#path to nowhere theories

[nomorefstogive]

just some random idea I have on my mind. So both Shalom and Hecate are experiments of Paradeisos, they also have this Mania monster that are the emotions of that Sinner. So hear me out Chief and their like Mania creature thing? I remember scrolling through tumblr someone mentioned that Shalom said we are already a monster before they taken in us, like the person said what if in a literal way. Chief with their Mania form, their Mania form is strong because of the shackles connecting or supressing mania from Sinner, i headcanon they have a deep hatred on the Paradeisos. So yeah...(sorry 4 my bad English because it's not my first language)

🦀

Don't worry about the poor english you did very good, it's my first language and I have trouble with it at times too, so you are not alone my friend lol.

I would also like to preface this by apologizing if this reply is something of a mess, I am a little tired at the moment and trying to be concise and orderly with my thoughts and words is difficult for me on a good day lol.

As for the idea of the Chief being a Mania Monster similar to Nightmare or Rebel, it is an idea I have considered, my own theory is that the Chief has some type of bond or tie to the Perishing Star, given they were present during the Keylan Expedition and how easy it seems to be for the Illusory Moon and Mania to reach out to them during the Immortals events.

I feel that the chief is some kind of progeny or offspring of Mania, a sliver of humanity and hope given shape and form by Mania when it struck the earth and began to coalesce and seize power as it took dominion of the world from mankind, for either a long con or for other reasons thus far unknown.

Or perhaps it could be more apt to say that they were severed from Mania, with Mania as we know it reflecting the darkness and madness of the human psyche while the chief was to embody the opposite, being a beacon of control and order amidst the madness, something that humanity, so desperate for hope, would latch onto and nurture for the sake of its own survival.

The alternative to this is that the chief is something else entirely, some kind of entity that may have once been a part of Mania itself, or perhaps something else entirely, a wildcard left to roam free so as to grow and swell in might to be of better use come the time they are needed.

Apologies for the brief rant, I got off topic lol.

I agree with the chief having a deep resentment for Paradeisos, something that they themselves are likely unaware of the sheer depth of due to the interrupted rejuvenation leading to their memories being wiped before the story began...something which is oddly coincidental if you think about it.

I digress.

On the Subject of the Chief's power coming from them linking with the sinners and suppressing/controlling their mania, I agree that seems to be the case for their own growing strength.

That said, it makes me think that if their power is indeed growing with every Sinner they shackle, then the 'Rules' of Paradeisos are the only thing keeping the rising typhoon of manic power at bay, though one can only wonder how long such barriers will last.

If the Chief is indeed some form of Mania entity, something which is strongly hinted at in canon as well given some of the liens the Corpseborne and Parma say about the Chief, then it stands to reason that they could be either a defective corpseborn, as some seem to believe, or perhaps they are the final product of the process.

A being that is indistinguishable from a human and yet endowed with great and terrible power that grows more and more as mania spreads, as if their power is indeed growing with each sinner that is shackled and every corpus they consume, then one has to try and picture just what kind of monster the Chief will be when they are returned to full power and the 'Rules' fail.

I feel that when such a thing occurs, and it will occur, the Chief's old persona will resurface in full and Dis will be granted audience with a Vassal of Mania whose power exceeds any and all things they have witnessed before as Mania calls its Shepherd to its side once more to settle old scores with Paradeisos and the Underground alike.

Again, I apologize for going off course and starting to ramble, it tends to happen more often than not lol.

I feel that is all I have for this at the moment so I will leave this here, stay safe and take care.

[gentlethorns]

okay but i'm still in awe of this process. like it has been so consistent and easy. there are still days i don't feel like getting my words in but i've continued to soldier on and hit my mark day after day (except for yesterday but that wasn't just laziness or a lack of discipline, i wasn't physically feeling up to it). and i have 60k words to show for it in under a month!!!! like that is so insane to me and i'm so excited, not only about the immediate payoff (having almost a complete draft) but also about the idea that i've unlocked the secret to doing this again in the future, as many times as ideas that grace me. like this is so so huge for me and the idea that something so big can come about through small habits every day (prioritizing those 2k words no matter what) is not lost on me. so proud of myself for developing that discipline bc like i've said, i always knew and feared that i wouldn't get anywhere worthwhile without it

[frostedfragments]

20 & zayne! i need domestic zayne so bad

zayne x reader

20. sleepy domestic sex

cw: somnophilia note: never written somnophilia before so hopefully i've done an okay job for those who enjoy that kinda thing! listened to zayne's "silent poem" audio again last night and the beginning of that definitely gave me the vibe that this is smth zayne would lowkey be into...

send a lads guy and a prompt!

Zayne can't resist when you're like this; sprawled half-naked in his bed, hair fanning over his pillows, t-shirt riding up just enough to show the underside of your breast. He aches to sink his teeth into the skin there.

When he first brought up his little fantasy to you, he had worried you would run for the hills. After all, it took him a while to reconcile with the idea himself - worried about the grey area surrounding your consent, worried that you would want him to stop and be unsure how to tell him. But, after a long discussion, the two of you came to the understanding that you liked the idea.

It didn't take long for Zayne to propose testing the theory, and he was relieved at your enthusiastic response.

Though he'd never admit it to anyone but you, it's one of his favourite ways to pleasure you. He enjoys waking you up with his mouth, or his fingers, teasing you until you're stuck between dreaming and reality, moaning his name. He gets off on you being here, waiting for him, willing and ready for him to have his wicked way with you, for you to wake up coming around his fingers.

He watches you now, dreaming, snoring softly against his pillow. It's still dark out, nowhere near morning yet, but he's well aware that the two of you have the day off work tomorrow. Zayne can't deny the low tug in his gut, the thickening of his cock already in his briefs as he watches your chest rise and fall slowly, your stomach and hips bare. The sheet prevents him seeing any further, but he knows you're bare for him under there too - he left you that way last night. The two of you had been too exhausted to even leave the bed afterwards, falling asleep in each others arms.

It's only been a few hours and already Zayne wants you again. He's addicted to you.

He moves gently, not wanting to jostle you from sleep just yet. Lifting the sheet just so he can slip underneath, nudging himself between your thighs. The scent of you welcomes him, the heady aroma of sweat and sex still lingering from your earlier activities. Moving in closer, he places his hands on your thighs, grinning when they twitch in your slumber. When he's sure you're still asleep, he licks his way up the seam of your cunt, tasting himself there still as well as you. His cock twitches against the mattress, and he just barely stops himself from grinding himself against it.

He wants to save himself for you, wants to lose himself between your thighs again and again, as many times as you'll allow before the sun rises. Zayne's tongue licks a slow path up the centre of you again, pausing at the top where he laps gently at your clit. It doesn't take long for you to respond; your legs shifting on either side of his shoulders, hips twitching to greet his waiting mouth. He can just barely hear your soft sleepy sighs as he kisses your cunt slowly, sloppily, just the way you like it. He groans into your wet flesh, savouring the taste of you.

Sometimes Zayne sees it as a challenge, to see if he can get you to come before you wake up properly. He likes the way you moan his name when you're sleeping, like you can do so with abandon and without the fear of being embarrassed. His hands cradle your hips now, lifting them just enough so he can angle you exactly right, to lap at you greedily like a starved man.

You're fidgeting now, breathing harshly into the quiet darkness of the bedroom. He can hear your muffled whimpers from his place under the sheets and he supresses a smile, relishing in it, only wishing that he could see you. But it's much more fun when he hides under the sheet like this, enjoying the thrill that courses through him, the idea that he is doing something wicked without you knowing.

He doesn't have long, he thinks as he rubs his tongue against the underside of your clit. Soon you'll wake up, and if he can, he really wants to get you to come before then. He lets one of his hands leave where it had moved to your lower tummy, pressing a finger into your wet heat and groaning at the clench you welcome him with. You gasp, still not quite awake yet, and Zayne enters another digit, fucking them both into you as your juices gather on his finger, slick and sweet.

You come blissfully, beautifully, on the fourth thrust of his fingers, spasming wildly around him. Zayne slowly fucks you through it, kissing softly at your clit as you tremble with the aftershocks. When he feels your hand rest on the crown of his head through the blanket, he knows you're awake now. He crawls his way up your body, ducking from under the sheets to be greeted with your sleepy smile, bright even in the dark.

"Good morning," You say, throat scratchy from sleep.

"Not quite morning yet," Zayne murmurs, lowering his head to your neck, suckling on the skin there and moaning softly when you arch against him, "we still have plenty of time,"

You hum softly, and for a moment Zayne wonders if you've fallen back to sleep. When you tug at the neck of his t-shirt, however, he is relieved. He obliges your silent request, gripping the back of the shirt and tugging it over his head, kneeling over you and feeling quite lucky indeed to see you suddenly naked under him, your shirt abandoned on his side of the bed.

Your hands are greedy in their perusal of his torso, smoothing over the planes of his stomach as if you've never seen him like this before. It makes his cheeks grow a little warm, that you still react like this even after so long. Soon, you're pulling at his briefs, other palm stroking at his forgotten erection through the thin material.

"Didn't have enough earlier?" You ask with a wry smirk, lifting up on your elbows to watch Zayne, somewhat ungracefully, divest himself of his underwear.

When he's back over you, you're both wonderfully bare, skin on skin. Zayne doesn't think he will ever get used to it.

"I'll never get enough," He says simply, suckling on your lower lip in a long kiss, "I could have you every hour of every day and it still wouldn't be enough to satisfy me,"

Your hands thread in his hair, smooth down his back all while your thighs brush impatiently against his hips, "Glad we agree on something,"

His cock brushes your pussy, still wet and swollen from his mouth, and he shivers a little. It doesn't take much for him to forgo taking you slowly, romantically. Instead he rears back, flipping you over until you're on your knees in front of him, elbows caging your pillow as you lay your head on it to peer back at him with a smile. He intends to change that expression - he loves you smiling, but he also loves to see you fucked-out, eyes rolling back, mouth open. His cock throbs at the mental image, and it has him fisting his length, pushing his way into you with a hiss as you welcome him, hot and soaked.

You fall face-first into your pillow on that first thrust, hands gripping the sheets. Zayne isn't interested in working you in slow - he needs to feel you hugging his cock as you come messily around it. So, he fucks into you in quick, hard slaps of his hips, the headboard above you beginning to softly thud against the wall with his movements. You arch your back deliciously, allowing him to hit even deeper spots inside you.

"Oh, yes, yes - yesyesyes -" You're a mess already, moaning wantonly into the pillow, though Zayne soon puts a stop to that. He wants to hear you, after all. His hand reaches forward, threading through your hair to pull you up. When your back meets his front, cock rubbing snugly against that sweet spot inside you, he can feel your entire body shaking. He feels an insatiable need to map your entire body with his palms, cupping your breasts, smoothing over your stomach, slipping between your spread thighs to play with your clit. It all sends a wave of pleasure cashing into you, your head falling back against his shoulder as you climax loudly, wetly all over his cock.

It send's Zayne's head into a tailspin, his hips already chasing your own in a jagged pattern, "Beautiful, so- gorgeous. I love when you c-come like that for me, my love," he can barely get the words out, teeth clenched tight as he pushes you back down. Needing the leverage of tugging your hips back into him in a few hard thrusts so he can fill you up perfectly.

And he does, coming hard inside the still spasming walls of your cunt. You clench a couple times, rendering him speechless as he grips your hip tighter in warning. When he feels that his soul has returned to his body, he pulls out of you slowly, reaching over to the bed to grab the towel from earlier to clean you both up.

Once he's done, he flops back down onto the bed, welcoming you into his arms. He rests his chin on top of your head, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones just as the light in the room begins to change from a deep indigo to a pale blue.

[merchen-aeravellae]

A Yandere Through Time

Yandere Time Traveler x Royal Reader

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, forced confinement, obsession

No one knows who created it, but every owner of the mysterious mirror has met a fate so tragic it chills anyone to the bone. The mirror appeared out of nowhere, wandering from hand to hand, from life to life. At first glance, it seems like a blessing, but in reality, it is a curse in disguise. If you cross paths with it, beware: it offers you your deepest desire, but the price is your sanity.

°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●°•○●

Yandere Time Traveler who is dedicated to collecting antiques, a passion that has been passed down through generations in his family since the famous Rosa Era. Each member of his lineage has their own personal museum. His collection not only includes legally acquired pieces but also artifacts that the world does not know exist and are in his possession.

Yandere Time Traveler who is mainly dedicated to purchasing items from the Roja Era, not because it is his favorite time period, but because his favorite person lived during that time. The fifth child of a king who ruled what is now his city, the castle where they lived still stands proudly on the outskirts of the city, now converted into a museum that he visits weekly as a way to be close to his beloved

Yandere Time Traveler who has been intrigued by your story since childhood: a member of the royal family beloved by his family, the common people, and even his enemies. One day, you disappeared from your own home, and no one ever heard from you again. Everyone searched exhaustively for decades but never found you. A group of people tried to exploit the situation by impersonating you to gain all the luxuries and privileges that rightfully belonged to you. Only one person resembled you both in appearance and manner of speaking. The only problem was that nearly 70 years had passed since your disappearance, and this person was too young to be you. In the end, their husband had to clarify that they were suffering from mental issues, and as a result, no one took them seriously.

Yandere Time Traveler who feels like a lunatic: how could he be in love with someone who lived nearly two hundred years ago? However, he has always felt a connection to you, and the only way he finds to be near you is by acquiring all your belongings through illegal auctions. Selling and buying items related to you is prohibited in his country; museums tirelessly search for all your belongings across the continent to display them alongside those of your family. But he is faster and acquires everything before the museums can get their hands on it.

Yandere Time Traveler who, of all your belongings, has searched the black markets most fervently for your hat. In the Roja Era, royalty did not use crowns to show their lineage; instead, they used special and unique hats to demonstrate their noble position. The hats of your sisters and brothers are in the castle museum, but yours was never found. The theory is that you wore it the day you disappeared, and wherever you are, the hat is with you.

Yandere Time Traveler who acquired a mirror from an antique shop during a sale. He didn't know what era it was from, but its beauty convinced him to place it in the room dedicated to you. The mirror carried a dark legend: all its owners ended up losing their sanity or disappearing without a trace. However, he was not intimidated, believing it was just people's tales. He was sure you would have been fascinated by it, imagining you using it to admire your reflection while trying on clothes.

Yandere Time Traveler who, one night, woke up startled by strange noises coming from a nearby room. With silent steps, he approached to discover the source of the sound, but his concern grew when he realized the noises were coming from the room dedicated to his beloved. He immediately thought someone had broken in to steal something from his valuable collection. Wasting no time, he grabbed a bat he had purchased a couple of weeks ago, perfect for defending himself against an intruder. Upon entering the room, he found no one, but the mirror looked different. Strange figures were forming on its surface, and he couldn't resist the temptation to touch it. It was as if the mirror was calling to him. However, the moment his fingers brushed against the glass, he lost consciousness.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up with a terrible headache. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying on a wooden bed that creaked with the slightest movement. The room was unfamiliar, filled with objects that didn’t match his home. The walls were made of wood. Various items adorned the space, from wooden toys to old tools, along with portraits and simple household decorations. As his vision adjusted, he noticed a small window allowing the morning sunlight to illuminate the room. The smell of wax, burnt wood, and a faint scent of food filled his nose.

Yandere Time Traveler who panicked. He tried to get out of the bed to figure out where he was, but only succeeded in worsening his headache from the sudden movement. He heard footsteps coming toward him. Fear took over as he desperately looked for something to defend himself with. But before he could act, the door opened, and an old woman entered the room, calmly looking at him.

Yandere Time Traveler who discovered that he was in the house of an elderly couple. They had found him unconscious at their doorstep and, out of compassion, had taken care of him ever since. Maybe he had gone mad because nothing made sense. The date on the calendar in their house showed that it was 200 years before his own time. It wasn’t possible that he had traveled to the past. Maybe he had hit his head, and all of this was just a delusion, a hallucination caused by the injury. Perhaps he was in a hospital, in a coma, dreaming a nonsensical fantasy.

Yandere Time Traveler, unable to find a way back to his own time, was now trying to adjust to his new life. The elderly couple who had taken him in gave him work in their small antique shop and allowed him to live in their home. In return, he had to handle the heavier tasks, like feeding the animals, repairing anything that broke, and keeping the shop in order.

Yandere Time Traveler was organizing some items in the shop when he heard the bustle of a crowd outside. The voices and shouting filled the street, but he didn’t even bother looking out the window. He didn’t care what celebration or festival was taking place outside. Everything went quiet for a while until the shop bell rang. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, but it was his job. With a fake smile, he greeted the customers who had entered.

Yandere Time Traveler was startled to see a familiar face. It wasn’t someone he had met in person, but someone he had seen in portraits—it was the crown princess of Adrionia. Adrionia was the name of his city when the monarchy still existed. Although he knew he was in the Roja Era, he never imagined he would meet a member of the royal family in a place like this. The heir was about to speak when a pair of voices interrupted from the hallway in front of them.

Yandere Time Traveler who was shocked to see the rest of the royal siblings there. His heart swelled with longing; if they were here, it meant that you must also be here. He couldn't help but search for you among the crowd, but he couldn’t find you. His hope deflated into sadness, until someone emerged from one of the back hallways, holding a trinket in their hands.

Yandere Time Traveler who wanted to die right then and there—you were standing before him, the love of his life. As you asked your sister to buy the trinket for you, he couldn’t help but admire you. You were even more beautiful in person; the paintings didn’t do you justice. He wanted to leap over the counter to be closer to you, but he knew if he did that, he'd be thrown into the dungeon. All he could do was watch you from where he stood, his heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour.

Yandere Time Traveler who felt you so close, yet so unattainable. As he rang up your sister’s purchase, he never took his eyes off you for a second. He watched you with a mix of fascination and desperation, knowing that this might be the only time he’d ever be so near you. And just as you had appeared, you left. His world crumbled with each step you took toward the exit, moving further away from him.

Yandere Time Traveler who couldn’t stop thinking about you after that encounter. His heart filled with yearning to see you again. Now that he had seen you in the flesh, he couldn't allow everything to end with just one brief meeting. He needed to see you once more, needed you in his life in a more permanent, closer way. But he knew he couldn’t just approach you without a plan—and for that, he needed to scheme carefully.

Yandere Time Traveler who decided to use his knowledge of the past to his advantage. He began calling himself a prophet and would go out to the town square to “predict” events he already knew would happen soon. At first, people looked at him with skepticism, and many called him crazy. But when his predictions started coming true with eerie accuracy, everything changed. Word spread throughout the kingdom about his visions, and people gathered in the square to hear him speak. It wasn’t long before the royals heard of him and summoned him to the castle. Everything was going according to plan.

Yandere Time Traveler who was tested by the court, but he was ready for whatever challenge came his way. He “predicted” the betrayal of a court member, and a week later, a respected and seemingly unblemished noble was discovered stealing large sums from the royal treasury. The impressed kings offered him a permanent position at the castle. His goal was now within reach. Every day, he grew closer to you. He knew you better than you knew yourself and was confident that soon you would fall in love with him.

Yandere Time Traveler who, over time, befriended the royal family, but you were different. You seemed deeply distrustful of him. Every time he tried to approach you, you fled. If he entered a room through the door, you left through the window. The more frequent these encounters became, the more frustrated he felt. He left you gifts, but you discarded them. The letters he sent, you burned in the fireplace. And every time he tried to speak to you, you ignored him. Couldn’t you see that destiny was bringing you together? Why did you run from him as if he carried some contagious disease?

Yandere Time Traveler who knew he had to be patient, but every moment away from you felt like a blow to the heart. Then, during a casual meeting with your brothers, everything he had worked for unraveled. Without meaning to, your brother let it slip that you were seeing someone in secret—a mere guard, someone far beneath him. He had to keep his composure; he couldn’t afford to break his facade in front of them. But all he wanted to do was rush out and bury that filthy man deep in the earth.

Yandere Time Traveler who now understood everything. You had always rejected his efforts because you already had someone in your life. The idea of you being with someone else was unbearable. Every touch, every word shared between you and that guard ignited a wildfire of jealousy within him. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He needed to devise a new plan, so he decided to accuse your lover of trying to seduce you to rise in high society. The kings were furious with both you and your lover. The execution seemed imminent. However, something unexpected happened. On your knees, you begged your parents, saying it was all a misunderstanding. At other times, he would have loved to hear your voice, but at that moment, he wished you'd be quiet. You were ruining his plan and breaking his heart as he watched you plead for another man.

Yandere Time Traveler had to leave the castle for a few days; the whole situation was overwhelming him, and he feared he might do something that would compromise his facade. He returned to the shop where he had worked at the beginning. The old man greeted him cheerfully, happy to see him after such a long time. While the older man talked about everything that had happened in his absence, he wandered around the shop, looking at the new antiques that had arrived, hoping to distract his mind. Suddenly, something caught his attention: a mirror that seemed too familiar, sitting in a corner. He now knew how it had ended up in the couple's home. As he stared at it, an idea formed in his mind: "If I couldn't have you in your world, maybe I could in mine." With that thought in mind, he decided to buy the mirror, flashing a disturbing smile.

Yandere Time Traveler returned to the castle with his new treasure, eager to figure out how it worked as soon as possible, though it was easier said than done. It was during a fit of rage that he grabbed the bat he had brought with him to smash objects and vent his frustration. You had convinced your parents that your lover was a good man, and they had allowed you to marry him. He should have been that man, the one who would marry you, but his place had been taken. After breaking several objects in his fury, he left the bat leaning against the mirror and stormed out of the room, not noticing that the reflection in the mirror had begun to change.

