#Dark Link is questioning every single of his decisions at this point

[wintertimestoryteller]

Linked Universe x Reader Fairy Tale Collection

@luimagines . Third scene in the opening act, it will have 5 scenes in total before actual romance, not fully satisfied with it though so I might remaster it in the future, these past few weeks have been... Something, but I still wanted to move things along and post this week so hope whoever reads this enjoys ^^

Fun Fact: All folks in the theater crew's names are references to an indie series of musical operas, wonder how many people will catch each one, just thought it fitting given the setting, I wouldn't recommend getting attached though, they won't appear at all past the opening act unlike Dark's hired help, who will have a little bit of purpose on the narrative and have some scenes but won't take the spotlight, wouldn't recommend getting attached to any of them.

A few things happened in between the time Reader fell asleep, woke up and fell asleep again.

Plus, there's going to be lots of easter eggs to other fairy tales and fairy tale adjacent stories in the story plus towards Zelda in general, some obvious, others not. Might put some fun facts about them in here before each story and/or act if you're all interested, you can see who will have each story by checking out the original prompt on Luimagines' blog except for First's, Calamity's and Spirit's, I have something special in mind for them. FD only isn't in this story because I'd have to dip into mythological territory for him, but I'll probably write a solo thing for him later on to compensate. Look out for a Masterlist of this after we are done with the opening act.

Oh and uh, warning for fairy tale typical violence in the next scene (I mean, the Disney versions are technically already gruesome and the most recognizable, but other versions also go pretty darn dark) plus Zelda typical violence, so just a quick warning while I can even if it's only on the next act, though the character will technically be fine, if probably traumatized.

Opening Act, Scene III

It barely took a minute to explain the situation to Time, and not even a full hour for your little group consisting of yourself, Twilight, Cal, Time and Wild all to recall the others to the village square to explain the situation in full. The director long since left it and the oak tree looked awfully lonely for a moment against the backdrop of a darkening horizon (when had the storm clouds thickened so much? It was plenty sunny a few hours ago).

As you guessed, Time already heard from the mayor and innkeeper that the inn had been attacked, and he likely would have talked to the director had you not beaten him to it.

"50 rupees this is a trap. Come on now, show of hands for those who think so." Came the sharp, downright arsenic tone from Legend, caged and ornery like a fox (rabbit?) Who once had it's tail caught in a trap and learned the hard way to chew his limbs off to be able to flee for another day.

You can't exactly blame him for getting snappy though, the situation is pretty unsettling and you all know it. And this group had seen a lot.

Four snorted a bit, "No bet, I'm not losing money over something that obvious. I don't know about you all but I really can't believe in coincidences with the way things are lining up."

'It's definitely the work of the Shadow then.', signed Calamity, posture straight and alert. Hand on the hilt of his sword like a silent sentinel, as if expecting we'd all be jumped. A clear contrast from the quiet but polite young man from before, box up the young man, set loose the soldier, '... We're being cornered, led by the noose. We shouldn't accept.'

"It might be the only lead we will have in a while though." Grimaced Warriors, arms crossed as he leans against the oak tree, his strategic mind going a mile a minute through the possibilities. As expected of a war commander and the left hand of his Zelda, "Don't get me wrong, this is all bloody unnerving. Specially given how (Reader)'s conversation went with the director, but it might be better in the long run to risk it and get more leads once the storm passes. Who knows when we'll next find shelter? Getting sick with a storm like this coming with zero information wether or not there's a second village nearby or if any other person will let us stay for a while would just leave us more vulnerable."

"Doesn't exactly mean we have to like it.", Sighed Spirit, a hand on his hip, nervous and skittish but doing his best to contribute anyway, "It's like stepping onto the tracks when you know for a fact there's a train coming no matter how good the reason is, but Cap' is right. Me and Wind asked around, doesn't seem like there's any other villages or cities nearby where we can stop, and the terrain isn't right for caves in this Hyrule. We'd be in big trouble eventually even if we retraced our steps."

"Speaking of that, what do any of you make of this storm?", Hyrule interjects, looking at a frowning Wind, "I can't sense anything particularly magical about the town, except maybe the fortune teller and the potion makers, but..."

Wind groans, frustrated as he crosses his arms, "That's the thing, it looks like it should be unnatural. Winds like that don't blow easily in any of your Hyrule's, specially so far away from sea, it's usually just in mine. It looks wrong, but it doesn't feel wrong! The Wind Waker won't clear it either." Spirit put a hand on his shoulder in sympathy, clearly this was driving the Sailor up the wall as the Link most attuned to the flow of winds and weather, except maybe peculiarly enough Four.

"Have you tried the Song of Day?"

Time nodded to First, "We did it already with the Sailor's baton, no change." True to his word, the howling of storm winds picked up as if on cue, or maybe spite. Almost blowing Legend's hat straight off his head to match Wild's hood, you quickly snatched it as he cursed before it could get too far.

Yup, if this was a natural storm you'd eat Hyrule's cooking for a month straight at a bare minimum. "Do you think there's dark magic involved at all?", You inquire to Twilight, Warriors, Sky and Four, the one's who had the most experience with it out of the group as you finished helping Wild with putting most of your cooking supplies away. Gooseflesh crawls up your arms, it was getting chilly and you couldn't help but look over Wind and Spirit, though it seems Warriors beat you to getting their cloaks repaired at the tailors. They've ripped recently and the thread ran out so you, Legend, himself and Sky couldn't do it as usual.

"Here," he passes you your cloak from his slate, you blink as he gives you a smile, "It's about time I gave it back to you anyway." The habit of Chain members accidentally grabbing stuff from one another was legendary by now (and the fact that some items like Sky's Sailcloth, Twilight's necklace and Four's Sword were off limits, you'd have better luck getting Legend to allow you to borrow an item than getting them to part from those), you just didn't think it would extend to you.

"Thank you.", Smiling, you snuggle into the fabric, tilting your head at the headshake from Twilight as he takes the floor, "If there is, it's too faint for any of us to really notice it. Or it's just not the type we are using to deal with."

"We won't exactly know unless we're in the building most likely.", Sighed your resident captain, the smith nods along and adds in, "There definitely was some around the inn though, in the rubble. But not really anywhere else strong enough to notice, could be because of the monster presence here recently."

"Fi's been quiet too, plus that Raven fellow didn't even seem to bat an eye at her presence, unlike the Shadow would." Sky spoke thoughtfully, you had seen them pass by one another didn't they? It was likely then that he checked.

"Mhn, they act strangely but they're not possessed from what we can see either."

Legend shakes his head with a huff, "Much as I hate to admit they're right, disguised monsters usually have cracks in their facades, either it's a really good, really patient one, or just a Goddess damned weirdo with a few screws loose."

Neither alternative is good, you think and despite yourself, your gaze drifts to the theater building again. True to the stranger's word, the doors were open and the gales were picking up, you still have that niggling feeling from before, the unease that picks up the shoe before letting it drop, the feeling of being at a stalemate with a Lynel or breaths away from getting shot down by a Guardian as you look at the dim lights of the second floor of candles and lanterns likely being lit up. As much as you wanted to believe this was a rare struck of luck the Chain some times had when traveling (in meeting some times strange, but helpful individuals), something in there shook you, and laughed in your face when you couldn't figure out where the possible dagger was coming from.

The thunder roars as lightning strikes the earth, joining the once peaceful breeze turned into a furious zephyr in it's howling, screaming melody as the first drops of water begin to fall, seems the grace period you and the Chain had was up.

"Old man?" "Grandsire?" Inquired both Twilight and Sky, as you all leave the final decision to them (an inevitability really, with a group this big and diverse). Time and First trade a look, seemingly having a silent conversation, before First nods lightly, sighing, Time nods in acquiesce, "We'll accept lodging until the storm is gone and not a moment less, everyone be on your guards. And anything suspicious or sign of the Shadow you tell one of us immediately, we mean it, do not engage or go off alone, this doesn't look like a Dungeon but we can quickly be proven wrong."

And that was that.

As one, you all walk towards the theater, the director seemed to be talking with someone at the door, a young woman with curly hair close to her chin. They wave her off as she runs back inside the building, tugging excitedly on the arm of another young lady, this one tall with hair a pale shade of blonde to the seats where you can briefly spot a side door who giggles at her excitement, the director gives them both a fond grin before turning to your group with a wink, "Nothing like seeing young people have fun mhm? So, I take it you made your choice."

First nods respectfully, voice steady and even, "Indeed, thank you very much for your hospitality."

The director rolls their eyes with a chuckle, ushering you all in, "Oh stop, you'll make me blush! It's nothing really, I have more than enough space and am always eager to please and entertain."

"It's still appreciated nonetheless."

They shake their head at Time, "So very polite, no need. Now! In you all go, I'll show you all to your rooms on the second floor and the communal area backstage."

You pause, just a step behind Sky, Wild and Hyrule, who scanned the warm lobby space with open interest, Spirit barely being able to hold Wind back from just running off as the director closes the doors behind Calamity, Legend and Warriors, their Hyrule's didn't have anything similar to theaters, at least not anymore on some cases not to mention many of the Links would have had time or interest to frequent these spaces anyway, so their curiosity was warranted. A glance from Time and First quickly stop any shenanigans at the director's back, "Has the communal area always existed?" You ask.

"Not really, most of these buildings don't have those. But I wanted the best for my actors you know? Some of them have nowhere to go, and letting such talent go to waste would be a shame. Hence why I had something of a substitute for it built in and rooms up above.", Shrugged Raven, going through the open doors on their left, "Comes in handy anyway when things like this happen, we have plenty of rooms for you all individually, so don't worry about sharing. Backstage and the communal area are just beyond the main treat of this place." There's a grin on their voice as they say so, and you quickly see why as your breath is briefly taken away.

The auditorium is beautiful, open and spacious with a grand stage where most of the lightning would be focused on, but generally bright enough as there are visitors as you spot a young man with red hair helping a blonde lady light the other lanterns. The curtains open with minimum scenery on the dark wood stage and the stands go from the very beginning of the auditorium, to the sides and second floor where two stairs covered by a dark red carpet lead up to the boxes', an iron chandelier hangs from the dark wooden rafters, casting light onto wooden beams and gray walls. Simple and solemn, but elegant enough to feel comfortable and homey rather than something more opulent or rigid, at least on any other occasion.

Raven's grin widens, seemingly satisfied at your reaction and what they seem to find on the faces of the Chain from open appreciation to curious interest, they stand in the road to the stands and take a bow, "Welcome to Astoria Theater, enjoy your stay! Once you've seen one of our performances you'll never want to leave!", They straighten up, something about their movement feels... Off, but you shrug it off as they nod to the red haired young man and lady sliding down the stairs, by the stairs you spot two side doors at the corners of the stage's stairs, the salt and pepper haired playwright seems more than pleased to themselves as they nod to each one, "Communal area and kitchen to the right, bathrooms and showers to the left. Feel free to help yourselves to the pantry, our home is your home." With a quick hop and sweep of their sleeve, they call the young red haired man over, "Edgar here will lead you to your rooms and if anything feel free to ask him, Anabella, Amelia, Byron or Priscilla, there's enough space so you all shouldn't need to bunk together." The newly named Edgar nods, a black cat comes hopping and balancing on the seats to settle on the theater's owners shoulders, earning itself an ear pinch before they move on, "All I really ask is that you keep away from the quarters of the crew and my own. Not many of us around today since most have their own places now, but just enough we can probably be nice enough hosts."

"Also keep away from the costumes and prop rooms and the stage", chimed in the other blonde lady, either Amelia, Anabella or Priscilla you guessed, "Byron is downright feral when someone messes with his hard work."

Edgar raised an eyebrow at her, "Downright, Anabella? You'd think he was raised by a pack of Wolfos if not by seeing him with that little village herbalist."

"I HEARD THAT!" Comes the yell from backstage, as a young man with brown hair sends a scatching glare from behind the curtain, the Chain as one jumps, and you thank your lucky stars for their restraint indoors even as you have to half remind yourself not to throw your dagger either. "Costume making with you people is maddening and you know it, no thanks to your stunts! And don't you bring Lynn into this you pompous pri-"

"Alright! Settled down you two!" Raven claps sharply with a stern look, Edgar sneers at presumably Byron while the later growls, they sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose before sending your group an apologetic, tired look you've seen on Time's or First's face many, many times over the course of this adventure, "Apologies about them, things can get hectic some times. Anyway, just don't go to those places uninvited and remember your end of the bargain." Brightening up, they grin, "Nothing like meals and a show during rainy days you know? It will be a nice distraction for us all I'd wager, we'll make sure to call you lot so you can take it in the stands."

"It's alright.", First relaxed, hand that had instinctually gone to the sword at his side falling limp, Time was the second to compose himself fully with a wry sigh, "Trust me, we understand pretty well."

"Thank you so much again for your hospitality." Sky spoke up, smiling warmly, Edgar seemed to blink a few times, Anabella almost dropped a candle she had in hand, while Raven simply smiled, "Don't mention it, really."

"We mean it, it's appreciated." Nodded Warriors, with Twilight right behind him.

They shrug, waving your group off. "It's not much at all, as long as we can tell stories we are satisfied. It's in the theater's and on the lobby's sign and all."

Edgar nods briefly, "All of us fell for the theater at some point due to that. It's only inevitable."

... For some reason, that makes you pause, that prickle of unease rearing it's head. You study them closely, but the director simply shrugs, sweeping sleeves flapping about as they shoo you group off. "Now off you go! You've had a long day, take your time, unwind, and we'll have the stage set properly tomorrow."

With that, you're all lead away. To the second floor and, true to Raven's word. There was an available room for everyone, all of them standard and pretty much the same with a single bed, desk with an unlit lantern, and a simple wooden wardrobe, after showing us all to our rooms, Edgar left swiftly, muttering something about 'needing to redo the scenery'. Tiredness you've barely registered crept onto the edges of your mind, you stifle a yawn and wave to your company, "I think that's my cue, I'm going to take a nice long nap for now."

"First sign of a bed and already trading us for it?", Teased Wild, making you poke his chest and flick a pointy ear, lips pursed so you won't smile at the little twitch, "Of course, just because I travel and adore you lads doesn't mean you're not exhausting to my sanity."

"Ouch." Mock hissed Spirit, Wind from his side hmphing, "I'll have you know we are a delight, thank you very much! If anything being around us is probably better for your health!"

You chuckle, ruffling Wind's hair and patting Spirit's head beneath his hat, ignoring both the indignant squawk and light bat like an annoyed cat, "I know, I know, don't take it personally. I'm really just tired."

"We know, it's been a long day and an even longer week," Sky smiled softly, giving you a gentle push onwards, before stifling a yawn, "Honestly I might follow your example."

"We meet later on for dinner?" Chimed in Wild, shifting in place, "I kind of want to check their pantry before anything else. See what we'll be working with."

Time nodded, addressing the Chain as one, "We'll meet up in the auditorium, you all get some rest until then. It will be a long stay so we may as well get used to this place."

"Don't give any trouble to our hosts, and if any of you notice something off come fetch me or Time." Came from First, you catch the tail end of agreement from the boys as you open and close your door, breathing in deeply.

You still can't push that feeling that something about this is too easy, or that the other shoe is going to drop. But faced with a warm bed and at least somewhere semi-secure from monsters after so long on the road, you can't bring yourself to dwell too deeply on in it, you set your bag on the wardrobe and atop a pile of wooly blankets. Picking one for your own use while you can, take of your boots and set them by the night stand, dim the lantern and then fall back onto the mattress, wrapping yourself comfortably and not forgetting to place the dagger beneath your pillow.

You fall quickly into a warm and dreamless sleep, unaware of a black cat with crimson eyes watching you from above, as the shadows shift unnaturally and the lantern almost goes out, before it slinks away into the shadows, slipping away unnoticed.

_______________________________________________

Long after night fell, dinner had been had along a relaxed retelling about the adventures of a young wooden puppet who became a human and all activity had ceased from most other guests and hosts alike. The darkness and shadows of the corridors shifted oddly, flickering as if someone had set a candle by them when all light have been either dimmed or blow out, they seethed and snapped and twisted as form was given to one of their own even as they hissed at the anomaly, wanting to be set to their natural, usually still and silent state again.

Sadly, they wouldn't be able to return to sleep just yet.

First came legs, then a torso and arms, neck and a head with short chin lenght hair, shades draped upon them in a shape like a tunic's and forming boots at their feet and red, red eyes, a shade bright like rubies found in the Era of Wild, bright even in the dark. Something snapped within the darkness, visibly shifted and cracked itself into place, and the figure stepped out, while once as obsidian as the shadows he was named from, color seemed to flood into the being as the remaining shades melted away, giving way to dark purple hair held back with a black headband, sickly pale skin from being unable to stay in the sunlight, and where there once was only the shape of eyes now there was a sclera.

There in the empty lobby stood a perfect copy of The Hero of Minish, the Shadow behind the Four Sword Wielder.

Shadow stretched, cracking his neck with a relieved sigh, "Now that is much more like it." His crimson eyes surveyed the room almost critically, narrowed and wary, he clicked his tongue with a sigh, wrinkling his nose, the only sound in a theater as quiet as a mausoleum, "Sheesh, no wonder Rainbow was on edge... This place is enough to give even me the creeps." And he had worked under Vaati, yikes. Shrugging, he went forward into the darkened auditorium, footsteps silent as the building, "Let's see what we can find, shall we?"

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Humming, the masked figure grinned, putting quill to paper from a darkened spot in the balcony, the Director walked away from their room with a candle in hand and a case on the other heading down the stairs, a black cat with blood red eyes stared judgmentally at the masked one's glee, "There you are." They waved the cat off, it rolled it's eyes with a hiss, but melded into the shadows easily enough, the figure leaned comfortably against the balcony railing and got to writing, ink crimson and then back where the quill passed, "First thing most fairy tales and stories teach you: never wander off alone, good intentions or not."

Opening Act, Scene III End.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 1 of 27)

Summary: Not every adventurer wields a weapon. You, a hearth witch living near the banks of River Chionthar, are witness to a craft falling from the sky, and wondering if anyone needed assistance, ran down to find survivors. That was your first mistake. Going along with the survivors on their crazy adventure? That was your second mistake. Will you survive your next mistake of letting a hungry vampire bite you?

Author’s Notes: Full disclosure: at this point, I’ve only played through act 2 without romancing Astarion. So why the fuck am I writing some wholesome Astarion x F!Reader? Because I’m dumb and got spoiled on Youtube, and now I can’t stop thinking about the poor guy. Also this is heavily influenced by a couple of wholesome manga (“Life in Another World as a Housekeeping Mage” and “The Forsaken Saintess and her Foodie Roadtrip in Another World”), but I won’t be writing an isekai. You (reader) are from Faerun like everyone else. I’m just here to have some wholesome feels and hurt/comfort. Let’s go go go.

Tags: wholesome, cozy camp time, Astarion x F!Reader, slow burn, good alignment, BG3 Spoilers

Chapter Word Count: 1,843

Ao3 Link here, Darling.

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Act I, Chapter 1 - The Beginning

You are a hearth witch, living on the banks of the River Chionthar, making potions and herbal remedies for the small villages nearby. For the past three years, you’d been happier than you’d ever been in your life. You loved helping people, but you made sure not to reveal your real name, nor why you always wore long sleeves and gloves, even in the middle of summer.

But the nearby villages had been emptying as of late. News of the goblin camp that recently appeared nearby had first scared off the traveling merchants, and then the locals. You realized that you too should leave, otherwise you’d either have no more customers or goblins on your doorstep. You only had a dagger and a few spells that did little in ways of actual damage, so defending yourself against a horde of enemies was out of the question. So you began to pack up, figuring out what you could bring with you, and what needed to be repurchased once you reached your new home, wherever that might be. 

On a warm sunny day, you decided that this would be your last day here. Your pack was filled, your cottage cleaned out. Tomorrow morning, you would take off to the east, following the river to the next closest town. For now, you decided to grab a few more ingredients for the road, and so, you were out by the river bank, gathering fresh herbs and mushrooms. 

A booming sound followed a strong gust of wind that whipped around you, twigs and grass flying everywhere. Then you saw a ship crash nearby, the land and water being torn asunder, debris flung in all directions. After the chaos died down a bit, you went to go check for survivors. You couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away if someone might need help.

That was a poor decision on your part.

The first survivor you found was a young, dark-haired woman, passed out on the shore. She seemed standoffish, but after helping her up and giving her a drink from your waterskin, you convinced her that the best thing to do was to get out of the area and rest at your cottage while she regained her bearings. 

A little while later, the two of you came upon the strange sight of a single arm, sticking out of a glowing purple rune. You and the young woman, Shadowheart, pulled the poor man out. He introduced himself as Gale, and also joined your party.

As the three of you continued back to your cottage, you came across another stranger. Skin as pale as marble and hair to match. Had some scars on his neck. Perhaps he got them on the ship? He seemed harmless enough. Another escapee of the craft that fell from the sky.

That is, until he tricked you into looking for something in the bushes.

If only he hadn’t touched your exposed neck with his bare hand. Then you wouldn’t have felt the fear, underlined by a desperation you knew all too well. 

The leash is cut.

It made you empathize. And that was one rule that had been burned into your mind at a young age. 

Do not empathize with the enemy.

Fortunately, Gale and Shadowheart talked him down from stabbing you. The man even apologized to you, though it seemed more for show than for sincerity. 

Astarion was his name. He introduced himself with aplomb and decorum, and your hackles raised at the sight. A noble.

After a bit more conversation, they agreed that their shared affliction was enough of a reason to travel together and find a cure.

Swallowing down your general prejudice against nobles, you ignored him and made small talk with the others as you led them back to your cottage. 

***

Your cottage had only one room, enough space for your bed, some storage for herbs and tools, and a work table for your alchemy. Most of your things were packed, but you pulled out enough to take care of your guests. 

The yard to the side of the building was set up as a small campground for travelers to rest. You had figured out a couple years ago that for a small fee, traveling merchants would gladly rest on your land where it was safe, while you made them fresh, nourishing meals and cast spells on their bedrolls to make them feel warm and comfortable. You even managed to get a small tub built in the back to provide a warm bath for an extra fee.

It had been a lucrative idea, one that made you enough money to be quite comfortable out here in the sticks.

You may only know a few cantrips, but you had manipulated them beyond what most people did. Your mending cantrip could fix whole swaths of cloth, your prestidigitation cantrip could keep bedrolls warm all night, or baths hot for hours. It was why you had several repeat customers, traveling merchants who would alter their routes to come to your place to rest. 

You told them of the surrounding area and cooked a meal for them, a simple stew with seasonal vegetables and herbs.

The noble said he wasn’t hungry. You supposed your poor peasant food wasn’t to his taste.

He can suit himself.

While the others were eating, you set up the campground. While you were quietly casting the comfort cantrip on each bedroll, you sensed someone watching you.

