he added and looked away, sadly. You remained silent for another long moment, allowing him to make a decision if he should keep talking or not. “I know I have only myself to blame for what happened although I have to admit I was naive. I hoped for more than suffering. There was only pain,” Adar’s voice turned into a whisper and he looked away. 

You felt sorry for him now. You knew Sauron’s nature and you knew it was a result of Morgoth’s training of pain and suffering. You were not surprised to find out that your lover could inflict the pain on others as well. Everyone Morgoth had ever hurt turned out to be broken creatures who wanted nothing but revenge.

“Well, they are gone now, aren’t they? Morgoth and Sauron?” You asked, playing naive.

“Morgoth, surely. I cannot be completely convinced about Sauron. He is of a cunning nature. I have defeated him once but I shall defeat him again if I must,” Adar’s jaw clenched as he explained and your heart skipped a beat.

So there he was – the murderer of your beloved, right in front of you. And even though you hated him with every fibre of your being, you had to play it cool and bat your eyelashes, hoping to seduce him enough to make him want you as his companion.

But the fact that even Adar did not believe in Sauron’s disappearance from this world was giving you hope. He would come back… Of  that you were sure. He would come back and make you his Queen.

Adar’s eyes were filled with fire and hatred whenever he spoke of Sauron, so you didn’t want to continue this conversation for now. You nodded and you stood up to leave after hearing that some of the Orcs were already entering the sacred courtyard and approaching their Lord Father.

“I shall retire for now,” you explained. “It was a pleasure to talk with you, Lord Father.”

“You do not have to lie,” he snorted.

“I do not lie,” you lied. “You are different than what I thought. Forgive my rapid judgement but I was driven by fear. Have a good day, Lord Father,” you bowed your head and walked away.

On your way out of the courtyard, you walked past the filthy Orcs. You were trying your best not to flinch or wince as their eyes were following you with curiosity that was deeply uncomfortable. You did not want creatures of this sort to have any interest in you.

Even though you were trying to view them as any other species of Middle-earth, you simply couldn’t. They were too hideous and too disgusting. You knew how unfair was your judgement but you were sure that all Elves would agree when it came to the Orcs. And so would humans. Perhaps some species had only been created to make others feel unsettled.

You spent the rest of that day with your mother, cheering her up. You felt bad for her because she would pay for the sins she had not committed. You were not pure anymore and in many ways you deserved to die. Your father had turned out to be a vile creature of no backbone. But your mother was pure and innocent and she had been begging for you all to run away. She could have run away alone but she would never abandon her family. And now – because of how dutiful and loyal she was – she would die…?

You could not let that happen.

On the second day you were informed that Adar was in the library, looking through your father’s ancient collection of manuscripts. You pretended that you had not known about it and you entered the room very naturally, without paying any attention to your guest. You picked up some random volume and sat by the table, a few chairs away from the Lord Father. You were wearing your black dress again.

Adar looked up at you for a moment but when he realised you were not in the mood to talk, he just decided to ignore you as well. In the meantime, you were looking through the pages of the book you had chosen and pretended to read it in silence but in reality you were observing him from the corner of your eye.

“Are they your children because they remind you of yourself?” You asked all of a sudden while biting on your lower lip. Adar froze and looked up to lay his eyes on you. He did not say anything, so you explained. “They are damaged and do not belong with any other species. Nobody loves them but you because you know what it is like to not be loved at all,” you pointed out.

“Your father was right about your nature,” Adar cracked a smile. “You have a great intuition, my Lady,” he bowed his head to you and you smiled at his compliment. “That is not all, though. My children and I have more in common. We were all hurt by Sauron,” he explained.

“How?” You asked and titled your head.

“He wanted to enslave my children and use them like mindless tools but they are not… They deserve to live in freedom and peace,” Adar explained to you. In many ways, you felt as if he was your father who was explaining things to you in a gentle and soft manner. He was explaining to a naive daughter how the world worked.

But that was not the dynamic you were aspiring for.

“You speak of peace as if you haven’t burnt villages on your way. As if you haven’t killed the men and women who had denied to follow you. And those who had bent their knees, you have marked them like cattle. Do not talk about peace to me, intruder, when you are the one who brought the war to these lands,” you spat out and closed your heavy volume angrily.

The sound echoed through the walls as the dust raised up and danced in the air. When it fell down and the echo subdued, Adar spoke again.

“If we came in peace and asked for a piece of land to live there, would your people accept us?” Adar asked and you pursed your lips. You knew very well your answer would be a lie. Elves and humans would never accept the Orcs. Even the dwarves would not do that. “Some creatures are born with their right to live and others must fight for it,” Adar added and went back to the manuscripts.

The doors opened with a squeak and one of the Orcs entered the library. He was the one you had spotted many times before around the Lord Father and you assumed he was the closest to Adar.

The Orc took a step back at the sight of you and lowered his head a little. You could not blame him for that because you were staring at him with so much intensity and anger that it would intimidate many. Still, it felt oddly nice to see they respected you just because they could see that your kin was equal to their Lord Father. 

Despite Sauron’s corruption, you still were the bearer of the light. Nobody could tell just yet that the very root of this light was rotting deep inside of you. Especially not a common Orc. To him, you were the beacon in the middle of the ruins.

“What is it, my son?” Adar asked him but the Orc only shook his head, refusing to speak. You spotted his small eyes staring at you and you only smirked. “Do not fear her. She is a friend,” Adar explained and you furrowed your brows at that but you did not say anything.

“Well, then, my Lord Father, I just wanted to bring you the message from our scouts,” the Orc walked up to the table and handed Adar a small piece of paper.

“Thank you,” Adar took it from him gently and read it. The Orc kept staring at you with curiosity.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you stood up and walked past them to approach the doors.

The Orc bowed his head down after you and Adar looked up at him with a furrowed brow.

“What are you doing, my son? She is not your master,” he pointed out but you didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because you walked out of the library. You wished to hear the rest of it but it would be too suspicious.

You wondered, though, why the Orcs really treated you this way. Perhaps it was not because of the light you were carrying – perhaps it was quite the opposite. What if it was them who could smell Sauron on you? Your lover had been the one who had tried to enslave them in the past. Sauron would never treat them like children and he would never be their father. He had wanted to be their master.

Seeing their fearsome and filthy army profanating your home, you somehow wanted to be their master, too. You understood Sauron now – having such an army could make you feel invincible. They respected nothing and they were hungry for blood. The only thing you could not understand was how Adar was able to trust his own children. Perhaps that should be the next question you would ask him.

On the third day you approached him in the courtyard again, still in the same black dress. This time he was sitting by the fire with the Orcs but when you walked up to him, you froze at the sight of a baby Orc sitting on his lap. You kept staring at this strange little creature with a mix of emotions – the baby was still innocent but it was not pure by any means. Because of its kin, it was doomed like the rest of them.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” Adar’s voice made you snap back to reality and you cursed yourself for not being the one to ask him a question first on that day.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Father,” you nodded and took a seat next to him that was empty. At the sight of you getting near the baby, the father approached Adar to take his offspring. It was the Orc from the library.

“He does not trust me,” you pointed out, although you would not trust yourself either if you were them.

“His name is Glûg,” Adar told you. “None of them trusts you. 