Yandere Time Traveler who could only watch as you prepared for your wedding felt as if you were mocking him. Unable to bear it any longer, he retreated to his room to devise a plan. He would not let anyone else have you. Upon entering, he found something magnificent: the portal in the mirror was in all its glory. He gazed at the bat and suddenly, the idea of how it worked came to him. He had been so foolish; the answer was so simple, and he hadn’t seen it before. Now, you would be where you belonged, by his side, living in his own time, where you could never escape.

Yandere Time Traveler who sent you a letter pretending to be your brother to get you to the library. If you had known it was him, you never would have gone to meet him. The mirror was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t see it at a glance, and he would ambush you from behind. Hearing your footsteps approaching down the hallway, you entered and called out for your brother. He stood momentarily stunned, witnessing something he never thought he’d see: you were wearing your hat, the object he had longed to see all his life. But that feeling quickly faded when, angrily, you yelled at your "brother" to come out of hiding because you had a date with your fiancé and needed to leave immediately. The mention of the other man and the fact that you wore something as significant as your hat just to see his rival gave him the strength to push you into the portal, following closely behind.

Yandere Time Traveler who woke up on a floor that seemed familiar, was back in his own home. He watched as you lay unconscious beside him, and since he had already gone through the experience of the portal, he managed to get up before you. He reinforced all exits to ensure you couldn’t escape and then let you rest in what would now be his shared bedroom. Hours later, he heard a blood-curdling scream. He rushed to his room, but you were not there. He found you in the room he had dedicated exclusively to you. You tried to escape, but seeing such a room had frightened you so much that you couldn’t help but scream.

Yandere Time Traveler who pretended everything was fine for a while. You stayed at home while he went to work. It didn’t matter that you did nothing all day; he believed your hands weren’t meant for work. He preferred to do everything himself to keep you content. One night, upon returning from work, he noticed something strange: the house felt too silent. Although he was convinced there was no way you could have escaped, his home felt empty. He searched every corner, but there was no sign of your presence. As he pondered where you could be, his gaze fell on the mirror.

Yandere Time Traveler who had underestimated you. You had managed to find a way to use the mirror while he was away, but he already had an idea of where you might be. Using the mirror, he traveled 70 years after the date of your disappearance. True to his assumption, he quickly found you; everyone knew you for trying to claim that you were the missing royal member, even though that was now impossible. He approached you slowly from behind while you were talking to a couple of people, trying to convince them of your identity. He placed an arm around your shoulders, noticing how your skin prickled. He was too angry to care about the effect he was having on you. With a fake worried look, he explained to the people that you were his fiancée, but that you were suffering from dementia. The people left, leaving the two of you alone.

Yandere Time Traveler who took you back to his time, determined not to make the same mistake. With the bat he had used earlier, he gathered all his strength and smashed the mirror into pieces while you screamed for him to stop. His rage was relentless; he hit the mirror so many times that it became irreparable. When he finished, he embraced you while you cried out loud, knowing that your only escape had been destroyed. He tried to comfort you, whispering soothing words, but his attempts at calm only had the opposite effect. Every whisper and every caress only heightened your desperation, reminding you that you were now trapped with a lunatic, with no hope of returning.

Yandere Time Traveler "No matter what era you're in, I will always find a way to find you."

[logaenhowlett]

MY BEATIN’ HEART BELONGS TO YOU - L.H.

Summary: Logan believed he was sentenced to a life of solitude until he found you - an unexpected dawn promising the sunrise of a love he always deemed impossible. But then again, destiny never was merciful to fools like him.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, All aboard the Fluff Train with scheduled stops at Angst Station, Established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, How I Met Your Mother reference (iykyk), Reader can manipulate electricity

A/N: 5.9k - strap in, gang. Would you believe me if I said all this was inspired by a debate I had with a friend about the implications of 'I want you' vs 'I need you'. The mind works in silly, little ways sometimes. Title creds to Green Day. Enjoy, you lovely people!

MASTERLIST

Gone were the days when nightmares would rouse him from the sanctuary of sleep. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken in a cold sweat, sheets shredded from fighting invisible monsters, alarm clock glaring an angry red amongst the darkness. No, all that disappeared once you'd made a home within his arms.

It had been about three months, verging on four if anyone was keeping count - and he, most definitely, was - since you'd swept him away in a tide of fondness and pure affection. The shadow of a man who once roamed the mansion now nurtured a newfound lightness in his heart. Logan wasn't perfect, far from it, chosen paths that only led to a labyrinth of despair, but he was right about one thing: you.

And that verdict especially rings true every morning. The tangle of limbs, the soft ebb and flow of sleepy murmurs, the stray kisses grazing warm skin, he wonders how he'd survived so long deprived of such tender pleasures. He's never going back, that much he knows.

His lips trace a lazy line along your neck, lingering a second longer beneath your jaw. There's a chuckle aching to break through at the thought of your sleep-induced irritation - it’s too early, you'd whine each time. And each time, his half-hearted apologies would be long-forgotten as you meet his gaze, a tempest of desire swirling within hazel.

It's amidst the following moments of peace when he's most thankful for the thick walls surrounding the room. The aftermath of your intimate exchanges always leaves him mesmerised, heart racing at the reminder of your touch. His mutation didn't allow for the full effects of alcohol to poison his inhibitions, yet as your smile gleams at him, Logan's sure he's never been more drunk.

"Where're you goin'?"

He's shaken from his musings as you roll away from his embrace, huffing in disbelief when you don't seem to stop. But, the string of complaints dies on his tongue as he watches you slip on the shirt he'd discarded the night before, turning around amused, "What? You wanna stay here all day?"

"Got nowhere to be."

"Correction - you have nowhere to be. I, on the other hand, need to grade those assignments or Jean'll actually explode my brain this time."

Logan hmphs. He'd been looking forward to lounging around this weekend, positively thrilled at the idea of letting the hours simply trickle away in the quiet comfort of your company. However, he's also one too familiar with Jean's intolerance for slacking off and lessons were definitely learned.

"Let her try," he counters meekly.

As you circle the bed to part ways with a chaste kiss, Logan seizes the opportunity to pull you down, pinning you beneath him in one effortless move. His lips capture yours with a deliberate, sensual slowness - the urgency from earlier now completely absent. The feeble protests vanish from your mind as he breaks away, a twinkle of mischief playing on his smile.

His fingers trace the curve of your wrist, hovering over the faint crescent moon inked in black. It was the mark of your soulmate. Of him, he hopes. You'd shown him quite early into the relationship, spending many a night whispering theories and speculations about its meaning. At first, he expressed only timid fascination, a question here and there spurred by gentle curiosity while you rambled on and on. But as his heart began to tether itself to yours, the mark took on a new significance. Every time his gaze fell upon it, his thoughts would spiral from longing and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one destined to share a lifetime with you.

Over the decades he'd been alive, Logan had searched every crevice of his body for his own. In his youth, it was a fleeting thought, brushed aside by the assumption that his healing factor wouldn't allow for these scars. Yet as time passed, he was terrified of waking up to a branded promise - a cruel trick that condemned his soulmate to a life with him. After he met you, those fears were soon eclipsed by a yearning, a desperate hope for a sign of his worthiness. Every day, he lingered by the mirror, gaze sweeping across his reflection, praying for an identical crescent moon to mark his skin.

"Logan." Your laugh draws his attention, "I'm never leaving the bed at this rate."

"Darlin', that's the general idea."

He relents anyway, falling onto his back with a soft grunt as you stand up. The dopey grin you're biting has him narrowing his eyes in suspicion, wondering what goddamn joke popped into your mind. Before he can question it, you straighten your posture and salute, "General Idea."

A look of confusion contorts his features, though he doesn't get anything besides a mumbled response as you leave the room, "Never mind, it's from a show."

A mountain of papers sits perched on your desk illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp, the scratching of your pen punctuating the silence of the classroom as you continue grading your students' assignments. It had been a couple of hours since you left Logan amongst the nest of blankets. And that image only seemed more enticing with each word you read.

"Missed ya."

Speak of the devil.

Except this devil was an angel - you could almost see a halo shimmering around his figure, backlit by the sunlight flooding the hallway. Every time you think you've captured the essence of his allure, he defies your expectations, often with just a simple gesture. And despite the countless compliments and declarations of adoration, Logan still seemed surprised by flattery, his lips always seeking yours to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I just saw you like - "

"In the shower," he interrupts, smirk widening as he approaches. He leans against the chair, nose brushing against your exposed shoulder.

Something in your brain short-circuits at his words and the casual display of affection. You stammer a little, "You… didn't tell me."

"Oh, that would've worked hm?" Logan spins the chair around, chuckling as he catches your flustered expression, "'M sorry, sweetheart... guess I gotta make it up to ya."

You never thought Logan was a romantic. Yet, time and time again you discover the depths of his boundless capacity for love and companionship. It wasn't just the whispered promises and passionate revelations, but the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the tender touches that speak volumes. Neither of you had uttered those three words yet, though they hang heavy in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

His hand winds up beneath your shirt, bunching the fabric near your waist as he pulls you closer. Heat, courtesy of the shower, wafts off his skin, a tantalizing sensation that makes your breath hitch. His tongue toys with your lower lip, teasing just enough that you find yourself chasing after him, desperate for more. The laugh he produces, though smug, is also contagious, a sound that never fails to swallow your heart.

Again and again, he'd professed his desire to unravel you by his sheer touch, how your craving for him sets his insides ablaze. And judging by the way your eyes darken, mouth parting almost reflexively, he's got you dancing to his tune like a puppet on a string - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But he backs off all of a sudden.

A crescendo of footsteps echoes down the hallway and the moment is shattered. Three of your students barge in, out of breath and frazzled as they clutch their assignments. A frown creases Logan's brow, annoyance he's certainly putting no effort to hide has them second-guessing their intrusion until you beckon them in with a warm smile. With a hasty apology, they fumble with their papers, eyes darting between the two of you before rushing out, the door swinging shut.

"We gotta find a place," he grumbles, dipping forward into your neck.

"We already live together."

A sharp click of his tongue, a playful nip to your shoulder, seals his disapproval, "Not enough. Lil' brats interrupt every damn time."

He wasn't wrong in the slightest. The kids did seem to have an uncanny ability to sense the most inopportune times to interfere. Sometimes you joked that it was one of their mutant powers and Logan, with an amused roll of his eyes, would just scoff and agree. You can't help but chuckle, "'Least it wasn't Scott... I think we traumatised him last week."

It was indeed last week when the two of you retreated to the Danger Room. Of course, with the sole and noble intention of honing your defensive tactics. However, the moment you strategically knocked him off his feet, the situation had taken a decidedly different turn. Pinned beneath you, Logan held a look of astonishment that soon morphed into something much more eager. He'd uttered all of two words before your lips slammed against his and whatever hopes you had for training immediately became the least of your worries. That was until somebody walked in.

He huffs a laugh, the memory filling him with satisfaction, "Should've used his fuckin' brain with those sounds you were makin'."

"Oh god, poor Scott," you mumble, embarrassed by the thought.

"Quit sayin' his name." The growl that curls his words leaves goosebumps in its wake. Logan grips your chin, tilting your head back slightly, a slow grin unfurling as his gaze bores into yours.

"I said it twice!" you protest, but it's all in vain. His thumb drags across your lip, silencing your words.

"That's two more than I care for."

It's dark outside by the time he's done with you.

Sugar melts on his tongue, the velvety texture of chocolate dancing across his palate. Logan takes a rather indulgent sip, the steaming liquid warming his throat. Nestled on opposite sides of the window seat, the two of you share a quiet moment accompanied by nothing but pale moonlight. A comforting weight settles on your feet, his hand kneading the stress away with care. Outside, a delicate snowfall paints the mansion's grounds, grass slowly fading away, droplets racing down the windowpane.

Dinner had wound down hours ago. The kids gathered around the living room after, wide-eyed with wonder as the first snow of the season began. Charles eventually ushered them off to bed, Logan had planned to follow suit until your gentle tug derailed his desire to sleep altogether. And as always, there's no world where he'd deny you anything.

He sees you stifle a giggle every now and then, your eyes twinkling with amusement each time he lifts his mug. It was nothing fancy - mostly white, adorned with a line of stockings and, cheekily, the words "Well hung".

It was a present from you a few Christmases ago. He remembers you watching him warily unwrap the box, laughing out of giddiness as he blushed when the implication dawned on him. It's just a silly gift, you'd reassured, not pressuring him to even keep it. Yet, since then, it remained a permanent fixture on his bedside table. During restless nights, he'd reach for the familiar mug, seeking solace in the kitchen to drink away the looming shadows of insomnia.

It wasn't until your first night together that you saw it again after all those years, carefully placed and by far, the cleanest thing on his table. Logan ducked his head sheepishly before confessing just how much he treasured the sentiment. In a lifetime of solitude, someone had spared a second to think about him, even for a simple gag gift. And that thought warmed his heart a little on especially hard days.

"You're a child," he chides as you smile, rolling his eyes.

You scoff under your breath, "Oh, just cause you're a hundred years old."

"Hundred and sixty," he corrects, grabbing your foot mid-air before you can nudge his thigh. There's a brief pause as he places the mug aside, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Laughter fills the air as you squirm and wriggle away, quickly understanding the look behind his eyes. But Logan moves faster. His hands trail their way to your sides, drawing squeals of protest as he tickles you.

Seconds later, he backs off, satisfied by your reaction. Shifting his weight, he settles on top of you with a gentle press. As he lays against your chest, humming softly in contentment, the soothing caress of your fingers through his hair lulls him into a state of relaxation. The world simply fades away, replaced by the warmth of your embrace and the quiet flush of domestic bliss. A profound swell of gratitude spreads within his heart. It's during intimate moments like these that he feels especially lucky. A far cry from the man brought into this mansion years ago, times you also reflect on amidst late-night conversations.

The memories remain as vivid as yesterday.

It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long silhouettes across the classroom. You stood by the blackboard, explaining the laws of electromagnetism while scribbling equations in chalk. For months, you'd taken over Charles' role as the physics professor, and what began as a favour soon grew into a passion. However, some days were particularly slow. A palpable sense of boredom washed over your students as their eyes drifted towards the clock in anticipation. Just as you were about to begrudgingly dismiss them, the door flew open - a dishevelled figure clad in gray burst in, wildly panting in fear and confusion.

This must be Logan, you concluded, recalling the latest mission debrief from Scott and Storm. They'd rescued two mutants in Canada, one of whom was particularly banged up and recovering in the med bay. Well, until now. Since their arrival, Charles had emphasised the erratic nature of Logan's mind, even unconscious, a part of him stayed unyielding against the telepath's powers. But as you locked eyes with him, you saw none of that. Instead, he seemed lost and terrified, glancing around the room from one corner to the next as if someone was speaking. Before you could offer a word of reassurance, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway like a fleeting shadow.

Over the following months, he slowly began to emerge from his shell. At first, it was just plain nods of acknowledgement as you passed each other in the mansion. Then, a word here and there, clipped phrases of advice and caution during particularly dangerous missions. Gradually, his presence became more pronounced. Sometimes, after intense training sessions, he'd slip into the back of your classroom, intently listening to your lectures on concepts you presumed were entirely foreign to him.

Except they weren't. It was only later that you discovered his secret: the countless hours spent poring over textbooks he'd discreetly stolen from Charles' bookshelf. The realisation filled your heart with a warm sense of affection. His unspoken interest, the hidden depths, it was all so endearing. Thereafter, Logan consumed your thoughts. And it was during one of those sleepless nights that you found the courage to join him in the kitchen, wordlessly focusing on your own books at either end of the table. Since then, a shared understanding passed between you, a bond forged from mutual appreciation and a hint of something more.

The first time he cracked a smile left you breathless. Jean was furious at Scott, her anger clear as day as she stormed away. And Scott, ever so helpless, turned to anyone for guidance, retracing every misstep, every misplaced word. Logan, watching the scene unfold, sneered to himself, enjoying the man cluelessly suffering. You exchanged a knowing look, a silent agreement on the absurdity of the situation. As you excused yourself, a fit of giggles threatening to overtake you, Logan followed close behind, unable to suppress his own laughter.

From that moment on, things changed. You found yourselves seeking each other, conversations flowed effortlessly, at times even seasoned with playful banter. And as Logan became a steady figure in your life, a strange ache settled in your heart. You were falling for him. Yet, his emotions remained a mystery, a puzzle you were desperate to solve.

One year became another, and another and another. And as your feelings for him increased, hesitation crept in rather unwillingly. You pushed everything away, burying them six feet under, afraid of rejection or something worse. But Logan, with his uncanny perceptiveness, sensed the shift in your behaviour. And one day, in a moment of raw honesty, he confronted you. A heated argument ensued, emotions spilling over, words cutting deep. Then, just as suddenly, the tension dissipated. His lips were on yours, conveying every bit of the love he carried in ways words could never bring justice to.

That was a couple of months ago. Everything was perfect and you'd never felt more complete until you noticed the brief flashes of insecurity whenever he saw the mark on your wrist. You knew he didn't have one. In the beginning, it became a sensitive topic, you started wearing a watch or longer sleeves to stop reminding him. But eventually, his unease was too much to ignore.

And so, you bit the bullet.

The conversation was fraught with discomfort, but as you spoke, his expression softened, a slight weight lifting off his shoulders. He shamefully expressed his worries, the fear of not being enough - not being the one for you. It was a small step, but one that brought you closer than ever before.

Logan couldn't have been more grateful.

"Perhaps the two of you should, what do the kids call it, get a room?"

Charles' voice suddenly cuts across the silence. All eyes, including Logan's and yours, snap up from the blueprints scattered on the table. Scott blinks in confusion, meanwhile Jean, holding back a knowing smirk, can barely contain herself.

"I've had my fair share of lewd daydreams in my youth, but that was quite disturbing," he continues, tone laced with disapproval.

Colour drains from your face. Had your thoughts really been that obvious? Sure, you couldn't stop admiring how the tight leather suit molded to Logan's physique - incredibly distracting, to say the least. But you didn't realise you were projecting your attraction so loudly, especially in a room with two telepaths.

"Sorry, Professor." It seems useless to apologise at this point, but he responds with a curt nod directed at Logan. Turning your attention to the blueprints, you feel a familiar weight against your back. Logan, the sly bastard, leans over your shoulder with feigned nonchalance. And it takes every ounce of your willpower to focus on the serious discussion instead.

A recon mission.

Some old abandoned Hydra facility used for mutant experimentation in the 90s, the remnants of failed trials left to rot and forgotten. Charles had caught wind of it through Cerebro, suspecting that there may be valuable information hidden within its walls, secrets that should very well stay away from the wrong hands.

"What's in there?" Scott asks, tensing a little.

Charles pauses, a scowl twisting his expression, "That is a private matter."

"Private Matter," you mumble without thinking, instinctively reaching for a salute before Logan catches your wrist, halting the motion. He shoots a look, a silent reprimand that very clearly implies "Not now". Fortunately, no one else witnesses your mistimed quip, too engaged in drafting a safe plan for extraction.

The mission seems fairly straightforward, a simple infiltration like many you've done before. Nevertheless, Charles concludes with a stern warning to heed caution, "Now, good luck to all of you." As you filter out the room, he casts a pointed glare, "And Logan, please refrain from defiling my desk at any point in the future."

Shock etches across your face, mouth slightly agape. Once you're out of earshot, you shove Logan’s arm in embarrassment, "It wasn't me then." You breathe in relief only to be reminded of the thoughts he seemed to be entertaining earlier. What surprises you is the fact that you're more intrigued than deterred by the idea.

"My bad, sweetheart. Couldn't help myself," he laughs, dipping in close to whisper, "Suit's makin' it real hard to think straight." And with that, he's off, jogging ahead to Scott and Jean already waiting in the hangar.

Once you're airborne, the atmosphere shifts. Jean pilots the jet, her hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the horizon. The Hydra facility looms in the distance, a dark and ominous presence in the middle of nowhere. As you approach your destination, a sense of apprehension lingers among the four of you. Scott recounts the plan, outlining the most efficient entry and exit points, his voice low and deliberate, "Logan and I will start from top-down and you two from the opposite."

As you leave the jet, a hand slips into your own, stilling you in place. Logan tugs you into his arms, there's a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes, however, convey something along the lines of "Be careful, please". You squeeze his hand reassuringly, pressing a quick kiss before breaking away. With a reluctant sigh, he catches up with Scott, splitting off from you and Jean.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of decay and neglect. Everything is left exactly as it was, except there are signs of a violent struggle - machines overturned, wires strewn across the floor, glass shards crunching under your boots. It's a scene of chaos and destruction. In the center lies an operating table, its restraints snapped in half, broken syringes and discarded medical equipment scattered around.

Electricity crackles beneath your fingertips. Though your powers aren't advanced, Charles has been a patient mentor, overseeing your progress since the day he found you. However, as you keep surveying the area, you notice an odd sensation, a subtle resistance to your abilities. A similar unease grips Jean too, her gaze meeting yours, a shared look of concern exchanged as you continue your search.

A distorted voice breaks through the comms, "Upper level's clear. No sign of anything." It's Scott, barely recognisable over the static.

"Copy. Still sweeping the lower level," you respond, but it's garbled by the interference.

"Stay on alert," Jean warns, straining her telekinetic energy against the strange force permeating the facility. "Defence systems could still be active."

You venture deeper into the hallway, greeted by an eerie silence broken only by the echo of your own footsteps. A series of cells line the corridor, thick metal barricades, scarred and rusted, stand as a testament to the suffering endured by those held captive years before. Peering through the tiny barred windows, you see sterile, empty rooms, not a single bed or mattress to be found - the cold, hard concrete floor offering no comfort.