“Yes?” you asked, biting the inside of your mouth to keep from being snippy.

Astarion stepped closer to you. He remained standing, looking down on your kneeling form. “What an interesting way to use prestidigitation.”

You shrugged. You had nothing to say to a noble. You finished your spell and started to shuffle over to the next bedroll, but he remained standing in your way.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, darling.” He didn’t budge.

You let out a short huff and crawled around him. One bedroll left. Ignoring the man, you began the cantrip.

By the time you finished, you looked up to see all three of them watching you.

“What?” you asked, a little disturbed by the attention.

“I hadn’t thought to use that cantrip like this before,” Gale said as he knelt down to touch the bedroll. “How long does it last?”

“All night,” you responded, feeling a little proud of yourself.

Shadowheart was already crawling into the bedroll. “This feels amazing.” She buried herself into the cloth. “It feels like I’m sleeping on a warm cloud.”

Gale shrugged and followed suit. “Gods, you’re right.” He sat up and looked at you. “I don’t know how you manipulated that spell, but it’s absolutely brilliant.”

You felt a zing of joy. Your little custom cantrip impressed a wizard!

The noble watched you for a few more moments before he too, crawled into a bedroll. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh. My, this is rather comfortable.”

You jutted out your chin, but refrained from being too catty about it. Instead, you switched to being polite. 

“Sweet dreams,” you said to everyone, and went about cleaning up around camp. By the time you were done, the three of them were fast asleep.

***

The motley crew thanked you and took off in the morning to explore the area, seemingly never to return.

You looked around at your unpacked things, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to start off tomorrow morning instead.

Your plans were sidetracked once more, however, when the group returned that evening with a fourth member, grouchy and prickly as a threatened porcupine. After a couple of bowls of your herbal soup, she became a little bit less prickly. Lae'zel was her name, and she punctuated her Common speech with her Githyanki tongue. You found it a bit endearing, the way one finds a stray animal that always hisses at you endearing. 

You cast a warming spell on their bed rolls once more, burned incense to keep the insects away, and made sure they were all comfortable in your little camp area outside of your cottage before going to bed.

The next morning, you got up early to make breakfast for them before they left to explore the ruins that they had found the day before. As you checked your rabbit traps, you noticed one of them was tripped, but the rabbit within was a mere husk, as if it had been dehydrated. 

Curious. 

You reset your trap and returned to camp.

“What’s that?” Shadowheart asked when she saw the husk of a corpse in your hand.

“A dried up rabbit.”

“That doesn’t sound appetizing,” Lae’zel remarked. 

You shrugged. “I can at least sell the pelt later. Sorry, you’ll have to make do with another vegetable stew tonight.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “That is, if you’re coming back here.”

The four adventurers looked at each other.

“I think we’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough,” Gale said. We’ll start heading west from here.”

*** 

The group had finally left, and you had finished packing. You had been delayed by their arrival, but no longer. They truly seemed gone now, with the sun setting and no sign of their return. Tomorrow for sure. Tomorrow, early in the morning, you would set off—

You heard your name being called. Off in the distance, you could see Gale, waving sheepishly at you, followed by the others. 

You sighed. Biting back your annoyance, you smiled and waved back. A customer was a customer. At least this group was entertaining, and quite generous with their gold. And this time, they brought you back some boar meat.

There was one new face, a man with a stone eye. He introduced himself as the Blade of the Frontiers, Wyll. He seemed nice, charismatic even. Someone who had the manners of a noble but the heart of a commoner.

They set up camp once more in your yard, and you unpacked just enough of your supplies to make them a meal. 

"You look like you're ready to go on a journey," Gale commented as you all sat around the campfire, eating a boar roast with herbed potatoes.

"I'm moving. Many people have moved away because of the increase in goblins in the area, and a lot of my business has dried up. And having goblins this close doesn't make me feel all too safe."

“Any plans on where?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I was just going to travel until I found a place to settle.”

"Well, why don't you come with us?" 

Everyone looked at Gale in shock, but then they all looked at you. 

"You do make camp much more comfortable," Shadowheart finally said. 

“And one of us would be standing guard at camp as well, so you would be safe,” Wyll added.

You saw no reason to decline. You liked most of them, save for one snotty noble. A constant flow of income would be nice, for once. You negotiated a decent wage and agreed to head out with them at first light.

That, dear hearth witch, was your second poor decision.

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Chapter End Notes:

Yeah, I basically made up a “hearth witch” class as a combo of druid, wizard, and cleric, but hey, welcome to Dungeons & Dragons, where homebrew classes happen all the time. Hope you enjoyed the fic! I'm actively working on the next chapter!

Update 4/4/24: All chapters are here!

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

[wetcatspellcaster]

7 and 8 for the Tav asks. :D and congrats on the thesis!

Thank you for the questions! Sorry for the long answer!

7. Describe their arc. How would a player help resolve it? What choices can be made? Can your Tav be turned down a dark path, or pulled to a lighter one?

So I thought about this a lot, the Good Ending for Rosalie is she's Just A Person, the Bad Ending is that she volunteers to become the mindflayer at the Orpheus decision for ENTIRELY THE WRONG REASONS (feeling like a liability, believing it's the only way to cure her mental illness, seeing herself as the weak link in the group, being depressed, etc. - this ending bought to you by me staring at that decision screen for an hour KNOWING she'd turn herself into a mindflayer in a heartbeat but feeling physically ill over her logic behind that decision). This is the 'exalted mind' ending.

So there is a bad path for her, but it's one bought about by being self-sacrificing to the point of absolute idiocy and self destruction. I think that Tav literally swerves her away from it by teaching her to be a little selfish and to value herself lmao. Literally the opposite of most of the other companions, and kind of what I wish you could teach Wyll in his storyline tbh!

Her arc would be her just generally being over-emotional and reckless, with lots of camp chats about morality in Act 1 (I would probably double down on the tropes that fandoms hate in female characters a la Katara in Avatar the Last Airbender just for the lols). I want her ending Act 1 feeling like a trite 'heart of the group', ridiculous Mary Sue, she talks to you a lot about how you're feeling, are you ok? Borderline annoying tbh, but with the EA Halsin Effect of "oh, you're the companion who's nicest to me!!". Then in Act 1/2 depending on approval she does something utterly stupid, like run into a fight alone unprompted (death to a wizard), or possibly have Ethel specific dialogue that pisses Ethel off if she's in your party, and the player starts thinking "god this girl is a bit weird and reckless and stupid at times actually", and calling her out on it gets the illithid tadpole as anxiety med drop.

Act 3, you start meeting people from her past (bonus comedy route for if you just enabled all her behaviour at this point to be nice to her and get her approval bc then the illithid tadpole drop happens here). Larroakan is like "aren't you that mousy little scribe who completed those commissions for me?", you can find Threnn, possibly did an infernal translation for Gortash (not canon just for story tie-in)???? and they're all like "who the fuck are you? why are you so different now". There would be a confrontation about lying about who she is, a camp conversation about the pressure they face as the 'heroes of Baldur's Gate" and how she feels inadequate. And then in the conversation with Threnn, and the final Orpheus conversation, Tav can encourage Rose to have an actually healthy relationship with her emotions and not see her every choice as a failing actually. Then you unlock real Rose personality and a final decision where she doesn't try and throw herself on her sword.

8. After Act 3, what does their life look like? What are they talking about at the reunion party?

Good ending Rosalie has rebuilt her relationships with her family, she's back at the Watchful Order but getting all their backlog of heroic deeds retroactively converted into a wizard qualification, and unromanced she'll mention that she's either considering going on secondment to Avernus or helping Halsin in the Shadowlands/feywild as her practical project for the final part of her grade. She will have visited every single companion in the six months (Wyll/Karlach as a projection). She will mention going to tea weekly with Gale given that she's fast-tracking wizardry/he needs a friend group and practice at being a normie and they live in the same city. She will name drop being friends with Tara very smugly.

Bad ending Rosalie is a mindflayer and will talk about the magic she's capable of and the power she's unlocking, now she's no longer letting emotion cloud her judgement. You can ask her about her parents and if she's gotten back in touch and she says, "oh, right. I used to have those."

tav ask game! :)

[simonnebethel]

🩸Beta Reader Call for A Chant For Blood🩸

Would appreciate a boost if you can 👉👈 Huzzah!!! I have finally finished editing A Chant For Blood(for now). I am now officially looking for beta readers. I don't mind if you don't have any experience, just looking for readers and writers who enjoy fantasy and gothic horror ^^ all I ask is that you're 18+ and to read the content warnings.

Some info about the story:

🫀Title of Story: A Chant for Blood (The Helminth Mother Book 1)

🖤Word Count: 116k(will probably not send it all at once, as I know 116k can be overwhelming to some.)

🫀Genre: High Victorian Fantasy, Gothic Horror

🖤CW: Blood, violence, gore, mentions of fantasy racism, worms, body horror, disembodied voices, brief mentions of sexual content, manipulative characters, decaying corpses, mild profanity.

🫀This story also contains: Queer characters, eldritch beings, religious motives, a victorian-fantasy world, knight-lady character, blood-drinking character, magic, non-human characters, main character with mysterious heritage, ancient haunted temples, otherworldly portals, and many, many, worms 🪱

🖤Synopsis: Karliah Helisende doesn’t know how to feel about her current status in life. The highest ranking soldier in the country of Ostrein, and she can’t command a single army. On a particular rainy morning, her superiors give her a strange task; find the man who is killing citizens and leaving their bodies on the streets. She eventually finds the elusive creature, whose name she learns is Yorick Gwynplaine, but at the same time learns that he is just one of many people and monsters that spawned from mysterious portals that have been appearing all over the world. They both decide to work as a team; Karliah will find a way to take him back to his own world, and Yorick will keep his blood-thirsty hunger under control.

Karliah had assumed these tasks would be easy, if not for the Sanctum haunting her every step. An ancient temple resting in the Bauknan Mountains, she has known of it’s foreboding presence ever since she arrived to the gas-lit streets of Isarnan. It whispers indecipherable and enigmatic secrets in her ear, and only grows by the day. It’s sickness infects her very being and soon, affects her decisions. The people around notice her growing darkness, but fail to stop her as she digs her own grave. As the Sanctum’s incoherent whispers become intelligent mutterings, she pushes herself to finish the task that was set before her from the very beginning, no matter how many people she has to push away.

🫀Feedback I'm looking for: Anything about the story! I've only ever shown this to a few people before, so I want to know what parts are weak and what parts are strong. If there are any major grammar problems, I would like to know, although I think I have gotten most of them by now. I would like to know how the character's relationships work, and how certain plot points left you feeling. Also, how obvious some of the plot twists are because I feel like some are sort of..in your face. I will be setting up feedback questionnaires soon, so they will be ready for when you finish!

Check the #a chant for blood tag for excerpts and info if you want to see more before signing up!

Here is the google form to fill out. Your email will not be collected, and if you have any questions or need clarifcation don't be afraid to dm me or leave a comment ^^ Google Form link

[minshookie]

All Play, No Work. Pt two

Pairing | CEO!Yoongi x reader

Genre |angst, dark themed, yandere, gore.

Summary | “ Eunji just couldn’t play nice, firing her just wouldn’t be enough.”

!Warnings! 18+, yandere Yoongi, character death, descriptive scenes, murder scene, infidelity.

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|

(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

Requested [request closed] words 3k

A/N : link to part 1 I hope this is enjoyable!! Unedited but I will edit soon.

“Yoongi, don’t talk so drastically...it was just a joke.” He heaved deeply, gripping the door handle severely. “It can’t be a joke every time y/n she’s done worse before, her and her husband.” Sighing, unsure if it was safe to touch him you put your hand on the handle next to his. “Min, they hate me because you love me, if you want it resolved maybe we should lay low...take something like a break?” Of course you didn’t mean it, but the complications at work were becoming a bit detrimental.

His head turned at lighting speed, with a look of disgust almost. “Break? You can’t be serious don’t ever say something like that again, and I’ll do what I please, we should we hide ourselves she’ll start waking around with her head high like she won.” He let go of the handle leaning against the door looking deeply into you. “I’ll fire her.” You rolled your eyes “Yoongi please she needs to work.” “Stop being so damn sweet, this is the same person that soiled your clothes, cracks jokes about you...she bullies you she should’ve been out of here.” He put his hand in his pocket, checking his watch on his other wrist. “We’re almost done for the day anyway... you go to my place without me I’ll meet you there.” Taking his watch clad hand in yours, you could tell he was still furious.

“Alright if you insist, but what’ll you be doing yoongs?” You attempted to turn the atmosphere playful. “Baby, you insist on disobeying my requests.” Chuckles dryly. “I’ll be talking to Kim, and Lucy.” “Lucy, why?” “I’m giving her Kim’s position, a promotion.” He leans swiftly pecking your cheek before opening the door for you both to exit, not giving you a chance at questioning him further. He follows closely behind all eyes on you, a grimace on Eunji’s features. It’s like you had a fat red target right in the middle of your face. “Actually, why don’t you just head out now.” Yoongi mumbled before leaving your side, quickly heading to his office his fist curled in a rough grip.

You hung your head low like a shy school girl, going to collect your bag and belongings from your cubicle. Only to find Jimin completing the papers you’d left. “Heading home miss Raman booty?” He mumbled without turning, a pen between his teeth, his fingers typing with stealth. “I hate you Jimin.” Laughing he let the pen fall, leaning in the chair finally facing you. “You ok?” You nodded giving a warm smile. “Good, here’s your thousand dollar sack.” He handed you your purse, he’s full of jokes today, you responded with a low chuckle. “Wait before you go, whats the 411 on the bosses mood?” “Mm angry, go in quickly and quietly and leave the same way.” He nodded going back to the computer, “Ah, so not the day for pay increase forms? Gotcha.” You laughed before walking away, ready to be rid of the grimy feeling you were getting from work today.

Avoiding eye contact, you focus on the rythmatic clicking of your pumps until you entered the silver elevator. Leaning against the glass window you watched as you descended through the building. Finally meeting the last floor quickly freeing yourself sighing one more trek to take, that being into the parking garage. Silent and eerie, it oddly relaxed you you found your car quickly. It’s always there right next to Yoongi’s ever since the first day you started.

The thought warmed you, feelings of your boyfriends love floating around you. Hopping in your car you threw the gifted purse in the back seat, just before you could start up your phone rang, Yoongi of course. “Hey Yoongi” ”Ah, you sound happier already.” Reclining your seat you sighed. “I was thinking of you.” He hummed in approval. “Cute, hm I do the same to calm myself...thinking of you of course.” Giggling you responded “reason for calling?” “I wanted to say I love you, and I want you to go straight home.” He orders blandly. “Tsk I wanted to shop a bit.” You joke putting your seat back into position. “Y/n straight home, no questions.” “Yeah I heard you Daddy.” You joked starting your vehicle. “Good, I’ll see you soon, love you...say it back.” “I love you Yoongi, of course.” He sighed softly, checking your surroundings you pulled back waiting for him to hang up. “Alright bye...Jimin get out.” The phone call ended.

Relaxed you drove through your city, it’s a bit later in the day the faces of people passing linger in your mind. A soft tune plays from the radio, resting at a light your eyes wandered to the beagle place Yoongi always insists on getting breakfast from. His friends little hole in the wall. Letting your mind wander, he really is a romantic. Finishing the length of the trip you finally reach your destination, a discreet apartment on the edge of town with a not so discreet price. Reaching for your purse you got out of the car, frankly mentally and physically exhausted. “Mrs min! Welcome back!” You’re warmly greeted at the door, “no still y/l/n,good afternoon.” Warmly you smile thanking him for opening the door, yet another elevator to take you where you needed to be.

On the home stretch, trudging towards the door unlocking it you fumbled inside sighing taking in his scent that floated about. With your eyes closed you dropped your bag shuffling to the couch. Kicking off the shoes you let gravity take over thumping onto the firm furniture. The light jingling, made a smile spread on your lips. “Is that my best boy!?” You opened your eyes, greeted with Min Holly his coffee colored paws giving you pets on your head. “My Beautiful little one.” Kissing him on the temple, and gifting him to a few pets and scratches he was satisfied with your greeting he let you be at rest.

Pulling from the couch, you fulfilled the routine of grabbing a snack and skipping upstairs to shower. Stripping you ventured Yoongi’s bedroom in the nude, in search for the clothes you’d left there. Giving up you opted for a pair of briefs and a t-shirt.

Finishing the shower, you cuddled into bed wallowing on the plush mattress in search of a comforting position, engulfing your senses in Yoongi’s scent. Turing on the tv you rolled over, the bed felt cold without your cuddle baby. “Hmm Holly! C’mere little boy!” Joyously he ran in jumping next to you cuddling into your warm side. “We’ll nap and wait for Daddy huh?”

NOW READING FROM: Yoongi’s point of view.

“Are you sure Min, I mean I’m flattered but I just started about a month ago-” I held up my hand to stop her nervous speech. “I’m positive, I’ve observed your work ethic I’m sure you could keep up Lucy, the pay is great the work is easy....more time to speak to Jungkook hm?” Her cheeks blushed light rose at the mention of his name. “But what about uhm..Eunji?” She spoke of her coworker in hushed tones,like she was some sort of demon.

“Kim Eunji has been polluting our work area, making others feel uncomfortable...and uncomfortable means less work getting done, I’ll see about her don’t worry.” Toying with her manicured fingers, such a shy girl, “so what’s your answer?” She sighed brushing a stray hair behind her ear, “Mr Min, when do I start?” She held a coy smile, slowly looking up to make eye contact. “Ah! Smart girl!” I distributed my hand for her to shake in agreement. “You’ll start Monday, we’ll have it all sorted by then.” Nodding she let go of my hand, “thank you Mr Min.” “Of course Lucy I know I won’t regret it, enjoy your night sorry for keeping you late.” Now almost all of her face had a glow of blush, “oh it’s fine Mr Min I don’t mind I didn’t have anything to do tonight anyways, how a-” “ask Eunji to come in for me please, Good night Lucy thank you.”

Shutting up he gave a quick smile and nod before leaving quicker than she came. Eunji pranced in almost eagerly a subtle smirk playing on her cherry lips. “It’s late Yoongi I have to get home.” “Home to what...a cold shower and empty bed? Come sit.” I smirked as she complied, “what do you want Min...if you’re looking for apologies you wont-” “I just wanted to talk to you.” She shut her painted lips, nodding giving me room to speak.

“You’ve been acting out Kim, and I think I know why.” She folded her arms defensively humming a response. “Oh yeah?” Her cocky tone only deepened my concealed rage. “You’re missing someone, your husband maybe?” She rolled her eyes, poking her tongue along her cheek. “What about it?” She began to toy with the small figurines that decorated my desk. “Well, he misses you too...I’ve made the decision to let you go if you’d like.”

“It isn’t time for him to come back, he’s been on the trip for months.” She mumbles smiling down at a framed picture of Holly. Scoffing I took the image back, “Joon, he likes it there he’s been having issues contacting you so he’s said....but he’s made the choice to transfer and stay at the location.” She looked intensely Into my eyes, confused yet gullible.

“He’s gotten a good place, he wants to move you there...he misses you more than you know, and the way you’ve been acting out of line I think you feel the same.” She huffs, nodding slowly. “Alright, you’ll treat my flight the same you did his?” Greedy little bitch...“yes, paid and full, you’ll be able to contact him at the airport hm?” Finally a soft smile spreads her lips, she huffs a low chuckle. “Really?” “Would you like to see the messages and paperwork?”

In hopes she’d say no I still pulled open the side drawer, a single word held her fate as I gripped the heavy weapon. It would be messy and against the plan if she’d decided to take this route. “No..no, why would you lie about sending me on all expenses paid long term vacation.” I smirked nodding while closing the drawer. “So you’ve agreed to joining him?” Sighing she tamed wisps of her dark hair, raking the back into her loose ponytail.

I pushed the legal paper forward a ballpoint rests atop of it. “When do I leave, do I get a chance to say goodbye?” She mumbles leaving her signature along the dotted spaces. Goodbye? Who would want to farewell a she-demon like you. “I’m afraid not, your flight is scheduled for tomorrow 7AM...you should get home actually.” I checked my timepiece briefly.

She stood silently, “ah ah wait, Eunji...it’s late you’re tired allow me to drive you home.” She furrows her brows, giving a suspicious look. “I’ll miss you Kim, you were one of the first people here you and Namjoon.” She lowered herself in the seat her expression now compassionate.

I didn’t lie, Eunji was exhausted...the bags under her eyes almost frightening. She was once the best dressed, best looking, and best worker here. Jealousy had eaten her, and the absence of her Lover only made her worse. “Ah Min, you won’t miss me...you’re sending me away to protect your little hook up, she moan like I used to?” My cheeks began to redden, “no, her’s are better.” Guilt set in sourly. I lied right to y/n’s face to save my ass.

Kim Eunji had made me a liar, a cheater and a bad businessman...all the more reason for her fate. “Hm, if you say so.....how about we go to your place.” Her smirk detailed more than she’d let on. “One last time.” She’s always been scandalous, she could never learn a lesson, she’d never get enough. She saw an opportunity to finally sink her teeth into what she envied, and sinking her teeth is what she planned on doing.

“Tempting, can’t wait for mr kim huh?” I attempted to participate in her now lustful staring. “Hmm, you won’t make me will you?” I set free a chuckle, letting my fingertips glide my lip. “Your place, we can make it an all night thing...you can bring me to get my car in the morning.” She collected her expensive shoulder bag. “No, y/n is at my place, probably out cold by now....I’ll bring you somewhere with a romantic view, you’ll get back to your car tonight.” She frowned at the mention of her name, pulling her wisps of hair back.

“Fine, but don’t say her name anymore tonight.” Nodding I stood offering a hand to help her up and she refused with a bratty giggle, leaving the office. She removed her heels walking barefoot to the elevator, I paced hot on her trail, finally catching her as she stood idle in the spacious elevator.

The elevator couldn’t reach the final floor fast enough for me, she’d gotten comfortable the guilt of cheating on her husband nonexistent. Sighing in frustration eyeing my watch. She toyed with my fingers leaning against me, “why’d you replace me huh?” She pouted interlocking our fingers, her fridged rings kissed my skin harshly. “Excuse me?” She sighed, “we were messing around and you...found y/n.” I chuckled as the doors pulled open. “You were engaged...nothing more would’ve developed anyway.”

Eunji and I had held countless endeavors right under Namjoon’s nose, flirtatious, casual, sexual. But he was everything but oblivious, he was just lenient until he found out the depth of our friendship. So he decided to test the waters with y/n, it was extremely unacceptable. Eunji was engaged after all, I do have some self respect. I never replaced her, I just found someone I actually loved, someone who needed me and only me.

She only laughed at my reasoning, following me giddily to my car, I opened the passenger and let her inside. I already had her fate planned. She’d been the thorn in y/n’s side ever since she’d started, she’d come running to me in tears over the things Eunji would say...the things she’d do. They treated her like a rag doll the new girl fresh to adulthood, she knew nothing better than to follow and comply.