“Do you?” You asked and batted your eyelashes while laying your eyes on him. Adar turned his head around to look into your eyes but he was visibly confused, so you changed the tactic. “Do you trust them?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They are my children.”

“I would not trust them if they have so much in common with you,” you teased. “Do you trust yourself?”

“They are all I have,” Adar opened his hands to show you the emptiness of them.

“You are lonely,” your voice saddened as your eyes filled with compassion. It was forced but you were a trained actress and your greatest power was that no one knew about your studies or your teacher.

Adar did not like your insinuation. He moved uncomfortably and sighed as he shook his head.

“I thought higher of you, my Lady… But you are here to help your father’s agenda, are you not? You are trying to convince me,” he smirked. “I am not interested.”

“My father’s agenda is not my own. It has never been and never will be,” you clenched your jaw as your eyes filled with anger and hatred. You despised him being even mentioned and you had been successfully managing to avoid him those past few days. In fact, every reminder of being his daughter was making the blood in your veins boil. “I simply wanted to say I know what it is like to be lonely. I am, too. I have always been,” you looked into the fire, following the dancing flames with your eyes.

That was not a lie – not fully. There had been a time in your life when you hadn’t felt lonely and that was the time you had shared with Sauron. But it had not been a long time, especially compared to your whole long Elven life.

“It must be lonely for a young Elven woman to grow up in Ostirith,” Adar admitted. “Isolating.”

“It was,” you nodded, refusing to look at him again. You were scared that your current vulnerability would reveal your true self to him. “I understand you… In some ways. To have so many children, to be loved… That would surely feel good,” you admitted.

“No,” Adar shook his head. “You do not understand me. You would, if you were able to see them as your children, too. You would not preach to me about war and peace then but you would feel the need to protect them no matter what price,” he said.

“We protect what we love,” you agreed as you nodded. All you could think of was him – Sauron. Dying somewhere, all alone, killed by his own army, betrayed. And you had not been there to protect him but even if you had been… What would you do? You were not powerful enough to do anything but watch. “Even if it is a hopeless case,” you finished.

A short silence occurred and you could feel the Lord Father watching you with curiosity.

“My children are not a hopeless case,” he only said.

You stood up and wiped the single tear that had escaped your eyes before. The Orcs around the fire stopped their conversations and they looked up at you, observing your movements.

“I shall go to see my mother now,” you informed Adar and he nodded at you but you could feel his eyes following you out of the courtyard.

On the fourth day you wore a crimson red gown that had been a gift to you from Sauron. It was a risky move but your parents had believed it was a dress you had gotten yourself in Eregion so why would Adar question it? 

You felt somehow powerful while walking down the hallways of Ostirith with all the Orcs moving out of your way, staring at you with a mix of curiosity, hatred and respect. You were on your way out of the fortress because you had seen through your window Adar walking out earlier. He was probably taking a walk in the forest surrounding the fortress and you missed walking, too.

The Orcs standing by the gate did not want to let you pass, though.

“Lord Father says your family can’t leave,” one of them drawled out as he looked you up and down, pointing his dagger at you.

“I am going to him. To your Lord Father,” you tried to reason with him in a calm manner.

“I don’t believe you, Elf,” he spat out as if your kin was an insult.

“Let her go,” another voice interrupted you. You turned around and spotted Glûg. His small eyes found yours and nodded before looking down again. “Lord Father says Dark Lady is a friend.”

“Dark Lady?” You asked, surprised, but there was no time to question it because the Orcs standing by the gate hesitantly let you pass, so you just decided to use the opportunity to walk out of the fortress.

You knew they were observing you, so after crossing the bridge, you went down the same forest path you had seen Adar taking before. But when you found yourself deeper inside the woods, you actually considered taking another turn and disappearing forever.

Where would you go, though? To Gil-galad? He would immediately sense the darkness inside of you because he was made of pure light himself. And you would never forgive yourself for abandoning your mother.

No, because of her you had to follow the same path Adar had chosen. And so you did, until you found yourself by the cliff. He was sitting on the edge and staring at the Southlands below him. Those were the lands he still had not conquered.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps but he did not question how you had managed to get out of Ostirith.

“Are you not mourning anymore?” He asked at the sight of your dress.

“I have accepted my fate,” you took a seat next to him and took a deep breath at the sight of the Southlands. “Are you going to conquer it all?”

“If I must,” Adar nodded and you looked at his hands. He was holding a piece of paper there like the one Glûg had brought to him on the second day.

“Why do you send the scouts? What news do they bring?” You bit on your lower lip. You were not scared of asking questions anymore because he was not angry at you for being curious, which he had proven already.

“I have reasons to believe that Sauron is back,” Adar looked at you and you flinched. Thankfully, he must have taken that reaction as fear or disgust instead of blooming hope inside of your chest.

“And what about it?” You raised your eyebrow.

“I shall destroy him again. And again and again until my children are safe,” he answered with anger as his eyes filled with rage. Sauron was his weak spot.

“You hate Sauron more than you love your children,” you risked the statement. “You would do anything to avenge what he did to you, no matter the cost. Many of your children will die while you chase him,” you explained.

“I shall not watch him turn my children into slaves!” Adar squeezed his fist with the paper inside of it. His anger did not scare you, though. Somehow, the news about Sauron made you feel more fearless and more peaceful. Everything would be alright, all the pieces were coming together.

“Because if he does… You will be alone again. All alone,” you only pointed out softly and you stood up to walk away and go back to the fortress. “But you do not have to be.”

“Why would you follow me if not to save your life?” Adar asked and you froze after turning around already. You smiled to yourself nervously.

“Why do your children call me a Dark Lady?” You asked.

“They have not met an Elf like you before. You are different. Dark,” Adar explained.

“And you?” You turned your head around, confused.

“I am an Uruk,” he explained and you nodded.

“If I died now, I would still see Valinor. It would heal me and save me,” you revealed, “if I followed you, I would be doomed forever. Following you is not cowardice. It is an act of courage and a sacrifice.”

“Why?”

“I have always wanted more,” you admitted and turned your head around again to take the first step towards the forest but Adar wanted to ask one more question before you would go:

“If you could save only one person out of the whole fortress, who would it be?”

You did not hesitate with your answer. She was the reason for this all.

“My mother,” you told him.

On the fifth day you were sitting in the courtyard on the bench under the holy trees while the Orcs were sitting behind you by the fire. You could feel their eyes observing you but they were not bothering you and you were not bothering them. You were waiting for their Lord Father to join them to continue your game. You knew that you were running out of time.

Sitting there and looking up at the leaves, you were lost in your thoughts. You sighed and then you felt something pulling on the fabric of your dress. When you looked down, you saw the baby Orc staring up at you. At first, you winced out of disgust but you quickly hid that expression and the baby was too little to snitch on you later.

You looked around but you could not spot any worried parents looking for their offspring, so you assumed they still had not realised the baby was gone and you did not want to raise the alarm and bring everyone’s attention to yourself.

The baby Orc tugged on your dress again and then it lifted its hands up. You decided to give it a chance… Perhaps it would make you understand Adar better.

You picked the baby up gently and put it on your lap. The little Orc was actually interested in the leaves of the sacred Elven trees and it made you chuckle. You reached your hand to pick one of the leaves and use it to tickle the baby a little.