"Fuckin' hell," you murmur, chills running down your spine. Jean hums quietly in agreement, looking around in horror. The electricity you can usually detect in the background dwindles to a weak buzz. You descend a narrow staircase, the air growing heavier by the second. At the end of the hallway is another metal hatch, this time with a faded Hydra symbol etched onto its surface. With a concentrated effort, Jean manipulates the lock, the door groaning open with a distinct beep.

It's beyond dimly lit - a dark, cavernous space. You focus your powers, fighting against the invisible pressure dampening your strength, current coursing through your veins. With a snap of your wrist, the room erupts in light, fluorescent bulbs flickering awake. A row of computers surrounded by a bundle of wires and archaic machinery stretch towards the ceiling.

"Must be the control room," Jean reaches out to flip a switch, but as her fingers brush the old metal, energy jolts through your body - a warning that something is amiss.

"No - wait!" you shout, but it's too late. The metal door slams shut with a deafening clang. An agonising vibration rattles through the room, a shockwave that reverberates through your body. The two of you sink to the floor, clutching your ears as a rush of debilitating pain burns every nerve ending in your body. And you're left paralysed for what feels like an eternity.

Logan clicks his tongue as static continues pouring through the comms, he catches the tail-end of your broken reply - something something lower level - a pit of dread forming in his stomach, "Place feels off."

"You're right, I can't get a read on anything," Scott mutters, the red hue of his glasses flashing in the darkness.

Logan's eyes dart around the space, landing on a series of grotesque instruments undoubtedly used for torture. A wave of nausea washes over him, flashbacks of his own past spring forward at the sight, reminders of the days when he too was a mere subject in someone else's twisted experiments. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. An imperceptible vibration ripples beneath his feet, "The fuck was that?"

Scott immediately tries the comms again, "Jean? Wha - ", but it goes completely dead.

Logan's already barrelling through the corridors, his instincts taking over without a conscious thought. He calls for you again and again, reckless abandon fueling his every move. Screw the mission, all he wants is for you to be safe. His heart leaps into his throat as static hisses through the comms, Jean's voice muffled through the noise, "We've got... a major problem."

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

"C'mon, darlin'." The silence drags on, panic begins to seize his mind, sweat beading on his forehead. He needs to find you, now. The faint vibrations gradually become intense as he races down the staircase, "Major problem? C'mon, say your stupid joke, sweetheart. Please. Anything." His pleas, wracked with desperation, fall on deaf ears. Fear gnaws at him. He’s itching to hear your voice, even for that little running gag he doesn’t fully understand. Just any goddamn sign that you're still alive.

His senses direct him towards the metal hatch. Lunging forward, his fist connects with the barrier, claws extending at any attempt to tear through the door. Yet it holds firm, its surface barely dented or scratched by his force. Frantic, Logan rams his claws into the small security panel on the side, trying to short-circuit the lock. But the moment it's breached, a chain reaction is triggered, explosives hidden within the walls detonate with a tremendous roar. A torrent of debris and radiation thrusts him backwards, knocking him hard against the concrete.

The world around him seemingly implodes into a bedlam of sound and light, white flashes obscuring his vision. Pain, a searing, all-consuming pain diffuses through every inch of his body. His consciousness wanes, slipping away from his grasp. In the fading moments of awareness, he hears a distant crackle of electricity.

Then, nothing.

The memory of the chaos, the blinding light, the aftermath of the explosion, replay over and over. And then, there was Logan, his body limp and unresponsive, a sight that haunts your every waking moment. You remember the desperate scramble to escape the facility, the weight of his unconscious form in all your arms, the tense journey back to the mansion, Charles and Jean ushering you out of the med bay - their focus solely on stabilising him.

The night stretches on, a relentless march of time that seems to punctuate your helplessness as you pace back and forth. The lack of response from anyone doesn't quell the whirlwind of anxieties in the slightest. Every minute sound, every faint whisper, sends your heart racing. But when they finally emerge hours later, faces etched with exhaustion and relief, you can finally breathe.

For days, you sit by Logan's bedside, hands intertwined with his. The monotonous rhythm signalling his vitals is the only thing grounding you to reality. Though he remains unconscious, Jean had offered words of comfort, pointing to subtle improvements in his healing with her scans. Eventually, warmth returns to his body. His breathing, once laboured, is now full and steady. Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead and hope ignites within you again, just enough to draw a small, weary smile.

But then, you see it.

Glaring at you, painfully so, is a little mark on the back of his shoulder. Except, it isn't the same crescent moon that adorns your wrist. No.

Your heart sinks, breath catching in your throat, paralysis sets in once again. A single, shattering revelation echoes in your mind: Logan is not your soulmate.

He stirs awake, eyelids fluttering open. Everything slowly returns to his senses as the haze of confusion begins to clear. The first thing he notices is the familiar scent of you lingering on his skin, in the air, on the chair pulled by his side. As his vision unblurs, the blue walls of the med bay coming into view, a flood of concern smacks him in the face. Where are you? What happened? He tries to sit up, his body protesting with every movement.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The mechanical hum of a wheelchair grows louder as it approaches. Charles, brimming with sympathy, rolls closer.

Logan groans, his muscles throbbing like never before, "What the hell happened? Is she - "

"She's alright, as are Scott and Jean," he interjects, though a shadow of pity clouds his expression. The unspoken weight behind his words triggers alarms in Logan's head, but before he can question him, a sharp burn shoots up his back. He winces, reaching for the source of the stinging. Beneath his fingertips, a strange, rough texture grates against his skin. He angles back to inspect it, blood running cold.

"It surfaced a week ago," Charles says grimly, "We suspect the radiation from the explosion temporarily impacted your healing, hence, the mark."

Logan can't think straight, a maelstrom of emotions engulfs every single fiber of his being - disbelief, agony and rage. How could this be real? He'd spent night after night, praying for some sort of sign, a reason for his existence. And when he found that in you, it felt like everything finally aligned. But now, destiny had struck him down with a ruthless blow, a cosmic twist of fate far worse than death.

Seven days.

That's how long it's been since you last saw him. The weight of the world bore down on you, every breath a struggle. Hours bled into one another as you stayed locked in your room, sobbing uncontrollably, your heart fracturing with each passing moment. Jean's persistent knocking eventually broke through your despair, her calm voice soothing your frayed mental state.

It took all of her gentle persuasion for you to finally eat something, to force you out of the anguish that consumed you. The news that Logan was awake and begging to see you almost crumbled the impenetrable walls you'd built up. But the thought of facing him, of confronting the fragile pieces of your harsh reality, filled you with dread.

And so, you avoided him. Retreating into yourself, a ghost of your own life, you clung to the illusion of distance. Maybe it'll somehow ease the pain, the heartbreak. You couldn't even bear to look at your own wrist, the mark - a cruel reminder of a love that was and a future that can never be. Every second of every day, mocking whispers floated around your mind, "You don't deserve him. You never did."

The moment Logan fully recovers, he immediately rushes through the mansion. Anticipation swells in his chest, there's nothing he wants more than your touch, your laughter - just you. He reaches your room, sensing the warmth from within. Hand hovering in the air, he takes a deep breath before knocking.

"Sweetheart?"

There's no response. He drops his head against the door, breathing ragged. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over, the oxygen in his lungs thinning as he tries to speak, "Please. I know you're in there. Talk to me." The silence, the emptiness, it all becomes too much. He's losing you, and he can't do anything to stop it. "I know you're upset. But, please, just let me in."

Your voice comes muffled, charged with grief and sorrow, "That mark means there's someone out there for you - your real soulmate. Someone who isn't me." The words are piercing, he longs to pull you into his arms, to comfort you, to reassure you. "I am not meant for you, Logan," you choke out.

"Fuck that," he spits back. He can't accept this, that you're conceding to some inexplicable truth, "'M not givin' you up cause of some shit on my body. I choose you. And I will choose you. Every single time." It's all strangled, raw with emotion, cheeks stained with a wetness. He's wound up, a caged animal clawing at the bars. He'll fight for you, even if all the cards are against him, "Darlin', I don't care if there's someone else - they're not you. You're perfect to me. For me. The universe can go fuck itself cause I love you."

Logan goes still. He's never expressed that to you, not in this way, not with such soul-baring honesty. But, nothing has ever been more true, "I love you."

Heavy hangs the air. Then, a soft padding of footsteps, the door clicks open. Before he can react, your hands cup his face, drawing him down to your level, lips meeting in a passionate caress. Logan cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. The space between you, both physically and emotionally, fades away. This is all that matters, for now and forever.

His arms tighten as you pull back and tuck into the crook of his neck. The weight of your exhaustion is obvious with the shuddering sigh you let out, his heart aching for you. As you whisper apologies, he trails kisses down your face. "No, no, don't be sorry, darlin'," he says, all soft and gentle. Neither of you move, surrendering to each other, the moment suspended in time. Slowly, your trembling subsides and he smiles, the lines of misery now dimming. With delicate fingers, he brushes your tears away.

"I have a major headache," you murmur, eyes falling shut.

He huffs a laugh, saluting you with a playful grin, "Major Headache." The look of astonishment across your face brings him so much joy. "I asked Kitty, told me to watch the damn show." And Logan did watch the show - all for you - to understand the little references you kept making here and there.

"You know how to use the Internet?" you ask, incredulously.

"Don't push it, sweetheart." There's no malice behind his tone whatsoever. With a smirk, he leans forward, scooping you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. It's a familiar motion, a routine he's done hundreds of times before. But now, it's different, one that’s even more precious.

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

He knows. He knows because it's written all over you. Every word, every breath, every touch - a testament to your love for him. A love so quiet and profound, a love that has weathered storms, a love that will last until the end of time. And he's eternally grateful for it. For you.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the repercussions to rinse away

buttercup, chapter nine

a/n: was shower sex at the very top of my list of things to include in the new chapters? fuck yeah it was, as it should be. double bingo because he'd also super hurt, but like in the slutty way that he does it (you know exactly what i'm talking about. just look at the gif i made right up there if you need a visual aid)

summary: “…I want to ask you about how this happened, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna tell me…” 

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, the black daredevil suit, hurt/comfort, injuries, blood, kissing, shower sex, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, impact play, pussyjob, thighjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, protected sex, penetrative sex, cockwarming

word count: 4163

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“Knock, knock,” you hummed as you pushed open the door to Nelson and Murdock, peeking inside before you crossed the threshold completely. As your eyes flickered away from the empty offices, they then landed on the kitchenette off to the left where the only remaining employee stood. 

“Hey,” Matt twisted his head in your direction to flash you the soft smile that promptly blossomed on his lip, as the sound of your voice melted into him like sweet hot chocolate on his tongue, warming him from the inside. 

As his fingers went back to fixing himself a cup of coffee, extending to click on the electric kettle, you stepped closer before he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“So…” you breathed, slightly tense as his lips faded from your skin, “…are you alright?” 

“Hm?” his brows knit together gently, “yeah, of course, I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good,” you leaned against the counter with an exhale, “it’s just when you didn’t show up last night, I got a bit worried.” 

“Shit,” he cursed sharply as it all came rushing back to him at once, “sweetheart, I’m sorry.” 

Since today had been an early morning shift for you, the plan had been for Matt to let himself into your apartment last night after his patrol, so that your paths could, at the very least, cross for a brief moment instead of waiting multiple days for your schedules to once again align. But instead of feeling the comfort of his presence slip into bed beside you, he never came, and even when you dragged yourself out of bed while it was still pitch black outside in order to make it to the bakery when the clock struck four, fear had swayed you to briefly peek inside of his neighbouring apartment, as a detour when you slipped out of your own, but he was still nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s okay, I understand,” you gracefully swallowed the lingering disappointment, “you probably just lost track of time, saving people who needed it, or just plain forgot,” you shared the theories you’d cooked up while you’d worked the early shift you’d clocked out of just before wandering over here, “or maybe we just missed each other, you got home right when I left, or maybe you didn’t wanna wake me up…” 

Grasping your hand as the kettle clicked beside him, now puffing with steam, he exhaled, “what can I do to make it up to you?” 

Pursing your lips as you thought through the options, you then suggested, “how about I sleep in your bed tonight,” your finger lightly poked his chest before catching his tie and gently running your thumb and forefinger down the silky strand, “and that way we won’t miss each other tomorrow?” 

“Deal,” he smiled, stealing a swift peck before he finished brewing his simple cup of coffee.

Though when his feet then began to shift across the floor for the first time since you’d stepped into the office, a furrow found your brow as you noticed how stiffly he was walking, carefully rounding the corner, mug clutched in one hand as the other palm trailed the wall on his way back to his own desk.  

“…why are you walking like that?” you tilted your head as you picked up on more of the obvious signs than just the pained facial expressions that he tried his best to suppress. 

“Like what?” he tried to act like a kid who hadn’t just been caught with their hand down the cookie jar. 

“Matthew…” your head faintly twisted from side to side as impatience overtook you and you continued to stare at him in concern, “don’t–…” 

“Don’t what?” he kept his tone innocent, though didn’t spin back to face your overflowing worry. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, your eyes narrowed before you uttered, “…take off your shirt.” 

However, he still went on shielding you from the truth as he instead plastered on a smirk and croaked, “alright, sure,” placing his cup down on his desk as he finally whirled around to face you, “if that’s a way I can make it up to you, but just so you know before you start stripping as well, Foggy and Karen will be back any second.” 

“Oh, stop! That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it,” you snapped, snuffing out his charm, “take it off,” you repeated firmly and watched as the faux grin finally dropped from his lips, “let me see.” 

Slowly, he reached up to tug at his tie, carefully slipping it over his head before his fingers began to work at the buttons down his crisp shirt and flickers of agony flashed across his features before it finally parted enough for you to see. 

“Oh, Matt…” you exhaled as you spotted the grievous wounds sporadically scattered across the sliver of his torso on display for you, all of them shielded behind blood-tainted bandages. 

“I’m okay,” he gently grasped your hands as your fingers reached out to trace a ghostly touch safely along the skin beside some of the injuries.  

“What happened?” you whispered as you tried to keep the reins on your imagination and not let it run wild. 

“Sweetheart, this is nothing–” 

“It doesn’t fucking look like nothing! Is this why you didn’t show up last night?” you asked before the guilty look that flashed across his features became all the answer you needed, “Matt…” 

“I’m sorry,” he uttered softly. 

“You should have called me, I could have come, instead of you just lying unconscious and bleeding out in an alley somewhere,” you pleaded quietly. 

“I wasn’t bleeding out in an alley,” he said, attempting to calm your erratic nerves, “Y/n, I’m fine, I promise. It looks a lot worse than it is.” 

“How did it even happen? Are you in danger? Is someone after you?” 

“It was nothing,” his head faintly shook from his to side as he tightened his grip on your hands, “baby, it was nothing, okay?”  

“…okay…” you hesitantly nodded, doing your best to let go of the fear still churning your stomach, “…you know, maybe it would be smart if I learned a little bit more about medicine since things like this are a much more common occurrence for you than I think I realised…” you blinked back down at his beaten and bruised skin, your fingertips briefly catching the hem of his open shirt. 

“I can teach you what I know,” he tilted closer, grasping your cheek before he pressed a kiss to your lips, “…so,” the corners of his mouth twisted upwards as he then shifted topics in an effort to distract you from the remainder of your worries, “was it a no then on the quickie before the others get back?” 

It was a stifled groan that woke you from your slumber. 

Slowly blinking your eyes open, as you layed curled on your side, alone in your boyfriend’s bed, you had to squint before you saw the figure on the other side of the apartment, sitting by the dining table in the dark. 

With his black mask dangling off the edge of the table, Matt’s fingers froze before they could reach back into the open first aid kit as his head tilted and he heard how your legs shifted slightly beneath the dove grey duvet as you woke up. 

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he called out quietly, keeping his back turned to you as he stayed still and tried to not let you notice what he was doing, “I’ll be there in a second.”

But instead, you sucked in a breath and crawled out of bed. Your soft nightgown unravelled and tumbled down around your thighs from where it had been gathered up around your waist while you were sleeping. 

A long sigh slipped from Matt when your bare feet neared him and his current state became impossible for him to hide. His tight black shirt was pushed up to his waist, exposing the wound just above his hip, one that you’d spotted earlier that day back in the office, though now it was no longer neatly bandaged, but instead slowly leaking blood as he worked at stitching it back closed. 

“Matt…” you breathed as your eyes flickered everywhere from his bloody nose to the small knicks that had sliced through the thin material of his shirt.

Bathed by the neon lights that leaked in through the tall windows behind him, he simply exhaled, “I’m fine,” as he reached for a clean cotton pad in the first aid kit and dabbed it against the wound he was patching back up, swiftly swallowing a grunt of pain as the gauze was slowly stained crimson. 

“You can’t keep saying that,” you pulled out the chair next to him and sank down, “tell me what to do.” 

“You don’t have to,” he gritted his teeth as he pierced the curved needle in his grasp through his skin one last time before tying the thread off with a tiny knot, “I can handle it myself–” 

“Matthew! Will you please just shut up and let me help?” you barked, finally cutting through his stubbornness before you watched an exhale slip from his lungs and his head slowly tilted in a nod, “thank you,” you huffed before scooting a bit closer, “now, please be honest this time, how bad is it?” 

“I promise, it’s not that bad,” he uttered as his hand that clutched to cotton wad kept on putting some pressure over the freshly closed-up laceration.

“Do you need any more stitches anywhere else?” your eyes kept on scanning his bruised body, noting as he spoke the bloody gash that split up his lip. 

“No, it was just this one that popped back open,” he carefully took the swab away from the wound with tender dabs, the needle that still dangled from the thread swung gently from the friction, “I just need to get cleaned up, maybe a few bandages and I’ll be fine,” he tried to flash you a smile, though the brave face didn’t help the way that he’d hoped. 

All he could hear was how fast your pulse was beating as you stared at him, tears threatening to spring forth as your heart nearly burst straight out of your chest. 

“Y/n,” his hand swiftly found your own, “hey,” he uttered gently, “take a breath… take a breath…” his head faintly nodded in soft encouragement as he steered you to finally fill your lungs properly. 

As your shoulders finally began to relax, you felt him let go of your palm again before his fingers went back to work. 

“What do you need me to do?” you asked once more. 

Tilting his head towards the first aid box, he murmured, “you can grab the scissors.” 

And as you grasped it, you watched as he then leaned back in the chair, a jagged breath slipping from his lungs as he shifted, before he plucked up the dangling needle and held it out for you to snip the thread. 

“Like that?” you asked once you’d cut through the thin cord, nervous that you’d somehow messed the small task up. 

But as he brushed his fingertips against the short string that remained at the end of the row of stitches he’d knotted, the corner of his lip twitched as he uttered, “perfect,” before he carefully tugged his shirt back down over his stomach. 

A long exhale escaped Matt as he finally let himself relax and fall back down from the highs the events of his night had brought him to. For a while, you both just sat there in silence as he sank further into the serenity he’d made his way back to. 

But then, as his eyes fluttered closed, you parted your lips and uttered, “…I want to ask you about how this happened, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna tell me…” 

Face briefly threatening to scrunch up at the frustration that bubbled up in him, he muttered, “sweetheart–”

“But I just wanna say that even though I know why you don’t like to talk to me about the details,” you cut him off before he had the chance to stop you, “sometimes it doesn’t protect me, sometimes my active imagination takes a hold and tries to fill in the blanks in ways that are surely so much worse than the reality…” 

Sucking in a breath, a second passed before he said, “…you really wanna know?” 

“Yes,” you swiftly nodded, leaning in a tad closer in your seat. 

Sitting up a bit more, he planted a forearm for support on the table before he began to tell you, “a few weeks back I intervened in this trafficking deal, two dozen women and kids, ready to be shipped off like lambs at the slaughter,” his hand gestured alongside his words, “turns out it was connected to something much bigger than I had thought,” he exhaled before uttering, “do you know who Joseph Giordano is?” 

“I don’t think so,” you murmured slowly, “why?”

“He is next in line to the throne in the Giordano crime family.”

Your brows then knit together as you blinked back at him, “…are you saying that there’s an entire mob after you right now?” 

“Well, I don’t know if they’re after me, I’ve just pissed them off a few times,” he tried to downplay his situation in order to calm your nerves that began to pick back up again, thumping in his ears like the booming base at a club. 

“Is that what happened tonight? You pissed them off again?” you looked once again to how hurt he was before he begrudgingly began to nod his head faintly, “…so, how worried should I be?”

“It's nothing I can’t handle,” he uttered as his years of experience shined clear through his tone. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I am so close to putting a stop to them, all of them, making them pay for all the shit that they’ve done,” his sentence culminated in a heated huff before he let it go. Carefully rising from his seat, he briefly flashed you a tight-lipped smile as he changed the subject, “I’m gonna go clean up, you head back to bed.”

“No, I’ll–,” you swiftly stood up as well, “let me give you a hand.” 

Pausing just before he began to shift close to the bathroom, he then murmured, “alright,” before he let you grab his palm and shadow him with every careful step. 

Reaching an arm into the shower, you turned on the water so that it could begin to rise to a temperature that wasn’t like having snow dumped down over you. As you twisted back around, you spotted Matt’s features, faintly screwed up, as he cautiously peeled his shirt off, though before it could slip over his head, your fingers caught the tail end of it.

As you dropped it down on the edge of the sink, Matt’s hands found his belt, although before his nimble fingers could begin to undo it, your own touch landed upon his own before his palms slipped out from under yours and he let you take over. 

First, you kneeled down before him and slipped off his boots, pushing them off to the side before you straightened back up to undo his pants, gently tugging them alongside his dark boxers. 

As you rose back up with the last of his black vigilantly suit in hand, your partner’s wide palms naturally found your waist in a soft graze, before your fingers then drifted to the hem of your nightgown and he felt the fabric slip beneath his touch as you pulled it over your head.