Eunji was given warning after warning, I hate firing people but for her I’d make an exception. But y/n she’s so sweet...it’ll kill her to know Eunji was walking around jobless because of her sensitivity. So what am I to do? I’ll just make her leave silently...on her own. I’ll make her disappear.

“Where are we going?” She pushed my knee aggressively, I’d zoned out completely roaming my thoughts a dangerous thing to do behind the wheel. Absentmindedly I’d driven past our false “date”, ultimately finding ourselves in the dark. “There is this bridge, it’s romantic y/n loves it.” I fibbed, how much of an idiot could I be...this mishaps could fuck everything I’d planned. I pulled onto said bridge, vacant, thankfully just how I needed it. I turned the car off, in pitch black I could feel her looking at me.

“Huh, what a view.” She quips, “well don’t be ungrateful.” The moment before the fall is always awkward, “hm...recline the seat.” She ordered, I personally didn’t enjoy her tone. I let my seat slowly fall back and she leaned over the center console. Blindly fiddling my pant buckle. Oh shit. Oh no. Waves of guilt washed over me at the simple thought of what she was attempting.

This had to be it, she’d made it to my briefs with ease, trailing her manicured fingers along my member. This had to happen now or the outcome I’d been planning would definitely go to shit. I put an end to her exploration, gripping the back of her neck with great force she mewled like a harmed animal. “F-fuck Min, feeling rough?”

No way would this be easy or clean in the car. “Shut up.” I gritted, now griping her hair making her whine and cry out. “P-please wait.” “What the fuck did I say?” Opening my door I pulled her from the car on my side. This needed to be quick and clean, this bridge was all too public and constantly frequented for me to be leaving a messy scene on.

What smart girl, she tried to escape only to be pained by my iron grip on her mane. “Why so scared...you wanted me right?” “M-m-Min! Please I’m sorry, tell her I’m sorry...sorry-so sorry.” I kicked the pit of her knee causing her to collapse on the cold gravel. “One sorry Bitch you are, I couldn’t even pay you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Think of all you did to that innocent woman...ruined her clothes, sent her on wild goose chases in a county she’s never been in, made her fall down the stairs, turned half the office against her...so evil you even made your sleazy husband her personal predator.” She sobbed pathetically, “w-what....he did-wait?” Of course she was unaware as any idiot would be.

I knelt mumbling in her ear. “He touched my fucking girlfriend for months on end...She was so ashamed do you know how much it took for her to come and tell me?” She gagged on her sobs, choking herself on her cries. “I’m sorry, I’ll quit I’ll leave-no need to do this I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

She whispers letting her body go limp. She thinks it’s so easy. “You sure will.” I grumbled reaching to pull my tie from my back pocket. “You can’t do shit to me- Joon- Joon will be lo-” “Joon his fucking dead. This right here.” I kicked her down pressing my foot into her soft back, to keep her still. She struggled to breath with my weight on her back, I crouch looping the long tie around her neck she ceased from fighting back as I wrapped it around my hands as well. Pulling with my angered strength, “this is the fucking business trip...enjoy the flight whore.”

She stoped struggling all together, pulling the fabric as tight as I could, I made sure the deed was done. She quit breathing, the ceased the struggle. Violently making sure she was gone, before I stored her in the trunk. My hands shook, the rush made my figure quake, I did my best to climb into the drivers seat.

Starting the car, it’s best in mind to flee as fast as I arrived. He’ll be pissed to high heaven, but at this moment theirs only one person to call. I scanned the road feeling beyond the edge, unsure of my final destination. Finally he felt the need to answer “Min, Min Yoongi-ah it is too late to be calling me this way!” He croaked through the phone .

“Jimin, hm a bonus?” “Excuse me?” He shuffled, I couldn’t continue to circle around here “Jimin...I need your help.” I groaned, I’d have to find somewhere to go before someone saw me driving suspiciously. “I’ve made another mistake....a messy one.” He gasped before mumbling complaints. “Why,Who and how much?” He grumbled, “meet me and I’ll let you know that.” “You know where to find me.” When all else fails, Jimin is the one to call. Partner in crime, cheater of justice and death.

NOW READING FROM : readers point of view.

Fear rolled over you as you came to the realization that is was almost 5 AM and Yoongi wasn’t in bed. Holly still occupied his spot, sprawled out in pure comfort. Enjoying the luxury of sleeping in the big bed.

Rubbing sleep from your eyes you shuffled your feet along the chilly floor, slipping in Yoongi’s slippers to adventure to the bathroom. You’d have to be back at work in some hours, Yoongi as well. It’s never like him to be late. After reliving yourself, washing up you’d realized the dryness of your mouth.

Aiding the feeling you took the trip downstairs, Holly’s paws hot on ur heels. “You thirsty too?” Rhetorically you questioned setting his dish for him, and grabbing a water for yourself, drinking it almost instantly. “You’ll get sick that way kitten.”

You choked in response, spitting the water onto the marbled counter. “What the fuck Yoongi, where’ve you been?” You spoke into the darkness, you didn’t hear him come in, maybe he was already home. “After I cleared some things up at work, Jimin and I had to...do some heavy work.” His voice held a quiver, unsure if it was of sadness or fear, maybe even anger.

“Ah well....come out of the dark, come over here.” You closed the the water, Holly had already met him in the living room. He neared, his features being shown from the glow of the kitchen lights. “Here, c’mon.” You sat on the island, back to him.

Something was off...he was hiding something, he was moving strangely with his words and actions. He came, leaving Holly on the floor he centers between your legs. Leaning on his palms on either side of you, “my shirt, my slippers, dressing up as me today?” You gave a soft smirk, “when’d you change?”

“At Jimin’s the work was messy.” “Ah...what’s that on your lip?” Taking your nail, you scrapped the flake of red from his top lip. “Been kissing other ladies...ladies in cheap red lipstick?” You giggled. His face ran pale at your joke, “n-no probably from Parks food, we were hungry.” You gazed in his eyes, “what’d you eat?” “Why?” Sighing you blew it off, “no reason, just curious...how’d it go with Eunji.”

He sighed leaned forward on the counter to stretch his back. It’s then when you caught a glimpse of something odd. “There was a struggle, but it’s all over now.” You held his shoulders, stopping him from moving back up, “Yoongi, you have this stuff all in your hair, where were you?” You brushed the stubborn dried substance with your fingers. “All on your neck.” You groomed him awaiting his answer. “Painting at Jimin’s.” Overpowering you he stood to his height.

You didn’t believe him, how could you? What paint job takes that long? How could it get on his hair? Down his neck? On his lips...nose as well? “I’m going to bed, kiss.” He pecked my cheek moving from my legs, Holly followed his escape. “Oh, and Jimin’s buddy gonna look at my car for a while I had to clean it out...left your lipstick.” He threw the tube for you to catch, it fell in your clutches.

“Yoongi, stop...where’d you get this?” “In the car, it’s yours baby.” He stood stiff on the stairs not turning around. “No, it’s not I can’t wear this...it fucks up my lips, I’m allergic.”

“It was Kim’s huh? You were out doing what you said you didn’t.” He turned glaring sinisterly. “I was out doing what I should’ve a while ago.”

You scoffed, he’s unbelievable, how could he. You’d began to plan your breakdown, how you’d destroy his home in a fit of rage. He’d cheated, lied, and didn’t care. “Kim Eunji and Kim Namjoon are dead.” He shared coldly, “any more questions miss curiosity?”

“No? Good now come up and clean me.”

In utter shock, you shook on top of the kitchen island. He’d made his way to the shower quickly, you heard the faint sprinkling. Sliding from your seat, in fear you followed his orders “now my love...don’t be afraid of me I do all things for you out of love.”

Minshookie 2021 | Not my image

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

The Darkest Timeline, Part 5

"What if you took her home?" Alex asks Kara.

Kara's eyes widen sharply. "Lena's apartment is the first place Lex will look for her!"

Rolling her eyes, Alex huffs. "I meant your home, Kara."

"Oh."

"Think about it," her sister continues. "Lena might be safe here, but she has no connection to this place. If she's going to have any chance of regaining her memories, she needs to be somewhere familiar. Or at the very least, she needs to start making new memories, and she can't do that cooped up on the ship."

Kara's heart starts to pound, and not just at the prospect of spending time with Lena in the comfort of her own home. If Lena does regain her memories... would she still hate Kara?

But in the end, she can only nod.

"Okay."

---

"Here we are," Kara announces, carefully leading Lena into her apartment. Lena's eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, her arm linked through Kara's from the slow walk up the stairs. Though her vision slowly improves, navigating the dark stairwell up to Kara's apartment had proven too much for her, so Kara had quietly informed her of each and every step, steadying her as she climbed on hesitant feet.

By now it's late afternoon, and the sunlight spilling in through Kara's windows makes Lena squint, lifting one hand to shade her eyes. "Could you...?"

"Oh, yeah. Yes. Just, stay right here."

Kara carefully withdraws her arm from Lena's before zipping around the room, drawing the curtains closed until the room falls into more comfortable shadows. In a moment, she's back in front of Lena.

"Any better?"

Lena's hand lowers, and she blinks with a relieved nod. "Yes, thank you." She sighs. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Kara assures her. "I'm glad you're here, and I want you to be comfortable."

Lena hesitantly removes her sunglasses, squinting even in the gloom. Still, she scans the room, taking in the sights around her. Kara isn't sure how much of it Lena can actually see, but that doesn't stop Lena from offering a small smile.

"It's nice," she says.

"Thanks," Kara returns. "Believe it or not, you used to spend almost every Friday night here."

"That seems... hard to believe," Lena says softly. "Last I remember, I didn't have many friends."

An idea sparks in Kara's brain. She smiles broadly, taking Lena's hand and crossing towards the refrigerator. "You don't have to just take my word for it. Here-- careful of the island-- look." She points to the game night scorecard on the door of the fridge. "This is from our last game night. You and Brainy absolutely crushed us at trivial pursuit."

Kara reached up and took down one of the pictures from beneath its magnet, gazing at it for a moment before handing it to Lena.

"Here's a photo of us."

The picture's at least a year old by now, but Kara still remembers the way her and Lena's cheeks had touched as they'd all crowded in for a selfie. It was before James had left for Calvintown-- it was his long arm that had snapped the picture, capturing every single beaming face.

Kara watches as Lena squints, moving the photo closer in an attempt to bring the image into focus. After a moment, Kara takes her by the hand again.

"I have an idea."

An hour later finds them crosslegged on the floor in front of the television, scrolling through Kara's photo reel while her phone projects the images on the widescreen tv, large enough even for Lena to see.

Kara tells the story behind each photo, narrating the circumstances like a tour guide of Lena's missing years. The further they go, the more Lena relaxes, her shoulders losing the tension that's been ever present since she woke up.

When Kara notices tears gathering in Lena's eyes, she stops, setting her phone aside.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

Lena sniffles quietly, wiping at her eyes. "I guess part of me never really believed you," she confesses. "You've been nothing but kind to me, but deep down I wondered if you were trying to manipulate me, telling me we were friends to gain my trust. But seeing all this... it just hit me that there really are years of my life that I can't remember."

Kara reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Lena's knee. "I would have had doubts too. I'm sorry I didn't think of this sooner. I shouldn't have just expected you to believe us."

"Will you--" Lena's voice cracks, and she huffs, rubbing at her cheeks in frustration. "Will you tell me?"

"Lena..."

"I want to know what I lost," Lena insists, her tone edging on bitter. Her jaw tightens, her features hardening even as she reaches for Kara's hand and clasps it tightly.

Finally, Kara nods in agreement. "But you haven't lost everything, okay? Even if you don't remember... you still have us."

---

Kara tells Lena everything. She shares every detail she remembers of the day they met, without glossing over the circumstances of her and Clark's visit, nor the eventual realization that Lena had been the target of the shuttle crash all along.

She shares what she knows of Lena's role in the Daxamite invasion, and her struggles with Morgan Edge the following year. Lena's breaths begin to shake when Kara speaks of Lex and his eventual escape, but she doesn't make any attempt to end the conversation. Lena listens, absorbing every detail in a way she hadn't before.

It takes all night and then some. Kara answers every question Lena has, never once losing patience as she attempts to paint a verbal picture of Lena's life. By the time the sun begins to rise, painting the room a dusky blue through the curtains, Lena's stomach calls an intermission by growling hungrily, reminding them that they'd forgotten dinner the night before.

"Maybe we should pause for some pancakes," Kara laughs, grateful for the reprieve. Lena allows her to help her to her feet, her features heavy and pensive. As they begin mixing the batter for pancakes, Lena seems to process the information she'd been given, casting them in a pall of silence.

It's not until they're tucking into their mountain of pancakes and maple syrup that Lena speaks up again.

"So... I shot my brother."

Kara nods. "That's what you told us. But like I said, he was resurrected to help save the multiverse, so it didn't really stick."

Lena pushes at her breakfast with her fork, her gaze somber. "No wonder he shot me, then."

"You killed him to try and protect others, Lena." Kara shoots her a pointed glance, one that Lena can barely meet before looking away. "You are not the same."

At that, Lena can only shrug, one shoulder lifting as green eyes meet Kara's gaze with a flat expression.

"Maybe we are."

Lena's features remain heavy through the rest of breakfast. As Kara prepares the pullout bed for Lena to sleep on, Lena asks one more question.

"Is there anything else?"

Kara freezes, her heart lodged in her throat. They haven't yet touched on the summer between Lex's death and the crisis event, or the events following Kara's tearful confession at the Pulitzer ceremony. They haven't discussed Mount Norquay, or Myriad, or their fractured friendship.

Kara looks at Lena, with her heavy features and heavier heart, and makes her decision.

"No," she utters. "That's mostly it, really."

[bluejayblueskies]

can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

.

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

 Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

 He should be dead. He should be dead. 

 (Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

 He doesn’t feel relieved.)

 The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

 They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

 His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

 He’s alive.

 Jon is not.

 .

.

.

 “It’s because of him, you know.”

 Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well. 

 Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

 “What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

 He answers anyway.

 “Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

 It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

 Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

 Jon was.

 Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

 Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

 It’s answer enough.

 Tim doesn’t ask again. 

 .

.

.

 They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

 Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

 The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

 Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

 .

.

.

 They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

 Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

 “Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout. 

 Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

 There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

 “Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

 “I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

 “Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

 “Do I still want to kill myself?”

 Martin winces.

 “Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

 Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

 Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

 “Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

 Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

 Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

 “Uh huh.”

 They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

 Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

 .

.

.

 Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

 It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids. 

 See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

 It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks. 

 He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

 “Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

 Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

 Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

 “Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

 “No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

 Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

 Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

 He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

 Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

 Oh.

 “I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

 “Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

 Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.” 

 Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

 Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

 “It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

 He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

 He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

 It’s okay.

 .

.

.

 The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

 He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does. 

 He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

 There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean. 

 Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

 “This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

 “We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

 “What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.” 

 He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous. 

 “We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

 Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

 Basira doesn’t follow him.

 Martin does.

 They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

 Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

 Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

 “Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

 Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair. 

 Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

 The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

 He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven’t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

 When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

 It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

 Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

 .

.

.

 “Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

 Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

 Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

 Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

 Almost.)

 “What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

 “Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

 Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

 “Tim.”

 Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

 He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

 “Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

 “Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

 Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

 Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

 Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

 Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

 “It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

 Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

 “I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

 Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

 Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

 “Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

 Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

 Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

 “Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

 Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

 .

.

.

 Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

 .

.

.

 “Tim?”

 Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

 The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

 Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

 Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

 Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

 Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

 Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

 Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

 Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

 Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

 Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

 Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

 Oh.

 “Jon—”

 “Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

 Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

 Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

 Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

 Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

 Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

 Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

 “I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

 Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

 Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

 A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

 “Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away. 

 “Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

 Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

 “Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

 “Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

 “Damn right they are.”

 Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

 Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

 Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

 .

.

.

 Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air. 

 The view is just as good as he remembers.

 There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

 Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

 Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

 There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways. 

 “I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

 “It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

 Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

 “Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

 “I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

 “Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

 “What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

 “Why not?”

 Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

 “What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

 “I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

 Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

 There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

 Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

 Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

 Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

 Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

 Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

 When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, barely audible. 

 Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

 Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

 Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

 Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

 Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

 Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

 Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly. 

 After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky. 

 “Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear. 

 Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

 They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

 .

.

.

 Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

 “Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

 Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

[just--another--daydreamer]

How they realize that they are in love

» Katsuki Bakugo // Shoto Todoroki // Izuku Midoriya x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

» Genre: Fluff & Angst » Summary: Just some HCs about Baku, Todo & Deku (seperately) and how they realize that they are in love » Warnings: fighting, death, injuries & swearing (Bakugo) implied abuse (Todoroki) panic attacks, overthinking & mentions of fighting (Midoriya) » Words: ~1.7k » Author's Note: These were fun to write, if you’d like to see them for any other characters, feel free to ask! This was inspired by @/costellos, check their stuff out

You can find a link to my Masterlist etc in my bio and pinned post

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

» Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo realizes that he is in love with you when you put yourself in danger to help him

Usually, Bakugo would be furious if someone else saw him as a person in need of help and tried supporting or even protecting him in a dangerous situation, but this time it feels different

Instead of anger boiling deep within Bakugo, close to making him explode, he feels an unusual numbness at first, while he watches your body fall to the ground after taking a hit for him. Even though he is often unable to identify his own feelings and is out of touch with them, he notices that change withing himself

The numbness quickly gives way to fear. He tumbles forward as he screams your name. For the first time in a while he is not sure what to do; he wants to check if you are alright, if you are alive, if you are still with him. But he also wants to charge forward and rip the person who hurt you to shreds

He feels helpless, unable to decide and unable to push those sudden overwhelming feelings aside. Instead, shock is freezing his whole body, only allowing his arms and legs to tremble. His mind is racing and screaming and calling him weak. Weak for needing your help, weak for not being able to protect you, weak for not killing this damn bastard in front of him

“Bakugo!” Your voice is feeble and barely audible over the sounds of the fight, but he can still hear you. You reach him through the clouds in his mind, through his own voice in his head tormenting him

He regains control over his body and it only takes him a few blows to knock out the enemy

In the next moment, he is cowering next to you, pulling you close, checking your vitals. Once again, his fingers tremble. You are alive, but in dire need of help

Bakugo hates being afraid and he pushes the feeling down with full force, trying to let his anger take over once again. The anger that numbs his senses, makes him care less about the people around him, makes him unapproachable and lets him keep everyone at a distance

“You damn fool!” His voice cracks. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Baku-” “Shut up!” The pain in his throat from screaming is a welcome one. “Just shut the fuck up! I didn’t need you to save me, dammit!” A lump forms in his throat, taking his ability to speak. He can feel tears in his eyes, but he wipes them away before they can fall

Bakugo leans down and puts his arms under your body to carry you to an ambulance. Under his breath, he mutters, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  » Shoto Todoroki:

Todoroki realizes that he is in love with you when you are patient with him

Most people in Todoroki’s life expect a lot from him, if not way too much. His father expects him to be the perfect hero and successor to him since the day his quirk awoke, UA expects him to always be one step ahead of everyone else and he puts those expectations on himself as well. Even though it is not hard for him to be all those things at this point in his life, having someone around who is patient with him and does not care if he fails or lets himself go from time to time is a relief

Like on most days, Todoroki and you walk home together after class, since you have to go into a similar direction. Most of the time both of you walk in silence or you try making conversation with Todoroki only to be met with silence or short answers

Todoroki knows that he is not the best person to be around at all times, that he does not always get jokes or acts distant with people – he just does not know what to say and how to react to certain things

Having friends is hard for him. Either he overshares about his past or keeps people at a safe distance. Todoroki needs time to figure out this new thing called friendship for himself. Can he even call his classmates friends? Can he call Midoriya, Iida and Uraraka friends? Can he call you a friend? What do you and the others call your relationship from your perspectives?

He has known you for a while now and you walk together every single day and you talk and you text, so you are his friend, right?

“Todoroki?” you catch him a little off-guard. “Hm?” “Would you like to hang out some time?”

He looks up at you and tries reading your expression. A friendly smile, waiting for his answer. It is his decision. You are not deciding for him, you are not demanding anything from him. Not many people have ever asked him to decide things for himself in the past. Everyone always decided in his place, especially when it came to big things like becoming a hero. It is a simple yes or no question over a small thing, yet Todoroki has trouble coming up with an answer

You seem to notice his hesitation. “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to hang out,” you calmly tell him. There is no undertone in your voice, only genuine kindness. “You can take your time deciding, you can take your time getting comfortable with having friends, or even just the idea of it.” Did you have another secret quirk that allowed you to read minds? Todoroki pushed that thought away. “Take your time. I promise that whatever you say, I won’t be mad or hurt by it. Alright?”

Even though you do not say anything to compliment or embarrass Todoroki, he feels himself blushing. Just a little, but he turns his face away to not let you notice. You are patient with him. You want him to be comfortable with you, you do not want to push anything on him. A warm feeling spreads through his body and for a second, Todoroki thinks that he is losing control of his fire quirk, but he quickly realizes that it is something else – something nice and good

“Yes, I’d love that, actually.” “Okay, great! I’ll text you then?” “Yeah.”

The two of you part ways but the warm feeling stays

  » Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya realizes that he is in love with you when you comfort him

Whenever something goes wrong during a mission or a patrol, that he goes on during his internship, Midoriya is quick to blame himself for what happened. He himself and everyone around him makes him think that he needs to be a perfect hero even though he is only an intern and a student

It starts with overthinking his steps, replaying the scene in his head again and again, and sometimes even ends in panic attacks. Most of the time he tries to deal with those things alone and disappears in his dorm room, but over time you have learned to see the signs that Midoriya is not doing well and you have been trying to find ways to comfort him

You both sit on his bed as Midoriya talks about what happened earlier. The civilians that got hurt, the villain who got away, his own inability to save everyone and stop the bastard. His voice is weak, tears run down his cheeks and sobs shake his body every now and then

He goes on and on about the mistakes he made until you interrupt him

“Midoriya.” Your voice is soothing yet insistent. “Not everything that happened today is your fault. Maybe even nothing. You are still in training, there are adults who are responsible for you. Putting someone as young as you and me out there is a risk, because we make mistakes. But that’s a way to learn. We learn from our past mistakes and become stronger. The next time you are in a situation like this, you’ll be able to handle it just fine.”

Some more tears run down his face, so you pull him into an embrace. Midoriya appreciates your words. He really does. But for now, he has lost his ability to speak

“You are not alone with this. And it’s not your fault.”