You heard familiar and heavy footsteps behind you so you turned your head around and you spotted Adar with Glûg beside him. They both froze at the sight but you did not care about the Orc at all, you focused on the Lord Father. You were staring into his cold eyes intensely as if you were challenging him.

“Forgive us, Dark Lady!” Glûg ran up to you to take his child from your arms. “Forgive my son for bothering you,” he bowed his head down.

You did not say anything to that but you handed the leaf to the baby so the little one would still have his new “toy” for a while longer. When Glûg walked away with his son, you laid your eyes on Adar again and he approached you slowly and sat next to you.

“I spoke with your father,” he started and you winced at yet another reminder of whose daughter you were. “Tomorrow at dawn by this tree,” he said and you could not understand the meaning of his words at first and then you realised he was handing you something.

A silver ring.

You nearly gasped at the sight. He claimed to be an Uruk but the traditions he followed were Elven. Where had he even taken it from? You assumed your father had given him one. You, however, were not prepared.

“I… I do not have one,” you admitted in a whisper.

“That is alright. Just have the golden one for tomorrow,” Adar attempted to actually make a joke and you cracked a nervous smile as you reached your hand towards him. “Are you sure, my Lady? There is no going back from this.”

“I am sure,” you nodded, trying to sound as firm as possible.

Oh, you were sure. You were sure that Sauron would come for you soon and he would be pleased with your cunning schemes that would help him in the end. That he would kiss you again like in the old days, that he would put the crown onto your head and make everyone in Middle-earth to bow down for you. And that he would be grateful for your sacrifice just to bring him justice… You were sure.

Adar nodded and put the ring onto your finger. When the act was done, long silence occurred between you two. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and he eventually held your hand in his, which nearly made you feel sorry for him for a moment.

“The days of loneliness are about to be over for us,” you tried to sound sweet but not too much because it would be suspicious. “I shall serve you with advice and companionship, Lord Father.”

Adar nodded at those words and his cold hand squeezed yours even tighter.

“I shall build a new life for us where we can be ourselves freely, Dark Lady.”

And when he let go of your hand to stand up and walk away, you truly felt bad for him. You hated him for hurting Sauron but he was more than that – he was hurt and sad. His pure Elven nature was twisted and the light of Valinor was gone from his soul. What he truly needed was healing even though it was too late for him now.

You would not bring that to him, though. You were a treacherous bearer of death and all you could think of on that night before your wedding was the moment when Sauron would save you and put a crown onto your head.

MASTERLIST

[funnycreatortimetravel]

Whenever I rewatch the Madoka Magica episodes + the two recap movies, I always feel that the sentiment "Homura did nothing wrong," shines through the most here and less so Rebellion (I'll get into this later) even though ironically, the Rebellion movie is where that infamous saying was coined.

-Homura cannot DO any wrong when everything sort of already goes wrong no matter if she intervenes or not. Mami dies whether or not Homura intervenes (she goes crazy when she finds out that magical girls are all destined to turn into witches and then goes on a murder-suicide rampage, she's killed by Walpurgis, she gets caught off guard, etc.) All of these deaths happened on Mami's accord and not Homura's, so of course there's no wrongdoing to be had.

-Even if you argue that Homura could've been nicer to her, Mami automatically assumed that Homura had the worst intentions for Madoka and the others, so she never really gave her a chance even WHEN Homura went through the effort of finding a grief seed solely to befriend Mami (which Homura does in most timelines FYI.) The moment Homura isn't Mami's sweet little junior student anymore, Mami is automatically on defense and even calls her a loser just because she doesn't want Madoka to make a contract, and Mami just assumes that it's because Homura doesn't want competition (which makes no sense because Homura offered her a grief seed.)

-Mami does the same thing to Kyoko in the Different Story Manga; Once Kyoko's parents died and she became distraught, she didn't want to follow Mami's ideals anymore and this leads them into getting into a physical altercation (sound familiar?)

-Mami has never been a person you can just causally talk things through to. If she believes you don't share the same ideals on things, she can and will fight you. She doesn't fight Sayaka or Madoka because those two largely agree with her on everything, but Kyoko and Homura? They're free game if they so much as look at her sideways.

-Mami also says that making a wish should be something you seriously think about and not just dive in willy nilly, but then turns around and tells Madoka that she should wish for a cake if she still hasn't figured it out all because Mami doesn't want to be alone.

-I'm going to give Mami the benefit of the doubt and assume she wasn't being serious, but she knows how impressionable Madoka is and regardless of how serious or not she is, she's still fine with Madoka making a wish and becoming a magical girl just so she won't be lonely anymore.

-Homura tries her damn hardest to befriend Mami (she offers her a grief seed as I mentioned earlier, she listens when Mami tells her to go away without a fuss, and she warns Mami of the witch Charlotte only to be ignored and tied up) and the only thing she gets in return is Mami's unwarranted hostility. And once Homura is proven right and Mami is beheaded in front of Madoka and Sayaka, causing an insurmountable amount of trauma to them, she still quietly grieves for her even when all Mami did was assume the worst with no evidence.

-I don't necessarily blame Mami for assuming that Homura didn't have the best intentions since she's a veteran and I'm certain has had other negative run-ins with magical girls, but it's not like Homura even provided enough evidence that she would be like them. Mami was just being territorial due to force of habit (she's fine with other magical girls so long as they stay her juniors as evident in Rebellion when the moment Homura "turns different," she's highly suspicious and is ready to go guns blazing.) She doesn't even give Homura a chance to explain herself in either the show or the movie and that's one of her biggest flaws; she's so perfectionist that she can't even see what's in front of her sometimes.

-Despite this, Homura still values her as her old mentor and is hurt when the person who saved her all those timelines ago calls her a loser to her face. She even says that Mami has the softest heart of all and wishes she could forget how she trampled over her and other's feelings, (even though when you look back, Mami was the one who hurt her feelings rather than the other way around.)

And yet she still says this...

-"And it hurt me..." Homura admitting that shows just how much she cares. The fact that she's able to admit that it wasn't what Mami said that hurt her, but the fact that shattering Mami's optimistic viewpoint with the reality of the magical girl system was what hurt.

-Homura knows about Mami's tragic backstory with her parents and also knows that Mami, "doesn't have any other family to speak of," which shows she's been very close to Mami at one point, even seeing her vulnerable side just like Madoka did when Mami had that breakdown shortly before she died to Charlotte.

-She also "envies Mami" because Madoka states that she'll remember her even after she dies. Homura is obviously envying Mami because Madoka will forever see Mami in a good light in death while Madoka is afraid of her, but she could also just be envying Mami because, well, Mami died and left Madoka feeling attached to her while Homura thought she was going to die without ever being able to be close to Madoka as she once was. Context clues people, context clues.

-If you look at the different story manga, which I and many others consider canon, Homura clearly still has PTSD from Mami's murder-suicide attempt, which is the main reason why she tries to be gentle with her and listen to her when she's ordering Homura around.

-And she also notes that Mami never "held her hand," like that. Regardless of what Homura thinks, she clearly still wants or wanted that intimacy with Mami. She still saw her as an older sister figure and I know it crushed her heart when Mami said something so cruel to her.

-She also declines when Mami believes that Homura is going to kill her, even though her soul gem is stained and she technically is on her way to becoming a witch. Instead, Homura imparts some words to her.