Dropping it down on the top of his own clothing, piled up on the edge of the sink, you then grabbed his hand once again before your feet began to shuffle against the tile, backing up till you were both in the shower. Twisting you both around, you slowly guided him under the drizzle of water, still holding his palm in yours as it began to rain down on his battered form. 

The water turned a ruddy shade as it cascaded over his body and gently washed the blood away. Gingerly, you let your fingers ghost over his injuries, being careful as you helped clean them. His eyes fluttered closed when your touch floated up from his chest to his jaw before you softly swept over the crimson that had dried in a trickled path from the gash on his forehead, his nostrils from the blow his nose evidently had taken, as well as from the small cut on his lip that had begun to puff it up slightly. 

Gliding your hands down to his hips, you gently guided him around for his broad back to face you. As your hands skimmed over the fresher damages, your touch couldn’t help but slow as you blinked back at the gnarly old scars that split up his skin. You’d likewise been staring at the ones all over the rest of his flesh as your touch swept across his body, but as he stood, facing away from you, the intimate graze of your fingertips couldn’t help but slide up and trace the long marks. 

You barely realised that you’d stopped your aiding efforts till it was just your thumb lightly brushing against one of his scars, back and forth in short swoops, before you closed the short distance and pressed a tender peck to the middle of his spine. 

Though as your touch slowly returned to their work, his hand suddenly snatched up one of yours. His feet shifted slightly, angling him only partly back to face you, he raised your palm up as he bowed his head to meet the back of it and press your hand to his lips. 

Ripping your gaze away from his broad back as it slowly twisted away from you, it swiftly drifted up to Matt’s features, faintly wistful as he planted the soft peck to the back of your palm. When he came to face you once again, his other hand swept up your frame till it came to cup your cheek. 

A soft breath flowed from his nostrils before he uttered, “I love you…” in a tone that made it sound as if he was thanking you, before he then tilted your face up as he bent down to gently press his lips to your own. 

For a while, he kissed you as if he was trying to make time itself stop, as it stretched on, slow and smouldering, light on your lips. But then, while the hand he had on your cheek stayed in place, the other one let go of your palm and drifted down around your waist, gently caressing your side before his fingers slightly dented your skin as he drew you in closer and the light pecks morphed and deepened so slowly that you barely registered the change he had initiated till your tongue was suddenly dancing heatedly against his own. 

His touch on the side of your face soon faded as it instead slipped down the landscape of your body and a heavy intake of air rushed in through his nose as the kiss then grew more desperate. Though as you hugged him closer, careful with your touch, a quiet gasp suddenly bubbled up your throat as his frame finally pressed flush up against your own and you felt the hardness that now poked you in your stomach. 

“Matty…” you breathed in between ravenous pecks as his cock throbbed against your skin. 

A low groan rumbled in his chest as his wide palms then swooped down over the curve of your ass, briefly digging his touch into your softness and making your cunt clench around nothing, before his knees then bent slightly and his hard length slotted in between your thighs, perfectly slipping against your pussy. 

Letting the devil out, Matthew then let himself rut against your folds, a gravelly grunt rolling off his tongue as he momentarily rested his forehead against your own.  

“O-oh, fuck…” you moaned as his hardness continued to nudge against you, parting your slick petals with his fat girth. Hazily tilting your head back at the feeling, you soon felt his lips flutter down your neck, “Matt…” 

Though your pants continued to grow unanswered as your partner only growled in response before one of his hands soared up to capture your jaw and tilt your head for your lips to come crashing back against his own in a feverish kiss.  

Shifting your frame, he then brought your legs closer together till the softness of your thighs hugged around his length still slotted against your pussy. With his hold still digging into the softness of your bottom, he then began to fuck your thighs, though with each needy thrust he granted himself, the details of his cock still dragged against your buzzing clit and made you whimper against his kiss. 

And when you were both on the verge of exploding, nearly too pent up to keep your balance on the wet tile floor, he hastily reached an arm out of the shower and grabbed a condom from the medicine cabinet. Snatching it from his hands, you panted as you rolled it on him, briefly raising yourself up to stand on your toes to steal a breathless peck from him as your fingers twisted the latex into place, granting him a soft stroke once you’d finished. 

Long moans drew forth from both of you when he slowly slid inside, his forehead melting down against your own as he paused at the very tip, letting your cunt clench around his girth a moment before gradually giving you more in shallow thrusts. 

Whimpering to the rhythm of his steady pace, you blinked up at him and panted, “I love you,” before he then crashed his lips against your own. Tilting your hips slightly as he gently rocked inside of you, slowly dragging his cock out of your pussy, most of the way, till he dove himself back in once more, each time burying himself a little deeper than before. 

Your palms slid up his burly chest before your touch tangled around his neck, holding on tight as his desperate grunts melted against your tongue. Matt’s grasp, still on your ass, dented your flesh further as he then began to move your body for you, dragging your hips closer to meet his bucks and grant him the angle to go even deeper, filling you up till your eyes rolled in your skull. His hands swiftly tapped against your butt as he found a greedy pace, one that caused your pussy to sing sinfully over the splashing of the showerhead still pouring down over the both of you. 

The next thing you knew, Matthew then snapped, losing the last bit of self-control he had left after the long night he’d had, and drowned himself completely in the one pleasure that his soul ached for. Feverishly, he suddenly plucked you up off the wet tile, his fat length still nestled deep within you as he picked you up into his arms. 

“Oh my god,” you yelped as he rooted his strong hold under your ass, “wait, no,” your nails instinctively dug into the nape of his neck, “you’re hurt–”

But he only cut you off with a quiet, “shh…” as his nose brushed against your own before he uttered in a gravelly tone, “trust me when I say, I can take a lot more than this when I’m way worse off.” 

And with you in his arms, he then readjusted his grip on you, briefly tossing you up a smidge, before he then sank you back down onto his cock, plugging you up till you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan as your brain momentarily went blank in the ecstasy.  

Toes curling, you whimpered, “j-just be careful,” as you spread out your fingers till they weaved through the short hair at the back of his head. 

But rather than of playing it safe like you begged him to, he instead just tightened his hold on you as he growled, “I’ll be careful later,” before he then went to town, pounding away till the showerhead above wasn’t the only thing gushing. 

And when Matt finally came undone, after you began to fear he might not snap out of his ravenous haze till the sun rose, fucking your pussy till you could no longer stand on your own two feet, your spine was plastered against the tile wall as his head melted down against your shoulder. The shower went on running as he kept you in his arms, both of you panting as he granted himself the gift of staying warm inside your fluttering cunt even longer and further drawing out the bliss to balance out the night that he had endured. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[bourgeoisiebirdie]

Agatha All Along Episode 5 Theory: Why It’s Weird and Short

So Episode 5 was by far the shortest episode we’ve had so far for the series. It feels different from the other trials so far which causes it to feel…scrambled in a way. Now you could blame poor writing for the craziness of this episode (along with the abrupt ending), but I usually reserve that judgement for after a series ends.

Here’s what I think is going on. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Agatha’s trial being in this episode was a bit of a surprise, but let’s be real, the show is called Agatha All Along…do we really believe that our favorite dramatic sad backstory mommy issues-filled witch only gets ONE episode for her trial?

The Ouija board makes the objective for this task clear: Punish Agatha. A task that some of the coven clearly have no qualms carrying out. But let’s think about the sequence of events after that message is delivered.

The coven tries to tie up Agatha which fails after Agatha becomes possessed by her mother. Agatha’s mother says Agatha must be left behind which causes her to freak out. Alice tries to save Agatha which results in Agatha accidentally(?) killing her. Agatha is only stopped when Teen says her son’s name and the door to escape opens after Teen says Goodbye on the Ouija board.

Notice anything?

Agatha is never *technically* punished by her coven. Each trial so far involves a task that 1. is specific to one witch’s ability, 2. involves a clear objective that the coven eventually recognizes and reaches together, 3. ends with growth, both power and character wise, of the witch/coven. This episode feels off because the formula is off. And the formula is off because none of it’s real.

Episode 5 IS Agatha’s punishment. Every trial has stirred up unwanted tragic memories from the witch it’s related to. It is no coincidence that this episode hits every. single. one. of Agatha’s problems.

It starts with an Ouija Board - Agatha has killed a lot of people, not all of them on purpose. We already know Agatha loves to pretend to not feel anything, but now she is forced to directly interact with her victims.

Punish Agatha - The coven turns on Agatha surprisingly quick to carry out the trial and surround her while she is on the floor…just like her old coven betrayed her. She fears betrayal.

Evanora Harkness - Self-explanatory, she not only forcefully possesses Agatha (which could tie in to fear of lack of control thanks to Wanda), but tells her she was born evil, something that Agatha looks devastated to hear. Mommy issues galore.

“I’ll be good” - upon hearing that her coven may leave her behind, Agatha freaks out and begs for them to not leave her. Fear of abandonment.

Alice’s Death - Agatha seems horrified after killing Alice with her powers (just like she killed her mother and coven in the past), and the rest of the present coven, especially Teen, are horrified by her actions and don’t believe her.

Nicholas Scratch - A devastating name to hear. And his voice calling to her is just the cherry on top.

And after she leaves the trial? Teen turns on her using magic similar to Wanda’s and then throws Agatha off the path to kill her. And Rio is suddenly nowhere to be seen? Another tumblr user made an interesting point that the aspect ratio doesn’t return to normal like it usually does after a trial. Because all of this has been the precursor to Agatha’s actual trial.

This may be all in her mind and it’s up to her coven to help her, guess we won’t know for sure until next week.

[gffa]

*walks back into BATFAMILY fic fandom eleven months later, holding a Starbucks cup* I'm right on time, I don't know what you mean. AND I have returned with the fruits of a fandom that continues to be incredible at providing the good stuff! Sometimes it's still hard for me to grasp just how much fic has exploded onto the scene in the 10+ years I was away from DC, that there was some incredible fic back when I was into the fandom, but coming back to actual mountains of it has continued to blow my mind every time and made me love these characters even more than I already did.

It's almost overwhelming, honestly, how much good fic there is to read, so let me scream at you guys and shove links at you because I'm having a great time here and I want to drag all of you into it with me, COME HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT RIDICULOUSLY DRESSED SUPERHERO COMICS WITH ME, it's all fun and games, I swear! (Okay, but at least you'll have a good time crying about the Bats, I can give you that much at least.)

BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST GREMLIN ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ sleepless, perfect duty by glassofwater, dick & bruce, 4.3k     The choice to forgo sleep, to forgo Dick Grayson, has never been easier. Not when the other option is Robin. ✦ Parallels in Reverse by rosetteanon, dick & damian & bruce, time travel, 2.2k     Damian travels to a dimension that's a little bit behind his own. There, he meets a younger Dick Grayson, and a happier Bruce Wayne. ✦ string theory by wingdingery, dick & bruce & damian, time travel, 8k     When Bruce and Dick get transported to an unfamiliar Gotham, it only takes running into a different Batman and Robin for Bruce to realize two things: one, they’re in the future; and two—in the future, Dick Grayson is dead. ✦ Rooftop Meetings by orphan_account, dick & bruce & leslie & shrike & cast, 10.2k wip     When Two-Face almost beats a newly minted Robin to death, Bruce decides that the life of a vigilante is too dangerous for a kid. This becomes the catalyst for a series of events that leads twelve-year-old Dick Grayson down a darker path. ✦ It Could Stay This Simple (Just Stay This Little) by coconuticecream (magspie), dick & bruce, 3k     Maybe claiming legal guardianship over a child at 22, and so soon after becoming Batman, spread Bruce thinner than he'd realized. Maybe Bruce was less equipped to parent a third grader than he'd thought. Maybe Bruce should do more to invite Dick into his life. Maybe Bruce should hug Dick, or promise he'll do better by Dick, or tell Dick that he loves Dick more than he thought himself capable. (or: bruce and dick practice self care together.) ✦ No One Said Flying Was Easy by Wrtrmd2, dick & bruce & alfred, 51.1k     Eight year old Richard Grayson has just watched his parents fall to their deaths. Hurting and alone, he struggles to adjust to the new life he's thrown into. Bruce Wayne takes him in, but seems to have no idea what he's doing. Can they help each other put the pieces of their broken lives back together?

✦ Zitka by PechoraFlow, dick & bruce, 2.7k     After Dick's parents fall to their deaths, he is left clinging to the few things he has left: one of them being Zitka, his stuffed elephant. ✦ your heart is the only place that i call home by emavee, dick & bruce, talon!dick, 6.3k     There shouldn’t be any Talons that are this small, this young, but there’s one standing right in front of him. And that shouldn’t be Bruce’s soulmark blooming on his too-pale skin, but it is—there’s nothing else it could be. Batman really should know better than to bring a Talon home with him, but here he is, wrapping up the boy in a set of meta-cuffs and tucking him into the backseat of the car. ✦ Hostage by EternalLife, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.9k     Dick Grayson is 10 years old. Batman is nowhere to be seen, and Robin has a gun to his head. ✦ The Mother-Son Dance by cometoastop, bruce & dick, 1.8k     Dick is upset he doesn’t have a mother to bring him to his school’s mother-son dance, so Bruce offers to bring him instead.

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Permission To Pause by farawayfiction (JJ_Thomas), dick & bruce, 1.9k     Bruce pulled the phone from his pocket. A text from Dick was waiting for him on the notification screen. ✦ oathbreaker by one_step_closer_to_death, dick & bruce & cast, 2.3k     Stranded and on his last leg, Batman might be fighting his last battle yet. But Bruce promised he was coming back home and this was one promise he wasn't going to break yet. ✦ Judge and Juror by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & alfred, 6.6k     Anonymous asked: I was just wondering if you would like to write a story set during bvs and how Nightwing could be involved there? ✦ When You Don't Have an Umbrella by TheSilencer, dick & bruce, read the tags, 1.2k     Dick Grayson and Batman talk about the rain. Except they're not actually talking about the rain. ✦ riding the blues by TheResurrectionist, dick & bruce & oc, 3.9k     “What’s in there, anyway?” Charles asked, rolling down the window. “Looks heavy.” “A few million dollars' worth of electroshock weapons,” the kid said, dead-serious. After a moment, a grin stretched across his face. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. It’s old clothes, mostly.” ✦ Lexically Homeless by nighhtwing (divineauthor), dick & bruce, 1.1k     Dick, Bruce, and their relationship with language and each other.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by sElkieNight60, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred, de-aged!dick, 17k wip     Dick was twenty-eight. The boy in the mirror most certainly was not. ✦ Weight of Judgment by Dragonbat, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.6k     As leader of the Teen Titans, Dick had to make a difficult decision. Now he's dealing with the fallout. ✦ Robins, titmice, and other spring birds by Fleur_de_Violette, dick & jason & bruce, 8.5k     There are a lot of things Jason doesn’t understand in the dynamic of the Wayne manor, despite being here for nine months. Maybe a rescue turning a little more dangerous than it should have been for Robin will help him see things clearly? ✦ bachelor parties of different sorts by cedarcat, dick & jason & barbara & cass & bruce (& background dick/babs), read the tags, 4.4k     Dick and Barbara are engaged. There's just one complicating factor that Dick has to deal with. He'd rather avoid it. aka: the one where dick handles past trauma poorly, finds the support he needs in his family, and comes out better for it. ✦ Kitchen Talk by Smitty, dick & alfred, 3.1k     Dick Grayson gets some good advice in the hours before Nightwing #45. ✦ Teach Me to Dream by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & alfred & leslie & cast, time travel, 29k wip     Dick’s eleven. Not thirteen and eager to prove himself. Not seventeen and mourning a brother. Not nineteen and wishing his best friend wasn’t dead and Bruce would look him in the eyes. He’s only eleven. So why does he remember all of that? ✦ like the back of my hand by Jo_B, dick & bruce & conner & dick/babs, 2k     “Cut it out.” “Would you stay still, please?” Dick swats Bruce’s hand away and starts pushing himself up. “Y’know, in the wild, bats eat their kids.” “That’s not even a little bit true and you know it.” ✦ idea man by vaporeon_ninja, dick & bruce & jason & damian, 8.3k     Ask him. As if it were that easy. As if Damian hasn’t only just barely begun to respect him, and would immediately burn all the ground they’ve covered if Dick so much as implied he wanted to help him get through something. Yeah, fat chance. No, Dick can’t ask him. But he can’t just keep doing nothing, either. So he decides on a third option- just start trying anything. ✦ One of His Own by DawnsEternalLight, dick & bruce & damian & alfred, 1.3k     Dick's freshly back from Spyral and apartment hunting. Little Does he know his dad has already got that covered. ✦ Now That's a Lot of Damage by Sanctioned_Chaos, dick & bruce & jason & tim & cass & cast, 5k wip     On a joint operation with the Justice League, Dick's family falls victim to a particularly malignant curse and he's the only one who can free them. Consequently, it makes him the subject of their suffering.

BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I'M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ All the Roofs of Uncertainty by Kieron_ODuibhir, dick & jason & bruce & leslie & cast, 70k     For all the blood on his hands, Red Hood was never just a villain. And Nightwing never gives up on family, not for good. (Or: The one where Dick bleeds a lot and Jason argues with everybody.) ✦ Red In My Ledger by WordsAblaze, dick & jason, 1.1k     day five, where jason realises a little too late that dick isn’t an intruder breaking into his safehouse... ✦ Fixed Points and Fluxes by i_am_the_imposter_syndrome, dick & jason (& bruce), 16.5k wip     When a mission involving a mysterious sorcerer goes wrong, Dick and Jason find themselves out of time and place in a Gotham that’s not quite their own. Protocol dictates they lie low and avoid unnecessary interactions as much as possible until they can get home, but their family here is fractured, and if there’s one thing that’s constant across universes, it’s that Bats have each other’s backs. ✦ Too Close to Call by Dragonbat, dick & jason & bruce, 5.8k     Summary: Things go horribly wrong when Robin thinks he can bring in Two-Face by himself. Now Nightwing’s life is on the line and one bad decision might spell disaster!

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I'M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Won't You Stay A While? by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & tim, 2.8k     Ric did not expect to find a child sitting on the hood of his cab. Damian did expect to get his brother back. ✦ The Universe Doesn’t Get to Take This by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & bruce, 1.9k     “And they’re so important that you don’t come home to check on your recently un-amnesiac brother? And here, I thought I was your favorite.” ✦ Just a Little TLC by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian, 1.7k     Dick was not sick. Really. He was fine. Fine!

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ The Long Way Home by itsnatalie, jason & tim & bruce & dick & damian & cast, 111.6k     With Jason tentatively back in the Batfamily, things are going pretty well for him--except for the whole thing with Tim. But who gives a shit about Tim Drake? But when Jason and Tim are pulled into a frightening race for their lives inside a labyrinth that's out to kill them, they may have to look past their differences just to stay alive. Maybe along the way, they'll discover they aren't as different as they thought, and family comes in many different forms. ✦ IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio, jason & cass & barbara & bruce & steph & tim & damian & roy & dick, 8.5k     A Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle: The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. ✦ Real Housewives (sort of) of Gotham by brandywine421, dick & selina & bruce & damian & jason & roy & talia & dinah & harley/ivy & helena & cast, no powers au, 5.9k     Selina is curious to a fault but she has a twinge of concern at her almost-stepson's name popping up on her personal line. They were allies and frenemies, depending on who was Brucie's favorite pet at the moment but he usually texts birthday wishes and xoxo's instead of actual voice contact. "Is everyone okay?" ✦ War! by Smitty, dick & barbara & tim & cast, 1.9k     What 'entertainment' was Nightwing talking about in Nightwing #44? Innuendo. ✦ Nowhere Safer by lurkinglurkerwholurks, dick & jason & tim & bruce, 9.6k     What's a Robin to do when the nightmares don't stop? ✦ Love like Cats by Laroyena, alfred & bruce & dick & jason & julia & cast, 20.7k     “This takes crazy cat people to a whole new level,” his old friend told him. “So this old family your dad took care of, they left their fortune to a cat.” Alfred Pennyworth, ex-special agent of the British Secret Intelligence Service, moves to America to become a butler. A cat butler. ✦ Minimum Height Requirement by Drag0nst0rm, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph, 66.4k     Somewhere in the multiverse, there's a universe where letting his children dress up in capes and follow him into vigilantism seems like a good idea. Bruce is determined that it isn't going to be this one . . . Despite his children's repeated attempts to convince him otherwise. (Or: "When you're eighteen, you can do what you want. Until then, no capes.")

✦ Family Crisis by librarylexicon, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & steph & leslie & cast, 85.8k     At the close of the gang war, Batman uncovers an attempted deception concerning the life of his former protégé Stephanie Brown, and suddenly nothing is as important as his family. While Dick seeks absolution, Tim struggles with grief, Cassandra searches for belonging and Steph rebuilds her sense of self, Bruce faces the return of ghosts from his own past and psyche. (War Games AU) ✦ grasp of ice by Kieron_ODuibhir, tim & damian, 6k     “Drake.” The hand in his was cold. Not because it belonged to a corpse, but because the night was cold. Cold and bright and pitiless, fresh snow glittering perfect under the waning gibbous moon like diamond sand. “Drake. Stay awake.” Drake, because he was insane, smiled before he said, “I don’t want your pity, Robin.” ✦ The Salem Protocol by Dragonbat, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & barbara & jim & cast, 47.4k     An AU version of Batman, RIP. When the GCPD makes a surprising arrest, Gordon knows he needs to call in support. Contains MASSIVE spoilers for Batman #678.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ Hide and Seek by WordsAblaze, dick & tim, 1.1k     day twenty five, where a mission leaves dick and tim playing a not-so-fun version of hide and seek... ✦ To be a good brother by andthentheyweretwo, dick & tim (&tim/kon), 7.7k     It’s not always easy to be a good brother. Sometimes, it’s downright hard. ✦ Think Happy Thoughts by fanfictiongreenirises, dick & tim & bruce, 2.3k     Dick's vitals keep crashing if his thoughts turn downwards. Tim tries to help. ✦ Hisstamine by coyote_nebula, dick & tim, 2.7k     Dick gets bitten by a venomous snake. Tim pretends to know exactly what to do. ✦ Words That Must Be Said by Dragonbat, dick & tim, 1.4k     Tim needs Dick's advice when his long-lost uncle turns up.