Another choked sob leaves Midoriya. He hugs you back, clings to your shirt and buries his face in the crook of your neck. The way your hands draw patterns on his back soothe him until he eventually stops crying. But he does not want to let go just yet

“Thank you,” he whispers after a while. “Thank you so much.” He is not alone. He knows that he can talk to you about this, about anything. He just wishes he had the courage to open up more often

You stay like this until it gets dark, until all the other lights have gone out. Until everything is silent and Midoriya can only hear your and his own breathing. He feels oddly warm and safe in your arms, so he hopes that you will never get up to go to your room, but he knows that you have to, eventually

Suddenly, one of your hands is on the back of his head, your fingers running through his hair. Midoriya has a hard time stopping himself from leaning into your touch more. “I hope you know that I’m here for you, Izuku.” You never call him by his first name. Midoriya’s heart skips a beat and heat rises to his cheeks. He is glad that you cannot see his face right now because he is sure that it is as red as a tomato

“The same goes for you.” And he wholeheartedly means it

You linger there for another moment before finally pulling away. Midoriya does not want you to, he wants you to stay there, with him, forever. But he cannot have that. Not yet at least. And even though the circumstances that lead to this are not the best, he wishes for this to happen again soon

[winchesterxxi]

A Link (Din Djarin x Reader)

Rating: PG-13

Type: Angst

Request: “Fic request - reader is a Jedi ( untrained) and Luke requests she also joins him. She has to choose between leaving Din or going with the child. After watching that episode I’m already depressed as hell so the more angsty the better!”

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: CH.16 SPOILERS

A/N: What’s the most depressing love song you can think of? Play it.

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

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You’d never think this rescue mission would lead to this. The plan was to get in, rescue Grogu, get Moff Gideon and walk out - the less damage the better. Needless to say, things didn’t go exactly according to plan, not in a single way.

But you definitely were not expecting an X-Wing to land on the ship and for a Jedi to walk out of there. Not any Jedi: Luke Skywalker. You’d heard a few gossips here and there about how he was the last great one of his kind, but you couldn’t predict that he’d sense Grogu and come get him. Ashoka? Sure. Luke Skywalker? Not in a million years.

It all happened so slow yet so quickly. One minute Grogu was in your arms, pointing at a screen, the next Din was saying goodbye to him, letting him see his face for the first time, while tears pooled across his vision before putting him down and letting the child waddle to Luke and the droid.

All eyes were focuses on Grogu as he exchange some sort of conversation with the beeping droid, before Luke’s eyes met yours.

“The force is strong with you too, Y/L/N”

“Just Y/N is fine.” you correct him, deferring his statement.

“Were you ever trained, Jedi?” he questions you, clearly noticing how unlike a Jedi your garments were - a beskar armor Din made sure to make buy you in Naboo as to protect you as much as possible, given the jobs you carried alongside him. It had cost him a great deal of credits but he didn’t want to hear a word about it. If it’s to keep you safe, I’d sell my own armor, he said.

“No?... I don’t know, I’ve just always felt The Force, I kind of taught myself everything I know."

“Have you ever maneuvered a lightsaber?”

You shook your head “No. Just blasters and spears.” 

“A Jedi must learned to use one.” You don’t like where this conversation is headed and you can see by the way that Din’s shoulders are tensing up, as he stands next to you, that neither is he.

“Do you know the dangers of being your age and untrained, Y/N?” look questions, eyeing you only.

“No.” Din cuts in abruptly, stepping in front of you in a protective manner, his frame towering over you completely cutting your form from Luke’s vision “You’re not taking her as well.”

You can hear the croak in his voice. He is still on the verge of tears but there’s anger in there as well. Luke wants to take his lover away.

You step out from behind him to his side, left hand on his shoulder, forcing his bowed head to look at you. Your eyes meet his and it’s as if every muscle in your body felt like floating up to space. This man melted you every time.

But you have to own up to yourself, looking up at him with eyes as if to exchange a message in a language that only the two of you spoke. As if saying I should go.

His lips tremble and he shakes his head.

“Not you too, cyar’ika.” he begs.

“Din...” 

“Don’t leave me. I’ve lost my home, my son, I - ... Please, don’t leave me” he grabs both of your hands in his, bowing his head and sniffing, as a single tear falls in the back of your hand.

The feeling of the wet drop in your hand opens your own gates, but only slightly, as you try to keep it together for the both of you.

“You don’t need to worry about me,”  you sniff, palming his cheek in your left hand “you have... plenty to figure out on your own.” you say touching the handle of the dark saber hanging from his gun belt.

“I don’t care about that piece of junk, I care about you.”

You wan’t to fight him back. You want to tell him how big of a deal that saber is and how much he should indeed care about it. But that wasn’t Din, that wasn’t Mando. He didn’t care about some stupid weapon or the status that it’d bring him. He went as far as to yield it to Bo-Katan as soon as he could, but unfortunately that’s not how it’s supposed to work. But he didn’t care. He only cares about the people he loves. And that made your heart ache all the most.

You are standing there, shaky breaths looking down at your hands, before sniffling and facing Luke.

“What happens if I go with you?” Din’s head shots up, looking at you,

“Given that you’re way past the normal age gap in which a Jedi is trained, you’d probably be assigned to a Master right away and they’d be responsible for all your training.” Luke explains, Grogu at his feet.

You nod and turn your head to look in Din’s eyes, your voice quieter now “And if I stay?”

“That’s... that’s not recommended as the grasp you have--” he starts

“What if I stay?” you insist.

“You’ll stay untrained, to put it simply. You’ll keep not understanding the dimension of your powers and the responsibilities that come with it. You might misuse it, you might not be able to control it and hurt the ones you love. You might kill without intending to, and you might turn to the dark side.”

“I would never - “ you interject, defending yourself

“It’s a faith you can’t control. Unless you train yourself. Unless you refine your skills.”

You ponder his words. The weight of both options dawning on you as you consider them.

“Even with me having a different Master from Grogu, will I still be able to make sure he’s okay?” you look at Grogu, adoringly. Who knew that little green ball of bald hair, if there even was such a thing, would become such a big part of your life. 

“Arrangements can be made, yes.” Luke assures you.

You nod your head to yourself, eyeing the floor. You have made your decision.

You grab both of Din’s hands once again, this time his are the ones in between yours and you grab them hard. Not as to hurt him but to comfort him about what he knew you were about to say. But before you can say anything he shakes his head, another tear falling down his right cheek.

“Please, no.” he breathes 

“It’s what’s best for everyone, Din.” you plead

“For everyone? I’ve lost my home, I’ve lost him, I can’t lose you too.” he takes a break to catch his breath, sniffling a few times “No, not you.”

“Din... let me go, please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“How can you ask me that?” He looks you in the eyes. Those sweet brown eyes and his furrowed brows, asking you how you can even dare to break him this way “Please don’t walk out of that door.”

“If I stay, I might hurt people and I - “

“You’d never do that. You care for everyone you meet you’d never hurt people.” he brings your hands up to his chest, planting them there. You can feel both his breathing and heartbeat.

“You heard Luke...I might not be able to control it.” you try to reason with him “Din, if I ever hurt you I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” 

He bites his bottom lip trying to keep it from trembling and you grab the back of his head, feeling his curls and pulling his forehead to rest against yours.

“Do you trust me?”

“What? Of course I do.” he says in less than a second

“Then please...” you breathe out“ trust that I’ll keep him safe. Trust that I’ll come running back to you as soon as I finish my training.”

Seeing the scenario unfolding in front of him, Luke decides to help you out “She might also act as a link between you and the child. The three of you are connected by a very strong bond and Y/N can act as a communication link.”

You look in his direction, silently thanking him.

“Din.” you whisper his name. Oh how sweet his name has always sound in your voice. Every time you’d call him his heart would flutter inside is ribcage, but he would never admit to that. But he understands you.

“It is for the best, isn’t it?” he whimpers quietly, barely above a whisper.

“It is. I know it hurts. Fuck, it hurts so bad, but it is.” 

Pulling slightly away from you, he reaches into his back pocket taking out something before offering it to you, on the side that is hidden from the other presences in the room.  He reaches down into his pocket taking out the sphere.  When he opens his gloved hand, you can see it’s the tiny sphere from the Razor Crest that Grogu loved so much.

“I want you to give him this.”

You shake your head, carefully closing your fingers over his “No.” 

“But the kid -”

“Din, keep it.” you know it’s the only thing that he’ll have to remember the kid “You’ll need it more than him.”

There is silence, at last. Only both of your altered breathings can be heard for a while until you notice Din’s hands shuffling at the bottom of your peripheral vision. Looking down, you can see that he is taking his gloves off and your brows furrow in confusion. 

Before you can process whatever was happening, his hands, his ungloved hands, come up to rest on both sides of your face and he holds you there. His hands are a little rough but you don’t mind - they are all the more warm and gentle as you feel his skin against yours. His thumbs wipe a few tears away from the corners of your eyes as they stare at him. His right hand slides slightly down from your cheek to your lips as he wipes your top lip, carefully, feeling the softness of them. His delicacy causing you to lean into his palm and placing your corresponding hand on top of his. 

He wanted to touch you. If this were the last thing he gets from you, he’ll be happy with it. Slowly, Din then dips his head to join your lips with his in a passionate but sweet kiss, your hands still on top of his, cherishing his touch as much as you could. Despite your eyes being close, you can tell he was crying just as much as you as you could feel tears that weren’t yours come in contact with your cheeks.

Pulling away, but not enough to separate your faces, your foreheads rest once again against each other. One of his hands finds it’s trail to where your heart would be and he rests it there, you doing the same to him with your opposite hand. Feeling each other's heartbeat, connecting. 

A few moments pass until you hear his voice again.

“This isn’t a goodbye is it?”

You shake your head slightly. “Not in a million years. We’ll both be back to annoy your ass before you can even notice.”

This causes him to give a half-hearted chuckle, yearning for the day when that happens. “If you come back-”

“When I come back...” you are quick to correct him.

“ When you come back, the first thing I’m going to do is make you my riduur, I promise you that much.” you squeeze his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“And I promise you that I’ll say yes, in a heartbeat.”

His head shifts slightly and he rest his lips against your forehead, whispering the words that until a year ago he would’ve never dreamed of ever saying to someone, but that he has since said so many times. But only to a single person. Only to you,

“I love you.”

“I love you.” you assure him against his chest.

Taking a big breath in, you pull away taking a good look at him one last time. Until suddenly you feel a tug on the bottom fabric of your armor. Looking down you can see Grogu with his little arms up, gesturing for you to pick him up.

Laughing between the tears, you reach down and pick him up, facing Din. In any other occasion, one could interpret the way the three of you were standing as a mother holding her child, saying farewell as the father heads out to work. But this reality is so much more painful. In this reality you’re both the ones leaving, and what you leave behind has a wound that won’t be fixed for a long time.

Tilting your head close to the kid you prop him to say his goodbye “Say bye bye to Din.”

Grogu’s little 3-fingered hand shakes as much as his arms allow him to in front of him as he coos, probably thinking he was articulating an actual farewell. Before you can a step away, Din grabs the back of your head one last time, kissing you between your eyes, before letting you go.

You step in Luke’s direction, communicating through The Force how grateful you were with him for being so patient, and he nods in acknowledgment.

“May The Force be with you.” he says to Din, who nods his head.

The four of you turn to walk away, but Grogu manages to climb up your arms and stay looking at Din as he gets farther and farther away. When you all reach the elevator you turn to face him one last time, using the force for what you never did before - connect with him.

I will always let you know where we are.

And as his eyes soften, you hear a response.

And I’ll always be at the ready to fly to you.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

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[shihalyfie]

Hi :) If it's not too much trouble, could you please share your take on why they'd continue the Adventure brand after tri. was such a flop? (and a tangent: what does "dark history" even mean?). We got Kizuna, the reboot, and a 02 movie. Logically, it doesn't really make sense they'd keep investing in it.

This is a thorny topic, and I'd like to reiterate that although I've ended up making more posts related to this series and the discourse surrounding it recently (probably because it's even more on the mind now that another movie is on the horizon and a lot of people are apprehensive for various reasons), I do not want this blog to be making a brand out of being critical of this series. I’m writing this here and in public because I figured that there is a certain degree I need to clarify what I mean about audience reception/climate and how it might impact current or future works, and I’m admittedly also more than a little upset that I occasionally see Western fanbase criticisms of the series getting dismissed by people claiming that the only people mad about it are dramamongering or ignorant Westerners (which could not be further from the truth). However, this is mainly to address this and to answer your question, and is not intended to try and change anyone's existing opinion or impression of the series as much as it's me trying to explain (from my own personal reading of the situation) what practically went down with critical reception in real life; no more, no less.

The short summary of the matter is:

The series was a moderate financial success (albeit with some caveats; see the long version for details) and definitely outstripped a lot of prior attempts to revive the franchise;

However, the overall Japanese fanbase-side critical backlash from tri. was extremely and viciously negative to the point where even acknowledging the series too much could easily result in controversy;

Kizuna’s production and the PR surrounding it very obviously have this in mind with a lot of apparent “damage control” elements.

The long version is below.

Note that while I try to be diligent about citing my sources so people understand that I’m not just making things up wholesale, I’m deliberately refraining from linking certain things here this time, both because some of the things mentioned have some pretty crude things written there -- it’s not something I feel comfortable directing people to regardless of what language it’s in -- and because I don’t want to recklessly link things on social media and cause anyone to go after or harass the people involved. For the links that have been provided, please still be warned that some of them don’t really link to particularly pleasant things.

I am not writing the following information to suggest that anyone should agree or disagree with the sentiments being described. I know people tend to take "a lot of people like/hate this" as a signal of implication "it is correct to like/hate this" when it's not (and I especially dislike the idea of implying that Japanese fanbase opinions are the only correct ones). There's a reason I focus on "critical reception being this way" (because it influences marketing decisions and future direction) rather than how much this should impact one's personal feelings; this is coming from myself as someone who is shamelessly proud of liking many things that had bad critical reception, were financial failures, or are disliked by many. As I point out near the end, the situation also does seem to be changing for the better in more recent years as well.

Also, to be clear, I'm a single person who's observing everything best I can from my end, I have no affiliations with staff nor do I claim to, and as much as I'm capable of reading Japanese and thus reading a lot of people's impressions, I'm ultimately still another “outsider” looking in. These are my impressions from my observation of fan communal spaces, following artists and reading comments on social media and art posting websites, and results from social media searches. In the end, I know as much as anyone else about what happened, so this is just my two cents based on all of my personal observations.

A fanbase is a fanbase regardless of what part of the world you're from. There are people who love it and are shameless about saying so. There are people who have mixed feelings or at least aren't on extreme ends of the spectrum (as always, the loudest ones are always the most visible, but it's not always easy to claim they're the predominant percentage of the fanbase). That happens everywhere, and I still find that on every end I've seen. However, if I'm talking about my impressions and everything I’ve encountered, I will say that the overall Japanese reaction to tri. comes off as significantly more violently negative on average than the Western one, which is unusual because often it's the other way around. (I personally feel less so because the opinions are that fundamentally different and more so because we're honestly kind of loud and in-your-face people; otherwise, humans are mostly the same everywhere, and more often than not people feel roughly the same about everything if they’re given the same information to work with.)

This is not something I can say lightly, and thus would not say if I didn’t really get this impression, but...we're talking "casually looking up movie reviews for Kizuna have an overwhelming amount of people casually citing any acknowledgment of tri. elements as a negative element", or the fact that even communal wikis for "general" fandoms like Pixiv and Aniwota don't tend to hold back in being vicious about it (as of this writing, Pixiv's wiki refuses to consider it in the same timeline as Adventure, accusing it of being "a series that claims to be a sequel set three years after 02 but is in fact something different"). Again, there are people who openly enjoy it and actively advocate for it (and Pixiv even warns people to not lord over others about it condescendingly because of the fact that such people do exist), and this is also more of a reflection of “the hardcore fanbase on the Internet” and not necessarily the mainstream (after all, there are quite a few other Digimon works where the critical reception varies very heavily between the two). Nevertheless, the take-home is that the reputation is overall negative among the Internet fanbase to the point that this is the kind of sentiment you run into without trying all that hard.

I think, generally speaking, if we're just talking about why a lot of people resent the series, the reasons aren't that different from those on the Western side. However, that issue of "dark history" (黒歴史): there's a certain degree of demand from the more violently negative side of the fanbase that's, in a sense, asking official to treat it as a disgrace and never acknowledge it ever again, hence why Kizuna doing so much as borrowing things from it rather than rejecting it outright is still sometimes treated like it’s committing a sin. So it's somewhat close in spirit to a retcon movement, which is unusual because no other Digimon series gets this (not even 02; that was definitely a thing on the Western end, but while I'm sure there are people who hate it that much on their end too, I've never really seen it gain enough momentum for anyone to take it seriously). If anyone ever tells you that Japanese fanbases are nice to everything, either they don't know Japanese, are being willfully ignorant, or are lying to you, because there is such thing as drama in those areas, and in my experience, I've seen things get really nasty when things are sufficiently pushed over the edge, and if a fanbase wants to have drama, it will have drama. This happens to be one of those times.

(If you think this is extreme, please know that I also think so too, so I hope you really understand that me describing this sentiment does not mean I am personally endorsing it. Also, let me reiterate that the loudest section of the fanbase is not necessarily the predominant one; after all, as someone who’s been watching reactions to 02 over the years, I myself can attest that its hatedom has historically made it sound more despised than it actually is in practice.)

My impression is that the primary core sentiment behind why the series so much as existing and being validated is considered such an offense (rather than, say, just saying "wow, that writing was bad" and moving on) is heavily tied to the release circumstances the series came out in during 2015-2018, and the idea that "this series disrespected Adventure, and also disrespected the fanbase.” (I mean, really, regardless of what part of the world you’re from, sequels and adaptations tend to be held to a higher bar of expectation than standalone works, because they’re expected to do them justice.) A list of complaints I’ve come across a lot while reading through the above:

The Japanese fanbase is pretty good at recordkeeping when it comes to Adventure universe lore, partially because they got a lot of extra materials that weren’t localized, but also partially because adherence to it seems to generally be more Serious Business to them than it is elsewhere. For instance, “according to Adventure episode 45, ‘the one who wishes for stability’ (Homeostasis) only started choosing children in 1995, and therefore there can be no Chosen Children before 1995” is taken with such gravity that this, not anything to do with evolutions or timeline issues, is the main reason Hurricane Touchdown’s canonicity was disputed in that arena (because Wallace implies that he met his partners before 1995). It’s a huge reason the question of Kizuna also potentially not complying to lore came to the forefront, because tri. so flagrantly contradicts it so much that this issue became very high on the evaluation checklist. In practice, Kizuna actually goes against Adventure/02 very little, so the reason tri. in particular comes under fire for this is that it does it so blatantly there were theories as early as Part 1 that this series must take place in a parallel universe or something, and as soon as it became clear it didn’t, the resulting sentiment was “wow, you seriously thought nobody would notice?” (thus “disrespecting the audience”).

A lot of the characterization incongruity is extremely obvious when you’re following only the Japanese version, partially because it didn’t have certain localization-induced characterization changes (you are significantly less likely to notice a disparity with Mimi if you’re working off the American English dub where they actually did make her likely to step on others’ toes and be condescending, whereas in Japanese the disparity is jarring and hard to miss) and partially due to some things lost in translation (Mimi improperly using rough language on elders is much easier to spot as incongruity if you’re familiar with the language). Because it’s so difficult to miss, and honestly feels like a lot of strange writing decisions you’d make only if you really had no concept of what on earth happened in the original series, it only contributes to the idea that they were handling Adventure carelessly and disrespectfully without paying attention to what the series was even about (that, or worse, they didn’t care).

02 is generally well-liked there! It’s controversial no matter where you go, but as I said earlier, there was no way a retcon movement would have ever been taken seriously, and the predominant sentiment is that, even if you’re not a huge fan of it, its place in canon (even the epilogue) should be respected. So not only flagrantly going against 02-introduced lore but also doing that to a certain quartet is seen as malicious, and you don’t have as much of the converse discourse celebrating murdering the 02 quartet (yeah, that’s a thing that happened here) or accusing people with complaints of “just being salty because they like 02″ as nearly as much of a factor; I did see it happen, or at least dismissals akin to “well it’s Adventure targeted anyway,” but they were much less frequent. The issue with the 02 quartet is usually the first major one brought up, and there’s a lot of complaints even among those who don’t care for 02 as much that the way they went about it was inhumane and hypocritical, especially when killing Imperialdramon is fine but killing Meicoomon is a sin. Also, again, “you seriously think nobody will see a problem with how this doesn’t make sense?”

I think even those who are fans of the series generally agree with this, but part of the reason the actual real-life time this series went on is an important factor is that the PR campaign for this series was godawful. Nine months of clicking on an egg on a website pretending like audience participation meant something when in actuality it was blatantly obvious it was just a smokescreen to reveal info whenever they were ready? This resulted in a chain effect where even more innocuous/defensible things were viewed in a suspicious or negative light (for instance, "the scam of selling the fake Kaiser's goggles knowing Ken fans would buy it only to reveal that it's not him anyway"), and a bunch of progressively out-of-touch-with-the-fanbase statements and poor choices led to more sentiment “yeah, you’re just insulting the fanbase at this point,” and a general erosion of trust in official overall.

On top of that, the choice of release format to have it spread out as six movies over three years seems to have exacerbated the backlash to get much worse than it would have been otherwise, especially since one of the major grievances with the series is that how it basically strung people along, building up more and more unanswered questions before it became apparent it was never going to answer them anyway. So when you’re getting that frustrated feeling over three whole years, it feels like three years of prolonged torture, and it becomes much harder to forgive for the fallout than if you’d just marathoned the entire thing at once.

For those who are really into the Digimon (i.e. species) lore and null canon, while I’m not particularly well-versed in that side of the fanbase, it seems tri. fell afoul of them too for having inaccurately portrayed (at one point, mislabeled) special attacks and poorly done battle choreography, along with the treatment of Digimon in general (infantilized Digimon characterization, general lack of Digimon characters in general, very flippant treatment of the Digital World in Parts 3-5). If you say you’re going to “reboot” the Digital World and not address the entire can of worms that comes with basically damaging an entire civilization of Digimon, as you can imagine, a lot of people who actually really care about that are going to be pissed, and the emerging sentiment is “you’re billing this as a Digimon work, but you don’t even care about the monsters that make up this franchise.”

The director does not have a very positive reputation among those who know his work (beyond just Digimon), and in general there was a lot of suspicion around the fact they decided to get a guy whose career has primarily been built on harem and fanservice anime to direct a sequel to a children’s series. Add to that a ton of increasingly unnerving statements about how he intended to make the series “mature” in comparison to its predecessor (basically, an implication that Adventure and 02 were happy happy joy series where nothing bad ever happened) and descriptions of Adventure that implied a very, very poor grasp of anything that happened in it: inaccurate descriptions of their characters, poor awareness of 02′s place in the narrative, outright saying in Febri that he saw the Digimon as like perpetual kindergartners even after evolving, and generally such a flippant attitude that it drove home the idea that the director of an Adventure sequel had no respect for Adventure, made this series just to maliciously dunk on it for supposedly being immature, and has such a poor grasp of what it even was that it’s possible he may not have seen it in the first place (or if he did, clearly skimmed it to the extent he understood it poorly to pretty disturbing levels). As of this writing, Aniwota Wiki directly cites him as a major reason for the backlash.