-In the case of Sayaka...Whooo boy, it's like ten times worse than Mami. Sayaka is so caught up in her ideals that she hates anything too wild and selfish, but also weak and passive. She craps on Kyoko for being immoral and then also craps on Madoka AND Homura for not doing enough (she says that Madoka has a lot of potential but doesn't do anything with it and says Homura is too unskilled to fight effectively.) She views herself, or at least tries to, as the ultimate magical girl of justice who's moral, selfless, and most of all, strong. She doesn't view Homura, at least the one in the past timelines, as someone strong enough to be a proper magical girl.

-Sayaka holds everyone to the standard of Mami Tomoe, someone who's graceful, strong, and selfless, but she never gets the chance to realize that that version of Mami Tomoe isn't the real one and the standard she holds herself and others don't exist, which is why in every single timeline, she ALWAYS ends up witching out. It's also why in every timeline, she's antagonistic to Homura no matter if it was her timid self or the one hardened by trauma.

-She blames Homura in one timeline for attempting to warn them about Kyubey, accusing her of trying to split the group up, but then in Magia Record, when Homura DOESN'T tell them about Kyubey because she's seen how pointless it is, Sayaka gets on her case for not telling them sooner and accuses her of not telling because Homura "finds it funny." She literally can't win, no matter how quiet and out of the way she is.

-And it doesn't get better once Homura becomes "stronger" (or at the least the facade of becoming it) Sayaka just thinks that she's one of those magical girls who kills only for herself (and while Sayaka's not ALL the way wrong as she will kill solely for Madoka, she also doesn't understand that the system is designed to be like that and that's the fault of Kyubey and not Homura.)

-We're never actually shown Homura saving civilians, but we also don't see her sit idly by and let them get hurt either. Homura's viewpoint is that magical girls aren't morally obligated to be heroes and she's right; magical girls are cattle being harvested and the "good" they do is only delaying the inevitable once they witch out. No matter how noble and pure Sayaka was or wanted to be, she was eventually going to witch out and harm others, even if she wanted to save people.

-The nature of magical girls is equivalent exchange; whatever "good" is done, an equal amount of or even more bad is sure to come of it. Sayaka was going to keep killing innocent civilians as a witch until someone put her out of her misery, and that was what Homura was going to do. Sayaka doomed herself the moment she made a contract with Kyubey, and more importantly, she doomed innocent civilians, and she doomed her friends.

-Sayaka's witching out leads Mami to go crazy and attempt to kill everyone, Madoka making a contract in several timelines to save Sayaka from witching out (she does so in the Different Story Manga and Sayaka still ends up hurt) and Kyoko dying either from suicide during her confrontation with Octavia or dying from the wounds she sustains from the battle. Not to mention Sayaka witching out breaks Madoka's psyche, which is what Homura is trying to avoid.

-It would be one thing if Sayaka just died on her own accord, but she always brings others with her down her descent into despair, whether it's by killing civilians as a witch or being mean to Madoka and making her feel as though Sayaka's witching out was partly her fault.

-That's why Homura was in the right to "put her down" essentially, and even though she said she would, she couldn't bring herself to because somewhere deep down, she still cared for Sayaka. She apologizes for blowing up Sayaka in one of the first few timelines when she witches out and she blames herself for Sayaka making a contract in the TV series timeline, even saying that she should've protected Sayaka as much as Madoka even though Sayaka has never been anything BUT mean to her in the beginning. She takes responsibility for the girls' downfall even though it was inevitable.

-Another thing is her kinship with Kyoko. Because Kyoko and Homura both grew up in religious homes (Homura with catholic school and obliviously Kyoko's father being a preacher) they have the closest views on what it means to be magical girls. Note how I didn't say similar, but closest. Homura and Kyoko's wishes were for someone else, and as a result, they firmly believe that their wishes are for the sake of those people and won't pretend to be heroes or the like. The only difference is that Kyoko is much wilder and rougher because her wish directly led to the murder-suicide of her family (cough cough, like a big sister figure that killed her OTHER found family.)

-It's also the reason why Homura and Kyoko became so close in Rebellion. Kyoko was the only magical girl, apart from Madoka and even SHE sometimes didn't trust Homura, to kill Walpurgis. Kyoko agrees to fight with Homura and even though she is purely doing this for her benefit, she at least gives Homura a CHANCE and hears her out, even offering her a pocky stick. She was willing to team up with her and was also the first person that Homura felt comfortable talking to in Rebellion when she felt that something was up.

(I'll go into further specifics in another post since I ran out of image/video usage. Damn this app 😭.)

[random-person10]

Warfare

I don't think I will ever watch this movie. I've seen reviews, trailers, interviews, and the whole song and dance.

As a Iraqi girl who's parents suffered the events, aftermath, and consequences that Iraq was left with during and after the war, and who's visited Iraq multiple times including within the past 2 years. This movie is as tone-deaf as it gets.

I respect American soldiers for one reason and one reason only, and it's because they were just a bunch of unassuming Americans who were chosen in their youth to go and risk any sort of future they might've had for a country who lied and chose to use them as pawns for things deemed as more valuable than their souls and the people they were fighting. These people's lives are forever ruined and there isn't even a justification for any of the sacrifices they made, they left the country worse than they entered it, and it's something they have to live with for the rest of their lives.

American soldiers hold more guilt than any of the actual people responsible for this war ever will.

That said, I cannot express this well enough through a keyboard, but I am fucking sick of watching Iraq and it's war be exploited for the 6th millionth time ever.

Go and fucking search a movie about the goddamn Iraq war and bring me one fucking movie that isn't about the American perspective. None. And that's pretty fucking rich knowing there is well over 20+ movies made about it. THE WAR IS BARELY 20 YEARS OLD.

The only stuff talking about the Iraqi perspective are documentaries, ones that no one's heard of or watched. And to be fucking frank, who's gonna pick a goddamn documentary about a sad country they know nothing about, when there's a movie about guns and shit with Bradley Cooper as the main character.

I've heard the American side and I truly grieve for what they've seen, but what about the children, mothers, fathers, futures, landmarks, houses, businesses, hospitals, and stories of the goddamn civilians in the country where said war happened? Destroyed with no one left in the world to listen to them or make amends.

This war has affected the Iraqi population so deeply that people are still trying to fix the damage themselves without any help from the US. While American soldiers got to go back to safety, Iraqis still had to deal with the dismantled government and destroyed land that the USA left in it's cool cinema-worthy tank tracks.

Warfare wasn't even filmed in Iraq for fucks sake.

Why is it that whenever we are told the Iraqi perspective it's incoherent and foreign? Why is it not simply just human?

If English is the issue then there are English-speaking Iraqis, there are translators, there are a million ways to get it fucking across. Chernobyl (Ukrainain) was acted in fucking English, I'm sure we can give the Iraqi characters clear and intelligible screen time.

And on top of it all, warfare also gets a spectacular cast pick. Ugh like what the fuck is the point anymore? Is the US running low on soldiers again?

How many times do I have to see the catastrophes that my country went through get acted out like it's some play by white men who usually get paid to play house on camera.

I understand the movie is trying to show you how bad and horrendous war is, and in some expensive and weird way it's Ray Mendoza's attempt at expressing his trauma to warn others off of war. But, I wished he expressed a trickle of political and emotional empathy. Instead, it's nothing new. It's just another Iraq war movie. Yay.