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY'RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ I'll crawl home (to her) by dizarys, dick & babs, ~1k     She needed to focus. She was Oracle and Oracle couldn’t falter or be distracted by personal feelings, not when multiple lives depended on her coordinating teams across the city, the country, the globe. There was no time to worry about Nightwing or his radio silence. Too much going on to pester him. He got out, said he wasn’t majorly wounded, and she needed to trust him. After all he was Nightwing. Vigilante since he was ten. Dick didn’t need her worrying in his ear while trying to stay alive. They needed to be professional because anything else could end in death. ✦ to my word now I'll be true by theragingstorm, dick/ babs, NSFW, 4.7k     A chance night becomes something more. ✦ Scar Tissue by Smitty, dick/babs, 2k     Some scars heal more easily than others. ✦ Time Enough by Smitty, dick/babs, 1k     Barbara asked him for time.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ What a Hunk (Of Rock) by AelinSardothian, tim/kon & cast, 4.4k     Tim is pulling another all-nighter when an injured Kryptonian lands on his balcony, leaking blood and affection. ✦ Obligatory Nap Time by egg_thief, tim/kon, 2.6k     Tim hasn’t been sleeping lately. Kon’s determined to at least get him to take a nap ✦ GUY.exe by thebodydies, tim/kon, NSFW, 4.6k     “If you tell me what you want,” Conner said, “I’ll do the rest.”

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ threadbare by inconstant_moon, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & donna & cast, read the tags, 53.8k wip     That's the thing. Dick looked right at the kid, broken hand and all, and nearly let him in. He nearly let him train. Because after all these years, he didn't process anything wrong with the image before him. (Dick, Bruce, and the implications of raising a partner instead of a child.) ✦ Kindness isn't Free by minnow_doodle_doo, bruce & dick & alfred, no powers au, 6.7k     “You need to love humanity unconditionally or else the world will beat you into the ground and you won’t be able to get back up again.” He said into Dick’s hand like a prayer. “And you can’t kill what you love and survive.” ✦ Home Assignment by librarylexicon, dick & bruce & tim & babs (some dick/babs), 6.8k     Blüdhaven police officer Dick Grayson is suffering the tail end of a nasty cough when he's summoned to work a stakeout as Nightwing with Batman and Robin in Gotham. As the night wears on, his worst fears are realised when three urgent pleas for help pull him in separate directions, forcing him to choose between members of his own family in a way that feels suspiciously intentional. ✦ How Sharp The Pieces Were (You Crumbled Into) by WinterSky101, dick & tim & damian & cass & bruce & alfred & steph & duke & cast, 14.9k wip     Dick is back, but scars like his don't heal easily, even with a new healing factor. (Thirteen stories of Dick and his family in the year after his return to Gotham.) ✦ Pain o' Chocolate by Anonymous, bruce & dick, 1k     Dick is in a coma.

[reflectionspace]

Veilguard and the Failures of Surface-Level Liberalism

Strap in pals of all genders and creeds, this is long.

Despite presenting itself as a progressive and inclusive RPG, Dragon Age: Veilguard is not a leftist game. It reflects the superficial politics of contemporary Western liberalism: visually diverse, rhetorically inclusive, but politically hollow. Like the modern Democratic Party in the U.S., it trades radical or transformative ideals for shallow representation, and in doing so, it reveals an underlying conservatism that both limits its storytelling and leads to unintentional ideological harm.

Before we begin, a brief note: a materialist analysis, rooted in Marxist thought, focuses on the concrete, material conditions that shape social life—such as class structure, labor, power relations, and access to resources. It asks who holds power, who produces value, and how inequality is maintained or challenged. In media, this means looking beyond what stories say and analyzing how they reflect or obscure real systems of oppression and change.

It's useful to briefly define neoliberalism. Neoliberalism is an economic and political philosophy that rose to dominance in the late 20th century. It emphasizes deregulated markets, privatization, and individual responsibility over collective solutions. Under neoliberalism, social problems are reinterpreted as personal failures, and political engagement is reduced to consumer choice. In media, neoliberal storytelling often replaces systemic critique with personal empowerment, turning collective oppression into individualized struggle and positioning social justice as a matter of branding or taste rather than structural change.

On its face, Veilguard looks like the product of progressive ideals: you can customize your character's gender presentation, choose from a visibly diverse party lineup, and engage with themes of identity and belonging. But these elements stop at the surface. The game offers no deeper vision of social change, economic transformation, or solidarity.

This mirrors the liberal fixation on identity politics without class analysis. Like the Democratic Party, Veilguard wants applause for "looking inclusive" while sidestepping the harder work of interrogating systems. It does not question who holds power, how that power reproduces itself, or what solidarity across difference might look like in practice. There is no structural critique—only aesthetic gestures. There is no vision of solidarity. It's similar to how the Democrats have been running on a platform of "vote for us or else" for decades, because their politics largely agree with the basic material premises of the other party, that being neoliberalism, and the only thing they have to offer is the "or else".

And, just so you don't brush me off as some chud, I am not American, and I cannot vote in the elections. If I were American, I would vote

Democrat, not third party candidates, for obvious reasons. It's just, from where I stand, the US has a party on the right, and a party on the far right, and leftist options aren't genuinely on the table.

Veilguard has no meaningful conception of class struggle. The party members do not grapple with class dynamics between themselves. There is no collective vision for how to reshape the world. NPCs and factions are individualized; systemic analysis is nowhere to be found.

Compare this to Final Fantasy VII Remake or Disco Elysium, which offer actual political theories, explore the costs of extraction and labor exploitation, and question the player's place in systems of oppression. Veilguard instead takes the safer path: personal identity as the only axis of oppression worth mentioning.

This isn't progressive. It's neoliberalism.

One of the clearest examples of this failure is how Veilguard handles Tevinter. In previous games, Tevinter was known for brutal class hierarchies, magical oligarchy, and chattel slavery. This should have been fertile ground for a materialist critique: a fantasy setting where the costs of empire, elite rule, and oppression could be examined.

Instead, Veilguard sanitizes Tevinter. The anti-slavery detective Neve is stripped of her struggle's stakes, because slavery is nearly invisible. Her political engagement becomes personal branding. Her character reads like a consultant's PowerPoint slide on "gritty female rep," not a fighter in a living system of exploitation.

While Tevinter should be the perfect setting to interrogate labor, class, and entrenched hierarchies, Veilguard flattens the issue of slavery into a stylized backdrop. One of the most politically loaded questions—how to dismantle slavery—is presented as a choice between two NPCs: the moderate reformer Maevaris Tilani, and the more radical Dorian Pavus. If the player saves Minrathous, they can choose between Dorian's immediate upheaval at the cost of stability, or Maevaris's slow institutional reform, which keeps Tevinter structurally weaker but more diplomatically stable. If Minrathous is not saved, Dorian simply becomes Archon by default. Mechanically, this choice only affects the ending credits and a few party member reactions, not that party member opinions actually come with consequences like in DAO or DA2.

This choice is not interrogated. It becomes a matter of player flavor, not political vision. It reduces the end of slavery—a deeply systemic issue that could have spanned quests, moral tension, and class engagement—to a question of who should be the next enlightened ruler, as though the system will simply fix itself with the right person in charge.

It's a Superman fantasy dressed in moral earnestness.

Let's have a few examples of how the lack of thinking hampers the narrative and messages of the game.

The same lack of structural thinking undermines Taash’s storyline as well. Taash is a character navigating a nonbinary identity in a supposedly transphobic and sexist society—but Veilguard never convincingly builds that society. Every major character except Shathann affirms Taash's identity without question. The arc is framed around whether the working immigrant mom will use the correct pronouns, which might be emotionally resonant if Veilguard actually depicted transphobia or gender norms in a systemic way. It doesn’t.

The setting’s supposed prejudices are surface-level inventions with no institutional or cultural weight. The Chantry is matriarchal. Women serve in every political and martial role, and conversely, men in the setting have been portrayed as caretakers, mages, academics, or healers. Transition is possible, and even accepted in Qunari society. Unlike Dorian's story—where his father's attempt to use literal blood magic to "fix" his son's sexuality comes with real stakes, taboos, and danger, or Maevaris's story of coming out and starting to live as a trans woman, to great scandal in the aristocratic society of Tevinter—Taash’s conflict lacks material consequences.

The result is that Taash’s arc feels both emotionally weightless and politically incoherent both inside the world and at a meta level. Remember, Veilguard presents a cast full of women, but often does not treat them as full people. Maternal characters are punished. And only women are expected to perfom allyship and be sexually available, whereas the male characters are exempted from caretaking beyond having quirky pets. And so on.

And while the choice between Dorian and Maevaris makes sense on a story level and I like both characters, it just underlines the lack of critical lenses in the editing room that the end result is that the new top leadership for Tevinter will always be the AMAB scion of an aristocratic family.

It's such a missed opportunity honestly, I would have loved to see a Calpernia-as-the-wildcard-newcomer-from-the-working-classes and Maevaris-as-the-aristocratic-mentor-behind-the-scenes girlboss teamup.

The treatment of the Dalish elves provides yet another example of how Veilguard lacks the empathy and complexity needed to write real diversity. Despite being a displaced diaspora with a long, storied spiritual tradition, the Dalish as a group suddenly and near-unanimously turn away from their gods once it's revealed that those gods were corrupted or false. None of them seriously grapple with the emotional or cultural weight of this loss. There is no spectrum of belief. No internal conflict. Even Bellara's brother is portrayed as mind-manipulated and corrupted by evil forces and then killed off, conveniently removing any need to engage with his ideological position.

In real-world diasporas and cultural groups, the opposite is true. Disagreement and ideological diversity are the norm. Cultural traditions, even those with flaws or dark histories, remain emotionally potent and hotly debated. Some members cling harder to old beliefs in times of crisis; others reform or reinterpret. But Veilguard sidesteps this entirely. It reduces a displaced people to a monoculture with a conveniently aligned opinion.

Based on the content in Veilguard, I am fairly sure the authors would describe themselves as feminists, and would, if asked, reject sexism or inequality between men and women, classism, racism, and so on. This failure I'm describing doesn't happen because of agreeing with the wrong ideology or support for a party or whatever.

The ultimate problem is that Veilguard is trapped inside a specific liberal worldview: one that fears complexity, refuses solidarity, and replaces structural critique with PR-friendly inclusion. It treats oppression as a set of aesthetic signifiers rather than a system. It treats politics as something that happens through identity choices, not collective action or transformation.

Really, beneath its inclusive surface, Veilguard treats its core cast not as members of a collective, but as exceptional individuals who matter more than the world around them.

In this way, the game echoes Ayn Rand's ideology: the exceptional few are the only ones worth saving, empathizing with, or narratively prioritizing.

This explains how characters like Emmrich and Harding can plan a whimsical picnic trip to the Blighted South with zero social consequence. The world is dying, half the continent has been consumed by a magical cataclysm, yet somehow the party has access to luxury food items like expensive coffee beans. There is no material scarcity or logistical tension. This also explains why the player is never allowed to tell Taash to set aside the identity struggles until after the apocalyptic threat is dealt with—because in Veilguard, individual emotional arcs matter more than shared survival. The elite chosen few still deserve their personal resolutions, no matter what collapses around them.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the Minrathous vs. Treviso decision. Mechanically, the choice has no meaningful effect on the larger world. Minrathous is doomed either way. Treviso's destruction matters only in terms of whether the male romance option, Lucanis, will date the player or not. The female option, Neve, of course, remains romantically available no matter what.

The stakes are not moral, structural, or material. They're personal and transactional.

The Blight can spread, cities can fall, but your companions still host book clubs and have access to fresh fruit. This isn't solidarity. It's elite individualism dressed in inclusive costume.

Veilguard may look inclusive, but it’s deeply status-quo. Its treatment of women, its sanitized view of systemic oppression, its Randian elevation of the elite cast over the world, and its absence of class consciousness are not just narrative flaws—they’re ideological ones. The game mirrors a liberal worldview that wants to feel like progress without doing the hard work of justice—one that smugly assumes its values are universally shared, regardless of players’ and characters' backgrounds, cultures, or material realities. As a result, it doesn't meaningfully explore what building real solidarity or inclusive political futures might require.

If we want better games—and better futures—we need to move beyond representation as window dressing. We need stories that see power, challenge structure, and believe in something greater than optics.

And we need games that don’t just let women, or black people, or sexual minorities exist.

We need games that ask why the world tries to erase them in the first place.

[curly-fry-3]

Dean x Daughter!reader can you do this? Reader and Dean get caught in a hunt and it's a vampire or demon who wants revenge on Dean. They hurt the reader and Dean goes into protective dad mode.

𖦹Protection𖦹

summary𖦹 Dean goes crazy after hearing you got taken

pairing𖦹 Dean Winchester x Daughter!Reader

word count𖦹 1275

notes𖦹 I feel like I haven't written in forever omg I hope this is good

Dean was starting to get worried. Usually you'd be home from school by now but you're nowhere in sight. You'd been gone for an extra two hours and Dean was pacing around the tables in the library. Maybe you were just out having fun and forgot to tell him, or you're breaking rules and don't want him to know (either way you'd be in trouble) but Dean has a really bad feeling. His mind is constantly going; what if you're hurt, what if someone took you–or something.

Your location was turned off, he had already checked multiple times. Why was it off? You always kept it on, it's Dean’s number one rule. He didn't even have time to worry about you running around town disobeying him, he should be researching the demon case with Sam.

After a couple more minutes of pacing he decides to check your location again. He's shocked to find out that it's turned back on and you're a couple cities over…in a warehouse–The exact warehouse that Sam had tracked the demons to. Shit. The worst thing that could possibly happen, happened. He promised you that he would keep you safe, but you got taken while on your way home from school. 

Dean is already getting his shoes on, grabbing his gun, and knife when he gets a call from you. He quickly answers as he continues making his way out the bunker, “Y/N?”

Your shaky voice responds “Dad…I'm not hurt but I will be if you don't show up within the next two hours.”

He rushes out to the impala the second he hears your voice. He can tell you've been crying and that the call is being monitored by someone else, “sweetheart, i'm gonna be there. It's all gonna be ok. I won't let them touch you”

He can hear you take anxious deep breaths. “I'm scared, they grabbed me while I was walking–” Dean listened as the phone is taken from you and passed around the room

At this point, he is already speeding down the freeway with his phone tightly gripped up against his ear, waiting for any noise to come from the other line. He was gonna kill them. He was gonna kill them all. God, how could he let you get taken like this. He should be able to protect you, that's his job. You're scared and it's his fault. Everytime he thinks about how terrified your voice sounded, his foot presses harder on the gas.

After a couple minutes of silence, Dean hears a man's voice on the phone “you still there Dean? Oh, I can picture your face now. You look a little constipated when you get angry”

“You touch her and your dead” He seethes 

The demon laughs lightly, “We’ll just have to see about that, won't we? I have a feeling shes a screamer”

He presses harder on the gas and continues driving with a white knuckle grip on the wheel, “You won't be getting to test that theory”

The demon sighs out in annoyance, “Really dean? You wanna be the one giving orders when I have your daughter tied up? I thought you were smarter than that. Just remember, you only have an hour left” 

The line goes dead and Dean throws his phone across the bench seat in anger, breaking it. He just has to focus on getting there and saving you, he can wallow in his guilt when he knows you're ok.

After about another forty minutes of driving, Dean swerves into the dirt lot in front of the warehouse and storms in, stabbing every demon who interrupts his path. He has to find you and get you out, he doesn't need you to see him ripping that asshole demon limb from limb. 

He was in the middle of taking his knife out of the chest of a demon when he heard you whimpering and being told to shut up. He rushes in the direction of your voice and makes his way into a large open room with dirty concrete floors. He immediately notices you tied up with rope in a chair in the center of the room. There was one other demon with you, probably the man on the phone. 

You notice him immediately and yell out “Dad!”

The demon turns toward you and covers your mouth with duct tape. “Do you know how many times ive had to tell her to shut up? You winchesters are so annoying” He asks Dean

He grips his knife tighter “you said you wouldn't hurt her if I came, im here, so back off”

The demon ignores his request and stays firmly planted in his standing position next to the chair, “always so demanding, gets me hot”

Dean grits his teeth “did you kidnap my daughter just to flirt with me? What the hell do you want?”

The man huffs out in fake exhaustion, “Revenge, obviously?”

“I dont want to burst your bubble, but I have no clue who the fuck you are” He states firmly

The demon gasps dramatically “You wound me. Did our long, sexually charged, wrestle match back in boston mean nothing to you”

He rolls his eyes angrily “buddy I don't remember you”

“You will after this” the demon then pulls a knife from behind his back and brings it up to your neck, putting just enough pressure to barely break skin. “Now, i'm gonna gut her infront of you”

Dean watches as the knife presses harder against you while deciding what would be the safest way for you to get out of this. He watches your pained expression as you frantically try to breathe through the duct tape. He pulls his arm back and uses all his strength to throw the knife into the demon's chest. The man falls to the floor with a pained gasp before the light flickers and the demon is officially dead. 

As soon as the man drops to the ground, Dean races over to you. Kneeling on the ground, he carefully pulls the tape away from your mouth. You take a deep breath when your mouth is no longer obstructed. “Dad!”

“Sweetheart, you're ok, I'm here, they're all dead. You're safe” He comforts as he unties the rope around your wrists and ankles.

The second you’re free from the rope, you throw your arms around Dean and melt into his arms. He can feel you crying against his shoulder, wetting his shirt sleeve. He kisses your forehead, pulling you further into his embrace while rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I'm here, princess. We can go home now. You're not gonna leave my sight, ok?”

You take quick, shaky breaths, trying to calm your crying, and nod against his shoulder. “Yeah, I wanna go home”He tugs you closer to his chest, with his arm supporting under your knees, and picks you up bridal style. You clutch onto the lapels of his jacket as he walks you out to the car and puts you in the passenger seat. About halfway into the drive back, you're asleep against him with his arm wrapped around you, playing with your hair to help calm you down. For the next couple of weeks you wouldn't leave Dean's side; following him around the bunker, sitting in the passenger seat every time he drove, and sleeping with him every night. That night was probably the scariest moment of both your lives, and Dean knows he can never let it happen again. For the time being, he’ll homeschool you to make sure you're safe, but he hopes eventually he can give you the normal life you deserve.

sorry if there are any typos

@areswasneverhere @mfstargirlsworld @childofjove

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: it had been settled. everything had gone to shit and then everyone had had front row seats to watch how that'd happened. back in the theater, no one had known what to say, how to describe what they'd seen, how to reconcile that whoever had been behind the circumstances haunting Split River High could've been anyone.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.27

"Love this for me."

Charley scanned the area, confused, disoriented, nervous. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, he shuddered, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he began to trek in the direction he hoped would take him back to civilization.

This wasn't how he imagined finally being free from the school. Lost in the middle of nowhere, dense trees as far as the eye could see. There weren't many wooded areas around Split River. A couple of parcels here and there, wilderness parks, but not like this, and he had to wonder if the forest was actually native to the land.

Finally, he found a trodden path in the dirt and decided to follow it. What did he have to lose? There was no danger. He couldn't die twice. Food, sleep, shelter weren't required despite he and the others keeping up those habits in the afterlife at Mr. Martin's guidance. Still, what you'd mentioned on the rooftop the night before—about how your great-aunt or your mother could erase his soul from existence—made Charley paranoid.

What if he'd landed here just for an evil witch to use his ghost for some nefarious plan to make her young and beautiful again? He'd seen Hocus Pocus. And it didn't matter that he was technically too old for that spell to work. He was stuck at 17 until he moved on and he wasn't keen on having a wicked witch absorb him for the sake of vanity.

Which, okay, Charley reasoned, sounded ridiculous, but one couldn't blame him. After a tornado had manifested in the theater and he'd been transported to some creepy, dark forest alone; he wasn't going to criticize himself for the insane theories his brain churned out.

He followed the path until it brought him to a winding, unpaved road. Turning left, he trailed down the edge of it for what felt like hours. It'd started raining halfway through his journey to wherever the hell, and night had fallen before the road widened into a bare plot of land stretched in front of a dilapidated farmhouse, its shadow a fanged monster raking toward Charley's ankles.

"Oh, that's not freaky at all." Charley muttered, quickly glancing over his shoulder and debating whether or not to go back the way he'd come. The darkness blurring the unpaved road seemed to push toward him as if discouraging him from turning around. He groaned in despair, "I hate everything about this," wanting the universe to take pity on him and return him to—God help him—the safe and familiar halls of Split River High.

It was Movie Night, he winged internally, and Wally had agreed (with conditions) to watch Ghost—shut up—and Katelynn and Bernadette were in charge of snacks which meant there'd be a smorgasbord of good options because Mr. Martin always filled the table with carrot sticks and his homemade tuna salad ("Just like my mother's! Doesn't it taste like home?"—"Why is it in jell-o?"—the '50s were a heinous decade, Charley thought, green around the gills at the memory).

Today was supposed to be a good day. A day of progress. A day of togetherness. He and Rhonda and Wally, and now Maddie, a united front against the mystery of Maddie's.....well, not-death, Charley supposed, because you'd debunked that. But against the mystery of Maddie's situation, nonetheless.