In general, consensus seems to be that the most positively received aspect of the series (story-wise) was Part 3 (mostly its ending, but some are more amenable to the Takeru and Patamon drama), and the worst vitriol goes towards Parts 2 (for the blatantly contradictory portrayal of Mimi and Jou and the hypocritical killing of Imperialdramon) and 4 (basically the “point of no return” where even more optimistic people started getting really turned off). This is also what I suspect is behind the numbers on the infamous DigiPoll (although the percentage difference is admittedly low enough to fall within margin of error). However, there was suspicion about the series even from Part 1, with one prominent fanartist openly stating that it felt more like meeting a ton of new people than it did reuniting with anyone they knew.

So with all of that on the table: how did this affect official? The thing is that when I say “violently negative”, I mean that also entailed spamming official with said violently negative social media comments. While this is speculation, I am fairly certain that official must have realized how bad this was getting as early as between Parts 4 and 5, because that’s where a lot of really suspicious things started happening behind the scenes; while I imagine the anime series itself was now too far in to really do anything about it, one of the most visible producers suddenly vanished from the producer lineup and was replaced by Kinoshita Yousuke, who ended up being the only member of tri. staff shared with Kizuna (and, in general, the fact that not a single member of staff otherwise was retained kind of says a lot). Once the series ended in 2018 and the franchise slowly moved into Kizuna-related things, you might notice that tri.-branded merch production almost entirely screeched to a halt and official has been very touchy about acknowledging it too deeply; it’s not that they don’t, but it’s kind of an awfully low amount for what you’d think would be warranted for a series that’s supposed to be a full entry in the big-name Adventure brand.

The reason is, simply, that if they do acknowledge it too much, people will get pissed at them. That’s presumably why the tri. stage play (made during that interim period between Parts 4 and 5 and even branded with the title itself) and Kizuna are really hesitant to be too aggressive about tri. references; it’s not necessarily that official wants to blot it out of history like the most extreme opinions would like them to, but even being too enthusiastic about affirming it will also get them backlash, especially if the things they affirm are contradictory to Adventure or 02. And considering even the small references they did put in still got them criticism for “affirming” tri. too much, you can easily see that the backlash would have been much harder if they’d attempted more than that; staying as close as possible to Adventure and 02 and trying to deal with tri. elements only when they’re comparatively inoffensive was pretty much the “safe” thing to do in this scenario (especially since fully denying tri. would most certainly upset the people who did like the series, and if you have to ask me, I personally think this would have been a pretty crude thing to have done right after the series had just finished). Even interviews taken after the fact often involve quickly disclaiming involvement with the series, or, if they have to bring up something about it, discussing the less controversial aspects like the art (while the character designs were still controversial, it’s at least at the point where some fanartists will still be willing to make use of them even if they dislike the series, albeit often with prominent disclaimers) or the more well-received parts of Part 3; Kizuna was very conspicuously marketed as a standalone movie, even if it shared the point of “the Adventure kids, but older” that tri. had.

(Incidentally, the tri. stage play has generally been met with a good reputation and was received well even among people who were upset with the anime, so it was well-understood that they had no relation. In fact, said stage play is probably even better received than Kizuna, although that’s not too surprising given the controversial territory Kizuna goes into, making the stage play feel very play-it-safe in comparison.)

So, if we’re going to talk about Kizuna in particular: tri. was, to some degree, a moderate financial success, in the sense that it made quite a bit of money and did a lot to raise awareness of the Digimon brand still continuing...however, if you actually look at the sales figures for tri., they go down every movie; part of it was probably because of the progressively higher “hurdle” to get into a series midway, but consider that Gundam Unicorn (a movie series which tri.’s format was often compared to) had its sales go up per movie thanks to word of mouth and hype. So while tri. does seem to have gotten enough money to help sustain the franchise at first, the trade-off was an extremely livid fanbase that had shattered faith in the brand and in official, and so while continuing the Adventure brand might still be profitable, there was no way they were going to get away with continuing to do this lest everything eventually crash and burn.

Hence, if you look at the way Kizuna was produced and advertised, you can see a lot of it is blatantly geared at addressing a lot of the woes aimed at tri.: instead of the staff that had virtually no affiliation with Toei, the main members of staff announced were either from the original series (Seki and Yamatoya) or openly childhood fans, the 02 quartet was made into a huge advertising point as a dramatic DigiFes reveal (and character profies that tie into the 02 epilogue careers prominently part of the advertising from day one), and they even seemed to acknowledge the burnout on the original Adventure group by advertising it so heavily as “the last adventure of Taichi and his friends”, so you can see that there’s a huge sentiment of “damage control” with it. How successful that was...is debatable, since opinions have been all over the board; quite a few people were naturally so livid at what happened with tri. that Kizuna was just opening more of the wound, but there were also people who liked it much better and were willing to acknowledge it (with varying levels of enthusiasm, some simply saying “it was thankfully okay,” and some outright loving it), and there was a general sentiment even among those who disliked both that they at least understood what Kizuna was going for and that it didn’t feel as inherently disrespectful. (Of course, there are people who loved tri. and hated Kizuna, and there are people who loved both, too.)

Moreover, Kizuna actually has a slightly different target audience from tri.; there’s a pretty big difference between an OVA and a theatrical movie, and, quite simply, Kizuna was made under the assumption that a lot of people watching it may not have even seen tri. in the first place. An average of 11% of the country watched Adventure and 02, but the number of people who watched tri. is much smaller, in part due to the fact that its “theater” screenings were only very limited screenings compared to Kizuna being shown in theaters in Japan and worldwide, and in part due to the fact that watching six parts over three years is a pretty huge commitment for someone who may barely remember Digimon as anything beyond a show they watched as a kid, and may be liable to just fall off partway through because they simply just forgot. (Which also probably wasn’t helped by the infamously negative reputation, something that definitely wouldn’t encourage someone already on the fence.) And that’s yet another reason Kizuna couldn’t make too many concrete tri. references; being a theatrical movie, it needs to have as wide appeal as possible, and couldn’t risk locking out an audience that had a very high likelihood of not having seen it, much less to the end -- it may have somewhat been informed by tri.’s moderate financial success and precedent, but it ultimately was made for the original Adventure and 02 audience more than anything else.

I would say that, generally, while Kizuna is “controversial” for sure, reception towards the movie seems to be more positive than negative, it won over a large chunk of people who were burned out by tri., and it clearly seems to have been received well enough that it’s still being cashed in on a year after its release. The sheer existence of the upcoming 02-based movie is also probably a sign of Kizuna’s financial and critical success; Kinoshita confirmed at DigiFes 2020 that nothing was in production at the time, and stated shortly after the movie’s announcement that work on it had just started. So the decision to make it seems to have been made after eyeing Kizuna’s reception, and, moreover, the movie was initially advertised from the get-go with Kizuna’s director and writer (Taguchi and Yamatoya), meaning those two have curried enough goodwill from the fanbase that this can be used to promote the movie. (If not, you would think that having and advertising Seki would be the bigger priority.) While this is my own sentiment, I am personally doubtful official would have even considered 02 something remotely profitable enough on its own to cash in on if it weren’t for this entire sequence of events of 02′s snubbing in tri. revealing how much of a fanbase it had (especially with the sheer degree of “suspicious overcompensation” Kizuna had with its copious use of the 02 quartet and it tagging a remix of the first 02 ED on the Hanareteitemo single, followed by the drama CD and character songs), followed by Kizuna having success in advertising with them so heavily. Given all of the events between 2015 and now, it’s a bit ironic to see that 02 has now become basically the last resort to be able to continue anything in the original Adventure universe without getting too many people upset at them about it.

The bright side coming out of all of this is that, while it’s still a bit early to tell, now that we’re three years out from tri. finishing up and with Kizuna in the game, it seems there’s a possibility for things improving around tri.’s reception as well. Since a lot of the worst heated points of backlash against it have a very “you had to have been there” element (related to the PR, release schedule, and staff comments), those coming in “late” don’t have as much reason to be as pissed at it; I’ve seen at least one case of a fanartist getting back into the franchise because of Kizuna hype, watching tri. to catch up, casually criticizing it on Twitter, and moving on with their life, presumably because marathoning the whole thing being generally aware of what’ll happen in it and knowing Kizuna is coming after anyway gives you a lot less reason to be angry to the point of holding an outright grudge. Basically, even if you don’t like it, it’s much easier to actually go “yeah, didn’t like that,” not worry too much about it, and move on. Likewise, I personally get the impression that official has been starting to get a little more confident about digging up elements related to it. Unfortunately, a fairly recent tweet promoting the series getting put on streaming services still got quite a few angry comments implying that they should be deleting the scourge from the Internet instead, so there’s still a long way to go, but hopefully the following years will see things improve further...

In regards to the reboot, I -- and I think a lot of people will agree with me -- have a bit of a hard time reading what exact audience it’s trying to appeal to; we have a few hints from official that they want parents to watch it with their children, and that it may have been a necessary ploy in order to secure their original timeslot. So basically, the Adventure branding gets parents who grew up with the original series to be interested in it and to show it to their kids, and convinces Fuji TV that it might be profitable. But as most people have figured by now, the series has a completely different philosophy and writing style -- I mean, the interview itself functionally admits it’s here to be more action-oriented and to have its own identity -- and the target audience is more the kids than anything else. As for the Internet fanbase of veterans, most people have been critical of its character writing and pacing, but other than a few stragglers who are still really pissed, it hasn’t attracted all that much vitriol, probably because in the end it’s an alternate universe, it doesn’t have any obligation to adhere to anything from the original even if it uses the branding, and it’s clearly still doing its job of being a kids’ show for kids who never saw the original series nor 02, so an attempt to call it “disrespectful” to the original doesn’t have much to stand on. A good number of people who are bored of it decided it wasn’t interesting to them and dropped it without incident, while other people are generally just enjoying it for being fun, and the huge amount of Digimon franchise fanservice with underrepresented Digimon and high fidelity to null canon lore is really pleasing the side of the fanbase that’s into that (I mean, Digimon World Golemon is really deep in), so at the very least, there’s not a lot to be super-upset about.

[silenceinternalmonologue]

A Review of Loki (2021)

[The following is an exact transcription of Twitter user @/diolesbian ‘s thread linked here . They gave me permission to cross-post their thread on my Tumblr. Keep in mind that this review is fairly long and quite critical of the series. I agree with this review wholeheartedly, and would be welcome to discuss it with anyone else.] 

Loki is a character who has died many times, but his own series may be his most brutal character assassination yet.

1.  Loki’s role in the series. Instead of tackling Loki's most villainous state of mind in Avengers 1, the series literally speedran through his development in the subsequent films, after which they almost entirely halted his character progression.

Because this series was set right after Avengers 1 it had the responsibility of developing Loki further in place of The Dark World and Ragnarok. In Episode 1, this development was kicked off by having Loki watch a reel of some of his defining moments in the MCU, allowing him to see his future all the way up to his death in Infinity War. Sadly, this scene ended up being the most development he received in the entire series. And arguably, this isn’t even true development but more like a speedrun of his character up until that point, serving as a simple tactic to explain why he wouldn’t be acting all dictatorial and murderous during his own series. As soon as he had been made “good” (read: docile) enough to follow along with the plot, his agency was completely thrown out. From that point on, the series wasn’t about Loki making things happen but about things happening to Loki.

Loki was supposed to be the main character, but he wasn't the protagonist in this story. In fact, he was more of a side character than we’ve ever seen him be in the MCU before, perhaps excepting IW and Endgame.

A protagonist is by definition someone whose important decisions affect the plot, whose development is followed most closely by the audience, and who is opposed by an antagonist. Loki exhibited none of these traits in this series. Especially the latter half of the story, he was reduced to simply reacting to the revelations around him, such as the reveal that the TVA members were all variants and that Kang was the true mastermind behind everything. He never truly involved himself or acted based on any of these plot points, and hardly played a key role in what was supposed to be his own story. Even in the films, where Loki is a side character, he makes choices which impact the plot to a larger extent. He almost seems more like a background character in the role of protagonist than in the parts he plays in the films.

2. The antagonist. The TVA could have worked as the perfect setting for Loki to have a new arc. It’s a thematic antithesis to who we know Loki to be. But when this Loki turns out to not be who the audience thought he was the TVA’s thematic significance falls apart as well.

In Episode 1, the TVA’s Agent Mobius enlists the help of Loki the Variant to pin down a greater foe who we are told is another, more malicious version of Loki. Order and chaos meeting in the middle, teaming up to take down an enemy, who even happens to be the protagonists’ literal evil self: that works, it sounds promising. But this dynamic is soon undermined when Loki leaves with Sylvie. Still, the benefit of the doubt is easy to grant here: a story about tricksters is bound to contain twists. But by Episode 3 the series is halfway done and the TVA has been appointed as the main antagonist again: we’ve now established villains three different times. And then the Cloud Monster At The End Of Time is introduced, and finally Kang. In other words, the Loki series has no consistent antagonist, no one to pit its main character against. And this is where we once again miss out on an enormous aspect of Loki’s potential characterization.

Protagonists are always defined by an antagonist, whether a purple Titan, a flat tire, or themself. Loki is not given anything to define his morals, motivations, or development in opposition to and this is a huge oversight. Especially given the fact that Loki has taken on the villain’s role in the past: how is the audience supposed to know that the “bad guy” is now a “good guy” if there’s no “even worse guy” to stand up against?

3. The plot. A plot should show off its MC’s strengths and match their personality. The Loki plot hardly relied on his presence at all, he didn't play a key role. The story had so little to do with Loki that it seemed as though he has barely any impact on “his” narrative.

One of the most central conflicts in the Loki series doesn’t involve him at all: it’s between Sylvie and the TVA. This plotline was a good concept overall, but its main problem is that it’s practically the only conflict in the series. Loki himself, as mentioned before, isn’t set in opposition to anything or anyone. And thanks to his relationships with Sylvie and Mobius being weakened by conflicting storytelling devices, he appears to be in a bubble by himself away from the rest of the cast for much of the story. First he follows Mobius around, then Sylvie, then he wanders aimlessly in the void before following Sylvie once again and learning that Kang is a Really Bad Guy who he should be opposed to even though by this point he has interacted so little with the story unfolding around him that the audience doesn’t even understand why he should be choosing to play the hero.

The plot and the characters both suffer by being so incredibly unrelated to each other. A series, especially an MCU one, should tell an overarching narrative through the perspective of its main character.

In the beginning of the series, when Loki was still getting his bearings in the TVA, this lack of decision-making was more understandable, especially since some of his skills were still being shown-- he discovered Sylvie was hiding in nexus events, and he made the choice to leave Mobius and follow her. But by the latter half of the series he still hasn’t had much impact on the story or taken any actions of his own, and simply allows plot points to happen to him. Just because the Loki series had to introduce the TVA and Kang didn’t mean it had to forgo telling a story about its protagonist. If Loki’s story had been intrinsically tied to the overarching plot points, if his choices had been some of the primary factors determining how events ended up taking place, the series would have succeeded in every aspect. But instead Loki is pushed aside by the plot of his own series, a plot which subsequently ends up coming across as largely hollow and pointless due to its lack of character drive.

4. Loki’s arc. One of the main reasons MCU Loki is loved is for his excellent character development across his films. TVA Loki was extremely lacking in that aspect and chances to take his character in interesting new self-aware directions were thrown away without much thought.

Throughout the MCU, Loki is on a journey with many highs and lows. He goes from a bitter and disheartened prince standing in the shadow of his brother, to a self-loathing Jotun bent on destroying his own people in a desperate attempt to win his father’s love, to a half-mad partially mind-controlled dictator with delusions of grandeur fueled by his own insecurity, to a prisoner wondering what there is left for him to lose, to a savior of Asgard’s people finally coming to accept his place in what is left of his family, to a tragic sacrificial victim who knew he had to die so the true hero might live on. That’s a hell of a journey, incidentally shown in less than TWO HOURS of screen time, and the prospect of TVA Loki embarking on an equally stimulating one, this time told over the course of over four hours and shown from his own perspective the entire way through, was exciting. But as it turned out, this relatively simple expectation went completely unmet.

For a story trying to say so much about individuality and self-acceptance, the Loki series seemed to pass by every obvious opportunity to tackle those questions.

Sylvie’s introduction seemed like a good idea at first: Loki would be able to literally bond with himself and learn to accept who he is that way, and forays could be made to explore what Loki’s personality could have been like if he grew up under different circumstances! But aside from a scene or two in Episode 3, this was not how things ended up going. Loki didn’t come to any grand or important conclusions about his identity, he didn’t choose to act differently, all that happened was a vaguely-worded confession of pseudo-romantic feelings which was cut off in the middle, made no sense, and weakened the narrative in a whole host of other ways explained elsewhere. Loki’s encounter with other versions of themself in the Void was similarly meaningless: Loki didn’t end up expressing or demonstrating a single thing he learned from meeting all of those alternate selves, despite the fact that there was potential for massive self-discovery there.

Less than 2 hours of MCU screen time portrayed Loki more coherently than this entire series. Loki is loved because of how much he changes, and it felt like he didn’t in this series. He started off lost and stayed that way throughout the entire plot.

By the end of the series, it was impossible to identify who Loki had become. He said he didn’t want a throne, but it was not obvious why not. He looked sad to be betrayed by Sylvie, but never expressed what that meant to him. He seemed afraid once Kang was unleashed, but why? Why did he care about the Sacred Timeline? What were his motivations? Throughout the series the answers to these questions became less and less obvious, culminating in the final episode which ended without a single moment of reflection or explanation as to who Loki had become. He wasn’t a villain, but only because he wasn’t murdering people. He was in some capacity a hero, for… being against Kang, probably, but once again with no explanation as to why Loki had decided to feel that way. He never seemed self-assured in his heroism, as if he hadn’t chosen the role for himself. Again, making one’s own choices that shape the narrative are what differentiates a protagonist from a side character, but Loki did not do that in this series.

5. Loki and Sylvie’s relationship. Loki and Sylvie had the potential to be a powerful duo representing the process of self-acceptance but instead they were reduced to a strange pseudo-romance.

Despite Loki’s many developments in the films, he never truly liked himself. He has been known to act extremely confident and self-righteous at times, but this is merely the opposite side of the coin containing his self-loathing and insecurity. Having him literally meet and subsequently befriend himself in Episode 3 was a move towards developing this aspect of him and potentially teaching him to finally accept himself as he truly is, but this buildup was all shattered in Episode 4 when the relationship is portrayed to have romantic undertones. Instead of a powerful struggle to accept oneself, the relationship between Loki and Sylvie becomes a twisted thing which is memeable at best (selfcest LOL amirite?) and outright damaging to both characters and the very concept of loving oneself at worst.

Ultimately, Loki and Sylvie's relationship didn’t add anything to either character’s development and actively detracted from what could have been a touching story.

Romantic love is extremely different from self love; romantic love has connotations including dating conventions and sexuality which are impossible to ignore and in this case serve as a distraction. And on top of ruining a potentially powerful storyline, this strange relationship makes both Loki and Sylvie seem out of character. Loki is once again one thousand years old and he has never even had a true friend, so why would he possibly fall for someone after knowing them for only two days? Meanwhile in Sylvie’s case, Loki’s “feelings” for her cause the audience to pay more attention to her romantic life and gestures rather than her actual character and motivations.

6. Loki’s Sexuality and Gender Fluidity. Loki’s sexuality and gender has been shown in several comic runs, and the series was advertised as featuring this representation as well. But due to several fundamental errors and problematic storytelling this also fell flat.

Sylvie’s introduction filled many fans with hope regarding the portrayal of Loki’s identity. In the MCU neither of their LGBT identities had ever been touched upon, while the series introduced a female variant of Loki and explicitly stated their sexuality. But this portrayal soon unraveled, most notably in Episode 5, in which many other Loki variants were shown but not a single one besides Sylvie was non-male. On top of that, when TVA Loki mentioned Sylvie and referred to her as “a woman Variant of us”, the other Lokis agreed that that sounded “terrifying”. Why should a genderfluid being be afraid of a version of themselves presenting as a different gender? It read as both fluidphobic not to mention strangely sexist.

The pseudo-romance between Loki and Sylvie only aggravated the situation. Not only did the nature of the “relationship” seem to follow heteronormative storytelling tropes (falling in love after a couple days of knowing each other, one party being reduced to a love interest, valuing romantic love above any other type, etc) but it also seemed distressing and offensive to many genderfluid people. A romance between a male and a female Loki, one of which doesn’t even call herself by that name, seems to be implying that an individual becomes someone else when merely presenting as a different gender, which of course isn’t at all the case. The writing wasn’t necessarily malicious here, but it was certainly ignorant and potentially even harmful. The opportunity was there to translate Loki’s powerful comic representation into the framework of the MCU, but this attempt did not succeed.

7. Loki’s characterization. Loki is a chameleon, but there are certain traits fundamental to his character. These traits were either ignored or actively mocked in the series. The audience already knew “what makes a Loki a Loki", but the series threw that knowledge away.

Episode 1’s premise of stripping Loki of everything he is used to was an intriguing setup to ensure the discovery of the core of who Loki truly is. The only problem was that this truth didn’t end up being found at all. Mobius made fun of Loki’s most defining traits, such as his habits of lying to manipulate people and acting out of a place of insecurity, which seemed to be a signal for the narrative to forbid Loki from exhibiting any of those traits from that point on in any way. This reduction in Loki’s character was reflected in everything, from his lack of humor (in the films he’s even funny while he’s taking over the world!), the underpowered way in which he fought against Sylvie (he’ll use magic to dry his clothes, but fight with a damn vacuum cleaner?) to the way that he wore the same boring outfit in every single episode-- it may sound shallow, but clothes are important when presenting a character. Every one of Loki’s looks in the films said something about him and his state of mind, and sadly that bland TVA outfit seemed to convey that Loki really was nothing more than a subservient pawn in what was supposed to be his own story. Ironically, the writing stripped Loki of everything that made him Loki, and left us with nothing but a Jotun-shaped void to be swayed by the whims and wills of the characters and plot devices surrounding him.

8. Loki’s past and abilities. This series could have elaborated on aspects of his character which had been teased at in the films and theorized about by fans, but ended up being a disappointment in this aspect as well.

Aside from Loki’s characterization and development, something else the series ignores is much of his canon story in the films. Since Thor 1, a truth that always overshadowed Loki was his Jotun heritage. He struggled with it up until the time of his death, clearly visible in his relationship with his foster family. It’s understandable that Loki was supposed to be independent from Thor in his series, but that’s no excuse for completely ignoring this central part of who Loki is. It doesn’t matter how much he goes through or how much his circumstances change, this feeling of unbelonging sits deep in Loki’s core and should have been both explored and explicitly discussed in the series. A series all about Loki was the perfect opportunity for him to finally confront and explain his relationship with his heritage, and potentially come to terms with it as well. And this isn’t even to say how cool some more insight on Loki’s Jotun inheritance could have been-- hypotheticals aren’t the point of this review, but it would have been fascinating to see Loki reacting adversely to heat like he has been hinted to in the past or even using his ice powers like he did in Thor 1.