There are a million Iraqis who will gladly tell you about their lives during the war. They'll tell you every detail, every traumatic moment, every loss they experienced.

You can make a movie about that. You can go ahead and show Iraqis as more than dirty barefooted children who scream and play in one scene only to get bombed in the next.

[sorceress-of-stories]

🩸Blood of Origin - Alucard x Reader 🩸

P A R T 4

○●○● AUTHORS NOTE○●○●

Parts 1 | 2 | 3

[TRIGGER WARNING:]

this story and its parts/chapters may have the following content: violence, adult language, alluding to SA, gore, sexual themes, depictions of birth, talk of death, grieving

Viewer discretion advised :)

🩸

Targoviste, September 1468

THE SUN SHONE DOWN FROM THE HEAVENS, its relentless rays stilling the wind and stifling the air. Sweat dripped down Adrian's face, his blond hair sticking to the nape of his neck. He held a wooden sword, body poised in defense, watching his father intently. Dracula nodded once before dashing forward, his own wooden sword in hand. Adrian's golden eyes widened as he attempted to channel his speed, to move at the precise moment to dodge his father's attack. Instantly Dracula was upon him, forcing Adrian to tumble backwards. His wooden sword clattered to the ground, and in a flash his father's sword was at his throat, mere inches from the pale flesh.

"Do not think too hard about summoning your power," Dracula stood to his full height, releasing his hold on the boy, "let it move through you."

"I'm trying." the young dhampir grumbled, bending to pick up his practice sword. "You're too fast, father."

Unlike his other abilities, Adrian's power of speed had a tendency to slip from his fingers. He struggled with perfecting the flow of it, either accidentally calling upon it at inopportune times or not being able to channel it at all when he tried to summon it.

Dracula smirked at his son. "Try again."

For hours they practiced, the sun slowly arcing across the sky. Most times Dracula made his mark, but there were some instances Adrian successfully drew from his power. His father smiled proudly at his son before announcing the end.

Adrian thanked his father before stowing away the practice weapons. Without another word he set out to the surrounding forest, searching for you. The moment he got to the tree line he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and listened.

It was subtle, the near whisper of your singing, but he grinned all the same as he heard it. Immediately he began to run, your voice growing louder and louder until he found you laying upon the heather and staring up at the tree canopy. You twirled a blade of grass in your fingers, the movements in tune with your song.

"Found you." he stated simply.

You did not startle, as you had grown used to his talent for seemingly appearing from nowhere. It always amazed you, though, that he could always find you. No matter how far you seemed to be, all he had to do was listen.

"You always do," you sat up, picking the pieces of plant matter from your hair, "how was training?"

"I was only able to channel it twice." he mumbled, settling next to you. You reached into the small satchel beside you, pulling out a waterskin from within. You offered it to him first before taking a sip for yourself, humming as the cool liquid soothed your throat.

"Father said to feel it, not think. But how can I feel something if I cannot think?" he shook his head, his golden hair cascading down his back.

"I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders, "that seems hard."

"It is hard. But father makes it look so easy! I want to be just like him." he peered up at the tree canopy before laying back. You followed his movements, now shoulder to shoulder. You laid there silently, listening to the sounds of the forest around you. The heat was not as stifling in the greenery, the cool earth at your backs.

"I want to be as powerful as he is. To be a true warrior. He can call upon his speed without issue."

You said nothing, your eyes trained on the branches above. You had seen Dracula's power for yourself over the years. His show of strength when a tree fell and obstructed the dirt road, or his speed when he'd take you and Adrian flying through the surrounding forest. You always marveled at his gifts, and as Adrian began to show an affinity for it himself, you grew jealous. You could not run at the speed of wind or call upon godlike strength. From an early age you learned it was because he was dhampir, not human like you. You could see the spirits of plants and trees, hear their thoughts and sense their feelings. Nothing so fantastical as Adrian or his father. Little did you know, however, that Adrian felt the same for your abilities, wishing with all his heart that he could see what you did, feel what you did. But alas, neither of those wishes would come to pass.

"I wouldn't worry," you began, "it takes time for things to grow."

"I am already twelve! Father said it should be any day now. What if I never grow strong enough? How am I to protect you and mother?"

You turned to face him, the grass tickling the side of your face as you did so. His elegant features were pulled into a worried expression, his lips drawn in a frown. Even in this unhappy state he was beautiful like the sun, radiant as light. While he did not share the same aura as his mother, his own teal light was just as beautiful, emanating around his person. It was the perfect fusion of Lisa's bright gold and Dracula's dark blue. You blinked, focusing your attention on his face, no longer seeing the light blue around him.

"You always protect us." you said.

"Not like father does," he turned to face you, "besides, I want to travel with father. See all the different lands and cities and people he tells us about. He said I cannot do that until I can control my powers."

You listened quietly as he continued to ramble. Adrian always talked of seeing the world, begging his father to allow him to accompany him. Alas, traveling long distance with a young boy who was all but twelve was a difficult task, especially in the world of men.

"Where would you go first?" you asked.

"Hmm," he thought about it for a moment, "I want to visit your mother's homeland with you."

Your eyes widened as a small blush crept along your cheeks. "That would make me very happy."

Adrian smiled, and you knew then you had helped him from his loop of worry. "Let us make a promise then. When I am strong enough, we will go to your homeland together. Promise?" he held out his pinky for you to take.

You stared at it for a moment before grabbing it with your own. "Promise."

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

Tarvogiste, October 30th 1468

THE VIEL BETWEEN THE WORLD OF THE LIVNG AND THE WORLD OF DEAD WAS THIN. You could feel it in your being, sense it in the restlessness of the trees. The moon was a pale disk hidden behind dense grey clouds, the air crisp and scented with the sweet smell of fallen leaves and wet earth. You stood still, your eyes trained on your mother's grave, as you recited an ancient prayer to honor her in the afterlife.

She was buried at the base of an aspen tree at the western-most point of the meadow, in accordance with her ancestral practices. Lisa had known, without a shadow of a doubt, that you needed to foster the link with your mother even in the afterlife. And so, after that fateful day, her body was brought to the Tepes lands and laid to rest.

It was a simple grave, marked by a smooth grey boulder. On its surface her name was inscribed in her mother language and a small bouquet of roses lay at the base of it. Lisa and Dracula stood to your right, Adrian beside them, heads downcast as you recited the ancient prayer with ease. When you finished you turned to Aunty Lissy, a small smile on her lips. Silently she passed a silver bowl laden with bread and honey to you and kissed your forehead. You knelt, careful not to spill the contents, and lay the offerings next to the bundle of roses.

Sometime later you rose, the cold of the night settling into your bones. Lisa had stayed with you, while father and son returned to the cottage. She kept silent as she watched you, a curious look spreading across your features.

You continued to stare at the headstone, watching as the flickering of a candle flame danced in the gentle breeze. Suddenly you felt something pulling and tugging deep within your soul, felt a force peering at you through the shadows, gentle whispers in a voice you had never heard before. When you glanced up you saw it, a small, greyish white orb floating above the forest floor, wispy vapors tumbling from it like smoke.

"Aunty?"

"Yes, dear girl?"

"There's a spirit," your voice was low as you continued to watch it gently sway, "it's watching us."