Except he was here, wet and cold and lost; an Addams Family-esque farmhouse towering in front of him like a bad omen and no one to turn to for answers.

"It can't get worse," Charley sighed, about to ascend the first of the front steps.

As his foot set down on the wood, the screen door creaked and someone emerged, using their back to push the door open so they could exit. When they turned around, Charley nearly jumped for joy. He knew that face! That was your face! Your face... Charley reeled back. Your face was coated in blood. You were coated in blood. Hair, hands, jeans.

"What happened!?" He questioned, pitching toward you to scan you for injuries.

You didn't seem to be in any pain, not favoring a leg or curling over a gut wound. Beneath the thin red film on your face, Charley couldn't spot a gash, a cut, a scrape, nothing. He panned to the front door, speculating in startled flashes what lay beyond it. The color drained from his face as he thought about it and he decided, no thanks, he didn't want—didn't need—to know.

The most unnerving part, however, wasn't the Evil Dead amount of blood on you. It was how your eyes stared ahead, completely blank; the same dissociative gaze Charley had witnessed on Emilio's face in the wake of Charley's death. Like Emilio's mind had evaporated while his brain repressed every bad thing that'd ever happened just to keep him upright.

Charley wanted to ask if you were okay but the words lodged in his throat when he finally noticed that you had something—someone—bundled in your arms. Small, child-sized (probably because it was a child, Charley, he chided himself), wearing Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. A queasy sensation flushed through him as he watched you fumble down the stairs, gaze fixed ahead, arms fastened around the little body.

When Charley shifted to follow you, the screen door creaked again then slammed closed. Another person hurried out, clomping down the steps to chase after you. Small. Child-sized. Spiderman rainboots and a Looney Tunes sweater. Charley's expression twisted with sorrow. He bit the inside of his lip as he turned and walked beside the little boy who contemplated his boots as he squelched through the mud.

"Where are we going?" The little boy asked you, stomping into and out of a puddle.

You answered, "I'm taking you home," your voice light as a feather and far, far away.

"Will mommy be mad at me?" The little boy paused, big green eyes on your back, worried that he'd be in trouble for...for what? Charley couldn't discern. For dying?

"No." You said, dragged your feet with effort, your Converse not made for soft, sinking ground. "She'll know what to do. She'll make it all better, Aiden, I swear." On the last word, your voice cracked, but your face didn't change, your gaze still distant.

Charley kept pace with the little boy, Aiden, until you came to the end of the unpaved road. You were shaking, probably freezing, soaked to the bone and in shock. The unpaved road intersected a tarred section of old, narrow highway, a rusted mailbox keeping vigil in the tall grass that lined the shoulder.

Part of the name was scraped away by time and weather. Still, Charley could make it out: Meheive. A name Charley had had hammered into his skull in Grade 7 History. The name of one of the three industry men who'd founded Split River in 1800.

"Oh," He commented mildly, "It gets freakier. Fantastic." Then, as he lifted his foot to continue after you, he simply couldn't. He tried again, again, again, walked in place as if on a treadmill while an invisible force kept him at bay. "Never mind," He gulped, "Now it's freakier." At least he wasn't being shot back to the cafeteria at speed, he mused glumly when he took the time to feel the identical vibrations he felt when he got too close to the barrier around the school.

Slanting his attention to the side, he saw Aiden standing alone, face pinched, lower lip trembling and eyes filled with tears. "Sissy May, wait... I can't follow you..." He stuttered several breaths, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Sissy May!"

You didn't turn around. "It'll be okay, Aiden. Mom will fix it. She'll know what to do." Charley heard you murmur, dreamlike, detached, as you began to walk along the shoulder of the highway, adjusting Aiden's weight in your arms. "She'll fix it..."

Charley came up beside Aiden, watching you blend into the dark the further away you got. Aiden sniffled, squeaked before he coughed out a sob. He craned his neck to look up at Charley in devastation. Briefly, Charley was surprised though that settled into sympathy the longer Aiden blinked those green eyes up at him.

"I don't want to be alone," Aiden whimpered and took Charley's hand, his grip limp, his fingers tiny.

There was nothing to say to that. Charley didn't want Aiden to be alone either, and if he had to stay with Aiden for eternity, he would. He knelt down and pulled Aiden into a hug, his voice wet as he said, "You aren't alone, buddy," the way he would've comforted his younger cousin, Luca.

Unfortunately, the moment the words slipped out of him, Charley was snatched away and dragged through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Where Charley couldn't follow, Ajay did. Down the shoulder of the unlit highway, stomach rolling as he observed how you swayed and stumbled as you pressed onward, Aiden's dead weight becoming more and more difficult to manage. A car had stopped, a woman had called out to you, and Ajay had heard her on the phone with the police, asking for help.

It was as if you hadn't heard her. Ajay doubted you had, the state you were in, mumbling gentle promises to your brother as you carried him home. "Mom will know what to do, Aiden..."

Twenty minutes came and went before an ambulance and two squad cars screeched to a halt meters in front of you, lights flashing, red blue, red blue, red blue.

When the EMTs tried to take Aiden from you, you put up a fight; kicked, gnashed, snarled, screamed. Not words, just noise, like a provoked animal. Deputy Baxter managed to get you in a submissive hold so an EMT could sedate you before he helped settle you into a stretcher. Strapped you in, just in case, the corners of his mouth severely turned down and his eyes shuttered to conceal the heartbreak Ajay had caught a glimmer of.

"Take them to St. Vincent's." Deputy Baxter instructed the ambulance driver. "I'll call their mother." He moved on to order the second unit that'd arrived with him to follow the ambulance, that he would check the road, "For anything that'll tell us what the hell happened here."

"Austin, are you sure you want to do it alone? If someone's responsible, they could still be out there. They could be armed." Deputy Hayes voiced her concern through the passenger-side window. She was new. Too new to understand that Sheriff Stallow had a protocol when it came to certain matters. Especially those involving your family and a handful of others.

A protocol that Deputy Baxter was responsible for overseeing himself. For a substantial fee, of course, pulled from a vault that had been collecting wealth since before Split River had been established.

Deputy Baxter shook his head and reassured, "I'm just going to see what I can find along the road. If anything comes up, I'll call it in." He straightened and peered down the highway in the direction you'd obviously come from, a deep-seated foreboding frosting beneath his skin.

He was at a crossroads, his gut told him. Something terrible waited for him in the dark and whatever choice he made to deal with it would change his life forever. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. He just prayed to God that he'd still be able to be there for his own little boy in the after. That he'd have the chance to hug Xavier and tell him the world might not be safe, but his dad will always be there to protect him.

In the side mirror of his vehicle, Deputy Baxter stared at the retreating image of the ambulance and squad car as they blared down the highway toward the town. Once the sound of the sirens faded, he shifted the gear into drive, gravel crunching under the tires, and he drove to the only building in the area for miles.

Once Deputy Baxter was gone, Ajay vanished through the farmhouse door.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Five.

Does the Monster die?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon's eyes flew open and he jolted upright, waking abruptly in a cold sweat. The sky was dark outside his closed window, his room pitched black, and his mother was tugging at his shirt.

He barely registered her words, you told the police you'd return the phone tonight, get up, as she fussed over him, fuming, lecturing him in Tagalog as she switched on the overhead light and pinned him with a strict expression.

He scrubbed his face to wake himself up. Dragged his hands through his hair, eyes drifting to his closet. He could've sworn... Hadn't there been...? The door was open and, apart from the two rails of clothes and the shoe rack, it was empty.

"Hurry up, iho! Before your father gets home." His mother commanded before she turned on her heel and left the room.

In English, Simon responded, "I'm going, I'm going..." and rose from his bed. He felt weak, exhausted despite having apparently slept through the day. Again, his gaze settled on his closet as if the person who'd been crying in there had just tucked themselves in the corner and would pop out any second now that the coast was clear.

But nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, Simon stood and treaded to his closet. Just to make sure; just to see if it had really all been a dream. There was nothing inside to indicate anyone had been hiding there. No displaced clothes to suggest Simon had shoved them aside to get a better look at the little boy who'd quivered beside the shoe rack. No puddle from the rain that had dripped from the little boy's hair and Spiderman rainboots. No scuff marks in the carpet. No mud. No little boy.

"She's gonna hurt him," The little boy wailed into Simon's hip. "She's gonna take him and she's gonna hurt Sissy!"

Simon tripped backward, away from the closet, breath suddenly ragged as the memory flooded his mind. Because it had to be that. A memory. He'd had vivid dreams before, but never like that. He could still feel the little boy's tight grip around his waist, could still feel the wet and cold of the little boy's body through his Looney Tunes sweater when Simon had instinctually returned the embrace.

"She wants t'take them!" The little boy sniffed thickly, "You gotta help! You can't let her!" And then he added as if he'd been reprimanded enough times by his mommy, imploring "Pleeease!"

"Who are you talking about?" Simon asked. Leaned back and crouched so he was eye-level with the little boy, his hands holding the little boy's boney shoulders, "Who's going to get hurt?"

Simon grabbed his sweater and his car keys, calling out, "I'll be back soon," to his mother who'd installed herself in front of Wheel of Fortune. He had to get to the school. He had to see Maddie. To tell her what he'd dreamt or prophesized or hallucinated because, guess what, he'd apparently graduated from unwitting medium to Nostradamus.

As he trotted down the front walkway, he checked his phone. 7 missed calls from Nicole. 2 missed calls from Mathilda. 3 texts from Nicole asking the same question—are you okay?—and a novel from Mathilda that detailed the lessons he'd missed and what he'd have to make up for over the weekend, but don't worry, I'll help you. And 1 text from you. Short and sweet, sent that morning just after Simon had returned home from the police station.

"We found something to get Mr. A. I'll meet you at the bus stop when you get here."

Simon hoped it wasn't too late. That you'd stayed behind to wait for him even though he hadn't answered you. Unlikely, but he tried to remain optimistic, even as he took a moment to collect himself once behind the wheel of his car. That dream...it lingered like a bruise.

The little boy's voice stuttered through rough breaths, "Sh-she said she needs to find M-Maddie, but Maddie's gone, and that she c-can't use Sissy without Maddie. She can't do it w-without trapping more people."

Simon started the car and pulled into the road.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? You mean because Maddie died?" Simon pushed, but the little boy wasn't listening, sobbing about 'him' and 'Sissy' and how they were in danger. Simon grabbed the little boy's face between his palms, soft but firm, and God, his cheeks were so cold. He looked the boy straight in the eye, "What can't 'she' do without trapping more people?"

He rolled down the window to let the fresh air soothe his anxiety.

Eventually, the little boy quieted though tears continued to stream down his face, "She can't have a new body." He said in a little voice. "Now she needs more people because Maddie got away."

And what the gentlest fuck did that mean?

Simon still didn't know who the 'Sissy' and 'him' were that the little boy had referred to. The little boy had been too distressed to divulge their names, talking as if Simon should already know everything. Just 'Sissy' and 'him'. 'Sissy' and 'him' and Maddie and someone named Janet.

Did Simon know a Janet? He wracked his brain, trying to summon the names of everyone in his class who could have a connection to Maddie's death. There was a Jessica and a Jennifer and a Jayden. No Janet.

Then there was the matter of 'she' wanting a new body. Because that was sane. And impossible. Right...? Fuck, what if Maddie's death had been some nutcase's idea of a ritual sacrifice. What if another teenage girl was about to be murdered because, lo and behold, magic isn't real and Maddie just died instead of ceding her body.

The devil on Simon's shoulder quipped, "But ghosts are real," which, fair. If ghosts were real, surely they weren't the only eldritch phenomenon to exist in the world.

Maybe there were cursed mummies or body snatching aliens out there scheming to take over America via its youth. No child left behind. Jesus Christ. Simon was spiraling, brain spitting random images of every creature feature he'd ever seen at him. Had the little boy been trying to warn Simon about mummies? Aliens? Was it aliens!?

As he stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk, he stared—definitely too intensely—at the young woman who passed in front of his car. Like he could see straight to her bones and determine whether or not she was really human. The woman picked up her pace, shoulders up, head down, and folded her leather jacket tighter around her.

Don't be suspicious, Simon, he admonished himself, ashamed of his behavior, eyes darting to his lap until the woman was safely on the other side of the road.

"What even is my life anymore?" He wallowed. Ghosts and Mystery Inc. side-quests and pinning crimes on teachers. He felt he'd lived a hundred lifetimes in the last week and was seriously considering becoming a hermit the minute Maddie moved on.

There wouldn't be much reason to stick around after that anyway...

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Mina Volkov hadn't left the theater since 1987. She was a looper. She performed the same tasks every day, from morning to night to morning. She didn't sleep. She didn't eat—except for the paper bag lunch she'd brought with her the day she'd died. She didn't stray. Mina had to make sure that what had happened to her wouldn't happen to someone else.

There was safety in her loop. Not just for the living students she protected through her hard work, but for herself. Her loop allowed her mind to remain clear, focused entirely on the task at hand. She didn't have to think or reflect or question why her soul had lingered after being squashed by a stage light.

Rhonda had called it denial when she'd visited Mina a week after Mina's death. Rhonda had been sizing Mina up, prodding and poking to see how Mina would react.

Mina had simply gone about her safety checks and Rhonda had eventually gotten bored. And had never come back.

Sometimes, her loop veered off-course. Sometimes Mr. Martin came to check on her. Just to say hi. Never to invite her to those stupid meetings he hosted in the gym. The ones Ajay attended and would tell Mina about later when they picnicked on the stage or between kisses in the green room.

She liked Ajay. He was kind and thoughtful, and he respected her loop. He didn't complain when she prioritized double-checking the lighting cables and tightening ropes and cordage for the dropdown scenery. He'd simply sit and talk to her. Recite poetry or passages from books she never intended to read. Ajay was smart. Ajay was handsome. Ajay was...

Ajay was comatose. Slumped on the floor along with the others, his face, like theirs, twisted in anguish. Whatever measures Mina used to wake him up didn't work and she had no idea how to help. But she knew she needed to. Not because New Girl had brought Mina flowers. Or because Hawaiian Shirt Man had caused her so many headaches since the start of the school year and they'd found something to make him stop banging around under the stage. But because Ajay needed Mina to be brave.

He needed help and she was going to help him. Which meant Mina had to leave the theater. She had to find Mr. Martin.

Though Ajay often thought Mina didn't listen when he spoke, he was wrong. She held onto every word like a treasure that she'd tuck away in her heart and savor in the moments she was alone.

Mr. Martin took his privacy in the fallout shelter in the basement. Mina had been there before she'd died. Several times, in fact. It'd been an opening night ritual conducted an hour before curtain. The cast and crew piled downstairs and hid in the fallout shelter to pass around a spliff.

Mina hadn't been responsible back then, not like she was now. She'd partaken because she'd wanted to feel like part of the group when she'd so often felt like an outsider the actors and other crew members made fun of, "for being such an airhead, God, Mina, how many times do I have to repeat myself?"

Standing slowly, Mina regarded the theater door. Her heart slammed against her ribs, palms clammy as she tightened and loosened her fists. A comforting motion to calm her nerves as she stepped carefully to the door and placed her hand on the exit bar.

Mina hadn't left the theater since 1987. But today, she would.

For Ajay.

She spilled into the hall, the world spinning in her panic, and took off at speed to the other side of the school. Down two flights of stairs, through the door that led to the basement.

Most of the basement had been bricked off which had narrowed the hallway, making it feel like a catacomb. Poorly lit and spooky. The fallout shelter was at the far end, directly below the gym. Its door was open as Mr. Martin usually kept it. A practical solution given how regularly he had to come and go during office hours.

It hadn't been his idea originally. No. It'd been hers. The woman currently speaking through the janitor's mouth as she stared Mr. Martin down.

"I've canvased the area and several others every night since that traitorous little bitch escaped." Mr. South stated, "There's no sign of her."

Helplessly, Mr. Martin explained for the second time, "I don't know what you want me to do, Amelia. I've done everything you asked me. But my students need me to keep them present. I must prioritize the shift I noticed in the wakers."

Mr. South—Amelia—snarled, "I agree, Everett, but I'm not asking you to participate in a search and seize. I simply want you to tell me where that conniving piece of shit would have gone! She confided in you, you told me that. So, tell. me. where she's most likely to go!"

Mr. Martin shook his head, a cowardly expression miring his face, "I've told you everything I know, Amelia, please. I've given you her notes, her journal. Every piece of information I had is already in your hands."

Pained, "How have you allowed everything to unravel this much?" Amelia wanted to know

Quite unexpectedly, a frightened voice interrupted from the vault door, "Mr. Martin?"

Mr. Martin whipped his head to the side, his eyes going wide in panic when he saw Mina stood just over the threshold, inside the fallout shelter. What was she doing there?

She looked ashen. Scared. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her brown eyes slid away from Mr. Martin's face to rest on Mr. South for a second before returning to Mr. Martin.

Mr. Martin swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, anything to explain why he was mid-conversation with the living school janitor, when suddenly it didn't matter anymore.

Mr. Martin choked as he watched Mina glance down her body. Her chest seared like paper in a candle flame. She looked back up, fear contorting into betrayal, before she quietly burned away into oblivion.

Unable to reconcile what he'd witnessed, Mr. Martin merely stared at the spot Mina had just been standing, expression slack in horror. His chest rose and fell heavily, "Why?" he rasped, and it took every ounce of self-preservation not to lash out.

Behind him, Amelia lowered Mr. South's hand, scoffing, "Oh, don't look so sad, Everett. She didn't feel a thing," but Mr. Martin didn't believe it. Still, he was too intimidated to argue. He knew what Amelia was capable of.

Virtuously, Amelia commented, "We need someone to step in for Janet." A look of distaste, "Since it appears you truly are hopeless at managing things here on your own."

"I—" Can't, but he choked on the word, unwilling to say it aloud.

Amelia rounded on him, beautiful blue eyes flashing in anger, "I gave you everything you wanted, Everett, and, yet you repay me with failure."

"I haven't," Mr. Martin argued weakly.

"Oh? You've forgotten the one you let slip out of your grasp when we were so close to securing him. A problem I must now fix." She reminded him, "Don't forget this, you silly, little man. I can take away everything I gave you like this." She snapped her fingers as she stepped closer, Mr. South's nose practically touching Mr. Martin's. "You will do as I tell you, or all your little lambs will be slaughtered and I'll leave you here to rot. Alone."

And then she turned on her heel, her demeanor shifting to breezy and aloof.

"Do it soon. I can't afford any delays." In Mr. South's lumbering body, she picked across the floor like a debutante, "Time is valuable, Everett, especially mine." Then she was out the door and around the corner to return Mr. South's body to the storage room Mr. South used as his office.

Alone in the fallout shelter, Mr. Martin buckled to his knees.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Operating with half his mind still on aliens and mummies, Simon waited in the bus shelter. He was grateful you hadn't left, had responded to the text he'd sent when he'd arrived at the school: "See you in 5," you'd told him. At the metal crack of the side entrance opening, Simon stood up from the bench and faced the school. He frowned when he saw who emerged.

Steps uneven, Xavier exited the school. He stopped when he noticed Simon, stood still like a deer in headlights. Damn, Xavier looked like he'd seen a ghost. Pale and bug eyed and jittery.

They watched each other for a moment. Simon nodded his head in greeting. Xavier didn't return the gesture. Instead, he gazed down at his chest and then followed a trail to Simon's.

With a frightened look, Xavier lifted the hood of his sweater and veered toward the parking lot, skulking off with his head down.

A minute or so later, the door opened again and this time it was you. And Maddie. Together. Followed by a tall guy in a varsity jacket, a girl in a newsboy cap, and a boy with frosted tips wearing a lot of denim. The trio of strangers stayed by the door to watch as you and Maddie—together—approached Simon.

When you and Maddie were within earshot, Simon said, "Okay. What the hell is this?" To Maddie specifically, "How can I see you right now?"

Maddie shrugged, glanced at you, but you just kept your eyes on the ground.

"Not sure." You murmured, voice like air. You at least had the decency to look apologetic when you finally brought your gaze up to meet Simon's.

"So you can see ghosts." Simon stated, irritated.

"So can you." You returned, but your heart wasn't in it. In fact, you seemed as rattled as Xavier had been when he'd come out of the school.

Although he wanted to chew you out for having lied to him, Simon wanted to make sure, "Are you alright?"

His demeanor softened as he took you in. Puffy eyes, flushed cheeks, red nose. You'd been crying. And Simon would never be angry enough to let that trump being there for a friend who needed him. He bundled you into a hug, one hand rubbing your back, and asked Maddie with his eyes what was wrong.

In his periphery, he saw Varsity straighten and move to take a step forward. His friends each grabbed an arm and appeared to shut whatever idea he'd had down because he shifted back before shaking them off.

Urgently, Maddie told Simon they'd discuss everything, "Later," and ushered him back into the bus shelter. He kept an arm slung around your shoulders, a shoulder to lean on, though had to release you when you decided to lean against the interior glass. Simon took what was becoming his usual seat on the concrete base and Maddie folded herself onto the bench.

When neither you nor Maddie spoke, Simon took the lead, "Mr. Anderson totally played us," he began, glancing between you and Maddie. "I mean, the cops are convinced I helped Maddie run away."

Maddie immediately defended, "Seriously? That's—"

"I know. They only let me come back here because I promised I'd get Anderson's phone and turn it in."

You cleared your throat, "Okay, well, before you do that..."

Maddie continued where you trailed off, "I think we might've found something that can help maybe keep the cops off your back." She fished something out of her back pocket and handed it to you which you, in turn, handed to Simon.