Loki's magic was tragically underused. It felt like he was stripped of all of his magical powers even after his TVA chains had been removed, and this was never explained.

A second huge oversight is his magic. His powers are all over the place in this series. They were always a bit vague in the films, but this series was the opportunity to set that right and explain exactly what Loki was capable of as a sorcerer, especially now that the MCU has embraced magic more than it had ten years ago. But instead, Loki showcased an inexplicable lack of magic use-- again, the vacuum cleaner fight can be presented as evidence. There is a single scene in which Loki says that he learned his magic from Frigga, but no information is given as to how much he learned or why he doesn’t always favor spells. His power levels are incredibly inconsistent (he forgoes using magic when first confronted by the TVA, but is later shown using telekinesis to save himself from being literally crushed to death). And, strangest of all, there is a scene in which he tells Sylvie that he “can’t” enchant living beings. Loki, the millennium year old Trickster sorcerer god, who can hold an Infinity Stone with his bare hands, reanimate Surtur in the Eternal Flame, and trick the average person using illusions with ease, can’t cast a little enchantment? And if so, why not? The series offered precious few explanations concerning Loki’s magical abilities and instead only raised more questions. And in this way, Loki is once again relegated into the background and left with not a single shred of any new characterization or development. 

Loki contains multitudes, but the series reduced him to two dimensions.

This isn’t to mention every other facet of Loki’s story that could have potentially been explored to great success in this series-- his torture and subsequent partial mental influence at the hands of Thanos just before the events of Avengers 1 is one obvious example, as is his youth on Asgard, as are his suicidal tendencies (people don’t tend to survive falling off the Bifrost, and he knew that when he threw himself off of it), plus infinite other facets of him. Of course, it was both necessary and more interesting for this series to be its own story rather than one which lingered on past films-- but that’s not to say that none of these plot points should have come back, at least subtly, to play a role in this story. Plot points exist to be brought back later, not completely ignored. Otherwise a story may as well be written about a completely original character.

[ushidoux]

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~3.5k words)

Warnings: stubborn ass reader, very slight nsfw at the end

A/N: It took me a long time to write this because I have trouble with fluff and also trouble with characterizing Iwa lmfao, I might need a second watch. I hope you enjoy! Happy Thanksgiving!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Are you serious?! Are you really saying no to this face?”

Your best friend was now leaning so far across the fast food dining table that she had practically climbed on top of it, holding up her phone just inches from your face to force you to take a better look at the picture of the blind date she had arranged for you. 

Your eyes crossed uncomfortably by reflex and you pulled back sharply to grab the phone from her and take a better look. On second glance, you had to admit that the guy standing next to Oikawa was quite good-looking, a couple inches shorter but with a sturdier build, sharper features and just enough scowl in his facial expression to intrigue you. 

In fact, he was exactly your type.

“Just one date,” your friend insisted. “You’ve been pining over your ex for almost a year now! You don’t have to fall in love but maybe a small distraction? Plus, double dates would be so fun, come onnnnn~”

Your friend was only rarely this animated so you knew she really wanted this but the idea of even considering romance again after being dumped so harshly before was so undesirable that you stubbornly shook your head instead and took another bite of your burger.

“___, please?”

You frowned, and your friend’s pout grew deeper once she realized there was a pretty good chance you wouldn’t budge about this. After all, you’d rejected every single person that so much as looked in your direction so effectively these past few months that it had essentially become an afterthought.

She leaned back in her seat, occupying herself now with picking out a particularly long fry off of the platter you were sharing, trying to minimize her disappointment. Despite how much she hoped you would say yes, she could understand why you felt the way you did.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, sipping on your drink. She let out a defeated sigh.

“Well, I’ll try to figure out a compassionate way to let Iwa now that you’re not interested. Honestly, Oikawa will probably be more offended by it than me.”

At this last comment, her eyes twinkled softly with a mild amusement and she started to text her boyfriend. However, knowing that it would possibly be a bigger deal to reject Oikawa’s best friend right off the bat than to just endure a date once, you reconsidered.

“Fine! Stop, I don’t need Tooru yelling in my ears. I’ll go.”

She smiled. You’d fallen right into her trap.

---

Exactly 72 hours later almost to the minute, you found yourself standing before the duo of childhood friends at the entrance of a town fair, your friend by your side.

Oikawa’s partner-in-crime was, to both your surprise and chagrin, even better looking in person. Kinder too, if you discounted the glare he shot at Oikawa when he introduced him mock affectionately as ‘Iwa-chan, his very best friend in the whole wide world’. You stifled a laugh as Iwa released Oikawa from a headlock, and introduced yourself politely to him noticing the very faint pinking of the ears that accompanied the softening of his expression as he shifted his attention to you.

A small fluster you couldn’t help but find cute was evident in his voice as he shared his full name - Iwaizumi Hajime. Strike one. 

Strike two was the careful distance he left between you two as you walked through the street fair, just steps behind Oikawa and your friend who trekked confidently and comfortably linked hand in hand. His questions were respectful but pointed, like he truly wanted to get to know you as much as possible, and as he listened he leaned in just so, making sure to hear you clearly over the bustle of the busy crowds.

He helped you with your safety belts as you strapped in together on small thrill rides and you could catch his furtive glances in the corner of your eyes as you laughed and screamed.

A part of you wondered if it was too quick, if it was a bad omen that he already appeared smitten with you despite having just met. However, you had missed the feeling of someone liking you genuinely and explicitly so, dating back from even before you had started having problems in your last relationship, so you appreciated it wholeheartedly.

Strike three was him immediately setting a time and a date to meet again, without the hovering presence of your best friends, which he emphasized loudly to listening ears behind you (Oikawa made his disappointment at being excluded quite apparent by groaning loudly within earshot).

“I really enjoyed spending time with you today, ___.”

It wasn’t too much, wasn’t too little and wasn’t too soon.

“So did I.” You replied with a smile more genuine than you’d had for months.

---

Date two went as smoothly as date one.

Dinner and a movie, a classic. Iwa had chosen a psychological thriller that you had been looking forward to for a couple weeks and prior to meeting you’d started to text back and forth regularly about theories, so thereafter sprang forth endless spirited debates. As the evening progressed, you noticed him yielding earlier and earlier, and you noticed that he got quieter as the night went on, preferring to sit back and watch you talk. You couldn’t tell if it was the few cocktails with dinner but soon you were distracted by eyes that rested on you easily with an accompanied smile. It was enough to make your face grow warm.

“Am I talking too much?” You asked, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I get like this when I’m excited.”

“I love hearing you talk,” he replied with a small laugh. “No one can talk as much as Oikawa so don’t worry.”

Your smile spread from ear to ear and you could feel your bruised heart grow ever so slightly.

---

Date three, four and five had you swept off your feet and you found yourself falling between hikes, picnics and aquarium trips. 

Which was why when your friend called you to gloat about how she was right about you two all along, you realized just how deep you had fallen and almost instantly, that familiar fear that you had been nursing for the past year settled back into your consciousness.

You couldn’t bear another heartbreak. The thought of Iwa’s warm smiles becoming addictive and constantly craving the feel of his hands on your skin only to then be discarded like a participation ribbon hung heavy on you.

“I.. I don’t think I can keep seeing him,” you said, in sudden realization, despite the fact that you had been gushing about your dates just minutes earlier.

You could hear a pause on the other end of the line, and then your friend asked softly, “Is it because you still miss him?” 

The other him. Of course you did, you still lived in the apartment the two of you had shared right after college, having given yourself multiple excuses not to move out. You hadn’t even bothered to change the decorations you’d bought together and thus every part of this place reminded you of him. 

You even watered the plants he had left behind every morning. You couldn’t tell if it was because you had grown attached to them or worse - because you thought maybe, just maybe, if he ever came back, he’d want to know that you were always nursing your love.

“I’m… not sure,” you replied.

Your friend sighed audibly into the phone.

“You’re missing out on someone great, but I’ll support you regardless.”

---

Your graduate classes ended late the next evening, and you stumbled into your apartment with mild exhaustion, kicking off your shoes and slipping off your jeans before plopping on your bed.

Iwa had said he wanted to come see you, and even though just a few days ago you had been excited at the prospect of spending time with him in your own home, your stomach fluttered with a different type of alarm when you considered the fact that if you were to tell him you were no longer interested in letting whatever was between you bloom, it would have to be now.

Would it be better to tell him over text message or on the phone or in person? You didn’t want to see the look on his face when you hurt him; you knew it would change your resolve. 

If you called him on the phone, would you be able to withstand hearing the disappointment in his voice? Would he demand a reason, and would he tell you your weak one wasn’t enough?

If you sent him a simple text and then blocked his number, would you be the awful person too chickenshit to say the words to his face?

Your phone buzzed just as you were paralyzed with your choices.

I’m 20 minutes away. How was your class?

You froze.

20 minutes to make a decision. Would you have him come all this way just to drop him without a very good reason in the comfort of your own home?

You stared at your phone for five minutes longer, perseverating, only to be startled out of your trance when you saw his name flash over the front. You forgot you had read receipts on; it had never been a problem before.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice dripped of concern. “You read but didn’t answer.”

“Y-yeah, of course! Class was good… I’ll see you in a bit.”

---

You soon wished you hadn’t let Iwa into your apartment. Now that he was here snuggled with you on the couch, close enough that you could take in his scent, all you could think of was the thought of his lips on yours.

5 dates and you hadn’t yet kissed. Maybe that was for the best, you were planning to break up with him anyway, weren’t you?

You weren’t exactly sure when you had crept so close to each other, but your head now rested gently on his shoulder and his hand had at some point snaked around your waist to pull you against him. You could feel your heart pound in your chest as you stayed close in the dark, and maybe you could feel his own heart beat, steady as his breathing despite the tension building in the air.

You had lost track of the plot of the movie on your flat screen long ago, too preoccupied with the flurry of potential ensuing scenes between you in your head.

What would stop you from going full speed ahead? The fear that you wouldn’t matter enough to him once months came to pass and he learned just how far short you fell from his perfect perception of you? Or that you would once again find yourself in darkness, wondering how many times you’d open your heart only to wish you had kept it guarded?

Or maybe it was the reality that you weren’t sure that you really wanted to move on?

Iwa was a good person, he didn’t deserve your hesitation.

He shifted ever so slightly beside you and in the backlight of the flashing scenes on the television screen, you could see his eyes settle on your lips.

“Is it okay if we-,” he started, only to be interrupted by the fact that you had already pulled him in by the shirt collar and were lost in the taste of him on your tongue. You could tell he was surprised, but Iwa leaned into your kiss, pulling you now fully onto his lap and holding you steady by the waist as the two of you made out. 

Your hands crept up to his face, fingers gently trailing then cupping the curve of his jaw, and the longer you kissed, the more of him you wanted. When his hands started to tug just slightly at the edge of your shirt to warn you he was going underneath, you tensed but nodded to allow him to palm a breast and roll a nipple between two fingers.

A soft moan left you, renewed when Iwa’s lips left your mouth to kiss a spot just before your earlobe, and his other hand pressed firmly into the small of your back to secure you even closer to him, close enough that you could feel his bulge pressing through his jeans and against your body. Knowing that you could feel him, he whispered breathily into your ear:

“I won’t continue if you don’t want me to.”

Did you want him to continue?

You pulled back from him to study his face, glowing with an earnest desire for you and suddenly you felt so guilty. 

“I… I think we should stop here,” you choked out, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks and the flicker of disappointment in his face, and you slowly climbed off him, embarrassed as you stood on your feet.

He didn’t ask why and replied with acceptance.

“Okay.”

---

What he didn’t accept was you finally telling him you no longer wanted to see him in a text message hastily conjured in the middle of the night after a particularly hard day.

He called immediately and you let the phone ring, biting your lip the entire six rings it took for him to give up. He didn’t leave a voice message, but sent you a short text.

I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Can we please talk?

You fought back the urge to cry as you turned over to go to sleep.

He called again in the morning, and when you ignored his call for a second time, the unreasonable part of you waited for a follow-up voicemail or text message which never came. Good for you. You couldn’t understand your own feelings right now and you didn’t deserve to have him sort them out for you.

At least if you acted like a bitch, he would drop you before you could change your mind.

---

“A text message? Really?”

Your friend had dropped by the following Saturday morning for brunch and while you had dreaded this conversation, you had expected it to happen and steeled yourself for the admonishment. You shrugged, avoiding looking at her in the eyes and focusing on watering the plants at your windowsill. Your friend watched you carefully, irritation bubbling within her in response to your stubborn silence.

“I wouldn’t be so insistent if I knew you didn’t like him, but you do! Everyone can see it!”

You didn’t reply, opening your blinds instead. Plants needed lots of sun in addition to water.

“___, I didn’t want to be harsh but he’s not coming back. Even if it’s not with Iwa, please… please get over him.”

You finally turned and gave her a meaningful look, tears now coming to your eyes. Your friend’s mouth fell slightly ajar and realizing just how harsh her truth had been, she got up from your kitchen table and walked over to you to envelop you in a hug as you came undone.

---

A total of three weeks passed, and you finally admitted to yourself that you missed Iwa but it was clearly too late to fix anything. Calling him up would just get you ignored (and rightfully so) and you couldn’t bear to send another text message after ghosting him. Instead you watered your ex’s plants and focused on your classes.

Your best friend had forgiven you for your cruelty even though she let you know she was still suffering from Oikawa’s wrath on your behalf, so instead you decided to distract yourself by going out with other friends and picking up new hobbies.

A girl you were getting to know from class was very excited about a new high-end gym that had opened with nice amenities including a pool and a sauna and free physical training sessions with membership so you indulged her by going as a guest on a weekend.

You had to admit that the place was beautiful, and you made a beeline for the elliptical, a tried and true contraption. She had been making a fuss about one of the instructors being attractive which you had in all honesty paid very little attention to, until she dragged you by the arm to hiss into your ear.

“There he is, don’t look too obviously.”

You turned to find yourself staring straight at Iwaizumi Hajime, physical trainer.

“Oh shit, he’s looking at you,” she whispered, but you were already making your way to the exit. “Wait, where are you going?”

Your pace had gone from a walk to almost a run.

“____!” you heard him call behind you as you scurried as fast as you could off of the premises. Embarrassing. So, so embarrassing.

His voice was starting to sound aggravated, and your run stuttered to a standstill. What were you doing? Running from someone because you told them you didn’t want to date them?

He caught up to you in the parking lot and he no longer smiled; there was a tinge of mild irritation that graced his facial expression as he looked at you.

“Please stop running from me. You don’t need to make it awkward… I... I’m not thinking about it.” He glanced away at the last statement, but you knew he was being sincere while you were being ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, and you thought maybe you would say more but he cut you off.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Have a good workout. If you need any help, I’m available, as are the other instructors.”

Professional and curt, he bowed before turning, and before you realized what you were doing, you found yourself tugging onto the sleeve of his shirt to hold him back. When he looked back to you again, while he didn’t give you the fierce scowl he reserved for Oikawa, his expression was still harsh as he looked down at you, waiting to see what you had to say.

What did you want to say? You already said you were sorry, there wasn’t much else to add.

Words failed you and you recoiled ever so slightly. He sighed audibly, and turned fully to face you.

“___, please don’t play with my feelings.”

You deflated as he waited just a few more moments for you to come up with the courage to say you still wanted him, and when you were unable to come up with the words, he bowed again, and returned to the building. 

Moments later, you texted your friend to tell her you were sorry, but you were going home immediately.

---

It was a few minutes past 9pm and you had all but forgotten the sting of Iwa’s words as you focused on homework, listening to lo-fi music to help you concentrate. Your phone buzzed once, and you expected maybe your classmate to yell at you again for ditching her, but instead you found a message from Iwa. 

I’m sorry for speaking to you that way.

Your heart thumped hard once in your chest, and you flipped your phone over to get back to work, but it was too late. Your concentration was shot for the night.

I’m ready to listen to whatever you have to say, a second message read.

What would happen if you wore your heart on your sleeve just one more time? 

Iwa called you before you could call him, and this time you picked up, breathing a hesitant “Hello?” into the phone.

“___, I like you. A lot,” he paused, as those words sank into your heart. “I’m sorry, I wanted to get that out of the way.”

“I do, too,” you replied just as quickly. 

Another pause. You swallowed hard and continued,

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

His reply was fast. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

You frowned. “You don’t understand… I still think I have some unresolved feelings for someone else, and I just… I don’t want to wrong you in the long run.”

Another pause. You pressed your eyes shut, anticipating the worst, whatever it was. It felt as though you were on the line for ages, until suddenly Iwa finally spoke.

“Try me.”

“What?” Your shock was audible, and he repeated himself. 

“Use me if you need to.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying. 

“But-”

“I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, but I can’t explain it… I know I’m willing to risk it.” The confidence in his voice was almost shocking, and it made your heart swell. 

“Hajime…” 

“May I come over?”

---

The conversation ended with Iwa promising you that he’d make you forget your ex, your faces now just inches from each other, him hovering above you as you laid on your back in the comfort of your bed, eyes feasting on his exemplary physique. Starting up where you left off just three weeks prior, you held onto him for dear life as his hips rolled against you, his body pistoning into you carefully and precisely, his hands gentle and steady, and both of your hearts full.

If you were worried about using him, then don’t. Use him as much as you need to. He was giving you permission, is what he said.

Would you take advantage of him? 

Now that you were in his embrace, you found it unlikely: for the very first time in a year, you knew that while you weren’t in love yet, you could feel yourself falling very, very soon.

[littlefishbigsea]

Siren’s Umbra | Chapter 1

Author’s Note: This took far longer than I was expecting, but here it is. This story is an extension of a small scene I wrote a while ago (which will make a reappearance within the context of the story once I get there). I hope you enjoy. If you’d like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. 

Story Summary: Azriel finds it increasingly harder to stay afloat adrift in his own darkness. As tensions rise between himself and his found family, an unlikely but welcome distraction takes the form of a young priestess. Eager to prove her worth, to learn, and empower herself, Gwyn aligns herself with the aloof spymaster. With the continent scrambling to avoid yet another conflict, Gwyn and Azriel must work closely to unravel the secrets of Mount Ramiel.

Trope: Friends to lovers

Word Count (so far): 3.2k

Tags: Fluff, Light Angst, Smut

Additional links: AO3

Chapter 1 - On Leathery Wings

It was early spring in Velaris. The sky was a weighty blue velvet drooping over rooftops. Ironically, since the attack, the dawns had been breathtaking. As Azriel stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the townhouse his shadows all but disappeared.

“Well,” his brother said in way of greeting, smirking up at him from the street. “Don’t you look like shit? I thought moving to the townhouse was meant to give you peace?”

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” Azriel grumbled, voice flat. “Why are you here?” And grinning, but he didn’t need to ask that to understand why Cassian wore such a look.

He’d been wearing it for weeks now. Azriel had been attempting to remove it during practice but the general was more resilient than Az gave him credit for. Cassian’s happiness was decidedly infectious.

“I’m here,” Cass answered, “Because Rhys would like to see us. He’s up at the House.”

“Why didn’t he-“

“Look,” Cass interrupted with a shrug. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you - I mean you almost killed one another at the cabin - but you need to work it out.” He waved a hand back and forth at the spymaster who scoffed and stepped past him. “I’m serious,” Cass went on to explain. “I could use a night out. Just us. It’s been a while.”

Good luck with that, Azriel mused to himself. Rhysand hadn’t left the River House since Nyx was born.

“Married life chaffing, Cass?” Azriel teased, biting back a smile.

“We’re not married. Yet,” Cassian corrected. “Emerie and Gwyn have been over almost every night this week. As much as I love-“

This is where Azriel tuned his brother out. Call it cruel, but this was the same one sided conversation he’d had with Cass, oh, three times now. Was it really conversation if only one of them were speaking? Azriel didn’t personally believe head nods and hmphs counted as conversing but he’d mastered the art form.

He sympathized. He really did. Cassian recounted being kicked out of his own bed, finding a small Pegasus in his boot and how one of the girls had, once again, inked something inappropriate on his forehead while he’d been sleeping. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at that, though he erased it quickly.

Cassian might complain but Azriel knew his brother adored his mate and her friends. Even he had to admit that the girls brought an abundance of laughter and joy to the House whenever the trio graced it’s halls. A rare and intoxicating sound that had even roused him from his room multiple times only to catch Cass peeking curiously at them from around a dark corner.

Though if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was, Azriel was beginning to find the townhouse, comparatively, suffocatingly quiet. Too far removed from his family and friends. Late at night Azriel felt the creeping dark closing in, a sinister umbra spreading through him like venom. It was with great mental effort that he stayed his darker thoughts, but he was finding it more challenging of late. His ongoing feud with Rhys wasn’t helping.

Shadows dashed, darting from his shoulders to comfort the spymaster only to reel back in the morning light. Azriel focused his attentions away from the dark corners of his mind to beat of his footsteps. The last thing he needed to dwell on was what happened during Solstice.

It was still early morning in Valeris. The war-torn homeless still slept against the walls of buildings and the ice carts weren’t even out making deliveries. He preferred this time of day, just before the spring heat shimmered against the streets and curled the ends of his hair.

Aside from Cass, who was waving his arms, going on about the amount of women’s underthings he’d found in all sorts of strange places, it was mostly quiet. There was no one to stare or utter harsh whispers as Azriel passed.

Normally he flew or called shadows to him and winnowed within their comfort but this was a rare moment when Valeris was tolerable. He’d once described the city as the loneliest place in Prythian and he’d meant it. Tens of thousands of people flocked these streets and not a single one looked him in the eye. Very few did.

With one brother mated and the other in the process of being so, Azriel hadn’t felt more alone in his life. He had no stories to share with Cass on their morning walk. None that would make the general laugh or smile. No, his stories were best kept to himself - locked away were Rhys could extract what he needed and not question his shadowsinger’s techniques.

“You’re not listening,” Cassian suddenly accused, huffing a sigh. His arms dropped. The courts greatest general defeated.

“I’m always listening,” Azriel corrected. “You’re frustrated you don’t have your mate all to yourself anymore.”

“You-“ Cassian gave him a glare worthy of Amren. “And when have I had her to myself exactly? Every time-“

Again, Azriel tuned his brother out.

The House of Wind came into view, a great gleaming crown atop the mountains. His gaze lingered on the lower levels that housed the library. Not that most would know to look there as the windows were magically kept from view. The dozens of priestesses that worked in those stacks were kept hidden and protected. Just as Rhys had promised them.