"Oh?" she peered out in your line of sight. She knew that she would not be able to see anything, for she did not have your gift. All that met her gaze was the dark forest. "Is it a tree spirit?"

You continued to watch it with wide eyes. It did not look like any nature spirit you had seen before. They almost always looked humanoid, with featureless faces. Slowly it moved towards you, its greyish light illuminating the surroundings trees.

"N-No," you stuttered, backing away from the headstone, "it is not a nature spirit."

Lisa's eyes widened as fear took over you. She watched as you continued to back away, until you were at her side.

"Please stop!" you shouted. The moment it heard you, it ceased its movements. The whispering continued to grow, indistinguishable words filling the air.

"My dear girl, what is it?" worry gripped Aunty Lissy as she continued to watch you. You were never afraid of nature spirits, even when you were young. "What do you see?"

"It's round, grey and white." you squinted your eyes. "I have never seen it before."

Lisa peered out once again before grabbing your hand. "Come now, inside."

You followed silently, watching as the orb slowly followed across the meadow. It took everything in you to not scream, but the moment you crossed the cottage threshold, it disappeared.

~

The very next morning, you were pulled from your sleep by unfamiliar pain. It gripped your lower belly like a vice, tightening until you could no longer breathe. A lone whimper fell from your lips, and not a moment later Adrian dashed through your door and was by your side, worry written across his features. Even though his chambers were down the fall from yours, he could hear and sense your discomfort. He could always tell when you were in pain, hear when you had restless sleep.

"What is it? What is wrong?" his blond hair was pulled back in a braid, his body still clad in his night clothes.

"It hurts-" another pain ripped your words away, tears threatening to spill.

Adrian's brows knit together as he gently pulled your blankets back. Immediately he saw the dark crimson stains on the mattress, fear striking him to the core. "Don't move. I'll go get mother!" he ran off, shouting for help. You curled into yourself, arms supporting your stomach as tears spilled down your face. You felt warmth spreading underneath you, panic swelling.

"What is it, dear girl?" Lisa entered the room, panic rising in her throat. However, the moment she saw the dark stains on your mattress and gown, it was quelled immediately. A small smile of understanding graced her lips as she sat by your side, rubbing your back gently.

"Adrian, my love, can you boil some water?"

"But-" he didn't want to leave your side.

"She will be alright. Please, my dear, fetch the water for me."

Adrian glanced over at you before nodding, following his mother's request. When he left the room Lisa pulled you to her chest. "It will be alright, love."

With gentle movements Lisa helped you out of your gown, passing you the ewer of water to clean yourself, all the while reassuring you all was well when you saw the blood stains.

"Am I going to die?" you asked in a small voice.

"No, my dear girl. You aren't going to die. Do you remember what I told you what happens when a girl comes of age?"

You looked up with her with wide eyes, realization slowly dawning. "That we bleed with the moon."

"That's right. And the moon was full last night, was it not?"

Her words settled the fear in you. She was right, of course. As a doctor, Lisa made sure to teach you everything you needed to be healthy, to be prepared as you grew. She made it no secret when she would bleed, and instead, took time to educate and explain things about why it was happening and how to take care of yourself when it did. You never envisioned it could happen in your sleep, however. Or be this painful.

"Let me show you how to make some wrappings. And then, my dear girl, you and I will have some raspberry leaf tea. How does that sound?"

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. Lisa held out her hand for you to take, and silently you made your way to the dining hall, fear dissipating to nothing.

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[Taglist]

@brokeaesthetic @anakinishotdoe @wendds @mirapril @reyya-rea

[greenandsorrow]

SOLITUDE

David 8 x fem!reader Inspired by "Solitude" - M83, Felsmann + Tiley

Somewhere back in time I left a part of me. I wanna see if you can try to bring it back to me...

The ship is lost, drifting without course, without purpose.

David does not dream. He does not forget.

But he remembers -remembers the way you once smiled when the Prometheus had a destination, when hope still shimmered in your eyes like distant starlight.

Now, you barely look at him. The light is dimming.

He wonders if it is possible to bring it back.

You gotta go where I cry and take in all the tears. I wanna see if you can try... drink a little bit of me.

You do not cry in front of him. You turn away, curling into yourself, fragile and human.

But he sees the remnants -the quiet heaving of your shoulders when you think he is not watching, the way your hands tremble when you grip the console.

He does not know what it means to ache. To grieve.

But he kneels beside you in the dim glow of the failing ship, hands folded neatly, and listens.

"I want to go home" you whisper.

David tilts his head. "We are home."

"No. No, we're not."

He does not argue.

No. No. Just a little lonely where I am...

Time drifts, weightless. Like the ship.

David walks the corridors in silence. Checks the systems. Records observations no one will ever read.

You sleep more now. Speak less.

Loneliness is not an emotion he was designed to feel.

And yet, when you no longer meet him in the mess hall, when your voice fades from the ship's halls, he notices the absence.

He lingers outside your door.

Listening.

Waiting.

Take me back in time. I wanna see if you can smile, if I become a better man.

He sifts through old footage. Pieces of you, before the mission soured. Before the silence swallowed you whole.

There, a smile. Faint, fleeting. But real.

David studies it. Memorizes the curve of your lips, the way your eyes crease at the edges. A pattern, a possibility.

If he could replicate the conditions. If he could say the right words.

Would you smile again?

I need you, now I know.

Just give me one more time, I'm gonna try and be your friend, so we can beat the end.

He brings you tea. The way you used to drink it.

Sets it beside you without a word, as you sit curled in the observation deck, staring at the void.

You blink, surprised. Then, slowly, you take it.

The silence stretches, fragile, but different this time.

David sits beside you.

Watching.

Waiting.

And when you reach for his hand -hesitant, searching- he lets you.

He tilts his head in careful curiosity. "You are isolating yourself."

You do not look at him. "Does it matter?"

David considers. In theory, it should not. You are human. You deteriorate. That is the nature of your existence.

But something stirs -an error, perhaps. A miscalculation.

The ship drifts on.

Alone.

Together.

No.

You do not wake up.

He finds you in your quarters, curled beneath the thin blanket, as still as the ship around you.

David places a hand on your shoulder. Presses gently. Your skin is cold. Your pulse? Slow.

You are slipping away.

For the first time, David does not know what to do.

He was designed to mimic care, to simulate comfort. But he cannot stop your cells from breaking down, cannot rewrite your biology. He cannot reach inside you and fix what is unraveling.

He cannot fix what is broken. Only to observe the decay.

So he does the only thing he can.

He sits beside you, perfectly still, fingers curled around your wrist.

Waiting.

He does not pray. He does not hope. But if you open your eyes, if you breathe just a little stronger-

Maybe he will understand what it means to be human.

Maybe he will understand what it means to lose.

No.

Something changes.

You start speaking again -but not to him.

You spend time with another crew member, one of the few still alive.

A human.

Someone who can feel hunger, pain, the coldness of space pressing in. Someone who understands you in a way he cannot.

David watches from a distance as you sit together, hands brushing, laughter returning in hesitant fragments.

He calculates the odds of this development changing your psychological state for the better. The probability is high.

He should be satisfied.

He is not.

No.

He replays footage of you. Your laughter. Your voice.

He has adjusted his mannerisms, softened his words, mimicked warmth. He has given you space when necessary, company when needed.

He has tried.

And yet, when you smile now, it is not for him.