Stunned, Simon gawked at the piece of paper, eyes darting between it, you, and Maddie several times before finally resting on the paper. "We're just...not going to acknowledge how insane this is?" He sputtered, flapping the paper to indicate what he meant.

"Just go with it for now, Si." Maddie implored, "Let's take down Mr. Anderson first."

"Yeah," Simon agreed and examined the paper. It was a receipt for new band uniforms.

He pulled out his phone when Maddie informed him he'd have to call the company the receipt was from and punched in the number. As the line connected, Simon cast to the three people at the school entrance. "Quick question, and not to alarm anyone, but who are they?" He asked as he waited for someone to answer the phone.

You and Maddie looked to the three people then at each other, Simon, the three people, each other, and ended with open-mouthed stares at Simon.

"They're dead, aren't they?" Simon deadpanned. You and Maddie nodded. Simon kissed his teeth. "Of course they are."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

After all was said and done, Simon had watched Wally—the tallest of the three ghosts Simon had seen outside—drape his varsity jacket over your shoulders and stamp a kiss to your head. Simon had seen Wally hold you protectively in the wake of Simon's impassioned announcement to the table of Split River High staff.

He'd heard Wally whisper comforting words and stroke your cheek with his thumb and, wow, you hadn't been joking about saving yourself for the hot ghost on campus.

It was a mindfuck, to be sure, but Simon adjusted. Or he was in shock. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.

Wally had mentioned to the group at large as they huddled in the hallway that he and Charley—denim on denim—had needed to go lest Mr. Martin—whoever that was—get suspicious of their absence at Movie Night. Which could've been dead dove, do not eat, or could've been ghost code for watching the living go to the bathroom.

"Dude, we don't do that." Wally had cringed, offended.

Charley had raised his brows in consideration, "Well, not all of us."

Afterward, you, Simon, and Maddie had holed away in a classroom to watch Mr. Anderson be escorted into the back of a squad car. In a line at the window. Discussing in solemn tones what you and Maddie had seen in the theater. How it related to Mr. Anderson. How whoever was behind Maddie's death—no, not-death, Simon emended, since you'd brought him up to speed. How whoever was behind Maddie's missing body could be literally anyone.

That was if Maddie's circumstances were related to the terrors you and she had experienced in the theater earlier.

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Maddie asked faintly as she watched the deputy close the back door of the squad car.

"He'll be questioned," Simon said. "Probably arrested."

Angry, Maddie replied, "But not for abduction. Not for bodily injury." A weighted pause. "I swear to God, if he did this to me over some stupid band uniforms..."

His voice tinged with hope, "Maybe he'll confess."

"Or," Maddie offered the alternative, "You'll hand that phone over to the cops and we'll never know who he was working with. Or why he said he gave me money... I'll never know what really happened to me."

Maddie turned. As soon as she settled against the windowsill, you shuffled closer to her and put a supportive arm around her shoulders. Fuck if that didn't make Simon's heart ache. He wanted so badly to be the one to do that for her. To be there for her. To comfort her.

"We'll figure it out, Mads." You reassured, though you still looked haunted. You glanced over your shoulder, watched the flashing lights until they faded and then sighed. "This is going to sound awful right now, but..."

"You don't think Mr. Anderson has anything to do with me. Do you." Maddie said, and closed her eyes against the fact that there was so much more at play now. After the theater, it seemed Maddie agreed.

You shook your head apologetically, "I don't."

"And that's not just because he's your uncle's friend?" Simon ventured, studying you closely.

You shook your head, "No. I swear, Simon, I really think Mr. Anderson and whatever's actually going on are two separate things."

Simon believed you.

"Whatever he's involved in, maybe it'll bring us one step closer to what actually happened. We can't rule it out." He implored as he gazed between you and Maddie.

It couldn't be for nothing that they stumbled upon Mr. Anderson's secret. He might not have been involved in hurting Maddie or relocating her body without her in it, but he'd given her money for something.

"At least for now," Maddie said, gazing up at Simon, "some of the heat will be off you."

Her words struck Simon's soul. After everything she'd been through, she cared about what happened to him, and it made him yearn to show her how much that meant to him. Seeing you in Wally's varsity jacket gave him an idea. Slowly, he peeled off his sweater and hung it over the back of a chair. It wasn't enough, but at least he could do this.

"What are you doing?" Maddie asked.

Voice rough with emotion, Simon said, "I was thinking... I can't hug you, but my sweater can."

You pushed away from the window and positioned yourself between Maddie and Simon, voice pitched just as low as Simon's as if not wanting to disturb the somber atmosphere that had befallen the classroom.

"I can do you one better." You said with a small smile and placed one hand on Maddie's shoulder. Your held out your other hand to Simon which he took, curious as to what you were going to do. It seemed Maddie knew because she came closer and then—God—she wrapped her arms around Simon and held him tight.

Without a second thought, Simon returned her embrace with his free arm, putting everything he had into it. All the grief, all the solace, all the love. He hiccupped a weak sound of overwhelm and pulled Maddie as close to himself as he could. She felt warm. Alive. Like she was right there in her body.

With wet eyes, Simon peeked up at you, "Thank you."

"You're my friend, Simon." You said easily, "I'd do anything for you in a heartbeat."

He dragged you into the hug; you and he and Maddie holding each other, leaning on each other, needing each other. And for that small segment of time, the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Everette Martin had always needed to be needed. Something he'd been denied in life.

His parents had never supported him, teaching a job for women, not men. The school had let him go due to a rumor that another teacher circulated when she'd caught him outside of school and misunderstood that he'd been helping a student. His fiancé had turned her back on him because she couldn't 'see a future' with him anymore as a result.

All he'd ever wanted was for people to look to him for guidance, accept his help, rely on him. Life had been a disappointment.

In death, however, he thrived.

He loved his students like his own. He knew Amelia had her reasons for collecting them. She'd framed it as a gift. Allowed Mr. Martin to nurture them so long as he stuck to a short list of rules. Rules he agreed to because, if he didn't follow them, his students would inevitably leave him just as everyone else had.

Yes, Everett knew Amelia had something sinister up her sleeve, likely involving his students, but it'd already been 65 years and nothing had happened, so he assumed her plans didn't involve him or them. That she needed them simply to exist within the school to keep it sick. The presence of lingering death has that effect on a place, Amelia had chuckled prettily.

Amelia's powers were connected to the sickness in the land, and to maintain them, Everett had to maintain the status quo amongst the school's ghosts. A job he took seriously as well as reveled in.

He was so proud of them all, even the loopers. Such a contrast of personalities somehow finding common ground in the afterlife. It was marvelous to behold how they sparked friendships they probably wouldn't have had in life.

Especially Rhonda. Her death had turned her sour and Everett had had to be extra patient with her. At least she continued to join the Group sessions, and had made friends in Charley and Wally. Anything else, though, was a hard sell. She stubbornly refused to participate in activities unless they resulted in chaos and drama.

Which was why Everett was surprised when Rhonda marched into the gym and pulled up a seat.

It wasn't the first unusual thing Everett had noticed of his Group that night. He had the sense that something felt off. Ajay had been morose when he'd entered, but Bernadette and Katelynn had puppy piled him on the stack of gym mats and were comforting him with cuddles.

Always upbeat and charismatic Wally had been reserved until halfway through the film. Perhaps he was truly taken by Demi Moore's performance, though Everett suspected there was more to it.

Charley hadn't made any sarcastic comebacks to Everett's purposefully cheesy jokes about the film before he'd played it, either. Studying Charley and Wally, Everett had entertained the idea that the two had had a falling out. Teenagers were fickle beings. Even those in their forties and fifties.

Of course, Everett could be seeing things that weren't there. Reading too much into every small shift in behavior because he'd been on edge since Amelia's impromptu visit. A shiver ran through him, cold as ice, as he recalled what he'd witnessed and what he'd been ordered to do.

Banishing the memory, he forced a smile to his face, "Rhonda. You usually boycott movie night."

Rhonda stiffened in her seat, gaze fixed determinedly on the screen even if it seemed to go against every value she'd upheld up to that point.

"Is everything alright?" He probed when she didn't say anything.

Rhonda took her time to answer, but eventually, "I've been here for sixty years. Sixty graduations," She explained, jaw tense, as if her words were being forced out of her.

Rhonda rarely shared and, when she did, she'd smother the sentiment beneath myriad barbed wire remarks and threatening stares so no one examined what she'd revealed too closely.

As Rhonda disclosed what had motivated her to join Movie Night, Everett heard Amelia's voice in his head, "I need someone to step in for Janet."

"—I've made my peace with it because nothing changes...but now..." Everett listened, giving Rhonda his full, undivided attention. Rhonda didn't elaborate on how her views had shifted, rather redirecting to claim, "I know I'm not always a joiner but," her voice was raw, "I gotta get outta here."

She was outright doing her damnedest to hold back tears and it shook Everett to his core. The sight made Mina's image flash in his mind, the pain and fear in her eyes as she'd silently begged him to help her before being disintegrated into nothingness.

When Rhonda admitted, "I'm willing to try anything," Everett was brought back to the present, Mina fading from his mind.

What Rhonda said next made his smile falter, a pang of regret in his heart. He wasn't sure how he felt about 'replacing Janet'. He had a vague understanding of what Amelia had been doing with Janet and it unsettled him.

But, there was nothing else for it, his hand forced, because Amelia would find a way, with or without him, and without him could potentially be brutal.

It was easier when the participants were willing. But Rhonda needed to say it right. She needed to mean it without Everett's direct interference.

And, just like that, she did.

He ignored how his gut wrenched as he heard Rhonda speak into the ether, "So, whatever you did to help Janet, I want in."

He felt Rhonda's words vibrate through the veil. He forced another smile. However, turning back to the screen, his smile faded completely as Mina's final moments crowded his mind again. The fear. The helplessness. One of his students...gone.

His conscience kicked and screamed and berated him. Challenged him. Brought his face right up to the hundreds of mistakes he'd made leading up to Mina's permanent erasure from all planes of existence.

Everett had had no choice, a milder, more detached part of him reminded, and it was too late to undo what'd already been done. If he wished to continue guiding his students—teaching them, guiding them—he had to stay the course.

With that in mind, he offered Rhonda his bowl of popcorn and told her, "I'm glad to hear it."

💀___________fin.____________

PART TWENTY-SIX - OCTOBER MOON

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[krirebr]

random hoeing:

Steve catching you in the rain, his white shirt completely soaked and transparent

Ok, this has to be Neighbor Steve.

Warnings: explicit language, more fluff than I normally do, completely unedited, 18+ - MINORS DNI

After Steve caught you ogling him during the heatwave, the tone of your conversations when you run into him in your building has gotten decidedly flirtier. But for whatever reason, that's where it's stopped. As much as you've tried to send signals that you are very open to more, he's never taken you up on it. Which is fine. It's fine. Totally fine. You are very cool with it. The thought of it definitely doesn't make you shrivel up inside. You are so cool.

All of that is the furthest thing from your mind right now, though, as you and your dog run through the rain. It'd been such a nice day, but as you hit the halfway point of your usual longer route, the sky unexpectedly opened up and you and your poor dog were hit by an absolute downpour. Now, finally home, you're both completely soaked and desperate to get inside and dry.

After some fumbling, you get the door to your building unlocked and opened. Just as you're about to get inside and let the door close behind you, you hear your name ring out. You turn around to see Steve hurrying up the path. "Hold the door!" he yells.

You freeze, doing as he asked. Holy shit. He's just as soaked as you, but while you're sure you look like a drowned rat, he very much does not. He– Well. He– He's wearing that damned white t-shirt again. Except it's not white now, it's translucent. You can see everything – that tattoo you spotted before, and a few more to go with it, an incredible set of abs, nipples. Holy shit.

He quickly ushers you inside, thank god, because you can't move on your own, your eyes still stuck to his chest. "Fuck, that came out of nowhere, huh?" he chuckles.

The moment you're out of the rain, your dog proceeds to do her best to shake herself dry, as if the three of you weren't already dripping all over the entryway. "Oh, shit," you mumble, reaching for her without really knowing what to do.

Steve just laughs. And then does it himself, shaking out his golden locks. Part of his hair flops down over his forehead, and you do your best to hold in your gasp. Really it's just so unfair that he could get caught in a rainstorm and come out looking like that. What the actual fuck? you think to yourself.

Except, judging by the way his head whips around to look at you, maybe you didn't think it. Maybe it was more out loud than you'd meant. Oh god. You immediately start babbling, which is unfortunately just as uncontrollable as the initial slip-up you're trying to make up for. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I just– I mean– Look at you!" You throw a wild gesture at him as he just stares at you with his mouth open, trying to take in your ramble. "It's cats and dogs out there and you look like that?? While I–" another wild gesture, at yourself this time. "I just– How is it fair that you're so beautiful??"

"You think I'm beautiful?" he finally manages to interject.

"Huh?" And that's when your brain finally catches up. Oh dear god. What is wrong with you?? You cautiously glance at him to find him staring at you, not upset, but like he's trying to figure you out. Fuck it, you suddenly think. You've already embarrassed yourself. You have nothing left to lose. "You wanna get dinner with me sometime?"

You swear that the smile that blooms on Steve's face is bright and warm enough to dry you both off. "I was starting to worry I was reading your signals wrong. Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."

Your answering smile is strong enough to push all the clouds away.

☔

Thanks for the fun prompt, Eva!

Tag List

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23

[fandom-lover-extra]

DP X DC Prompt: Conspiracy Cryptids - Soultouch

Soulmate bonds were looked upon as a blessing. For they were rare and few and far between.

With the added presence of extraterrestrial lifeforms, there was a guarantee that it made it even more difficult to find any potential Soulmate that someone might have. 

And of course, not all Soulmate bonds were the same, most differing in variety. The point being, it was very difficult to find one's soulmate if one did have them. 

However, the media stated that it was always worth the effort. Soulmate bonds always worked out, either that be platonically or romantically, soulmates would be with each other for life.

So, what exactly did one do if their soulmate kept dying over and over again?

Tim, Bernard, Danny, and Wes all shared a soulmate bond. A touch-bond based Soulbond. They could feel anything their soulmate physically came into contact with. Skin on skin. And they could also feel any injuries their soulmate acquired.

Which, wasn't inherently an issue.

At first, the group couldn't actually tell how many soulmates they had once they realized what the soulbond was. The general consensus amongst them all was that they at least had more than one soulmate.

Danny didn't look to deeply into it. Wes and Bernard had been curious but had also left the detail alone. And Tim was the one that had been the one that had actually spent hours upon hours of sleepless nights trying to figure out just how many he had.

(He had even learned morse code in the hopes of communicating with his soulmates, but not being able to actually get his soulmates to do the same thing had more or less ruined the point.)

Everything, other than that, had been fine for the most part. Besides the general occasional scraps and bruises, everything had been fine. That was a normal occurrence amongst a touch-bond based Soulbond.

And then, Tim Drake became Robin at thirteen years old. And the injuries got a bit more severe. They were much more serious. 

This started Bernard down the path of looking into Gotham's vigilante's. It was no secret that Batman took on Young prodigies, that other heroes at times would do the same. With the injuries his soulmate was receiving, Bernard began his search.

Danny and Wes had considered that their soulmate might be apart of an abusive household. But besides hugging themselves, they couldn't add much for comfort.

And then, Danny died when he was fourteen. His end of the bond going quiet. Tim, Bernard, and Wes all assumed one of their soulmates had died. That was until Danny's end of the bond came back as if nothing had happened. Sometimes with even more bruises they didn't feel happen originally, or completely unharmed.

Tim and Bernard assumed their soulmate was in the hospital, going in-between life and death. Tim doing more than a few illegal things in an attempt to find one of his soulmates. Wes had thought the same until he had saw Phantom bleed once. Noticed how Phantom always appeared when that end of the bond went quiet and was nowhere to be seen when it came back. He drove himself insane looking for Phantom.

Danny decidedly, did not in fact know of the frenzy he was putting his soulmates through. Or the fact that he was apart of making his soulmates as insane as they are about their conspiracy theories.

[wanderingapathy]

Completely nonsensical and unserious ninajgo theory:

So remember Nya’s whole arc about attempting to control snow/ice in the never realm? That kind of went nowhere, but do you also remember that the two Wojira elements or whatever are Water and Wind. WIND

In season one during a fight scene in a volcano, Jay randomly uses wind to clear a path. In season five Morro randomly uses lightning as an attack. (It was a reference to the previously mentioned moment with Jay)

WHAT IF THE WIND AND LIGHTNING ELEMENTS ARE INTERCONNECTED SIMILARLY TO HOW WATER AND ICE ARE.

so water and wind are connected by Wojira and now lightning and wind are connected and they’re all elements related storms so yeah, Storm trio or something idk. Loser ghost third-wheeling loving couple. They bully him. Yeah.

Obvious a joke theory but there you go (should I make an actual theory relating all the elements together? Maybe.)

[sapphicandgraphic]

Teacher’s Pet - Unfinished Business

Summary: Your past comes knocking in the form of Melina Vostokoff. Agatha helps you handle some unfinished business in this angsty hurt/comfort one-shot.

Warnings: Melina means well but reader experiences chemical subjugation oops! Mentions of mind control, brainwashing, choking…I think that’s it?

Word count: 5K+

For weeks after you arrived, you kept mostly to yourself, hidden away in a bedroom down the hall from Agatha’s. She rarely saw you outside of meals and the daily hour of practical study when you watched her brew or cast.

Otherwise, you were consumed by a minor mountain of assigned reading—mostly texts on the theory and history of spellcraft. Agatha had expected some resistance to this lesson plan. But you didn’t make a fuss, disappearing for hours at a time like a reclusive teenager, only coming downstairs when she reminded you to eat. Occasionally she saw you brewing tea, nose stuck in a book as you idly stirred the spoon, heavy with honey.

Then the weather changed and you started to emerge.

The first warm day in May, Agatha found you sitting at the kitchen table. A shaft of morning light framed you like a high-backed throne. You glanced up at her, lips quirked in a shy smile.

“Morning,” you said, eyes half-lidded in the gauzy glow.

It struck her suddenly that you were beautiful. Or maybe handsome was a better word, considering the serious set of your dark brows, the firm line of your jaw. But then there was the matter of your mouth—those full, pink lips. Agatha cleared her throat.

“Morning, pet.”

She busied herself at the kettle, putting those thoughts firmly out of her head.

Then an hour later she saw you in the living room, curled up on the far end of the sofa, positioned squarely in the sun path. She couldn’t resist teasing you.

“Two sightings in one day?”

Your mouth twisted to the side in another shy smile.

And later on she spotted you on the back porch, book propped against your knee, Senōr Scratchy sprawled beside you in the warmth of the glowing afternoon. Your eyes were closed, your breathing deep and even.

So maybe you weren’t a recluse. Maybe you were just…recovering, recharging. From what she didn’t know yet. But like a plant after the harsh winter months, you were finally ready to bloom, turning your petals toward the light.

Agatha had felt it then. The stirring of something fond, something soft for you.

She said nothing. But the next time you slipped out to sit on the porch, a large wicker loveseat had been placed on the lawn. You smiled, glancing around. The other witch was nowhere to be seen, of course.

In the weeks that followed, what began as an uneasy peace turned into something warm, domestic, almost quaint. Passed cups of coffee in the pre-dawn light. Murmured good nights as you both retired to bed.

You were guarded, still more than a little unsure of each other. But something was catalyzing between you in the quiet mornings, the peaceful evenings. It felt like…home.

And you should have known better than to trust it.

Your past caught up with you on the second floor of the local library. Agatha had assigned you some reading on lunar magic, and you were standing in the dusty stacks, charting moon cycles for the next six months.

She approached softly, with the kind of stealth that came second-nature to her after so many years spying and lying to survive. A fraction of a second before she spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Hello, little dragon.”

She looked different than you remembered—less luster in her smile, a dimness in her dark, walnut-brown eyes. But there was no mistaking that voice.

The book you were holding slipped from your hands, pages fluttering like broken wings as it fell to the floor.

You breathed her name, throat tight with longing and heartbreak and outrage.

“Melina.”

You staggered backward. She opened her mouth, but you didn’t give her a chance to speak, flying down the stairs, out into the streets. You ran hard and fast, feet slapping the pavement, arms pumping up and down.

Your lungs were burning by the time you made it back to the house and stepped through the front door, latching it behind you—as if that would do any good.

Melina was the most clever, conniving woman you’d ever met. If she wanted to get in, she would. In fact, she had probably already been here.

The thought made your stomach swoop unpleasantly. Your eyes darted around, suddenly on high alert.

“Agatha?”

You pushed yourself away from the door, peeking into the empty kitchen, then the living room. There was no sign of the other woman. You called her name again, this time with more urgency as you opened the door to the basement.

Still nothing.

Now your heart was hammering with a different kind of adrenaline—the icy cold clutch of fear. Agatha was powerful, strong. But if Melina had caught her off guard…

You rounded the corner, jogging toward the stairs.

How could Melina be here, in this sleepy little town? What did she want? Where was Agatha?

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Your head snapped up. Agatha had materialized from somewhere in the house, leaning against the bannister. You launched yourself into her arms without thinking.

“Easy, pet!” She caught you around the waist, steadying you. “What’s all this?”

You sagged against her momentarily, enjoying the solid feel of her body, the smell of tea leaves and spearmint that clung to her long dark tresses. It occurred to you suddenly that in all the weeks you’d lived here, you’d never really touched Agatha. Save for the few times your fingers had brushed at the brewing table, passing her ingredients. But not a proper embrace like this. It was…nice. She was warmer, softer than you imagined. Not that you had imagined….

You shook your head, disentangling yourself from her.

“Sorry,” you said, heart rate returning to normal. “I just…”

She arched an eyebrow at you, awaiting an explanation. You opened your mouth, suddenly uncertain where to begin, unwilling to drag the other woman into the terrible, tangled mess of your past.