Light flickered as shadow danced across his wings and over his shoulders. Braving the soft, dewy light to whisper in his ear, their chilling touch reached up his neck before spilling secrets.

She was at morning service.

A flash of color, heated cheeks and bright teal eyes - it wasn’t clear to him, still, this obsession his shadows had taken on. Over centuries he’d gathered unmeasurable amounts of information on his kingdoms allies and rivals. Yet, he couldn’t speak to what his friends had for breakfast this morning. He was painfully aware, however, that a certain priestess had sipped honeyed tea and eaten a single slice of rye smattered with butter and cinnamon and that her nose scrunched when she-

“Nesta wants you over for dinner,” Cassian commanded, ever the general.

“All right.”

“I have to go by the River House. Elain made a bundt. Nesta will likely murder me if I forget to bring it back,” Cass huffed. “Bundt? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“It’s cake.”

“Why not just call it cake then? Why be confusing?”

“It’s a type of cake.”

“No, chocolate is a type of cake.”

“Cass, chocolate is a flavor.”

As they approached the thousand steps that led up to the House, Cassian and Azriel kicked off in tandem aiming for the open balcony above. The air was cool as it passed over their skin, heated from the walk over. Matching the steady beat of his heart, Azriel’s enormous wings cut through the mornings low hanging clouds.

Rhysand, their High Lord, waited for them. Once he caught their approach he turned, heading inside. Azriel’s gut tightened. Their fights didn’t often escalate to this level. On a single hand he could count the times they’d fought to the point of not speaking.

His boots touched down upon stone before Cassian’s. He held, waiting for his brother. His hesitation to follow Rhys inside didn’t go unnoticed.

“Azriel-“

“He ordered me to stay away from Elain,” emotionless and flat, the words left his mouth before he could think better of it.

Silence settled between them. The rare outburst had Cassian’s eyes growing round and Az couldn’t tell if he was going to yell or laugh. Maybe both.

“Why,” Cass drawled so slowly Azriel almost missed what he was asking. “What have you-“

“I haven’t,” Azriel stopped him.

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I didn’t, I just know it wouldn’t be good.”

“Point,” Cassian admitted with a tilt of his head, “but why would Rhys ask you stay away if nothing was happening?”

“Something almost happened.”

“Something? Almost happened?”

Azriel sighed.

“Lucien-“ Cassian hissed.

“I know.”

“Feyre and Nes would have your balls.”

“Would they?”

“Yes!”

“Glad to know just how unworthy everyone thinks-“

A strong grip on his upper arm had Azriel turning, eyes flashing gold. Cassian’s gaze was hard, unapologetic. His hand dropped, fully aware of the rising shadows that now threatened to gobble his brother whole. The Night Courts general understood danger.

“It has nothing to do with worth,” he grumbled angrily in a rare sign of lost temper. “Everyone is overly protective of that girl, how are you surprised?” Azriel blinked down at him. “She has a mate, Az. Regardless of how either of you feel - which I really don’t want to know about, by the way, please leave me out of that shit - but like I was saying,” Cassian blew a breath from between his lips before going on in an even tone. “whether she wants it or not, she has a mate. She has a decision to make regardless of you.”

He had a point, one that Azriel laid awake at night thinking of.

“Besides,” Cass continued, turning to walk into the House. Azriel followed reluctantly. “You’ve been around each other all of what, 6 times? I mean, how involved are you that Rhys had to - you know what, I said I didn’t want to know.”

He almost smiled at Cassian’s bluster. Azriel was grateful for both his brothers and their never ending, often un-needed advice, but conversations like this if had with Rhys often descended into quick-tempered arguments.

The High Lord of the Night Court waited for them just inside. He held himself casually, pouring another mug of hot tea. The top buttons of his crisp shirt were undone but the stiffness in his shoulders told Azriel that Rhys was prepared for a fight at most, and at best he had news they wouldn’t like.

“Morning,” Rhysand greeted, lifting his face to them. Bright, amethyst eyes regarded each of the Illyrians, looking for anything amiss.

“Morning,” they answered in unison.

“How’s my boy?” Cass asked greedily, boyish grin in place at the thought of his nephew.

“Well, as is his mother,” Rhys replied eyes warming at their mention. That warmth didn’t last when his purple gaze met Azriel’s.

“I have something for you,” Rhys stated without so much as a lead up. Straight to business then.

“The queens are no longer a threat,” Cassian mused, dropping into a nearby sofa with no desire to confront Rhy’s straightforwardness.

“I need Azriel at Mount Ramiel,” Rhys corrected, tone leaving no room for discussion.

Cassian’s eyes darted between his brothers as the temperature in the room suddenly dropped. Leaning against the far wall, shadows coiled and snapped at the spymasters shoulders. His lips parted, an argument rising from his throat.

“The outside interests surrounding Ramiel concern me. Given Nesta’s vision, I believe it’s something we should look into with haste. If there is something of interest there, Azriel will find it,” Rhysand offered, cutting off the shadowsinger.

None of this came as a surprise to Az other than being kept out of the decision making. Ever since the Blood Rite, the war camps had been acting suspiciously and he knew it bothered Rhys to the point of keeping the high lord awake at night.

“You’re sending Azriel to the war camps,” Cassian barked. “Are we cutting them loose? Razzing them to the ground, then?”

“I’m not sending you to deal with the Illyrians,” Rhys corrected, eyes on his spymaster, and shook his head.

“He’s sending me to sneak around in the dark,” Azriel offered.

“You are quite good at it,” his brother smirked, violet eyes flashing in reply. “I’ve had the priestesses pull everything from the library, including my own personal collection. Lore, histories, whatever they could find.” Rhys took a long, slow sip of tea, eyes closing only briefly. “Gwyn has offered to assist in translations. Her command of ancient language is rather impressive.”

“Should you really be dragging the priestess into this,” Azriel accused.

“She volunteered,” Rhys countered with a shrug. “Besides, I think she’s proven herself to be capable, don’t you? She’s identified some areas of interest around the eastern slope. A good place to start.”

Seething, Azriel attempted to put a damper on his temper. He couldn’t help but feel that Rhys had gone behind his back. It was one thing to order him about, but what was he thinking involving Gwyn? The priestesses were never a part of this side of the kingdoms business. Icy rage spilled, drip by drip, down Azriel’s spine.

“Cassian,” Rhys observed, turning to their brother, “Elain was waiting for you at the River House this morning. Something about a cake needing to be retrieved? If you go now you might catch Nyx before his mid-morning nap.”

There was no argument from their brother. Carefully his gaze met Azriel’s, a gentle warning in their depths. He often found himself in the middle of their conflicts and Azriel had to respect that he didn’t complain about it. Much.

“I’ll let Nes know you won’t be at dinner,” he said. With a heavy sigh Cass lifted from the couch. He nodded his dark head at Rhys and then Az before sauntering back out into the light.

“What is this really about,” Azriel asked, voice as cold as his stare.

“I beg your pardon?” Rhys cooed with a raised brow.

“Why wasn’t I included in the planning?”

“I didn’t need you for it.”

The declaration hit Azriel in the chest like a fist. Air rushed out between his lips in a shocked gasp. He stepped forward, dragging shadow with him.

“Rhys-“

“It’s nothing personal, Az,” Rhys pleaded.

“Personal,” Azriel growled, voice low. “I’m your spymaster and brother.”

“Az-“

“You’re overstepping,” Azriel went on, the words flowing like the Sidrah - cold and unstoppable. “Again, you’re taking everything on yourself.”

“I’m only doing what I can to keep everyone safe.”

“Safe,” Azriel accused, “Is that what you were doing keeping Feyre in that bubble? Honestly, how do you find that any different than how Tam-“

“Enough!”

Beneath them the mountain shook, rattling glass and sending a few stray books to the floor. Rhys was on his feet, wings snapped open behind him. On opposite sides of the room, one bathed in shadow the other night incarnate, they regarded one another.

“Brother,” Rhys once again pleaded with his spymaster. “I know you’re angry with me. I admit, I have not been myself. Between Feyre and Nyx, you and Koschei - the fucking Dread Trove,” he trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “We’re spread thin, you know that. We need our allies. Old and new.”

He’d all but said the same on Solstice. After all these years did Rhys not see him? See beyond the courts infamous torturer? To the male that lurked inside his own shadows? A long, tense silence labored between them. As always, an impasse.

“Azriel, let yourself feel something for once. I don’t care who-“

“Is that all,” Azriel grunted, moving his gaze away from the high lord’s. If Rhys opened his mouth with more shit to give he was sure he’d lose what was left of his shredded control.

“Dismissed,” Rhys conceded, shoulders dropping.

Azriel was outside and shooting off the balcony into the sky before Rhys could utter another word. His wings churned the air with each vicious beat. Burning agitation flooded through him. HE could feel it in his very bones. Attempting to soothe, his shadows coiled close, whispering.

Rhys had a lot of nerve. Of anyone, he knew Azriel best. Mor always accused them of being too similar and its why they didn’t always see eye to eye. He wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment. Rhys was level headed and controlled. Azriel felt as if he were unraveling. Control wasn’t the way he’d describe it, rather an effort to hide it all away so it didn’t need to be dealt with.

The training rings came into view as he rose but he didn’t linger, swinging wide so that he’d remain unseen. Dots of color milled about. The priestesses were gathering for training. He could sense Nesta below with Emerie. And her.

He would have to send word to Gwyn about postponing their lessons. Meeting with her had become something of a guilty pleasure. He found he enjoyed teaching the doe eyed priestess more than he thought he might. Training was Cassian’s thing. Az found he didn’t often have the patience or care for it.

Shadows hissed, warning not to rely on Clotho for this. Azriel would be better served sending a note himself. The thought of those large, sea glass eyes darkening with disappointment made his chest ache.

Let yourself feel something.

Rhys’ words replayed in his ear as Azriel made the descent to the townhouse. He’d moved his things over months ago though Cassian always seemed to find some excuse to get him back to the House of Wind. Despite living there for years it no longer felt like home to him.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Rhys had asked him to chaperone his brother and future mate. Neither himself nor Rhys actually expected Azriel to have to step in between the two. Rhys had simply wanted a backup in the event Nesta lost control which was likely to happen given how often her and Cassian argued.

So, Az had let them battle things out on their own. And they had. All over the House in fact. Repeatedly.

Though he had to admit, interrupting them at the most awkward times had become a game to him. But, he had, in all the ways one would being around a newly mated pair, grew incredibly frustrated. In a way it had become a torture of its own.

That frustration was likely what fueled his blunder the night of Solstice. One look at Elain and he’d been as hard as the mountainside the House of Wind was carved from. Azriel hadn’t been able to help himself. She was beautiful and everything he forbid himself. She wanted him, it was obvious, which made the entire situation all the more confusing.

In the end, he wasn’t sure where he stood with the girl. Cassian’s hadn’t been wrong in his assessment. They’d barely spoken to one another, let alone discussed her intentions with Lucien… Azriel would rather not think on the male who’d sat idly by while his high lady’d been tormented.

Landing at one of the terraces, Az made his way into the townhouse. He’d taken the largest room upstairs. It had the most wall space for his blade collection.

Azriel threw daggers and maps into his pack with such force, they almost went through the bottom of the bag. Rhys was right to send him on this mission. He needed space. A couple months in the mountains would do good to clear his head.

Before he locked up after himself, Azriel grabbed some paper from his desk and wrote a quick note to Gwyn. His careful words sounded clipped and overly formal as he reread the hastily scratched message, but shrugged off the concern with indifference.

Without goodbyes, the shadowsinger quietly left the city of Velaris. His wings carried him away, further into the mountains. He tucked all thought of his brothers and the priestess with molten hair from his mind. Wrapping himself in shadow, Azriel became the cold, unfeeling monster his reputation afforded him.

He felt nothing. Was nothing. His Illyrian wings carried him further away until he was nothing but a bruise against an otherwise perfect sky.

[ford-ye-fiji]

TUA/Doctor Who Masterlist

(link to the series on AO3 here.) 

(can I read this with limited knowledge of Doctor Who? )

official tag: the umbrella effect

A. Summary, of a sort.

Part 1: but for now it’s time to run

The Doctor investigates an anomaly and gets far more than he bargained for. Five just wants some peace. Is that too much to ask for?

B. Out of context memes. 

Part 2: only one psychopath per TARDIS (the sun will be guiding you)

Five runs into the Doctor again, against his will. Some things are cleared up. Some things only raise more questions.

Part 3: the boy who forgot (and disappear in the trees) 

The Doctor does some research.

Five grows up.

C. say what happened with the Hargreeves during the Year that Never Was?

Part 4: wanderers in the fourth dimension (this world is not made for you) 

What was Five doing before the Doctor came along?

Part 5: the secret inside of you (4/4)

The Doctor and Five face real danger for the first time.

Secrets are revealed and friendship, funnily enough, blossoms in the strangest of ways.

D. the suit vest sweater jacket poll voting is closed: suit jackets won!

Part 6: the Timeline that Never Was (tomorrow is another day) (4/4)

The Doctor’s mouth opened and closed as he pointed almost accusingly, “You were at the Kennedy assassination?”

Five nodded, raising an eyebrow, “Twice actually. There was also an aborted timeline where Kennedy lived and the world was nuked. But I fixed it. The apocalypse is over now. It’s not coming back.”

“But I was at the Kennedy assassination! How did I miss that?”

“I told you, I kept it from ever happening.”

-

In which, the Ninth Doctor is at the Kennedy non-assassination in the timeline that wasn't.

E. Jeff???

Part 7: running is a victory (11/11)

The Doctor and Five off among the stars.

The stars are in for a lot of trouble.

-

A bunch of one-shots happening throughout that nebulous time in the TARDIS aka some fun before the plot starts again.

F. we finish each other’s… sandwiches?

Part 8: this ride is a journey too (3/3)

Did you know? The latin word tardus means slow or late.

On an unrelated note, in April of 1996, there is a little girl about seven years old, waiting in her garden for the Doctor to return. (He won’t come back until 2008 when she is nineteen and, despite herself, still waiting.)

On another note, in July of 2019, there is a family who wakes up one morning and discovers that their brother is gone once again. They wait for his return. (He never comes home.)

G. out of context spoilers

Part 9: this race is a prophecy  (10/10)

Five and the Doctor have finally returned home (even if they took the long way around).

The Umbrella Academy does what they do best. (Lots of bad decisions are made by every single one of them).

And Reginald Hargreeves steps out of the darkness and into the light.

H. brain cells

Part 10 THE FINALE: Run, Boy, Run (9/9) 

The stage is finally set as all the different players in our little drama finally converge.

The Hargreeves try their best. Reginald does his worst. The Doctor gets his answers. Number Five wakes up.

I. secret meeting

Part 11: His Bespoke Psychopaths (break out from society) (5/5)

"Five could still remember his first meeting with Professor River Song. It had been… enlightening to say the least. And rife with misunderstandings."

This is that meeting.

J. here we go again

Part 12: and when the night fades away (8/8)

After the crisis is over, the Doctor still has a few months before his TARDIS returns.

They make the most of it.

Some bonds are forged, a family is built, and Five finally relaxes.

K. Art!!!

K2. FAN ART YALL ITS SO GOOD IM CRYING

Part 13: you’ll be a man, boy (6/6)

It’s Five's turn to help the Doctor with his problems- and to save the Doctor's family.

Too bad he doesn’t quite know what’s going on.

L. wiki

M. compels me tho

N. murder

O. finale summary 

P. deleted scene

and that’s a ✨wrap✨ people!!! 💕💖🌸💕💖🌸💕💖🌸

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 12

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword. 

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well. 

It isn’t really funny at all.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,704 (good lord I’m tired...)

Warnings: angst, swearing, one brief moment of sexual harassment, lots of assumptions made, Dark Din returns and some familiar characters make themselves known

Author Note: Believe me I want Din and Cupid reunited as much as all of you do, but my dark side keeps saying just stretch it out a little bit longer 😈 All the love to each and every reader out there, the support you give me keeps me sane and happy each week ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 11 and Part 13

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You wipe furiously at your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, while inwardly cursing yourself for showing weakness in front of Gideon. A lump forms in your throat as you replay the last sixty seconds on loop in your head, imagining exactly how Din will react to each sentence, especially those last two words: let go. This will be the one and only time you’re thankful you can’t feel Din’s half of the bond. If he’s feeling even a smidge of the throbbing, torturous pain you’re feeling right now, experiencing both sides would have overwhelmed you. Of all the commands Gideon could have chosen, why would he choose to taunt Din with that one? It’s as if the Seraph is purposefully trying to piss Din off.

Maybe he is insane, you think, not for the first time, just as he starts to clap his hands together in applause.

“Well done,” Gideon says, almost in admiration. “You’re a much better actress than I imagined you’d be.”

“It wasn’t an act,” you snap back.

“Regardless, you’ve served your part well.” He reaches forward to pat your head, and you honestly deserve an award for not giving into the urge to break his hand. “If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget this moment ever happened. Should I require you to send a second message, it would certainly make it all the more bittersweet for you to think it was your first attempt.”

His words make no sense at first, and you merely sit there in the chair blinking back at him, some distant part of you aware of how your eyelashes are still wet and stuck together. Involuntarily, you find yourself recalling Din’s reaction to your memory loss, how he had muttered under his breath he thought someone was responsible for the blank spots. Your mouth falls open in shock as Gideon’s meaning clicks.

“You...You tampered with my memories?” you whisper.

“It wasn’t personal. There are holes in every Cupid’s head.”

Why would he use his powers so cruelly and invasively? How does he choose which memories to erase? These questions and more run through your head, but you don’t voice them aloud. Everything you’ve heard about and actually seen in person about Gideon has solidified your opinion he is a certifiable control freak. Of course he would use his memory-erasing ability to further establish his position of authority amongst the Cupids.

Your eyes drift to the Cupid twi’lek behind him. “Is that why she’s here? You brainwashed her into joining you?”

“I made my own choice,” she replies, tone as sharp as the knife she twirls with nimble fingers. It doesn’t gleam like metal, instead faintly sparkling just like your arrows do. Kyber crystal, you realize with a chill of uneasiness. “You don’t see me in a collar, do you?”

“Indeed, I cannot alter memories, only erase them. It was free will that brought Xi’an to me, not manipulation,” Gideon says with a smile, but his eyes glimmer in a way that makes your throat close up with fear. “She has become a loyal and valuable ally.”

Valuable. One word and your suspicions are confirmed. Collared or not, Xi’an is just as much a toy for Gideon to play with as you and Din are. The only difference is she doesn’t seem to realize she is one. Or, and this is a dangerous possibility, she does know and simply doesn’t give a damn.

“She’s your ally?” you echo, nervously licking your lips. “What does that mean?”

“She has dedicated herself to the achievement of my goal.”

You know he’s purposefully baiting you, but still you find yourself asking, “And that goal is?”

Gideon leans forward, invading your personal space even as you jerk backwards in your seat. The smile has been wiped from his face, replaced with narrowed eyes and a twisted scowl. He deliberately presses the unlit laser sword against the middle of your chest in the space between your breasts, thumb teasingly hovering over the activation button.  

When he answers, you’ve never heard anyone else speak as seriously as him.

“To finish what I started.”

The words linger in the air the same foreboding way Din’s reapers linger around hospitals. You don’t realize you’re not breathing until Gideon steps back after several pounding heartbeats pass and your lungs are on fire. You suck in a breath of relief, but your body remains tense, recognizing the dangerous situation you’re still stuck in.

“Mayfeld,” Gideon addresses the man armed with three guns who immediately straightens. “Take her back to her cell.”

You don’t resist as Mayfeld grabs you by the upper arm and tugs you out of your seat. It’d take a miracle to incapacitate him and everyone else in the room before they subdued you. No, you can’t make any rash decisions. The right moment will come, you tell yourself. It has to.

...Right?

“So, what’s it like being Death’s soulmate?”

You’re jerked out of your thoughts by Mayfeld’s voice. You side-eye him, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

“I mean, I’ve heard he never takes off the helmet,” he continues, unbothered by your silence. “But surely you must’ve seen what’s underneath there. If it were me, I’d definitely wanna know the face of the guy I’m allegedly destined to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Allegedly?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not so much a believer in fate or destiny or true love. And now that I know the guy who’s the boss of Cupid operations?” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Forget about ever trying to convince me the universe has a mortal’s best interests in mind when it allows a Seraph as bat-shit crazy as the Moff to have the power he has.”

“If you think he’s insane, why do you work for him?”

“The pay’s good,” he answers with a laugh. “Plus, if he really does pull off this plan of his, well...let’s just say I’d rather be in his corner than anywhere else.”

“You do realize though that anyone in Gideon’s corner is an enemy of Death’s?” you say, half-taunting him half-genuinely curious about his reaction.

“That thought has recently crossed my mind,” is all he replies.

The conversation comes to a halt when you arrive back at your cell. Mayfeld pushes you inside, but the force is noticeably gentler than the thug who had manhandled you earlier. Standing near the pallet, you watch as he digs a remote out of the pocket of his pants and activates the laser grid with a single press of a button.

Interesting.

You expect Mayfeld to immediately return to Gideon’s side, so you’re surprised and more than a little confused when the man continues to linger. A minute of silence ticks by and your confusion changes to frustration. What does he want?

Just as your mouth opens to snidely voice the question, the baby chooses that precise moment to sneak back into your cell. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush forward to grab him, torn between forcibly shoving him back into the hole or foolishly attempting to hide him behind your back.

“There’s the little green guy,” Mayfeld says, and you pause at the audible note of cheerfulness in his voice. The baby coos in your arms, waving his hand in the man’s direction.

They kriffing know each other?

Mayfeld notices your bewildered expression. “What? You think none of us noticed he doesn’t like staying put? We might be mercenaries, but we’re not complete idiots.”

“You’re a heartless bastard,” you spit, holding the baby tighter against your chest. “He’s a baby and you’re doing nothing to get him out of here.”

“First of all,” he counters, holding up a finger. “Ouch. And second,” he points that same finger directly at the baby, “that little guy is older than me so calling him a ‘baby’ isn’t exactly fair.”

Your eyes sweep over Mayfeld, estimating him to be at least forty. You then look at the green face smiling back at you. Yeah, there’s no way he’s telling the truth.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maker, the hits just keep on coming.” Mayfeld rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie about his age?”

“I…” you trail off, unable to come up with an excuse.

“Exactly.” He nods smugly. “Look, he fooled me, too, with those big brown eyes of his. If I hadn’t witnessed what he can do when that collar’s off, I might have been suckered into releasing him. He’s cute, sure, but he’s also secretly a menacing gremlin.”

You frown. “What do you mean you’ve seen what he can do?”

“I mean he’s got powers. He can lift things with his mind, throw men against walls five times his size like they weigh nothing. What’s worse is he uses those powers to steal. I had a pack of cookies I was saving and he levitated them right out of my pocket.”