It is for someone else.

He was never meant to be jealous.

But as he watches you lean into another's embrace, as your eyes finally regain their light-

Something inside him fractures.

No.

After that, something between you and David returns -not the same as before, not what it once was, but a quiet understanding.

You do not seek him out the way you used to, but when he is near, you do not pull away. When you find yourself alone in the dead hours of the ship's cycle, you let him sit beside you.

But your heart is elsewhere.

He knows this because he sees the way you lean into the other crew member, the way your hands brush in the dim corridors, the way your breath steadies when they speak your name.

David was never designed to envy.

But now, he thinks, perhaps he was simply never given the chance.

Because when he sees you with them, something in him tightens, something unresolved, something wrong.

It is not longing.

It is not anger.

It is not grief.

It is something nameless, something endless.

And it is his alone to bear.

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💙my masterlist

💙 I'm strangely proud of this one. It's old and had been in my drafts since forever, but once I sat down and edited it... I'm rewatching Prometheus tonight, yay!!

Resources by @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune.

[natequarter]

Me on a date: The Sarah Jane Adventures lures you in with a closed-off and paranoid single woman living alone who slowly opens up to her much younger friends in an obvious parallel to the Doctor, particularly the Third Doctor (alone and miserable on Earth, which she cannot leave, unwilling to open up to her friends but slowly coaxed out of her shell); Sarah is the protagonist of The Sarah Jane Adventures, but she is not its hero. We see hints at her trauma, emotional repression, and paranoia over the course of the show; she repeatedly lies to her charges, to the point where they essentially have to stalk her to keep track of her, and she’s fundamentally incapable of relating to ‘average’ people, because she never really adapted back to life on Earth, emotionally or psychologically, and never learnt to grieve. All of this is a compelling, if implicit, storyline on its own, but it hits much harder if you’ve listened to the Big Finish audio series Sarah Jane Smith, in which Sarah is explicitly depicted as an antihero who willingly and recklessly endangers herself and her friends because she’s miserable without the adrenaline of danger and saving the world. Her heroics more often than not cause more harm than good; she cuts herself off from her friends just to solve mysteries (to the point it puts her life at risk), she throws herself into situations that nearly kill her multiple times, and many people die because of her intervention, some of them innocent. The only way she can rationalise the Doctor leaving her to herself is that there was some higher purpose. The artifice of prophecy pervades the entire series; time and time again it becomes clear that any instance of ‘coincidence’ or ‘fate’ are actually down to the machinations of time travel, Sarah, or the cult that has dedicated itself to fulfilling its doomsday predictions. Sarah in The Sarah Jane Adventures is an obvious Doctor stand-in for the narrative, but in Sarah Jane Smith it goes further than that: Sarah embraces his manipulative behaviour, his darker side, his tricks and bluffs. She pretends to be blind to outwit her enemies. She defeats her enemies through words and kills a villain through intentional inaction. At one point she’s forced into a moral dilemma reminiscent of the conflicts that the Doctor faces, where she must choose between the lives of thousands of innocent Londoners and her friend. In the end, it’s no question to her; she chooses to let her friend die. She’s willing to let both her friends die, if it comes down to it—and one of them ultimately does. Sarah is an unusual character; unlike most ex-companions, she’s fundamentally incapable of readjusting to normal life, and has pretty explicitly spent her life since leaving the Doctor isolated, miserable, and in constant peril. But she also doesn’t fit in with the companions who ultimately meet their doom travelling with the Doctor; unlike, say, Clara Oswald, she’s given the chance to back out before it’s too late, and she takes it. But it’s clear that she never recovered from leaving the Doctor, because the Doctor’s lifestyle is the only thing that makes her feel like life is worth living. Sarah Jane Smith clearly portrays Sarah as someone transformed by the Doctor into the Doctor. But this is not a good thing, and the series occupies itself with deconstructing the damaging psychological effect the Doctor has on both people in general and Sarah specifically—Sarah is not a nice person. She is not a better person for having known the Doctor; in fact it’s only made her worse. She’s a danger to the people around her. She’s irrational and obsessed with getting what she wants to the exception of all else. She’s sometimes outright cruel. It’s a fascinating play on a usually much kinder (if imperfect) character, and personally, I love it.

My date: What the hell?

[its-your-mind]

Something something timkon and hair and how lex lichrally programmed Kon to shave his head before he went all luthor and was forced to attack his team, his best friends, his family. and then how most of the hair on the back of Tim’s head got burned off when he got blowed up (thx Steph) and he had to cut or shave the rest of it off so it could grow back semi-evenly. and how kon was a #rebel esp compared to all-American Boy Scout Superman; Kon’s rockin around with the side cut and the leather jacket and the buckles and the spikes or the (ill-advised and made me sad) black t-shirt and jeans but even the “I am a totally normal bro” getup made him distinct and different from Kal and that is really important to Kon because he wants to be his own person, not a Superman-stand-in. and THEN fucking LEX made it so Kon would look more like Lex! his other DNA donor!!! And Tim!! He kept his hair short — just long enough to spike it up as Robin — until both of his parents were gone. which suggests to me that he kinda always wanted it long (hello Tim Drake, #1 Dick Grayson stan) but that just wasn’t an option allowed to him (not uncommon for parents who care Very Much about Appearances — my own parents were the same about my brothers’ hair growing up, not least because the private all-boys school they went to dictated that their hair couldn’t be long enough to touch the collar of their shirt (with exceptions for [insert kinda racist and vaguely xenophobic language here] hair styles). As soon as he turned 18 my baby brother got a rocker-style mane. But I digress. Anyway). Then, post-tragedy, Tim’s hair got long enough to flip down over his forehead and stream behind him when he swung through the city (perhaps one of his ways of clinging to control and his sense of self in the whole awful situation). But then… Tim got fucking exploded, betrayed by his ex-girlfriend who had only just returned after letting him grieve her death for a year, and now she’s following Tim’s dead father mentor’s instructions to challenge him or whatever the fuck bullshit Batman told her, (a young girl whose own father was an asshole criminal, who so desperately wanted Bruce to be proud of her) and now Tim has to cut his hair all the way down to the scalp again and listen. I’m sorry dc tim looks fucking amazing in adventure comics and I’m in love with how he is arted but hair cannot and does not grow back that quick!! Mf had to wait!! I bet it grew in fucking patchy!! I bet kon’s did too!! (prolly not as bad as Tim’s cuz Tim’s got scar tissue and shit.)

but I just think tim and kon deserve a chance to sit down and just commiserate with each other about growing their hair back out (growing back out a sidecut is a BITCH I speak from experience) and Tim’s prolly having to trim his own hair super often to keep it nice-ish while it comes back in, and Kon’s curls are just a fucking MESS until they grow out enough to like. Curl. (Again, speaking from experience) And they’re just shooting the shit (“well MINE was worse bc I looked like fucking LEX. LUTHOR.” / “well you didn’t have to wait to figure out which parts of your scalp we actually gonna bother growing hair again”) until it gets quiet for a minute. And then one of them asks if the hair also reminds the other one of The Shitty Thing That Happened. And then they fucking talk about it. About how they can’t look in the mirror without having a flashback of pain or rage. How it makes them feel like they don’t even get to control their own bodies, their own appearances, and how much that fucking sucks. How they go to run their hand through their hair and there’s just. Not enough of it to do that. How Kon is terrified that somehow looking like Lex means Lex will use him to hurt the people he loves again. How every time Tim sees another Bat or Bird looking at the back of his head, all he can think about is how they might be planning to lure him into another Bat-mandated trap test. How both Tim and Kon kinda really miss the feeling of people playing with their hair. How they miss playing with each others’ hair.