“Well?” She tapped her long impatient fingers on the bannister, fixing you with a look of concern edging toward suspicion.   

“It’s nothing,” you said, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Just wanted to say…thank you, for opening your home to me. I’ve been…really happy here.”

Agatha studied you for several long seconds, frown deepening. “Now you’re really scaring me.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck self-consciously as you maneuvered around her on the stairs toward your room, careful to avoid her curious gaze.

She watched you go, eyebrows drawn together in an elegant expression of doubt. “You sure you’re alright?”

You turned at the landing. Something tender and fierce cracked open in your chest at her words. Agatha was looking at you like more than just a drifter…like someone who mattered.

“Yeah,” you said. “Thanks.”

You closed the door to your room and immediately began pacing beside the bed, trying to formulate a plan of action.

First things first, protect Agatha. At all costs. You wanted to be sure that the shadow of your past never darkened her doorstep. Perhaps you could reason with Melina, find out what she wanted and then send her on her way.

It turns out you needn’t have bothered strategizing. As usual, Melina had already made your decision for you.

A piece of paper fluttered on your desk, caught in the breeze from the open window. You frowned. Hadn’t you left that window shut? You stared at the scrap of paper, comprehension dawning.

Picking it up with trembling fingers, you read the message that had been scribbled in neat sloping letters:

Midnight. Graveyard. Come alone.

————————

Agatha was curled up beside the fireplace, rather adorably dwarfed by the massive leather-bound book in her lap.

She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner.

“And where are you going?” She regarded you cooly over the top of the pages as you descended the stairs with a practiced nonchalance.

“Three guesses,” you said, pretending to check your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of your shirt, brushing back your hair. But your eyes darted toward the other woman, watching her expression for any reaction.

She caught your gaze and glared. “I don’t like games, pet.”

You shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You pulled on a coat, patting the breast pocket and withdrawing a pack of smokes.

You frowned. Only a few left.

“It’s almost midnight,” she pointed out, watching you place a cigarette between your lips, fiddling with your lighter. It was a weathered and worn thing, with several dents and scratches marring the silver relief on the side.

“I have to take care of something,” you said, aiming for casual. You just had to follow Melina’s instructions. With any luck, Agatha would never know she’d been here at all.

“How mysterious.” The older witch made an elaborate show of turning a page in her book, looking for all the world like nothing could interest her less.

“Don’t wait up.” You smiled softly at her, then disappeared out the front door.

Agatha pursed her lips, trying to focus on her reading. You’d been gone all of five minutes when she closed the book, standing up and peering into the fire.

You weren’t breaking any rules by leaving. You were free to come and go as you pleased.

And yet…

She didn’t like you wandering around on your own in the dark. You were a powerful witch, but young, reckless. And something was going on, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Her eyes flickered with the reflection of the flames. With a growl of frustratio, she stalked toward the front door, grabbed her traveling cloak, and fell into pursuit.

————————

There was only one graveyard in town. It was small, no more than a few acres, positioned directly behind the church. The border pressed up against the woodland, a dark wall of pine trees and shadows that you’d ventured into several times with Agatha, but never alone. Never at night.

You leaned against one of the stone monuments beside a family mausoleum. Above you, two angels were wrapped together in an agonized embrace, faces twisted in despair.

You flipped the collar of your jacket up against the chill breeze and pulled a deep drag off your cigarette.

“You promised me no more smoking, little dragon.”

Her voice in your ear was like velvet. You closed your eyes, barely suppressing a shiver.

“We promised each other a lot of things,” you said softly, turning to face her.

Melina swayed toward you, her expression unreadable in the moonlight. She looked just as beautiful now as the day you met her, stumbling upon her farm in the dead of winter. You’d been hopelessly drawn in by her sweet smile, her warm fire, her soft touch.

You wiped your eyes which had suddenly blurred with tears at the memory of simpler times, of a home that had broken your heart. Melina extended a hand, cupping your jaw. You wanted to yell, to push her aside, to fall into her arms. Instead you just stood there, mesmerized by the feeling of her thumb tracing a gentle path across your cheek, brushing away the damp tracks.

“I missed you too, milaya.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you leaned into her for touch for a second, allowing yourself to believe those words.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, trying not to sound so lost, so broken open by the sight of the other woman.

“I thought this would be obvious,” she shrugged. “I came to bring you back where you belong…with me.”

Her words gutted you.

“I don’t belong to you,” you said. “Not anymore.”

She stilled.

“Is this about the witch?” She asked suddenly, changing tactics. “She is quite attractive, I’ll give you that. But then you always had good taste.”

And she had the audacity to wink at you. Never mind the flutter you felt in your stomach, the painful swoop of longing and arousal and need.

“It has nothing to do with that,” you protested hotly. “She can teach me about my magic. And I’m…I’m happy here.”

Melina seemed to consider this, eyes searching your face.

“But she doesn’t care about you,” Melina said, underscoring her point with a rough pinch to your cheek.

“Oh and you do?” You sneered, finally wrenching yourself away. “All those months we spent together, I was nothing but a lab rat!”

You saw Melina flinch. “That’s not true.”

“You were drugging me!” The words exploded out of your mouth like a gunshot, their echo ringing around the empty graveyard. “Brainwashing me like one of your experiments, controlling me, putting thoughts in my head.”

You wondered if she would deny it.

Melina crossed her arms. “I did it to protect you.”

You paused. As much as you wanted to hate the other woman, it was tempting to believe there was some justifiable reason for her actions.

And you’d never given her a chance to explain, had run away from the farm as soon as you realized what was going on. It had taken nearly all your strength to break free from the serum. By the time you got to America, you were just beginning to fully come out of the fog.

“To protect me from what?”

Melina finally snapped. “From yourself!”

You blinked.

“You were so lost when you came to me,” she explained, and you could see the pain in her eyes as she remembered those early days. “I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t do something…dangerous. So yes, I used the serum as a way you keep you safe from harming yourself, when I had to leave you alone. It was merely a…precaution.”

You considered this.

“Chemical subjugation is quite a precaution,” you said flatly, not ready to forgive her. Not sure you ever could. So she had protected you…and ruined everything else.

“It was real,” she whispered, as if following your train of thought. Melina pulled you toward her, cupping your face in her hands. “Everything we had was real.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest. “How can I ever be sure of that? How can I ever believe you again?”

“Let me show you,” she said, desperation shining in her big brown eyes. “Come home.”

She laced her fingers between yours and squeezed softly. Reflexively you returned the pressure, dragging your thumb over her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice thick with regret. “But I can’t. I don’t…I don’t trust you anymore.”

Melina sighed, resting her forehead against yours.

“I was hoping you would be reasonable,” she said. “But when has that ever been the case, hmm? My little dragon.”

She moved so quickly you barely had time to flinch.

“What are you do-“ you grunted in pain as the syringe sank into your neck.

Melina looked apologetic. “Sorry, detka,” she murmured. “You’ll thank me one day.”

You fisted the fabric of her shirt in both hands, attempting to shove her away. But you found your movements sluggish, clumsy as the serum flooded your nervous system.

It was like an old familiar program booting up in your brain. You wanted to scream, to rage, but there was an overriding command that drowned out all the rest of them. Obey.

You stumbled backwards, desperately trying to summon your magic. A ball of energy appeared in your palm, pale and silvery.

Melina looked impressed, surprised you were even able to manage that much considering the chemical cocktail singing through your bloodstream.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” she said, sounding unafraid.

“Don’t make me do this,” you said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to —.”

“I’ve made some refinements since you’ve been gone.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You can’t attack me.”

You directed your hands at the other woman. But nothing happened. The light in your hands dimmed as all hope drained away. She turned, beckoning with one finger.

“Come,” she called over her shoulder.

But still, you stood your ground. It was the thought of Agatha that kept you upright, fighting with every fiber of your being. The image of her sitting up in that ridiculous armchair by the fireplace, waiting for you. What would she think if you never came home? Would she blame herself?

A little frown of confusion played across Melina’s features as she glanced back, watching you resist. Sweat beaded on your brow, your muscles taut and trembling. Her eyes widened in surprise when you spoke. It shouldn’t have been possible…

“At least let me say goodbye to her,” you forced the words out through gritted teeth, the effort colossal.

Melina seemed to consider this request for a moment, then shook her head. “No. We have a plane to catch.”

You cried out in frustration, in agony.

“Do as I say,” she coaxed in that voice you loved, in that voice you hated. A shiver wracked its way through your body. “Don’t hurt yourself, little dragon.”

As if on cue, you felt a trickle of warm blood streaming from your nose. Fighting her like this was shredding your insides. It felt like your brain was on fire.

“Melina,” you sobbed, finally taking one wretched, uneven step forward. Tears streamed down your face. “Please.”

The dark-eyed woman frowned. She hated hurting you.

“It will all be better when we get home,” she said. “Now come to me.”

You felt your body drawn forward, legs moving without your consent, carrying you toward the other woman. But then—

“Are you deaf?” A familiar voice drawled, bouncing around the gravestones. “She said no.”

You looked left and right. Melina squared her shoulders, scanning the shadows as well.

Agatha appeared in a cloud of purple mist. She was hovering a few feet off the ground, cloak rippling behind her. She looked terrifying, magnificent, otherworldly. You cried her name in relief.

“Alright, pet?” She scanned you quickly, and you thought you saw a flicker of something tender. But then her attention was back on Melina, eyes flinty and cold.

“So this is the one you choose,” Melina said, not bothering to conceal the hurt in her voice. “Very dramatic, very American. What can she offer you, teach you that I cannot?”

Agatha smirked. “Some manners, for a start. Around here, we let women make their own decisions.”

With a wave of her hand, she threw Melina into the air. The scientist hit the ground hard, but rolled gracefully and somehow landed on her feet. She wiped a trickle of blood off her forehead, a dark glimmer of rage in her eyes.

“You think you are only one with magic trick?”

You realized what was about to happen and tried to warn Agatha. But then the Russian called your name in a deep, commanding voice and your entire world shrank to her lips, her mouth, the utter simplicity of her next irrefutable words.

“Stop breathing.”

You felt your body comply almost instantly. It was like your lungs were a machine and the plug had been pulled from the wall. Your chest stilled, abandoning the breath you’d been inhaling.

“Now then,” Melina said calmly, dusting dirt from her coat. “Let’s discuss our options.”

You clutched at your throat, opening your mouth to gulp at the air. Agatha quickly summoned her magic, preparing to attack Melina once more.

“Let her go.”

“Ah, ah, careful now,” Melina cautioned. “If I don’t verbally counter the command in the next two minutes, she suffocates. And I can’t do that if I’m…indisposed.”

You made a soft choking nose, real panic setting in. Agatha teleported to your side, catching you around the waist as you sank to your knees.

“You’re alright,” she murmured, feeling helpless. You gripped her arm, writhing in discomfort as your lungs screamed for air. “You’re alright.”

The Russian watched this interaction through narrowed eyes. She observed the way Agatha held you, soothed you. And she waited, patiently, calculating exactly how many seconds you had left.

Agatha glanced up at Melina, eyes stormy with rage.

“Stop this,” the witch said in a rough, jagged voice. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Melina smiled. Finally, she stalked forward, kneeling on your other side. Agatha stiffened, tightening her grip on your hips, waiting to see what the other woman would do.

“Always so stubborn, my little dragon.” Melina placed a hand on your face. The lack of oxygen was making your head fuzzy, a dull roaring in your ears. “Go to sleep now, that’s it.”

“You’re killing her!” Agatha shouted, voice cracking with fear, eyes wide and wild with barely restrained panic. It was the last thing you heard, the last thing you saw before the darkness took you under.

As soon as your eyes rolled back, Melina reversed the command with a murmur, ensuring you could breathe again. Then she looked up into Agatha’s face.

“So it’s true,” Melina said, observing the other woman. “She’s yours.”

Her tone was conciliatory, like she was forfeiting a game of chess.

“She isn’t a prize to be won,” snarled Agatha, still clutching your body tight enough to bruise.

“No indeed, she’s made her choice,” Melina agreed sadly. “My brave, brave girl.”

She pushed your hair back then stood, looking down at the pair of you. Agatha might have been another one of the statues in the cemetery, a dark angel cradling her fallen charge.

“And now you need to make yours.”

Agatha flexed her fingers to keep from wrapping them around the other woman’s throat. “And what choice is that?”

“To keep her safe, to protect her,” Melina said the words like a prayer—sacred, holy.

Agatha swallowed, glancing down at your slackened features, your slightly parted lips. The sound of your labored breathing echoed around the quiet graveyard.

“If this is your idea of protection,” Agatha said. “I’d hate to get on your bad side.”

Melina had the decency to glance away, briefly chastised.

“Question my methods but never my motives,” she said. “What I do, I do from love.“

Agatha stiffened. “Love,” she repeated harshly. “Is that what you call it?”

Melina didn’t back down. “I need to know you will keep her safe,” she hissed. “She’s special, more powerful than she knows. And she’s been hurt. Badly. By her family, by…by me.”

Agatha could see the words cost her something to admit. And not for the first time, her curiosity was piqued about your past. What desperate circumstances had brought you to the doorstep of the infamous Agatha Harkness, the covenless witch?

“These wounds run deep,” Melina continued. “She’ll need someone by her side. For guidance. Counsel. Comfort.”    

They stared at each other, each sizing the other up, each refusing to back down. Two apex predators circling, snarling. And between them, a cub.

“Do we understand each other?” Melina asked.

Finally, Agatha inclined her head.

“Say it,” the Russian whispered, eyes glittering in the moonlight.

Agatha glanced down at you, swallowing the lump in her throat. “She belongs to me.”

Melina exhaled, shoulders softening. She approached one last time, reaching into her pocket. Agatha drew back, casting a protective shield.

“Relax,” Melina said dryly, withdrawing a glass vial and offering it to Agatha. “The counteragent.”

She considered Melina, mistrust in every fiber of her being. But she lowered the shield, reached for the vial.

“And understand this, witch,” Melina said, refusing to release her grip on the small glass tube until Agatha had looked her in the eye. “If you hurt her, there’s no curse you can cast, no spell you can weave that will keep you safe from me.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Agatha’s face.

“Likewise,” she growled, snatching the vial out of Melina’s hand and administering it immediately. You stirred, inhaling the red mist and coughing weakly.

With a final, longing look at your face, the Russian turned and disappeared into the night.

—————-

You blinked, awareness coming back slowly. The first thing you realized was that you were exhausted, more tired than you’d ever been in your life. The second thing you realized was that someone was holding you, warm arms encircling your waist, long fingers clutching your hip.

“She belongs to me.”

Agatha?

The words sounded far away, but you could feel the rumble of her voice against your chest.

The claim made you smile. Or it would have, if you were fully awake and not tired down to your very bones. As it was, the edges of your lips faintly quirked upward. But who was she talking to? You drifted off again.

“The counteragent.”

This new voice also sounded familiar. It filtered into your foggy brain, taking a few minutes to click.

Melina. You inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open. The moon had finally broken through the clouds, casting a bright silvery glow on the ground.

“There you are.”

Your vision swam, but you were able to focus on Agatha’s face. She looked worried.

“Hi,” you said softly, glancing around. “Did we win?”

“The battle, if not the war.”

You coughed. “Why does my mouth taste like anti-freeze?”

Agatha arched an eyebrow, wagering a guess. “The antidote?”

“Blech,” you said, smacking your lips. “Needs a flavor enhancer.”

“Well unfortunately your little friend is gone,” Agatha smirked. “So you’ll have to share your feedback via mail.”

“‘Kay.” You smiled, feeling dizzy. “My head hurts.”

“A side effect of whatever she drugged you with,” Agatha murmured, eyes sweeping over your face with renewed concern. “What else?”

You tried to sit up, but Agatha held you in place.

“Wait,” she said, running her hands over your shoulders, your chest, your ribs. Her eyes fluttered closed, like she was listening for something.

“What are you doing?” Not that you were complaining. The gentle pressure of her fingertips was far from unwelcome.

“Looking for internal injuries.” She pressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line. “You pushed your magic to its limits tonight.”

“Is that what this is?” You slumped against her, snuggling into her body heat. “Feels like I got hit by a train.”

Agatha didn’t laugh. “You could have done serious damage with that little stunt.”

“Stunt?” You repeated faintly, too tired to be properly outraged at this mischaracterization. “She was trying to kidnap me, I had to do something!”

Agatha hummed, leaning back. She reached out, wiping the blood from your upper lip.

“What’s the prognosis?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll live.”

“Good,” you sighed. “Now let’s go home.”

She pulled you to your feet, watching every movement like a hawk. You were unsteady, swaying a little. Agatha looped an arm around your waist.

“Tell me, pet,” she said as you limped toward the cemetery gates together. “You have a thing for brunettes?”

Your eyebrows shot up. Agatha elaborated.

“First, you and the Russian…” she said. “Now you and me.”

You and me. The words sparked something warm and lovely in your chest. You licked your lips, giving a shrug. “It’s a long story.”

She gave you a sideways look. “We’ve got time.”

A reluctant smile danced across your features, and the sound of your soft laughter echoed in the graveyard.

“Alright then.” You paused, patting your breast pocket. “I’ll give you the abridged version.”

You shook the last cigarette out of your pack, flicked the lighter against your pants, then brought it to your lips.

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl who had magical powers,” you began, taking a long drag. “She was very lonely for many years, and very misunderstood…”

“Doesn’t sound like a story with a happy ending,” Agatha murmured, helping you navigate an uneven part of the path that had been broken by roots. You looked over, considering her in the pale moonlight. She caught your gaze and stilled for a moment.

“What?” She asked gruffly.

You offered her the cigarette. Agatha gave you a reproachful look, then plucked it from your fingers, taking a small irritated puff. You grinned.

“We’ll see about that happy ending,” you said softly, turning to continue onward. “We’ll see.”

[raptorladylover6969]

JWCT S3 SPOILERS (It’s Raptor Lady yap time.)

The Handler Dying The Way She Did Is Perfect, And Why.

So, I’ve been thinking about her death. A lot. (No surprise there). And I’ve rewatched her death scene like a thousand times, and in all honesty, I can’t imagine a better way to go out for her.

The whole concept that even Brooklynn brought up about her running away with the raptors, never to be seen again, as much as I hate to say it, it wouldn’t work. Not in this society, nor in this universe.

She has nowhere to go. She can’t live in the middle of nowhere with her raptors, because she’d never be able to keep up with them. They need the freedom, the space, the need to be wild, but clearly as we’ve seen, she physically and mentally can’t bring herself to be apart from them at all. She can’t live around civilization because the raptors wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. She’d have to constantly look out for her raptors but no matter where they go, where they turn. They’ll never truly be safe, or free.

She’ll end up being found. She has ties with BioSyn, and French Intelligence knows about the Atrociraptors and how Soyona was trying to sell them. She’ll end up arrested and her raptors would be taken away, or in a worst case scenario, killed. And she’d be left in prison full of grief, sadness, anger, frustration, and ultimately end up taking her own life.

If she ended up escaping the Carnotaurus after it had killed Ghost, she’d still go down the same path. She, like every other Jurassic World/Park character who lived through tragedy, would go down a mental health rollercoaster. And knowing her, and now broken she already is, she’d go down and down and down to the point where she’s hit rock bottom.

This life was never meant for her. We’ve seen this quite clearly. She’s too animal to be human but too human to be animal. Too empathetic but also too apathetic; too non-linear, and unpredictable for this society. chaos theory if you will.

The shackles of human society were constantly holding her and the raptors down. She could never fully blossom, or express herself in the way she wanted too. This world, this society, it’s too linear for her. Too unnatural.

Which is why I’m glad she met her end to that Carnotaurus.

Her dying at the hands of an animal, a dinosaur, something that matches her nature, it’s a perfect way for her to meet her end; offering herself to the Carnotaurus. Eat or be eaten, just now nature intended since the beginning of life.

She was never meant to be human, and was always seen as such; being non-human. The way Davi described her: "This person, if you could even call them that…"

She's never been seen as a human being, and never will be. She was treated the same way as the dinosaurs were. Something without thought nor feeling, because that's how she was perceived as to normal people. Soyona sees her as this, the Camp Fam, partially Brooklynn, Davi, and the rest of society. Which is why she resonates more with dinosaurs, because her unpredictability matches theirs. They see her as one. If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then by god, is it a DUCK.

We never predicted that she’d raise her hand to that Carnotaurus, it comes off as OOC for her, but that’s just the thing; she’s never OOC because we don’t know her character, and never will, because she’s too UNPREDICTABLE. We can never fully solve equation or read the graph. Why? Because it’s NON-LINEAR. (#ILoveJurassicParkBookIanMalcolm)

That Carnotaurus did not only eat her, it saved her. Freed her. Demon was the key to her finally being free from the shackles of humanity. This whole season we constantly saw her struggle, fight, and try to protect the ones she loved, and she did just that. Ghost may be dead, but she too is free. The other raptors may be alive, but they are now free from any sort of control. The fall of her whistle from Demon’s mouth, being the only thing left intact, that was the symbolism of the raptors being freed from their tasks, what they were born to do. They got away free from the shackles of what people wanted them to be, just like The Handler, and just like Ghost.

Soyona met her demise to the system, French Intelligence found her and now she’ll rot in prison as a nobody. The Handler doesn’t need to live to “win”, she won by being eaten. She’s finally free from the grief, the stress, the control, the burdens that humankind has forced onto her.

She won this battle, and went out gloriously. She protected her young from the big large hungry predator, and in the end, was eaten. And now her legacy will live on with the remaining raptors.

Just how life really intended.

“Morituri Te Salutant” — “We who are about to die solute you.”