Your disbelief falters at that last bit. You had already surmised the baby had stolen the cookies, but not like this. Looking down at him again, the collar stands out more prominently than ever before. Xi’an told you they were purposefully designed to prohibit the use of powers. Why else would the baby wear one if he didn’t possess some type of special ability?

“You really have some serious trust issues, don’t you?” Mayfeld says, almost sounding impressed by your stubborn reluctance to believe him.

“I’m currently being held hostage by a psychopath,” you retort. “I think I’m allowed to be suspicious of a mercenary who says everything that pops into his head.”

His lips purse. “Alright. That’s a good point.”

“Isn’t it risky?” you ask, stepping closer to the gate. “Sharing all this information with me?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate the value of it all.”

Your brow furrows, not understanding.

“Look,” he lowers his voice meaningfully. “One way or another, Gideon and Death are gonna face each other and only one side will win. Gideon wins, great. Status quo unchanged. But if your soulmate wins?” He grimaces at the prospect. “By talking to you, I’m trying to cover all my bases here.”

Your brain works rapidly to fill in the blanks. “So, let me get this straight. You think that by getting on my good side, Death won’t murder you?” A wide grin stretches across your face, not the least bit friendly. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to do so much better than that. With what you’ve given me so far, the only kindness he’ll spare you is ripping your throat out quickly so you don’t suffer long.”

Take the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” A flicker of nervousness flashes across his face. He shifts his stance, arms crossing over his chest. “What would I have to do to not have that happen? I’m, uh, open to suggestions.”

Good, good, good.

“You get me the keys to these collars, I can guarantee you’ll walk out of here with every limb attached and not one drop of blood spilt.”

A long beat passes wordlessly. It would be completely silent if not for the baby’s quiet whining as he cuddles against you, unsettled by the tense atmosphere.

“You’re not the only one with trust issues,” Mayfeld says at last. “Maybe you can guarantee Death won’t kill me, but how do I know you won’t kill me with your bow yourself?”

You say nothing, not because you’re guilty of thinking of that specific scenario, but because you don’t know how to convince him you haven’t considered it. Anyone else in your same predicament would undoubtedly shoot him the first chance they got. He is an enemy after all. A minor one, true, but nevertheless contributing to the effort of keeping you separated from Din. He also clearly only has his own self-interest in mind, making him unpredictable and untrustworthy. Who’s to say he won’t attempt to double-cross you somehow?

All these reasons are valid and should make you hate him, but something inside of you isn’t allowing you to commit wholeheartedly to the feeling. And as much as it pains you to admit it, you know that ‘something’ is fear. You’ve never killed anyone before. Shot someone with an ichor arrow? Yes, several times, but not once was the wound fatal. As your list of escape options continues to dwindle though, you’re terrified of the possibility you’ll have no choice but to personally be responsible for ending someone’s life.

“There’s my answer,” Mayfeld says. His words are distressingly ambiguous, but it’s the way he bobs his head in a decisive manner and turns his back on you that causes your stomach to tie itself into knots.

Throat suddenly dry, you struggle to choke out, “Wait, I—”

He starts whistling an upbeat tune as he walks away, ignoring your attempts at reclaiming his attention. You listen hopelessly as the sound gradually grows farther and farther away, until eventually all you can hear is silence.

And once more, it’s just you and the baby alone in the cell.

~~

You lie on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling with the baby sleeping on your stomach. You reflect on everything that has happened since you left Arvala-7, taking every moment apart piece by piece to figure out what you know.

From what you’ve witnessed, you don’t think your superiors are involved in or even aware of Moff Gideon’s plans. Lang, Hess, and Morgan were his associates, not allies like he’d called Xi’an. The difference is subtle, but profound in meaning. You wonder if the three of them have had memories erased too, if they know Gideon was responsible.

He had told them you were being hidden away to prevent other Cupids from knowing you had a second soulmate, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Gideon wants you as his hostage because you’re Din’s soulmate. He wants to use you as leverage to get Din to do what he wants. Initially, you assumed that meant kill those who Gideon considered enemies, but that assumption was proven incorrect when you sent the message to Din without naming even one potential target.

Unfortunately, you think that is not the only wrong assumption you’ve made recently. Gideon had forced you to tell Din to let go. The bond had cried out with agony when you’d said the words out loud as it had thought you were telling Din to let go of you. But looking back at the incident with a clearer head, you find yourself wondering why hadn’t Gideon included those two extra words if that was what he meant? It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of space left to write them on the paper.

If he didn’t mean for Din to let go of you, then logically that would mean he wants Din to let go of something else. Something important enough that Gideon is taking advantage of your relationship in order to convince him to release it.

But what could Din possibly possess that Gideon wants this badly? Din doesn’t own anything valuable except for the Crest and his armor, and you doubt either of those will further progress Gideon towards his goal.

To finish what I started.

Hours later and you still can’t figure out what the kriff he’s talking about. No matter which way you twist or turn the phrase over in your mind, it’s incomprehensible. What did he start? When did it happen? How does he intend to finish it?

Considering how your previous assumptions were both flawed, you really shouldn’t be making another one, but you can’t get the moment of when he’d pressed the sword against your chest out of your mind. The action itself screamed intimidation as well as sexual harassment, but when you think about how he did it at the same time he revealed his goal, your gut instinct is telling you to definitely assume the two are connected to each other.

And then there’s Mayfeld’s comment about there being an inevitable clash between Din and Gideon. He had sounded so certain there would only be one victor, but, unlike you, he hadn’t immediately placed his bet on Din. Which makes no sense to you. Everyone knows it’s an indisputable fact Din is the most powerful entity in the universe, second only to the Maker. The chance of Gideon winning their fight is so slim it’s infinitesimal.

It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword.

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well.

It isn’t really funny at all.

~~

Over the span of Din’s existence, he had witnessed entire civilizations wiped out by war, genocide, disease. No matter the reason behind the tragedy, the universe always called him there in the final moments to walk amongst the ruins left behind, to watch those last to die mourn those who passed before them. In those moments, he felt powerless, knowing there was not one thing he could do to change any of it.

He realized the universe was trying to instill a lesson in him: what is meant to happen, will always happen. Regardless of who is hurt in the process.

And maybe he would have surrendered to the harsh teaching if his angel hadn’t been stolen from her rightful place at his side. No one, not even the fucking universe itself, is going to stop him from getting her back.

From their first meeting, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Then when she asked him question after question about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, his favorite sights in the galaxy—he made the risky decision of trusting her. He revealed his face to her, allowed her to know every part of himself, and was stunned every time she didn’t fear or run away from what she discovered. He didn’t know whether to consider her stupid or brave, but the moment he first heard her laugh at one of his sarcastic quips he knew it was a sound he wanted to hear everyday for the rest of eternity.

When she showed him her marked hand, claiming they were each other’s soulmates, he swore to himself he’d dedicate himself to her happiness. Anything she wanted or asked for, he would give to her without question.

Except now she has asked him to do the impossible: to let go.

He replays the transmission enough times every word, every quiet hitch of breath, and every subtle twitch of her facial features is embedded in his mind. Bo-Katan heaves a sigh after the eighth loop, squeezing the bridge of her nose as if a headache was forming, but he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the hologram long enough to glare at the reaper. She doesn’t have a soulmate, therefore she can’t even begin to fathom how it feels when his half of the soulmate bond slams itself against the invisible wall separating him from his angel with all the unhinged ferocity of a feral beast.

If Din didn’t know his angel as intimately as she knew him, he might have believed those were her own words coming out of her mouth. However, throughout the entire length of the message he notices how her eyes nervously flick to the side every few seconds, as if she needs to reassure herself someone offscreen isn’t making any sudden movements. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know she’s being used as a mouthpiece against her will to demand Din gives up searching for her.

Din refuses to yield to the whims of an enemy who doesn’t have the balls to face him directly.

He channels his seething anger into steadfast determination as he stretches his powers out across the galaxy for a second time, this time searching for the twi’lek Hess so graciously identified for him. Her being the one to have dragged his soulmate out of Cupid headquarters couldn’t have been a random circumstance. If she has even the slightest notion of who the elusive immortal is that is responsible for shielding his angel from him, he’ll beat the name out of her just as he had her Cupid superior.

Bo-Katan, never one to stand still when she can be doing something useful, sends a message out to her fellow reapers to fill them in on the developing situation. Only Din can give them orders to follow, but she strongly recommends they interrogate any Cupid they come across for information about Xi’an.

Transmissions start flooding in an hour later of reapers reporting what they’ve learned. Turns out Xi’an is the type of person who finds joy in antagonizing others. No one claims her as their friend nor do they know what region of the galaxy she usually operates in. The most interesting tidbit learned from the interrogations is that several Cupids have admitted they often saw the twi’lek in the archives at headquarters, studying datapads and flipping through holobooks.

“She was searching for something,” Bo-Katan murmurs, brow creasing thoughtfully.

“Or she was gathering information on someone’s behalf.” Din’s eyes remained closed, focus split between the conversation and the search. “Only Cupids are allowed at their headquarters. She’d have no issue slipping in and out without anyone giving her a second—”

Every soul has a unique aura that can only be sensed by power-sensitive beings like himself. No two are the same, similar to fingerprints and snowflakes. Having a specific target in mind hastens the search of detecting them amongst the trillions of other beings inhabiting the galaxy, but it is not the fact that Din’s powers have just locked onto Xi’an’s soul that has his eyes snapping open. It is her location.

She’s on Umbriel.

“Stay with the ship,” he tells Bo-Katan.

Din teleports before the reaper responds, arriving at the front entrance of his soulmate’s apartment in the next blink. The front door is wide open and his jaw clenches as he recognizes the gesture for the taunt it is. Rolling his shoulders back, he enters the apartment, purposefully shutting and locking the door behind him.

“About time you showed up.” As soon as Din hears her voice, he’s reminded of a loth cat screeching when its tail is grabbed. The anger he’s been forcibly holding back starts to simmer beneath his armor, fingers twitching at his sides with the desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze.

He finds a purple-skinned twi’lek Cupid standing in the center of the living room. Or, what used to be considered the living room at least. Every piece of furniture has been broken and torn apart. The pile of newspapers kept in the corner are shredded and scattered across the floor. If he didn’t know how precious they were to his angel in her quest to reclaim her memories, he wouldn’t have cared about the mess, but he does know and his wrath increases exponentially.

“Xi’an,” he says, the name bitter on his tongue like a curse.

“The rumor mill says you’ve been looking for me,” she drawls, looking coy and fluttering her eyelashes. “I gotta say, I’m flattered by the attention.”

“Tell me where my soulmate is and you won’t meet the same fate as your boss.”

Her head tilts, tapping her fingers against her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are you referring to Hess? I heard no one’s been able to reach him lately, but since I report to someone of much higher ranking I could hardly bring myself to care.” Her lips curl into a wicked smirk, revealing the faintest glimpse of her fangs. “You’ve piqued my interest now though, what’d you do to the bastard?”

“I ripped out his soul and crushed it into dust.”

She giggles, unpleasant and shrill. “How scandalous.”

His patience snaps.

“Enough of this.” He steps forward. “Tell me who you work for and where is my soulmate.”

A pair of knives appear in her hands, summoned in the same quick manner as his angel had drawn her bow.

“My answer to the first part is no. And as for the second, you need to be more specific.” She sneers. “Which part of her are you looking for?”

The noise that tears itself out of Din’s throat is one never made by another entity before. It is an outburst of ravenous fury, a promise of bloodshed and carnage, and a predator’s roar before they consume their prey all blended into one deafening war cry.

Xi’an maintains a brave face as she throws knife after knife at him, but as each one harmlessly deflects off his beskar and dissolves into a flicker of light, he sees her mask begin to crack, revealing her nervousness.

She resorts to throwing punches when he’s close enough, but there is no finesse and each one is sloppy. He catches her fist mid-swing with his own hand and twists, shattering her wrist. She gasps out a curse, but the unexpected reappearance of her mischievous smirk manages to catch him off guard.

“Are you gonna do it?” she asks, voice tight with pain, but the intent to provoke him is clear. “Unleash that beautiful darkness I can sense writhing around inside of you?”

He pins her against the wall harsh enough her teeth audibly clack against each other. Still she keeps smirking, still her voice drips like poison into his ears.

“You know you want to, sweetie, so just let go.”

Din’s powers lash out, incensed by those two words he’s sick of hearing. Latching onto her soul, she starts to choke, but the deranged glimmer of glee in her eyes makes him think she’d be laughing if she could.

Darkness starts to ooze out of his armor, resembling thick, black smoke. He can feel the sinister energy emanating from the very core of his being, as if the box it’s been trapped in has been unlocked and is seconds away from bursting open.

Some distant, far part of him is ringing every warning alarm and urging him to stop. But he ignores that voice of reason when he sees Xi’an’s soul start creeping up the back of her mouth, glowing brightly as it squirms in a futile attempt to free itself from the hold of his powers.

He grits his teeth, impatience prompting him to tug at it again, and—

The world lurches and transforms in a blur. When his vision adjusts, he’s no longer standing in his soulmate’s apartment, but instead surrounded by an abundance of scorched trees. Chest heaving, he struggles to clear his head of violent thoughts and make sense of what just happened.

Someone suddenly calls out from behind him, “I summoned you here to speak with you.”

Din recognizes the speaker’s voice before he actually turns to see the female togruta. She wears her usual blue-and-silver tunic and a brown headpiece embedded with a gem over her montrals. The ground is green beneath her feet, the only glimpse of flourishing nature for miles.

“I was in the middle of something, Ahsoka,” Din answers, stalking forward until they stand nearly toe to toe. He’s lost count of how many encounters they’ve had with one another over the years, but no matter the number he remains reluctant to consider her a friend since the Oracle has the irritating knack for disrupting his life when he least desires her presence.

She stands tall, but her hands move to rest on the hilts of the two sabers attached to her belt. “Have you forgotten your creed? When the universe needs you, you listen to it.”

“My soulmate needs me!” he shouts, trembling as another pulse of dark energy discharges from his body. It washes over Ahsoka like a harsh gust of wind, but while she remains unaffected, the patch of grass withers instantaneously.

“The universe recognizes that,” Ahsoka says, and while her calmness does nothing to ease his frayed nerves, her next words have him freezing in place. “And I’ll take you to her so long as you promise me one thing.”

Tentative hope slices through the erratic storm of frenzied emotions in his chest like a beam of sunlight. He searches Ahsoka’s face for the faintest hint of deception, but finds only sincerity.

“What is it?”

“You cannot kill Moff Gideon.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @eleinemk​, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites​, @promiscuoussatan​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @coaaster​, @lin-djarin​, @oh-no-a-whovian​, @over300books​, @chibi-yuki​, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

[sableflynn]

Felivy - The Choice

Soooo after a solid week of constant gushing about this au with @whumpopology I decided to try writing a bit of it! I'm uh pretty much completely obsessed with this au at this point, the amount of brainstorming we've done is incredible and soooo much fun.

Very brief context: AU where Felicia and Ivy both end up at Volkan's mean man estate together. The girls bond, Volkan is mean, the teams try to find them. Volkan decides to spice things up, contacts the teams and tells them they can choose one girl to have sent home and he'll keep the other. This is the timeline where they choose Ivy to come home.

cw: drugging, noncon kiss/touch, general noncon implications (none happens), whumper pov. ao3 link here.

---

The girl was strapped into a chair, thick leather cuffs tight on wrists that strained against the imprisonment. Even with the needle still in her arm, the drug coursing through her bloodstream, she fought; she had fought from the moment he first showed her just how he planned to transport her back to her team.

Red, Harrison had called her, for the striking color of her thick curls, but her hair color wasn’t enough to set her apart here. That fighting spirit, though; that was something his healer lacked, a tenacity bordering on feral that kept things interesting in a way Felicia couldn’t. And yet all it took was one wandering touch, one comment dripping with innuendo, one look, and she fell apart. Beneath all her bluster and bravado, Ivy was a scared little girl, and he was happy to remind her of that every time.

Her head began to droop and he thought that was it, until she snapped back to full alertness with fresh fire in her eyes. “You’re—” Her words were slurred, the effort to get them out visible in her face. “You’re fucking sick.”

He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You should relax,” he said, and just to make sure she couldn’t relax, he leaned over her where she sat, one hand rising to brush strands of hair from her face. “Just let this happen. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your boyfriend’s arms.”

“Nuh—” Despite the determination blazing in her eyes, she shuddered. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead, and he imagined he could see the drug working its way through her body, slowing her nervous system until she succumbed. Yet she still fought it; she couldn’t not, not with the needle still in her, and the knowledge that there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop him from taking anything he wanted.

He leaned in for a kiss, and she was still awake enough to snap at him. Pulling back with a grin, he watched the terror dancing in her eyes, drank in the soft hitch of her breath as his hand caressed her cheek before traveling down further. His second kiss dipped lower, lips tracing the curve of her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise until he pulled a weak sob from her. Her pulse was racing beneath his tongue; every touch from him would send the drug through her body faster, which would make her more and more vulnerable to his touch. A delicious feedback loop of her suffering.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and the fire he’d seen there moments before was snuffed out. She was breathing heavily, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, mouth working as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t push the words out. He took her in another kiss and she whimpered against him, and god, he was going to miss this. Her fear was so different from Felicia’s, tinged with frustration at her own helplessness, and he could spend months drawing it out, showing her again and again that she was small and weak and nothing. But he had made a deal, and he was a man of his word. Better to leave her a sweet memory to remember him by, then.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he let his hand drift lower, until his thumb fretted with the fastenings of her pants. He hadn’t thought she could become more despairing than she already was, but at that touch she let out another sob, her head shaking weakly, slurring out words that might’ve been stop, please, no, don’t. He didn’t particularly care what they were. Fingers deftly undoing the button of her pants, other hand rising to press a harsh thumb into the bruise he’d kissed into her, he took her mouth in his one more time. She had no resistance left, and his tongue touched hers, his teeth dragging along her lower lip as he tasted her once again.

Her cry left her in a rush of air, and she slid into oblivion.

He studied her face, hands still on her body. In sleep, her features softened, the panic and desperation of moments before dulled to the slightest downward curve of her lips. So different from the wild thing who’d spat blood in his face, laughed under the threat of his knife, fought against him with everything in her. So much more fitting for the weak, terrified girl she became whenever he began to undress her, the lost thing he knew she was deep inside.

Refastening her pants, he took his hands from her body and began undoing the leather cuffs holding her in place. She had somewhere she needed to be, and it wouldn’t do for her to be late.

***

Felicia blinked, and stared at the bare white wall of her room, and fought a losing battle with her emotions.

One of us is going home. Volkan had dropped that bomb on them, and then dragged them off to their separate rooms before they could fully process. Before they could think to ask a single question. Before they could say goodbye.

She couldn’t hope. She couldn’t dare to hope, because if she went home, that would mean Ivy was staying here, and if Ivy stayed here alone she would be dead within the week.

She couldn’t hope, because she wouldn’t be strong enough to survive if her hope shattered and Ivy went home and she was left here, alone, with him.

There was no solution; only branching paths that ended in different flavors of heartbreak. Even when he offered them freedom, he twisted it into a weapon against them. Her heart raged against the unfairness of it all, and she crushed that feeling down, closing herself off, a few stray tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut.

The door to her room creaked open and she gripped the edges of the cot she sat on. He filled the frame, silhouetted against the hallway lights. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, and yet she knew she had to. His expression was unreadable. Maybe she just didn’t want to read it.

“Come with me,” he said, and walked away without waiting for a response. She rose and followed him.

He brought her to his lounge, all dark leather and polished wood and a fire crackling in the hearth. At a gesture from him, she sank into the couch and he poured two glasses of amber liquor, handing one to her. He sat across from her, and in his eyes she saw that look, that fucking look that meant he was savoring the anticipation of breaking her down in some new way, and that was how she knew to prepare herself a heartbeat before he said, “Why do you think they chose her over you?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and willed herself not to feel. From the moment she had woken up in his office, some part of her had always known she was going to die here. This changed nothing. At least Ivy was safe. She could take this.

He gestured at the glass in her hand, the drink within untouched. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.” She stared through him, setting the glass on the table without a word, and he took a sip of his own liquor. “I just want to talk tonight. I know you must have a lot of mixed feelings right now.”

She shifted her gaze to look him in the eye, and his face crinkled with a genuine smile. “I wish I could’ve been there for the discussion,” he mused. “What do you think was the deciding factor? What was it that pushed them over the edge, made them realize that Ivy was worth more than you?”

He wasn’t going to let up. She bit down the urge to say they made the right choice—self-deprecation was only playing into his hands. And she couldn’t do it, couldn’t dwell on what sort of conversation must have taken place, so she said, “I don’t know.”

“No theories at all?” He raised a skeptical brow. “You have no idea what might’ve led your girlfriend to look me in the eye and tell me that she was choosing to leave you here with me in favor of a stranger?”

Elyse. Her face flashed in Felicia’s mind, and shit, a few tears welled up before she could close herself off to the feeling, and then her chest ached with longing and grief and despair, and her fingers dug into the leather of the couch as her breath hitched in a sob, and then another.

Volkan shushed her with a faux-soothing hum, his hand like fire against her skin as he tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I know this must hurt.” Through the haze of tears, the smirk on his face was infuriating. “If it helps, I think their choice makes sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense, and you know that, you—” Now that she’d started, the sobs kept coming, racking her body with shudders. “You know, because you rigged this fucking game from the start, because that’s what you do, you—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips as he shushed her this time, and she flinched. “You’re getting emotional. Try to think about this logically. I’m sure your team did when they made their decision.” He sipped his drink again, considering. “Ivy’s a strong girl. A much better fighter. She doesn’t just roll over and submit at the first threat of pain. Although,” and his smile turned mocking, conspiratory, “you and I both know she’s not as tough as she likes to pretend. For a girl with two boyfriends, she sure fell apart quickly as soon as I—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about her,” Felicia lashed, stomach churning. Her skin warmed with the memory of Ivy’s touch, the only kind thing about this place. Ivy’s beautiful fierceness as she fought Volkan in every way. Ivy’s smile, and her tears, and her whispered promises in the night. “She’s—she’s so brave, and she’s good, and she’s not going to just leave me here.” Please.

Volkan’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Adorable. She already did.”

The flash of Ivy’s hazel eyes, wide with shock as she was dragged to her own room to wait for a decision to be made. “She didn’t leave. You took her.”

He chuckled. “Technically, you’re correct. Would you prefer she was still here with you?”

“I—” Felicia hated herself, then, for how close she came to saying yes, and she hated him even more for the slight quirk of his lips as he saw the indecision play across her face, as he read her like a book. “I’m glad she’ll be safe now,” she managed at last.

“Safe is a relative term,” Volkan said, setting his empty glass down on the table. “But I’m sure we can both agree she’s in a better place than you are.” He leaned in closer to her, pressing her against the couch, and his arms surrounding her were the jaws of a trap closing in on her.