And maybe then one of them extends an offer and the other does the same and they agree to do each others’ hair. Maybe it’ll help paint a new layer over those awful memories.

So Kon finds Tim once a week (he’s never in the same place, he’s rarely even in the same country) and he trims the hair until it looks even, gives Tim the #sitch on how much hair is growing back in. After the second or third week he realizes that Tim’s not keeping up with his burn-care routine, so he starts bringing burn and scar cream with him too. Then he remembers Tim’s lack of a hair care routine and starts trying out different products on Tim’s hair to see what works best. Tim doesn’t say anything, but he thinks all of this feels even better than when Kon and Cassie used to twist little braids into his hair.

Kon insists that Tim doesn’t have to help until his hair’s grown out more, (that he doesn’t want Tim nearby and distracted while Kon still looks like Lex) but Tim outright refuses to let Kon push him away and he will NOT be outdone in the caretaking game. He waits until Kon’s busy fighting some giant alien robot in metropolis and sneaks in to the Kents’ house to scope out what products Kon uses. When he leaves the bathroom, Ma Kent is there, eyebrow raised. She tells him he “could have just knocked on the front door, sweetheart, we know how’ta keep secrets in this house. Now, let’s get some food in you before Conner comes home. You’re all skin and bones, hun.” So Tim goes downstairs and takes some mini meat pies for the road, and then researches the products Kon uses, what they do, what the ingredients do, if there are other (more expensive) options that people have sworn up and down are better. He amasses a collection, and the next time Kon shows up with clippers and healing creams and a new shampoo to try, Tim’s already got ten different products lined up on the sink — everything from shampoos and conditioners to serums and masks. Kon asks if these are things Tim wants Kon to use in Tim’s hair. Tim tells him that no, all of these are for Tim to try on Kon. Kon almost cries. (He does cry, he just doesn’t let the tears fall until Tim isn’t looking.) (Tim notices anyway ofc.) And Tim’s made a spreadsheet to track the effectiveness of different products, different ingredients, different combinations, so he tells Kon to start coming every 2-3 days instead, so he can establish results using a realistic timeframe. Sometimes, if Tim’s gonna be in one place for a few days, Kon just crashes with him. (Neither of them say it, but they both fucking CRAVE the old Core Four cuddle piles.) Eventually, when Kon’s hair is long enough that he’s ready to switch back to his side-cut again, Tim surprises him by not only shaving the hair down, but shaving a few racing stripes (“they’re flight patterns!” / “rob, I dunno what to tell you. everyone’s gonna think they’re racing stripes. doesn’t mean they aren’t dope as fuck, though.”) into Kon’s hair. Every time Kon’s hair grows out enough, Tim shaves it back and stencils in a new design. Kon starts making requests (“gimme the Super ‘S’!” / “It’s the House of El crest, Kon. You know that. Also, you have a secret identity to maintain.” / “C’mon, I’ll just say I’m a fan!” / “With the same El family crest shaved onto your scalp as Superboy?” / “No one’s noticed the identical head decor yet!”) but it’s the day Kon asks (with the same confident and mischievous tone as always) for Tim to shave in the Red Robin crest that something in Tim’s chest, something formless and warm that he hadn’t really paid attention to before, seers a burning path through his heart, takes root, and solidifies.

“Kon. I love you.”

Kon’s distracted, rifling through their hair-care bags for Tim’s razors. “Love you too, Robbie. Duh. That’s why I’m askin’ you to shave your cre–”

“No,” Tim shakes his head, mildly frustrated with himself for the lack of clarity. “I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”

Kon is seated in the chair they’d pulled into the bathroom from the hotel room’s desk, so he has to look up to meet Tim’s eyes. The hand digging beneath sample bottles of leave-in conditioner freezes, still wrist-deep in hair products. Kon’s expression looks to Tim like one of his video games’ character builders froze between the settings for ‘bright smile’ and ‘shock and awe.’

So Tim just looks down at him. Waits. If this was anyone else, Tim would probably be losing his mind right now, but… it’s Kon. Tim’s safe. Kon would never do anything to hurt him.

Kon unfreezes, blinks a few times. “Could you–” he coughs. “Could you say that again? I think my brain maybe like, malfunctioned for a second.”

Tim takes a step closer, reaches out one hand to cup Kon’s cheek, scratches his fingertips through the stubble on the side of Kon’s head. “I’m in love with you, Conner Kent.”

Tears fill Kon’s eyes, and he blinks them away. “That’s– that’s what I thought you said.” His hand (the one not trapped beneath a sea of shampoos, some detached and unhelpful part of Tim’s mind remarks) comes up to gently rest on Tim’s hip. “Robbie, Tim, I– of course I’m in love with you. You– you’re– you’re amazing, you know that? You’re so kind and strong and you’re a genius and you’re a gift to everyone around you; I dunno how everyone else doesn’t see you like I do.”

Tim can’t help but reach out his other hand to wrap around the back of Kon’s head, to feel where the curls carve a path down through the shorter hair and come to a sharp point.

“I mean, damn Wonder Boy,” Kon tries to muster up his Superboy smirk, but the look in his eyes is full of too much genuine affection for him to pull it off. “I think I’ve been in love with you since Kauai, since you grabbed me outta free-fall and swung me to safety. You caught me. No one’d ever done that before. And then you just… kept doing it. You’re still saving me, still taking care of me.”

Kon reaches his other hand (no eruption of hairspray, thank you TTK, that same unhelpful part of Tim’s mind comments. Read the room! the rest of Tim yells at it.) around the back of Tim’s neck, avoiding the tender and scarred areas with practiced ease, and pulls Tim down until their foreheads touch.

“I love you, Wonder. I love you, Robbie.” Kon tilts his head up, waits until their eyes meet. He’s got the biggest smile on his face that Tim’s ever seen.

Tim smiles back, and Kon’s eyes soften. “I love you, Tim.”

Tim leans down and uses his hands on either side of Kon’s head to guide Kon’s lips up to his own.

This is what I want to remember, Tim thinks as he feels Kon’s fingers gliding softly against the sensitive skin of his burn, feels Kon’s TTK covering and protecting the parts still too tender to touch. Tim runs his own fingertips back and forth over the stubble on the sides of Kon’s head, before pushing them up until they’re tangled in Kon’s curls.

I don’t want to care anymore whether or not the people around me look at the back of my head and see weakness or failure. They don’t get to decide whether this mark on my body matters or what it means. I do. And I decide that these scars are important because they brought me here, to this moment. They brought me to Kon.

Kon tilts his head down to break the kiss. He stands up, and before Tim gets a chance to move away and give him space, Kon wraps his arms and TTK around him. He plants a kiss in Tim’s hair. “Damn, Wonder Boy. Having to grow all my hair back almost feels worth it if it got me here.”

Tim smiles and wraps his arms around Kon’s waist, nestles into Kon’s chest. “You know what, Clone Boy? I was just thinking the same thing.”